To Love a Man (25 page)

“How long have you been divorced? What went wrong? Did you—do you—have any children?”

Sam shot her a wry look and closed his eyes briefly in mock dismay.

“You want to know all about it, huh?” he murmured, and had to muffle a chuckle at her sudden self-conscious look. He felt suddenly very lighthearted, despite his pain and their predicament and the damned depressing rain and everything else. “Care to tell me why you’re so interested?”

She immediately looked defensive. “I just thought it would give us something to talk about,” she said repressively, transferring her eyes back down to the game scratched in the dirt.

Sam studied the top of that blond head for a moment. She was looking at the game as if her life depended on solving it.

“I’ve been divorced for nearly fifteen years. She decided I didn’t suit her requirements. And, yes, I have a son. His name’s Jay—Jason, really—and he’s seventeen. Almost as old as you,” he added with a sardonic look.

“I’m twenty-five.” She looked up as she said it.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at her mockingly. The sure sign of the young, he thought, was that they were always so defensive about their age, or lack of it.

“And you—unlike me—are married.” It came out flatly. He hadn’t meant to say it, and certainly not in that tone. Hearing himself, he thought that he sounded almost jealous. Which was the stupidest thing he had ever thought of! He hadn’t been jealous of a woman in years. Beth had cured him of that forever with her shenanigans—or so he had always thought.

“We’re separated,” Lisa answered, her eyes flickering down for just an instant. Then they came back up to meet his. “But we were talking about you. What went wrong with your marriage?”

Sam sighed and maneuvered himself up so that he was sitting cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on his thighs.

“I told you. She decided I didn’t suit her requirements.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really want to hear all this? It’s pretty boring.”

“Yes. Please.”

The wistful note in her voice did it. Sam grimaced, more at himself than at her, and began.

“She was two years older than me, for one thing, and she’d been around. I was only twenty when I asked her to marry me, and I was as young and dumb as they come. She was working as a waitress in a bar near base—I was in the marines then—and, like the credulous fool I was, I thought I would take her away from all that. What I didn’t know was that she didn’t want to be taken too far away from it, thank you very much. She wanted respectability, and money for clothes and things, but she also wanted to have a good time. When she found somebody who could give her a better time than I could, she left me. And that was that.”

“How long were you married?” The question was quiet.

Sam looked at her suspiciously, afraid from her tone that she might be feeling sorry for him. The very thought made the back of his neck burn. But she seemed to be absorbed in studying the game. . . .

“Two years.”

“And you never married again?”

“No.” It was said with conviction, and earned him a slanting look from her green eyes.

“What about your son? Jay, you said his name was? Does he live with your w—with Beth?

Sam gave a rude snort of laughter. “Not hardly. She decided when he was about five that she didn’t want him hanging around, cramping her style. We haven’t either one of us heard from her for the last ten years. Which suits me just fine, although sometimes I think that Jay regrets it. Most kids kind of want a mother. I tell him that he’s better off without her—which is true, believe me—but still I think he hankers after her every once in a while. With me gone so much.”

Sam was surprised at himself. He had never discussed his worries about Jay’s unspoken feelings for his mother with anyone before. But it had bothered him for years—although he had never admitted it even to himself—that Jay might somehow blame him for separating him from his mother. If there was one human being in the world he loved, it was his kid; he didn’t know how he’d take it if Jay started hating him over Beth.

“Where is he now? With your family?” Lisa asked, her eyes compassionate as they moved over his face. Sam recognized the compassion, but was surprised to find that he didn’t really mind it after all. In fact, he kind of liked it—coming from her.

“He’s in school. Boarding school. He stays there during the year while I’m out of the country, and then I try to keep summers and holidays free and we spend them together.”

“What about your parents? Are they living?”

“I have no idea,” he answered shortly.

“What do you mean, you have no idea?” She reared back her head to look at him questioningly. “How can you not know if your parents are . . .”

“I never knew my parents,” he cut in, tracing patterns in the dirt with his forefinger. He had never talked about this with anyone; it hurt almost more than Beth’s defection had. At least he was over Beth, had been for years. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the shame and pain of knowing that his parents had just abandoned him like a stray puppy they’d found and had no use for.

