Unfinished Business (12 page)

“No, I told you I—”

He pressed firmly under her breastbone. She winced. “Still tender?”

“A little.”

He nodded. When he'd touched that spot two days before, she'd nearly gone through the roof. “You're coming along nicely. Another few days and you can even indulge in a burrito.”

“Why is it that everyone who comes in here is obsessed with what I eat?”

“Because you haven't been eating enough. Understandable, with an ulcer.”

“I don't have an ulcer.” But she was aching from his touch—for an entirely different reason. “And would you move?”

“Right after you pay your bill.” Before she could object or respond, he pressed his lips to hers, firmly, possessively. Murmuring her name, he took her deeper, until she was clinging to him for balance. The floor seemed to drop away from her feet so that he, and only he, was touching her. His thighs against hers, his fingers knotted in her hair, his mouth, hungry and impatient, roaming her face.

She smelled of the morning, of the rain. He wondered what it would be like to love her in the gloomy light, her sigh whispering against his cheek. And he wondered how much longer he would have to wait.

He lifted his head, keeping his hands in her hair so that her face was tilted toward his. In the misty green of her eyes, he saw himself. Lost in her. Gently now, and with an infinite care that stilled her wildly beating heart, he touched his lips to hers again.

Her arms tightened around him, strengthening, even as every bone in her body seemed to melt. She tilted her head so that their lips met in perfect alignment, with equal demand.

“Vanessa—”

“Don't say anything, not yet.” She pressed her mouth to his throat and just held on. She knew she would have to think, but for now, for just a moment, she wanted only to feel.

His pulse throbbed, strong and fast, against her lips. His body was firm and solid. Gradually his hands relaxed their desperate grip and stroked through her hair. She became aware of the hiss and patter of rain, of the cool tiles under her bare feet, of the morning scents of coffee and cinnamon.

But the driving need would not abate, nor would the confusion and fear that blossomed inside her.

“I don't know what to do,” she said at length. “I haven't been able to think straight since I saw you again.”

Her murmured statement set off dozens of new fires. His hands moved up to her shoulders and gripped harder than he had meant them to. “I want you, Van. You want me. We're not teenagers anymore.”

She stepped back as far as his hands would allow. “It's not easy for me.”

“No.” He studied her as he struggled to examine his own emotions. “I'm not sure I'd want it to be. If you want promises—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don't want anything I can't give back.”

He'd been about to make them, hundreds of them. With an effort, he swallowed them all, reminding himself that he'd always moved too fast when it involved Vanessa. “What can you give back?”

“I don't know.” She lifted her hands to his and squeezed before she stepped away. “God, Brady, I feel as though I'm slipping in and out of the looking glass.”

“This isn't an illusion, Van.” It was a struggle to keep from reaching for her again. But he knew that what his father had told him was true. When you held too tight, what you wanted most slipped through your fingers. “This is just you and me.”

She studied him, the eyes so blue against the dark lashes, the damp, untidy hair, the stubborn set of his jaw, the impos
sibly romantic shape of his mouth. It was so easy to remember why she had loved him. And so easy to be afraid she still did.

“I won't pretend I don't want to be with you. At the same time, I want to run the other way, as fast as I can.” Her sigh was long and shaky. “And hope like hell you catch up with me. I realize my behavior's been erratic since I've come home, and a big part of that is because I never expected to find you here, or to have all these old feelings revived. And that's part of the problem. I don't know how much of what I feel for you is just an echo and how much is real.”

He found himself in the frustrating position of competing with himself. “We're different people now, Van.”

“Yes.” She looked at him, her eyes level and almost calm. “When I was sixteen, I would have gone anywhere with you, Brady. I imagined us together forever, a house, a family.”

“And now?” he said carefully.

“Now we both know things aren't that simple, or that easy. We're different people, Brady, with different lives, different dreams. I had problems before—we both did. I still have them.” She lifted her hands, let them fall. “I'm not sure it's wise to begin a relationship with you, a physical relationship, until I resolve them.”

“It's more than physical, Vanessa. It's always been more.”

She nodded, taking a moment to calm a fresh flood of emotion. “All the more reason to take it slowly. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, with my music. Having an affair will only make it that much more difficult for both of us when I leave.”

Panic. He tasted it. When she left again, it would break his heart. He wasn't sure that particular organ would survive a second time. “If you're asking me to turn off my feelings and walk away, I won't.” In one swift movement, he pulled her
against him again. The hell with what was right. “And neither will you.”

She felt the thrill race up her spine, those twin sprinters—excitement and alarm. The ghost of the boy she had known and loved was in his eyes, reckless, relentless. She'd never been able to resist him.

“I'm asking you to let me sort this through.” If he wanted to use anger, then she would match him blow for blow. “The decision's mine, Brady,” she said, jerking away. “I won't be pressured or threatened or seduced. Believe me, it's all been tried before.”

It was the wrong switch to pull. His eyes, already hot, turned to blue fire. “I'm not one of your smooth, well-mannered lovers, Van. I won't pressure or threaten or seduce. When the time comes, I'll just take.”

Challenged, she tossed her head back. “You won't take anything I don't give. No man does. Oh, I'd like to toss those smooth, well-mannered lovers in your face.” She gave him a shove as she walked past him to the stove. “Just to see you squirm. But I'll do better than that.” She whirled back, hair flying. “I'll tell you the truth. There haven't been any lovers. Because I haven't wanted there to be.” Insolent and mocking, she leaned against the stove. “And if I decide I don't want you, you'll just have to join the ranks of the disappointed.”

No one. There had been no one. Almost before he could absorb it, she was hurling her final insult. He bristled, took a step toward her, then managed to stop himself. If he touched her now, one of them would crawl. He didn't want it to be him. He stalked to the back door, and had wrenched it open before he got his temper under control enough to realize that his retreat was exactly what she'd wanted.

So he'd throw her a curve.

“How about going to the movies tonight?”

If he'd suggested a quick trip to the moon, she would have been no less surprised. “What?”

“The movies. Do you want to go to the movies?”

“Why?”

“Because I have a craving for popcorn,” he snapped. “Do you want to go or not?”

“I… Yes,” she heard herself say.

“Fine.” He slammed the door behind him.

 

Life was a puzzle, Vanessa decided. And she was having a hard time fitting the pieces together. For a week she'd been whirled into wedding and picnic plans. Coleslaw and potato salad, long-stemmed roses and photographers. She was dead sure it was a mistake to try to coordinate a town picnic with an intimate family wedding. It was like trying to juggle bowling balls and feathers.

As the final week passed, she was too busy and too confused to notice that she felt better than she had in years. There was the secret honeymoon, and Joanie's enthusiastic bubbling over every aspect of the upcoming nuptials. There were flowers to be ordered and arranged—and a hundred hamburger patties to make.

She went out with Brady almost every night. To the movies, to dinner. To a concert. He was such an easy and amusing companion that she began to wonder if she had dreamed the passion and anger in the gloomy kitchen.

But each night when he walked her to the door, each night when he kissed her breathless, she realized he was indeed giving her time to think things through. Just as he was making certain she had plenty to think about.

The night before the wedding, she stayed at home. But she
thought of him, even as she and Loretta and Joanie bustled around the kitchen putting last-minute touches on a mountain of food.

“I still think the guys should be here helping,” Joanie muttered as she slapped a hamburger patty between her hands.

“They'd just be in the way.” Loretta molded another hunk of meat into shape. “Besides, I'm too nervous to deal with Ham tonight.”

Joanie laughed. “You're doing fine. Dad's a basket case. When he came by the farm today, he asked me three times for a cup of coffee. He had one in his hand the whole time.”

Pleased, Loretta chuckled. “It's nice to know he's suffering, too.” She looked at the kitchen clock for the fifth time in five minutes. Eight o'clock, she thought. In fourteen hours she would be married. “I hope it doesn't rain.”

Vanessa, who'd been deemed an amateur, looked up from her task of arranging the patties in layers between waxed paper. “The forecast is sunny and high seventies.”

“Oh, yes.” Loretta managed a smile. “You told me that before, didn't you?”

“Only fifty or sixty times.”

Her brows knitted, Loretta looked out the window. “Of course, if it did rain, we could move the wedding indoors. It would be a shame to have the picnic spoiled, though. Ham enjoys it so.”

“It wouldn't dare rain,” Joanie stated, taking the forgotten patty from the bride-to-be's hands. Unable to resist, she tucked her tongue in her cheek. “It's too bad you had to postpone your honeymoon.”

“Oh, well.” With a shrug, Loretta went back to work. She didn't want to show her disappointment. “Ham just couldn't manage to clear his schedule. I'll have to get used to that sort
of thing, if I'm going to be a doctor's wife.” She pressed a hand to her nervous stomach. “Is that rain? Did I hear rain?”

“No,” Vanessa and Joanie said in unison.

With a weak laugh, Loretta washed her hands. “I must be hearing things. I've been so addled this past week. Just this morning I couldn't find my blue silk blouse—and I've misplaced the linen slacks I got on sale just last month. My new sandals, too, and my good black cocktail dress. I can't think where I might have put them.”

Vanessa shot Joanie a warning look before her friend could chuckle. “They'll turn up.”

“What? Oh, yes…yes, of course they will. Are you sure that's not rain?”

Exasperated, Vanessa put a hand on her hip. “Mom, for heaven's sake, it's not rain. There isn't going to be any rain. Go take a hot bath.” When Loretta's eyes filled, Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“You called me ‘Mom,'” Loretta said, her breath hitching. “I never thought you would again.” As tears overflowed, she rushed from the room.

“Damn it.” Vanessa leaned her hands on the counter. “I've been working overtime to keep the peace all week, and I blow it the night before the wedding.”

“You didn't blow anything.” Joanie put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed. “I'm not going to say it's none of my business, because we're friends, and tomorrow we'll be family. I've watched you and Loretta walk around each other ever since you got back. And I've seen the way she looks at you when your back is turned, or when you leave a room.”

“I don't know if I can give her what she wants.”

“You're wrong,” Joanie said quietly. “You can. In a lot of ways you already have. Why don't you go upstairs, make
sure she's all right? I'll give Brady a call and have him help me load most of this food up and take it down to Dad's.”

“All right.”

Vanessa went upstairs quietly, slowly, trying to work out the right things to say. But when she saw Loretta sitting on the bed, nothing seemed right.

“I'm sorry.” Loretta dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I guess I'm overly emotional tonight.”

“You're entitled.” Vanessa hesitated in the doorway. “Would you like to be alone?”

“No.” Loretta held out a hand. “Would you sit awhile?”

Unable to refuse, Vanessa crossed the room to sit beside her mother.

“For some reason,” Loretta began, “I've been thinking about what you were like as a baby. You were so pretty. I know all mothers say that, but you were. So bright and alert, and all that hair.” She reached out to touch the tips of Vanessa's hair. “Sometimes I would just sit and watch you as you slept. I couldn't believe you were mine. As long as I can remember, I wanted to have a home and children. Oh, I wanted to fill a house with children. It was my only ambition.” She looked down at the tissue she had shredded. “When I had you, it was the happiest day of my life. You'll understand that better when you have a baby of your own.”

“I know you loved me.” