Season of Sisters (29 page)

She closed her eyes and nodded.

"That tree is me. I have deep roots and strong branches, and one of them hangs low to the water. It's close enough that you could pull yourself to safety. If you reached up for it. Reached out to me."

Tenderly, he cupped her face in his hands. "Do it, honey. Pull yourself from the current. You can count on me to shelter you, to support you. My wood is strong; I won't crack. I'll give you footholds to the sky. Marry me, Holly. Be my wife."

Yearning melted through her. "Oh, Justin, you're breaking my heart. I'm too afraid to tell you yes, but I don't want to say no. I really, really don't want to say... no."

His hands fell away from her and he put some space between them. Solemnly, he asked, "What do you need, Holly?"

"A shrink."

He smiled tenderly. "No shame in that. Do you want me to get you a name?"

She sighed. Actually, she'd already gone to counseling. About a year ago, she'd seen a doctor twice before chickening out on showing up a third time. She hadn’t clicked with the therapist and she hadn’t had the mental energy to look for someone else. "Maybe, but first I think what I need is a library card and a few hours on the Internet. I need answers. You're right, Justin. I need to learn not to be afraid."

"Afraid? You?" He showed her a crooked smile. "The woman who bungee jumps for fun? Who wants to jump from a perfectly good airplane just for the hell of it?"

"But I
am
afraid. Marriage frightens me, but the thought of living without you scares me just as much. The idea of dying with regrets rather than memories chills me to the bone."

"Then don't let it happen. No regrets. That much you can control. Marry me, Holly. We'll make those memories together."

She wanted to say yes. With every fiber of her being she wanted to say yes. But she couldn't. Not now.

Not yet.

"Maybe you could get me a name. Not a therapist, but a genetic testing center. It wouldn't hurt anything for me to look into getting tested, would it? Looking into something isn't a commitment to go through with it."

His smile warmed her clear to the bone. "I'll get that name tomorrow."

Chapter 13

The repeated
ringing of her doorbell wrenched Maggie from the oblivion of her afternoon nap. Sluggish, mushy-headed, and weary to the bone, she lifted her head off the couch pillow and peered at the clock on the VCR. Red numerals reading twelve o'clock flashed on and off and didn't come close to telling her the time. Following a power outage two weeks ago, the clock needed to be reset but Maggie hadn't a clue how to go about it. The men in her house had always taken care of such tasks.

Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock. Knock.
"All right, already," she called, rolling off the couch. Must be UPS. The driver for her neighborhood had always been heavy-fisted.

Maggie was almost afraid to see what he had for her today. One night last week, unable to sleep and feeling desperate around three A.M., she'd gone a bit crazy and tried something she'd never done before. With her TV remote in one hand and a phone in the other, knowing her Visa number by heart, she'd spent almost an hour surfing the home shopping channels, ordering whatever product happened to appeal at the moment. Afterward, she didn't have a clue as to what she had bought. So far she'd received a carrot juicer, a set of red silk sheets, and a metal detector. No telling what would show up today.

Padding barefoot toward her front door, she passed the grandfather clock in the entry hall. Ten minutes to two. She'd stretched out on the couch just before the noon news. Her fifteen-minute power nap had turned into a two-hour siesta. Funny how often that happened these days.

Of course, today she had an excuse to sleep. She'd been up since before dawn, hadn't she? And upon her return home, she'd spent an hour in the pool swimming laps. She'd earned her two hours of sleep. Still, it was a good thing she'd taken her nap inside instead of by the pool. She'd be burned to a crisp by now.

Thinking about sunburned skin made her realize she was about to answer the door wearing only her swimsuit. The white tank suit was flattering and comfortable, but she never wore it in public because the top part wasn't lined and her nipples showed through the Lycra. That was more than she was comfortable showing the UPS driver, so she detoured into the front bathroom, grabbed a towel, and draped it over her shoulders.

Knock knock knock.

"Just set it down and go," she grumbled, a little worried as to why he didn't do just that. What had she purchased that required a signature? Diamonds? A vague recollection of a sparkling bangle bracelet left her wincing as she opened the door.

Oh, spit.
Mike.

At first glance, he appeared calm and collected, a weekend boater in khaki shorts, golf shirt, and deck shoes. Taking a second, closer look Maggie noted the gleam in his eyes, the aggressive jut of his chin, the drum of fingers against his thigh. A sailor spoiling for a fight.

"What... I thought... you're back in town early." She swallowed hard. She wasn't ready. Not now, like this. The confrontation about the boat was supposed to be fun. She'd had it all planned, imagined it all the way home from Lake Texoma. He'd be ranting and raving and she'd calmly buff her fingernails until suddenly, he'd fall silent. He'd rake his fingers through his hair, tremble a little, then tell her it was all a mistake, that he didn't really want to leave her and sail off to St. Thomas with a woman half Maggie's age. He'd tell her he loved her, he'd always loved her, and he would love her until the day he died. Then, big, strong, proud Mike Prescott would fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

That's how this was supposed to happen. Instead, he'd caught her napping. Literally. And after getting a good look at him, she didn't think he'd hit his knees begging anytime soon. "Why are you at the front door? Why didn't you use your key?"

"Because I don't live here anymore," he snapped. "That would be trespassing. Same as if somebody boarded the
Second Wind
without permission."

As always, the name of that dad-blasted boat stirred her anger. She was tempted to shut the door in his face. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving him to follow, or not, whatever he chose. In that moment, Maggie honestly didn't care.

Seconds later, Mike slammed the front door shut. From the inside.

Ordinarily, she and Mike conducted their arguments in their bedroom and that's where he headed first thing. For today's event, Maggie decided a new venue was in order. She padded to the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator door and browsed, finally choosing carrot sticks for her snack. Opening the plastic container, she stuck a carrot into her mouth before setting the plastic box on the counter behind her. Next, she bent over to peer into the back of the fridge in search of the ranch dressing.

She caught Mike staring at her butt when she straightened and turned around. Then his gaze fell to her breasts and his mouth settled into a grim line. "Are you alone?"

Beneath the transparent Lycra, Maggie's nipples drew into tight little beads.
Oh, great. Just wonderful.
Wasn't this just what she needed? One little lusty look and her headlights went on for the first time in months. "Alone?"

"No boyfriend around?"

It took her a moment to make sense of what he was asking, but when she did, her temper flared. She considered shooting a stream of salad dressing at his face. "No. I gave them all the afternoon off. They need rest to keep up their strength."

"Bitch."

Maggie blinked as the word sank into her like a knife. In all their years together, Mike had never, ever used that sort of language with her. That he would now offered a clear signal of just how far their marriage had sunk.

Defeat rolled over her. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Let's get this over with. What is it you want to say?"

Mike, it seemed, wasn't in the mood to cut to the chase. "I returned to Texas today and discovered my home had been vandalized in my absence. I called the cops to report the crime. I thought kids had done it. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the responsible party was not a gang of teenage hoodlums, but my wife. My wife who had told the police she'd decided to redecorate
our
boat."

Feeling vulnerable, Maggie casually reached up to readjust the towel.

"Why did you do it, Maggie?" he asked, his tone soft and menacing as he stepped toward her. "Was it fun, Maggie?"

Brazenly, she lifted her chin and exaggerated her natural drawl. "All that black and white. You know that particular color scheme has never appealed to me. It cried out for color."

Mike stopped mere inches away. He reached for a carrot stick and she smelled his aftershave. Eternity. Oh, my. Eternity was her favorite.

"I read the police report. It was a good plan. I bet you enjoyed putting it together." He dipped the carrot into the dressing. "Did your girlfriends have a good time with the spray paint? Bet you hated to miss that part."

"I think Holly used a paintbrush, rather than spray paint," Maggie murmured as he held the carrot stick up to her. He had a strange look in his eyes, a gleam she couldn't read. She'd known this man for more than half her life and knew him better than anyone else in the world, but she didn't have a clue what he was thinking now.

It unsettled her. Challenged her. Maggie thought she should probably crunch the carrot he offered, snap it in two with gusto. Instead, instinctively, she licked away the dressing with one, two, three slow strokes.

Mike made a quiet groan. "Damn you."

Now she recognized the gleam in his eyes. Sexual, predatory. A look she hadn't seen in months. Years, even. His gaze slipped lower, fastened on her chest. He reached up and yanked away the shielding towel.

That was it. The unmistakable signal. Her husband, the one who was leaving her and sailing off to coral reef lagoons and sugar-sand beaches, wanted to have sex with her.

Maggie knew better than to use the words "make love."

Mike was angry. He knew she'd been dating. Knew she'd brought another man into their house. Maybe wondered—needlessly, of course—if she'd taken one into their bed.

No, love would have nothing to do with this. This was about a male staking claim to what he still considered his.

Her eyes drifted closed. She wanted to let him. Heaven help her, but she wanted to be with her husband, even with all this anger, this tension, swirling between them. For the first time in months, she wanted bursting skyrockets and moving earth. She wanted passion. She wanted Mike.

A wicked voice whispered in her head,
And if you do it and it's good, maybe he won't go.

His finger lifted, traced the outline of the aureole clearly visible through her swimsuit. "You're still my wife."

It was so much more than a statement of fact. It was a claim and a question and, in a reassuring way, a promise. Maggie answered from her heart. "Yes."

He kissed her, then backed her up against the refrigerator and assaulted her mouth. It was rough. It was wild. It was wonderful. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen and through the house toward their bed.

As she clung to him, the familiar halls tilted to a new angle of view. Maggie was dizzy with need as he settled her onto the mattress and stripped off her swimsuit, hungry with a desire she'd thought lost to her forever. She welcomed him with an enthusiasm that for too long had existed only as a memory. She was a bold and demanding lover, a wanton. She made him moan, made him beg. And Mike returned the favors.

Finally, she collapsed atop him, slick and sated and straining for breath. She attempted to shift her body and roll beside him, but he wrapped his arms around her and refused to let her move.

That was fine by Maggie. She was happy where she was. Though Mike had been the one to leave the house and take up residence on a boat, she felt like she'd been the one who'd come home.

They lay in silence together and Maggie steeped in the soothing comfort of simply being held. She'd always adored post-coital cuddling and counted herself lucky that Mike didn't skimp in that department. Once he caught his breath, he rolled onto his side, keeping her tucked tight against him. He would doze now for a few minutes, she knew, but he wouldn't turn her loose. These were the familiar, intimate patterns of lovemaking. When he awakened, they'd talk.

They had a lot of talking to do, Maggie admitted. Serious issues with which to deal. They'd hurt one another, inflicted serious damage to their marriage. Pessimistically, she wondered if they'd ever again enjoy an anniversary in the wake of the disastrous twenty-fifth.

As Mike let out a soft snore, Maggie's thoughts drifted. The past few weeks had been hard. The estrangement from her boys had all but ripped her heart in two. Maybe she could fix that now. The thought made her smile and burrow closer to Mike.

Mike. It felt so good to have him back in their bed. Living by herself had been pure misery, a lesson in true, bone-deep loneliness. Shoot, she'd only
thought
she'd been lonely when Scott went off to school. That had been a picnic compared to this. She'd never before felt so... empty.