“Who brought you up? There had to be someone.” Her voice was soft, and looking up Sam saw that her eyes were soft, too.

“The state of North Carolina very kindly made itself responsible for me when I was about two years old. Before that, I suppose I lived with one or the other of my parents. I don’t remember, and nobody ever bothered to enlighten me. Not that it makes any difference. From the time I was two, I was shifted from one foster home to another. About the time I started feeling secure somewhere, something would happen, the woman would get pregnant or have to go back to work or something, and they’d move me somewhere else. Finally I got so I wouldn’t let myself like any of them, because it hurt too much when they took me away.”

“Poor little boy,” Lisa said softly, and her hand came out to pat the hard muscles of his thigh comfortingly. Sam looked down at those pale slender fingers for a moment, then covered them with his hand. Her skin was so soft. . . . She twisted her hand in his grasp so that her fingers were entwined with his.

“Don’t feel too sorry for me,” he warned with a faint grin, even while he retained his grip on her hand. “By the time I was ten years old, I was the closest thing to a hoodlum Greenville ever had. I cut school every chance I got, drank, smoked, and was so wild in general that most of the good people who took me in soon threw me out again. Finally, I learned to hot-wire cars.” His lips twitched as Lisa looked up at him, wide-eyed. He was willing to bet that the closest she’d ever gotten before to the kind of people who did things like that was the television set in her living room. “You might say that was what got me into the marines.”

“Hot-wiring cars?” She blinked with incomprehension.

Sam chuckled. “Yup. I hot-wired one too many, and got caught. Not that we meant to actually steal it, just drive it around until we got tired or it ran out of gas. But the sheriff didn’t see it that way. My buddies got off with probation. Because I was driving, they gave me a choice—the service or two years in prison. I joined the marines, but sometimes, especially in boot camp, I wished I’d opted for prison instead. I kept thinking, how much worse could it be?”

“You’re making that up!” Lisa accused, sitting up to study his face intently. Her hand was still holding his, and she made no move to free it. Sam stroked her fingers with the blunt fingertips of his free hand, absently noting how dark and coarse his skin looked next to the creamy pale gold of hers.

“What part? About cutting school, or drinking, or hot-wiring cars, or . . .” He was teasing her. Clearly, she’d never been exposed to the kind of life he’d led. She’d always been sheltered, cared for, and protected.

“About almost being sent to prison. Aren’t you?”

“Nope. It’s the truth, I swear to God.”

“But how old were you?”

“Seventeen. I had to lie about my age to get the marines to take me.”

“But what about school? You couldn’t already have graduated!”

“I never did graduate. I was in the eleventh grade when that happened, and I never went back. Later, while I was in ’Nam, I took up reading, and sort of educated myself. Unlike some people,” this was accompanied by a teasing look, “I didn’t have a doting granddaddy to send me to college.”

“And then you married Beth,” Lisa said softly.

Sam could tell that she was struggling to envision the kind of life he had led, which must sound as foreign to her as her pampered existence did to him.

“That was three years later. My enlistment was almost up, and she persuaded me to reenlist. Then she married me. After she made sure that she’d have a steady source of income.”

“You must have loved her very much.” The words were almost a whisper.

Sam looked over at her wryly. “Oh, I did—at the time. But she soon cured me of that. If it wasn’t for Jay being her son, she’d never even cross my mind now.”

“But you called for her—when you were sick.”

Sam’s mouth tightened. “Whenever I get that fever, I imagine I’m back in ’Nam, where I was the first time I got it. My mind just goes back. I guess I called for Beth because I wanted her—then. Anymore, I probably wouldn’t recognize her if she crossed the street in front of me. I saw her for what she was years ago. If I hadn’t taken Jay, he probably would have ended up the way I did—going from one foster home to another until he got into trouble so deep he couldn’t get out. Beth sure didn’t want him.”

“What’s he like, your son?”

