Touching Stars (46 page)

He seemed so familiar, so much a part of who she once had been. It was too tempting to fall back into that place and time. Even as she said the next words, she didn’t know if she meant them.

“Maybe you’d better go.”

“Is that what you really want?”

She couldn’t lie. She
did
want to be with the only person in the world who felt what she did tonight. And yes, memories of making love with Eric were surfacing so rapidly that she knew they couldn’t have been deeply buried. She had loved him once. She had loved having him touch her. She had found comfort and delight in his body, and she needed both tonight.

She looked away and tried to steel her defenses. “This isn’t a good idea.”

He turned her face back to his. “It’s not an idea. It’s a feeling. I want you. You want me. We’re adults.”

“With a complicated…past.”

“Gayle, there’s nothing all that complicated about what we’re feeling.”

Tears filled her eyes again, but she touched his lips as if to silence them. “Oh, Eric, I just can’t bear any more pain.”

He kissed her fingers, and when she withdrew them, he spoke. “Then let me give you pleasure.”

“We’re going to regret this.”

He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, and neither do you. Haven’t we both been alone too long, Gayle?”

This time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t affectionate. She silenced the warning voice that had insisted she send him away. She let him persuade her to forget the problems that were still between them and the ways they would now be harder to solve.

She forgot everything except the need to bury her sorrows in the same act that had given her three precious sons. And she hoped that when logic and sanity returned, she would not be more sorrowful still.

G
ayle was still sleeping when Eric left the carriage house. They had fallen asleep together in her flower bower of a bedroom. Yesterday morning, when he and the boys had delivered her birthday breakfast tray, he had been surprised to see how unrelentingly female the bedroom was, how devoted to preserving her essential femininity. Strip away the efficient innkeeper, the devoted and patient mother, the logical church deacon, and there dwelled a woman whose soul was clothed in lace and draped in pearls.

He and Gayle had never shared that room. He had left her before the renovations to the carriage house were finished, left her when only four bedrooms in the inn were completed and the kitchen stove was still on back order.

He remembered now that while they had struggled to get the plumbing updated and the cabinets hung, she had washed dishes in a bathtub and stored them in boxes in the dining room. Flinching, he remembered that Gayle had almost never complained, because seeing the inn come alive had meant so much to her. Every paint chip, every fabric and carpet sample, had been lovingly examined, and the potential had vibrated in her imagination. The long hours of physical labor, the mess, the constant demands of small children…none of it had been too much for her.

All of it had been too much for him.

And, sadly, all of it was too much for him again.

Dawn hadn’t even arrived, yet the reality of coming back to the Valley, of resuming a marriage he had abandoned and fitting himself into a small-scale life with simpler pleasures, was clawing its way to the surface. Since he had awakened beside her with all the pressures and possibilities, he had felt bloody and raw, as if with his last ounce of strength he had tried to squeeze himself into a space in which he didn’t belong. And he had not been successful.

The revelation had begun last night as he and Gayle, in sorrow, regret and loneliness, had given in to temptation and made love. As he had fallen deeper under the spell of his physical and emotional needs, he had shoved away his fears, telling himself they were simply reconsummating vows they had taken so long ago.

They were renewing commitments.

But even then, he hadn’t been fooled. Now he wondered if he had fooled her.

He had wanted their lovemaking to be the final evidence. He had tried to prove to both of them that he was finally capable of becoming the man and husband she needed. He had hoped that afterward, when they fell asleep in each other’s arms, he would be sure he loved her so much and in so many ways that whatever problems remained could be resolved.

Instead, this morning he knew for certain that the problems were larger than either of them, a separate presence in their relationship that was a shadow they could only escape if they moved in different directions.

Love, its quantity and quality, had little to do with this. And now, as before, the problems had nothing to do with sex. Their bodies were happy together. But their hearts and souls were another matter.

If two people could create a good marriage purely by wishing, then he and Gayle should have the best marriage in the world. But wishes and regrets were not the foundations of a relationship that would see them through the ends of their lives. Their sons would not be better off if he and Gayle chose to try marriage again, and neither of
them
would be happier, either.

