The Surprise of His Life (19 page)

Home.

She
thought of home, but didn't want to go there. She knew that her mother was out
again with this Don person. According to her mother, lunch had been nice, and
she'd volunteered to show Don some of the off-the-beaten-path sights before he
left the island the next day. Lindsey didn't know how she felt about her mother
being out with a man other than her father. Well, actually, she did. She didn't
like it any more than her father did. When he'd heard that Bunny was going out
again that evening, he'd become sullen, quiet, withdrawn. For the first time,
Lindsey had felt encouraged. Maybe her father was having second thoughts.

Her
father.

Maybe
he could use a little tender loving care tonight. Maybe she herself could use a
little of the TLC that he was so good at dispensing. Over the years, no one
could ease her pain the way her father could. No pair of arms had ever been
able to so completely hug away life's hurts. Suddenly, more than anything in
the world, Lindsey wanted to feel her father's arms about her. Even though she
couldn't tell her father about Walker, wouldn't it be wonderful just to have
her father's silent assurance that whatever was bothering her would be all
right?

Turning
the key, Lindsey started the car and headed it in the direction of her father's
apartment. Though she'd never been there, she knew the address. At least, she
knew the small apartment complex. All she'd have to do was look for a red
sports car, which, as luck would have it, she caught sight of several blocks
from the apartment. The car, its top up for a change, had just halted at a stop
sign, then lurched forward with the power of a team of wild horses. Lindsey
knew it was her father because of the temporary license plate.

At
closer inspection, Lindsey realized that there was someone else in the car with
him. For the duration of one unsteady breath, she toyed with the idea that it
might be Walker, but the idea fled when the car turned the corner. The
passenger was clearly a woman with long flowing red hair, the ends of which
fluttered out the open window. Lindsey's unsteady breath vanished entirely at
the sight. Her first reaction was to deny what she was seeing. Her second, to
minimize it. There could be lots of reasons that her father had a woman in the
car with him. Yeah, she heard a voice saying deep inside her, name a couple.
The truth was that she could come up with only one. One very hurtful reason.

Lindsey's
pain grew by leaps and bounds as she watched her father pull into the driveway.
From a position of a block away, she saw him get out of the car, round the hood
and open the passenger door. A woman, all red hair, long legs and a giggly
smile, tumbled out... and into her father's arms.

Lindsey
couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her father with another woman! Woman?
Maybe, but Lindsey would guess that she barely had reached that chronological
point, and there was no doubt whatsoever that the flame-haired sprite was
younger than she. It was equally obvious that this wasn't the first time her
father had dated the young woman. They were too chummy, too personal, too
downright intimate. This Lindsey thought as she watched the redhead brush her
mouth across her father's.

At
the sight of her father returning the kiss, Lindsey grew numb. As though she
could not help herself, as though compelled to watch, Lindsey's gaze followed
the couple as they walked, arm in arm, up the sidewalk and toward the
apartment. At the door, they paused as her father searched through his pocket
for the key. All the while, the two of them laughed and kissed. As Dean fitted
the key into the lock, the woman's hand roamed onto his rear end and splayed
wide, as though staking a claim. Lindsey noted that her father in no way
objected. In fact, he dragged her into the apartment and closed the door,
leaving the impression that he couldn't get her alone fast enough. Lindsey had
no doubt what was about to occur behind the closed door.

Suddenly,
she felt sick to her stomach, sick at heart. In all of her life she could never
remember feeling this way. She felt hurt, in such an abundance that she wasn't
certain she could bear it. It was like a mighty weight pressing down on her
chest. In equal proportions, she felt anger—a hot, scalding,
how-the-hell-could-he-do-this anger. She felt... alone. So bitterly alone. She
also felt like crying, but this she stubbornly refused to let herself do.

Lindsey
had no idea how long she sat a block away watching the apartment. She saw the
downstairs lights go out and the upstairs lights go on. She then saw them go
out, too. Still, she continued her dark vigil until she finally became aware
that the night had closed in around her. Outside, stars had begun to twinkle.
Inside the car, she had grown uncomfortable sitting in one limited position.
With a start, she realized that the motor was still running. She eased the gear
into drive, turned on her lights and let the car take the lead. She hadn't the
foggiest idea where she was headed.

Wearing
only a pair of worn stone-washed jeans, Walker reclined in a chaise lounge at
the side of the pool. Except for the sparse illumination of the pool lights, he
sat in darkness. A beer can rested on his flat belly, its cool drops of
condensation mingling with the sweat that had formed on his body. Beside him,
the radio played a string of love songs—songs of passion, songs of devotion,
songs of love gone painfully wrong.

"...And
now an update on the weather," came the male voice on the radio. "In
case you hadn't noticed, it's hot here on the island. At present it's
eighty-eight degrees, with another sizzling day predicted for tomorrow. For
those of you following the progress of the tropical depression in the
Caribbean, it's still harmless enough, but seems to be gaining momentum. We'll
keep you informed of its movements. And now, here's a song for all of you out
there who are in love. It's called—"

Walker
abruptly shut off the radio and brought the beer can to his lips. He was sick
of love songs, as in fed up to the gills. He also wondered about the storm.
When you lived on the coast, when you operated oil rigs in the Gulf, each
manned by a crew, you never took storms cavalierly. They were always worth
watching. Sometimes a storm was nothing more than a naughty lady. Then again,
it could be bold and brazen.

Lady.

Bold
and brazen.

An
image of Lindsey shadow-danced through Walker's mind. She was all he'd thought
about since leaving work. Hell, she was all he'd thought about for days, weeks!
He'd give anything if he could just stop thinking about her, if he could just
stop wanting to be near her, wanting to touch her, if he could just stop
remembering every nuance of how she looked, how she smelled, how she sounded.