Sam’s face softened. “He’s about my height, but he’s thinner. Hell, he’s just a kid, he’ll put on meat as he gets older. And he’s better-looking than I ever was. Same coloring, basically, dark hair, blue eyes, although his hair’s straight. And he’s smart. Honor roll all through high school, and next year he’s going to college. He hasn’t decided where, yet, but he can take his pick. He’s got the brains, and I can afford it.”

“Do you make that much money, doing what you do?” The question was impolite, Lisa knew, but she couldn’t help it. It just popped out. As a profession, soldiering had never struck her as being particularly well paid.

“I make enough. Sometimes more than others. But I’ve made some investments over the years that have paid off, and with the money from this job as a nest egg, I can afford to send Jay through college, wherever he wants to go, with enough left over to do something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

“And that is?”

Sam shrugged. His grin was lopsided, as if he was embarrassed to admit to something as human as having a lifelong dream.

“Buy a ranch. Oh, not outright, but I have enough to make a good-sized down payment and stock it with cattle. Jay and I have it all picked out. It’s called the Circle C, in Montana.”

“It sounds wonderful.” Lisa was thinking that it did indeed sound wonderful. And it occurred to her, with heart-shaking knowledge, that she would give a lot for the privilege of sharing that ranch with Sam and his son. Which was ridiculous, she knew, but . . .

Sam leaned back against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He grimaced, twitching his injured shoulder. Lisa was beside him at once, their discussion forgotten for the moment.

“Are you in pain?” she asked anxiously, scanning his face for signs of suffering.

He grinned. “To tell the truth, the damned thing itches. I don’t suppose you can do anything about that, can you? Because . . .” His voice trailed off as Lisa inserted a hand beneath his shirt, which was stiff from the rainwater she had washed it in but at least was reasonably clean. Careful not to jar the healing wound, she began very delicately to scratch the skin around the edges of the bandage. He arched his back under her ministrations, his eyes closed. Lisa thought that he looked for all the world like a big, battle-scarred, hardened tom cat getting his first taste of loving care.

“Don’t stop,” he begged when she withdrew her hand at last.

“I don’t want to spoil you,” she answered pertly, giving his bristly cheek a consoling pat. He caught her hand, pressing it down against the sandpaper flesh of his jaw.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he assured her. “You can spoil me anytime.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting? You’re supposed to be recouping your strength. After all, when the rain stops, we’ll have to start walking again.” She looked at him severely as she spoke.

“Uh-uh. You’re not getting out of it that easy. You made me tell you all my deep, dark secrets. Now I want to hear yours. You can start by telling me about what’s-his-name—Jeff.” Sam was surprised at the acerbity of his own voice as he said her husband’s name.

Lisa shrugged, then moved so that she leaned on the wall next to him. He caught her hand again; her fingers curled warmly around his. Their linked hands rested lightly on the reed-covered dirt between them.

“There’s not much to tell. We’ve been married six years, but we were only really happy the first one. At least, I was. I don’t think Jeff was, even then. Like your Beth, he had other interests.” Lisa forbore to describe the exact nature of the “other interests.” It could make no possible difference to Sam what sex Jeff’s lovers were, and she still owed a measure of loyalty to Jeff.

“Why did you marry him?”

“Because he was perfect—the perfect Prince Charming that every girl dreams about. He was handsome and well educated and rich—and he was willing to live close to my grandfather. That was very important, at the time. I didn’t ever want to live too far away from Amos.”

“You call your grandfather Amos? I thought his name was Herman.”

Lisa smiled whimsically. “Herman’s a family name. I almost got stuck with it myself, as my middle name, instead of Ruth. Amos is my grandfather’s first name. And he hates it. That’s why I call him that. I’m one of the few people he lets get away with it.”

“Brat,” Sam remarked without rancor.

Lisa nodded. “Yes, that’s true. Or at least it was. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Well, go on. What happened with you and—Jeff?” For the life of him, he couldn’t control the sneer that came through on that name. It was such an upright, respectable name, to go with an upright, respectable, perfect guy, if Lisa’s description was accurate.