The Surprise of His Life (24 page)

That
conversation had occurred Saturday afternoon. Saturday evening, Walker and
Lindsey had dinner at his house. It appeared that their personal lives might
have to be shelved for a while.

"...The
depression is now officially being called a storm. With winds of growing
intensity, the storm is organizing quickly and continuing to move in a
southwestern direction. It is believed, as predicted earlier, that it's headed
for the tip of Cuba. Should it strike there, it would lose some of its power
before streaking on into the Gulf. In either event, whether it strikes Cuba or
not, it could mean trouble for the Gulf Coast..."

"What
do you think?" Lindsey asked, seeing Walker's frown of concern. They were
sitting at the dining room table. The dinner, which they'd prepared together
amid laughter and kisses, was finished. Steaming mugs of coffee had replaced
it.

"I
think it's too early to tell," Walker said, sipping his coffee. "We
should know something by morning, though."

"What's
the procedure for evacuating a platform?"

"Batten
it down as best you can, get the men off and into inland motels. Your father
coordinates the on-site evacuation. I take care of inland responsibilities,
like lining up motel rooms, renting boats, extra helicopters—whatever's
needed."

At
the mention of her father, pain crossed Lindsey's face. In an attempt to hide
it, she stood, scraped her food scraps onto Walker's plate, and carried both to
the kitchen. At the sink, she ran water and began to wash dishes. No sooner had
she submerged them than she felt Walker wrap his arms about her waist.

"I
know, babe."

Closing
her eyes, she leaned back into him. She knew that tears were only a permission
away, but she wouldn't give herself that permission.

"I
slapped him," she said. "We've hardly even had cross words over the
years, and I slapped him. Oh, Walker, did you see the look on his face?"

What
he saw was that Lindsey was hurting. Badly. "He'll survive, you'll
survive, there'll be a tomorrow for apologies."

"I
don't know—"

"I
do. He loves you, Lindsey. Don't ever doubt that."

"But
I hurt him."

"A
parent's love is unconditional. Besides, he hurt you, too."

She
turned in his arms, her eyes meeting his. "He hurt you, as well."

"Yeah,"
Walker said flatly, "but then I hurt him. I guess we'll find out how
unconditional a friend's love is."

"I'm
sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I was the one to come between you
two."

Walker
brushed back a wisp of hair from her cheek. "Don't be. What you've given
me is worth any price I had to pay. Besides, don't you think I'm sorry about
coming between you and your father?"

"Don't
be," she said, repeating his words. "What you've given me is worth
any price I had to pay. Tell me you love me," she said suddenly, as though
fearful that she'd only imagined his having said the words. A dozen times over
the past twenty-four hours, she'd made a similar request.

With
the same indulgent tenderness he always displayed, he brushed her mouth with
his. "I love you," he said, saying it over and over, "I love
you... I love you...."

He
grazed her mouth again, then, moaning, settled his lips firmly against hers.
The kiss instantly deepened. Her arms, bubbles of detergent still on her hands,
encircled his neck. His hips, clothed in khaki slacks, pressed into hers,
pushing her back into the cabinet. His thighs melted into hers. His masculinity,
steel-hard against her softness, left little doubt as to what was on his mind.

"Do
you really want to wash dishes?" he asked throatily.

"Do
you have a better suggestion?" she asked, thinking that, if he didn't, she
sure did.

"Oh,
yeah," he said, scooping her into his arms and starting for the bedroom.
"I've got a suggestion that'll blow washing dishes right out of the
water."

In
minutes, he had proven his claim. His body, his breath, words of exulted praise
flowed over her, making her feel heated, satisfied, complete in a way she'd
never felt before. They kissed, caressed, scaled sensual mountains and
descended into erotic valleys. They loved. Later, their bodies replete, they
cuddled.

"Your
idea was definitely better than washing dishes," she purred, lacing her
long silken legs with his.

He
grinned, entwining his hair-roughed legs with hers. "I thought you'd think
so. I also have another excellent idea."

"What?"

"Stay
the night."

She
grinned. "Why, Mr. Carr, is that a proposition?"

He
grinned. "Yeah, and a totally improper one at that." Suddenly, his
grin faded as he slipped his hand onto her belly. Her skin felt like velvet,
the hair cupping her femininity, like golden fleece. "Lindsey, you know
that I'm not taking any precautions against your getting pregnant. I'm assuming
neither are you. If you're not, don't you think we should?"

"But
I want to have your baby. Okay, maybe not for a while. We'll get used to being
husband and wife, then—" She stopped at the streak of pain that darted
across his eyes. "Oh, my," she said quietly, hollowly, "have I
made a reckless assumption?"

"Lindsey,
babe, I..." He hesitated, trying to find a way to explain what he was
feeling, thinking. When no words came, he felt her pulling from him. He
panicked and held her all the closer. Even so, he knew a part of her had left
him. "No, don't go," he pleaded. "Please just listen to me,
Lindsey. I want to marry you. I want you to have my baby...."

"...But..."
she said, anticipating his next word.

"It
wouldn't be fair to you."

"Making
me deliriously happy wouldn't be fair?"

"May-December
marriages always have a strike against them."

"This
would hardly be a May-December marriage. You're not ancient, Walker. Forty-six
isn't ancient."

"Forty-seven."

"Excuse
me, forty-seven. But that's not exactly over-the-hill, either."

"It
may not be over-the-hill, but it's standing on the top looking down." At
the argument he saw forming on Lindsey's lips, Lindsey's melon-sweet lips, he
said, "Okay, okay. So it wouldn't be May-September. It would still have so
few guarantees...."

This
time she did pull from him, staring him full in the eyes. "A marriage
never has a guarantee. You know that. If you need a case in point, look at my
parents. Age-wise, they're compatible and look at the mess they're in."

"I
know there are no guarantees, Lindsey, but look at this reasonably. When I'm
sixty, you'll be thirty-six. When I'm seventy, you'll be forty-six. I'll be
old, Lindsey, and you'll still be in the prime of your life."

"And
when you're a hundred and ten, I'll be eighty-six. Okay, say you don't make it
to a hundred and ten. Say I don't make it to eighty-six. Couldn't we just be
happy we had twenty, thirty, thirty-five years together? With the divorce rate
being what it is, that's more than most married couples ever get. And as far as
parenting goes, older parents make wonderful parents. They have so much to
offer a child."

"Yeah,"
he said sarcastically. "They can watch someone else pitch balls to their
son instead of pitching them themselves."

"That's
a crock and you know it. Many men are active into their sixties, even their
seventies. You'd have plenty of time to pitch balls. What's the real issue
here, Walker? You just don't want to start over with a family again? I mean, I
could understand that. You've raised your child. Maybe you don't want—"

"No!"
he said so vehemently that it startled Lindsey. "That isn't it. It should
be, but it isn't. I've raised my kid, I've paid my dues, and that should be
enough, but..." He stopped. When he spoke again, it was with reverence.
"I can't think of anything I'd like more than your having my baby."

"Then
what is it?" When he said nothing, she said, though it was obviously
painful to do so, "You don't love me enough to commit yourself
permanently?"

"Dammit,
no, that's not it! Haven't you heard anything I've been saying?"

"Yes,
but it's not making a whole lot of sense," she said, her voice as angry as
his.

"It's
simple. I want to be fair to you!"

"You
keep saying that, but what does it mean?"

"It
means that I have to leave you free." His voice had lowered, as though he
were having trouble saying the words when he added, "Free to make changes
if you need to."

Lindsey
heard the words. She even understood them, but something deep within her
rejected them so violently that she had to ask for clarification. "Free to
make what changes?"

"Any
changes...that you need to." The words had seemed even harder for him to
say this second time.

"Changes.
Changes like walking away from you when I grow tired of being with you? Changes
like moving on to greener pastures when I find them? Changes like leaving you
behind when I find a younger man?"

Walker
swallowed. "Lindsey, you're so young. You've got so much living ahead of
you."

"Were
those the kinds of changes you were talking about?" she insisted. When he
said nothing, she cried, "Were they?"

"Yes!"
For seconds, neither spoke. He simply stared at the way the sheet cupped her
breasts. The breathtaking way. She stared at the way the sheet fell away from
his chest, a chest that seemed just the width and breadth of her needs.
Finally, Walker said, "I'll stay with you for today, for tomorrow, for
however long in the future you want."

"But
you won't marry me?"

He
couldn't imagine the courage it would take to let her walk away from him, but
it was a courage he knew he could find if he had to. For her sake.
"Lindsey, babe—"

"How
dare you belittle what I feel for you," she said, unable to conceal her
now full-blown anger. Flinging the sheet from her, she scooted to the edge of
the bed. She reached for her blouse and began to scramble into it.

"Lindsey,
don't," he said, reaching for her. She shrugged, deflecting his touch, and
scooped her panties and jeans from the floor. She thrust her legs into the
scrap of lace, adjusted her hips, and tugged them upward. She then tackled the
denim.

"You
know what it sounds like to me?" she tossed back over her shoulder.
"It sounds like you just haven't made a big enough commitment."

"That
isn't true—"

"Being
in love is like being pregnant. You can't be just a little bit. You either are
or you aren't." Standing, she yanked the jeans upward and slipped into her
shoes. She turned to face him. The hair that Walker had so thoroughly mussed
only a short while before lay scattered about her face. She looked like a
fierce lioness. "And when you're in love, Walker, you commit all the way.
You take all the chances. You don't compromise. And you damned sure don't leave
your partner free to walk away!"

With
that, she stormed from the room.

"Lindsey,
wait—Lindsey!" Cursing, he fell back against the headboard. A shaft of
pain, like a thick stake, pierced his heart. He longed desperately to go back
and repeat the scene. Surely he could have handled it better. Surely he could
have found more expressive words. Couldn't he have? As the lonely evening wore
on, the only thing he knew with certainty was that, even if the scene
miraculously could have been repeated, he could not have changed his position.

He
had to leave her free.

Because
he loved her.

The
storm worsened.

To
complicate matters, the storm did not conform to meteorologists' expectations.
It bypassed Cuba entirely before barging into the Gulf at speeds greater than
anticipated. The whole Gulf Coast lay defenseless against its fury, and
weathermen went wild trying to forecast where it would strike. Hour by hour,
the storm changed direction. That variance necessitated that evacuation
procedures be started. No place was safe until the storm had chosen its victim.

The
storm at sea, however, couldn't hold a candle to the storm raging in the office
of Gal-Tex. Walker, who once more hadn't slept a wink, came in at a little
before seven. He felt far older than his forty-seven years, and his knee hurt
abominably. The drizzle of the day before, now responding to the approaching
storm, had turned into a steady, lightning-laced downpour. From the moment he
opened the door to find Lindsey seated behind her desk, the emotional storm had
erupted.

"What
are you doing here? It's Sunday," Walker said.

At
the sight of her, he felt as though his breath had been sucked from his chest.
She hadn't slept any better than he. That was obvious from the dark circles
beneath her eyes. Ironically, it was her age that was an issue, her age that
was the wedge driven between them. If they had many more nights like the last,
the age difference might cease to be a problem. She looked as though years—hard
years—had been added to her. He fought the urge to say to hell with common
sense and ask—no, beg—her to marry him.