"Oh,
you mean my flirting with you."

"Poor
Walker. I'm not making it easy for you, am I?"

"Stop
fighting. I want you. You want me. There's nothing wrong with that."

Walker
groaned. To indicate just how far he'd fallen, there were actually times when
he thought wanting Lindsey wasn't wrong. How could something that felt so
right—and the feel of her in his arms
did
feel right—be so wrong? How
could feelings so strong be false?

The
flash of headlights cutting across the privet hedge brought his miserable
thoughts to a halt. Who in hell? he wondered, momentarily hearing the slam of a
car door. Maybe, if he pretended not to be at home, whoever it was would go
away. He didn't want company. Not anybody's. At the sound of the doorbell,
Walker didn't stir. The bell rang again. Walker held his breath. Once more the
doorbell rang—three times in rapid succession. Walker uttered a profanity and
pushed himself from the chaise lounge. Whoever it was wasn't going away. That
much was clear.

En
route to the front door, Walker turned on a couple of house lights and
deposited the beer can, with a spewing thud, onto the kitchen cabinet. He hit
the porch light at the same time he yanked open the front door. His mood was
only three growls short of a grizzly bear's.

"Yeah?"
he barked, the word clipped in the middle of its delivery.

Lindsey
stood on the doorstep, the harsh porch light bleaching her skin to a sickly
pallor. At least that was Walker's first interpretation of her paleness. He
revised it when he saw the blank look in her eyes, the vacantness in her
expression. It wasn't the orange glare of the light washing the color from her
face. She had managed to be pale all on her own.

"Lindsey,
are you all right?" Walker asked, his concern apparent.

"I,
uh, I didn't know where else to go," she said. Seconds, heartbeats,
regrets by the score passed. "I don't want to hurt you... I promise I
won't flirt... I promise I won't tease... I promise..." Her voice trailed
off as if she couldn't remember exactly what she was promising. She then
repeated, "I didn't know where else to go."

As
instinctively as breathing, Walker stepped aside. Lindsey accepted his unspoken
invitation, noting, even in her muddled state, that he wore neither shirt nor
shoes. An ebony matting of hair, some shaded in silver and moistened in sweat,
covered his chest. Though the woman in her clearly recognized his blatant
sensuality, the child in her just wanted to be held, and comforted, against
that chest. Abruptly, she realized that she was just staring at the object of
her interest. She raised her gaze from Walker's chest to his eyes.

She
had promised not to flirt, but the very look of longing on her face was more
powerful than any blatant teasing she might have engaged in. Walker's body
suffused with heat, with longing, with a need so profound it was frightening.
Only the fact that something was wrong—very wrong—kept him from pulling her
into his arms.

"What
is it?" he asked. "What's happened?"

Lindsey
smiled in self-deprecation. "I must be incredibly stupid. Or naive."
She laughed as she drew back the long blond hair from her face. "Or maybe
I'm both. Yeah, I guess that's it. I guess I'm both."

"You're
going to have to tell me what you're talking about," Walker said.

"What
I'm talking about is being as blind as a bat. All the signs were there. I just
refused to put two and two together."

"Lindsey..."

"I
mean, he was exhibiting all the classic signs of a mid-life crisis. Why did I
think he wouldn't have gone all the way?"

"...You're
going to have to tell me..."

She
laughed mirthlessly, and her voice had risen in anger when she said,
"Well, I guess it's pretty obvious why I didn't want to add two and two
together. Four hurts. In fact, it's downright unfair!"

"Lindsey—"

"Dammit,
he's having an affair! My father's having an affair!"

In
that moment, Walker could have throttled Dean. The pain he was inflicting on
those who loved him was inexcusable, unforgivable. Walker could also have
throttled himself for not anticipating that Lindsey would find out. Affairs
never remained a secret for long. Why hadn't he told her himself? Because he
hadn't had the guts, that was why. Now, angry with both himself and Dean,
Walker gave a long, weary sigh.

Something
in the sound of the sigh caught Lindsey's attention. That and the fact that
Walker looked less than shocked. Disgusted, yes. Frustrated, yes. Shocked, no.

"You
knew, didn't you?" she asked with a certainty that didn't need
confirmation. "You lied to me," she said disbelievingly. The hurt
she'd experienced earlier that evening, the revelation of her father's affair,
now compounded and magnified until she felt that she would surely smother
beneath her suffocating pain.

Her
accusation cut through Walker like a sharp saber. "I didn't lie to you!
When I told you I didn't know of any affair, I didn't. I found out later."

"And
you didn't tell me?" She now refused to be placated. Frankly, it felt good
to be taking her anger out on someone. Anyone.

"And
I suppose you rushed right home and told your mother," Walker said, his
own emotions peaking to the same hot high.

"Of
course, I didn't! How could I tell her that Dad is screwing around? How could I
be the one to hurt her?"

"My
point precisely. I didn't want to be the one to hurt her, either." His
voice had lowered to a rich huskiness when he added, "I didn't want to be
the one to hurt you."

The
words lapped about her like heated honey, their tone telling her of the
strength of his feelings, feelings he was fighting, but feelings he had
nonetheless.

"Maybe
I should have told you," he said suddenly. "Maybe it would have been
better coming from me."

"No,"
she answered softly, wisely, "it wouldn't have been any better. And, if
it's any consolation, I probably wouldn't have told you, either. I wouldn't
have wanted to be the one to hurt you. I couldn't hurt you. At least not
intentionally."

Walker
knew that she was apologizing for all the times she'd taunted him, teased him.
That apology, coupled with her remarks when he'd first opened the door, remarks
about her no longer going to flirt with him, had an unexpected and strange
effect upon him. He'd begged her to stop, but now that she was, disappointment
seized him. My God, was he going totally crazy?