Their marriage had ended when the divorce papers were signed, only neither of them had really let go, neither had really said goodbye. It was time to do both so they could move on, unfettered by hopes of resurrecting a marriage that should never have taken place.

But what if she saw things differently?

In the rush of feelings he’d experienced since waking, that was the one that haunted him most. What if Gayle awoke this morning convinced they had made a fresh start? Since coming back to Toms Brook, he had faced and tried to deal with his neglect of his sons. Last night he had tried to face and deal with his failed marriage. But what had he really accomplished? Hurt Gayle more? Hurt Gayle again?

If she wanted to give their marriage another try, could he be man enough not to back away?

Thunder clattered in the distance, and the dark skies matched his mood. Rain spattered against his umbrella, and through a deep mist he thought the river was rising below them. In the earliest light of morning, trees along the bank that were normally well above the water line seemed to grow straight out of the currents. And even from this distance, he could see that the Shenandoah was rushing swiftly northward.

He left the umbrella by the door and made it to the Lone Star room without encountering anyone. He stripped and got into the shower, turning himself over to the fine, hot spray for a recess from regrets. He and Gayle would have to talk, but he hoped he would have time to think of what to say and how to say it. In the meantime, he hoped the shower, and perhaps another hour of sleep, would prepare him to face whatever was to come.

Ten minutes later, he walked back into his room wearing nothing but a towel draped around his neck. Dillon was sitting on his bed.

“Dillon, what in the name of everything holy are you doing in here?” Eric whipped the towel around his waist and tucked it in at the side. His gaze flicked to the bed, and he remembered that before visiting Gayle last night, he had first tried to go to sleep here. The bed looked slept in.

“The river’s rising.” Clearly Dillon thought his father’s state of undress was of no particular interest.

Eric was relieved. Dillon seemed to have no idea that his mother had not been alone last night. Even in the midst of seduction, Gayle had probably realized that the boys would never find out, but Eric had hardly given it a thought. Now he was glad that, despite his carelessness, that particular secret was safe.

“I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve seen it that way.” Eric rummaged for a T-shirt and slipped the first one he came to over his head.

“Maybe, but not usually this high. It’s cool.”

“I imagine there are people living on lower ground who don’t find it too cool. Do you always walk into people’s bedrooms unannounced?”

“If I can get in.”

Eric had to laugh. He felt a surge of affection and veered in Dillon’s direction to tousle his hair. Then he took the rest of his clothes back into the bathroom and finished dressing.

Only when his shorts were halfway up his thighs did he think about the land immediately across the river. He zipped up and went back into the bedroom.

He dropped down beside his son and began to lace his shoes. “I wonder what’s going on at the dig.”

“I bet the river’s almost up to the edge.”

Eric thought about the metal object they hadn’t been able to uncover. With the kind of careful digging Travis required, another hour would have been needed to free it. But surely now they would not be expected to exercise that much care. If the river spilled into the hole, who knew what could be sucked away? For history’s sake, wouldn’t it be better to simply remove the box, then fill in what they could of the unit and hope that other precious artifacts weren’t lost forever if the river rose higher?

Adrenaline rushed through him, obliterating everything else. It was a familiar and welcome experience. “I’m going to call Mr. Allen.” Eric tied the final knot in his laces and stood. “I know it’s early, but I bet he’s up.”

“Nobody ever lets me use the phone this early.” Dillon got up and followed his father to the door. “I can’t wait to be a grown-up.”

Eric thought of the talk he needed to have with Gayle. “It’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah, well, nobody tells you what you have to do all the time.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why? By the time somebody’s as old as you, they ought to know everything.”

“Listen, champ, by the time somebody’s as old as me, he just realizes how much he still has to learn. Sorry to have to tell you.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to try so hard in school, since it just gets worse?”

Eric punched him lightly on the arm. “No, it means since you have so much to learn, you have to get busy earlier.”

“Noah has the right idea. I should have stayed in bed.”

Travis wasn’t home. Once Eric looked up his number in the inn’s office and made the call, the telephone rang and rang. Dillon lounged in the doorway, his eyes bright with interest. Eric could hear the clinking of utensils and the soft padding of footsteps from the kitchen area, but he hadn’t yet seen Gayle.

Eric hung up. “Either Mr. Allen is sleeping and doesn’t want to answer, or he’s already out at the site.”

“How are you going to find out?”

“I’m going out there.”

“Great, I’ll go with you.”

Eric put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “No. I’m sorry, but no.”

“How come?”

Eric wished he were better at this. “Because the river’s high, it’s rushing a lot faster than usual, and even though you swim better now and aren’t as afraid of the water, you’re still not good enough to take the risk.”

“But I saved Reese! You know I did! I jumped in and saved her.”

“I rest my case.”

“That’s not fair!”

“This has nothing to do with fair. It’s all about taking care of you, which I am obliged to do as your father. Even if I understand perfectly why you want to go.”

“You and Mom are ganging up on me. You sound just like her!”

Eric thought this might be one of those rare if unintended compliments a father received from his child. “Thank you.”

Dillon did an about-face and stormed off. Eric was just as glad he didn’t stay and argue, though if his son was going to his mother hoping for a reprieve, Eric knew Dillon was wasting his time.

He tried to think what he ought to take with him. He knew Travis had plenty of equipment, but it wouldn’t hurt to bring some of his own. He would stop by the toolshed and see what might be helpful. He would wear one of the rain jackets and caps hanging on the back porch, change out of sneakers into his hiking boots, maybe get a Thermos of coffee and something portable to eat on his way out to the car. He needed work gloves….

Suddenly he realized Gayle was standing in the doorway, pretty and sensible in dark pants and a lavender blouse covered by a striped chef’s apron with Daughter of the Stars stenciled on it. For a moment he felt like a car that had stalled in heavy traffic. He wanted to move on with his journey, but he was completely hemmed in. And terrified of what the next moments might bring.

Her eyes betrayed nothing. “You look like a man on a mission.”

He had to clear his throat, although there was nothing blocking speech except words he didn’t want to say. “I just tried to call Travis. He’s not home, so I’m guessing he’s at the dig.”

“I bet you’re planning to join him.”

He searched unsuccessfully for recriminations or regrets in her eyes, listened for them in her voice. She gave nothing away.

“I am.” He cocked his head. “Do you need me here instead? To entertain your parents, maybe, and keep Phyllis off your back?”

“I’ll do that on my own. I may actually get the knack of it.”

“Then you don’t need me?” He almost winced at his tone. Relief was a good part of it. Excitement at leaving the inn made up the rest.

“I don’t.” She looked as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it.

“What?”

She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Just that you look more like yourself than you have since you arrived. Your eyes are sparkling. You’re looking forward to this.”

She knew him so well. Sadly, she realized that if his eyes were sparkling, it was not because of last night but because of challenges he hadn’t yet faced.

He didn’t know what to say. She nodded. “I know, Eric. We’ll have to talk, but not now. You go and rescue what you can, and please take my truck. The keys are on a peg by the back door. But be careful. The boys need you, and you promised to renovate my garden shed. So don’t drown, okay?”

The boys need you. My garden shed. Eric wondered if he was reading too much meaning into the simple sentences, extracting it from an expression so carefully guarded that even a trained psychic couldn’t gather clues.

When he didn’t speak, she did.

“I don’t regret last night, and you shouldn’t, either.” Then she turned and vanished back into the kitchen.

He was left to wonder exactly what she meant.

In the truck fifteen minutes later, he no longer wondered. His focus was on getting to the dig. He had a backpack of supplies, shovels and picks in the truck, and enough hot coffee for himself and Travis. But the moment the low water bridge was in sight—or, rather,
wasn’t
in sight—he knew he had a problem.

The bridge had been transformed. Eric stopped in the middle of the road and turned off the engine, then got out and made his way to the beginning of the bridge. The concrete span was covered. Several inches of water rushed over it, carrying debris. Branches floated by, a tire, then what looked like rusted bed springs. He rolled down his socks, although the gesture was futile, and took a step onto the concrete. Water pushed against his shoe and pushed hard, but he had no trouble maintaining his balance. He took another step, then another, until both feet were on the span. He remained poised there, ready to leap to safety if he needed to, but his feet were firmly planted.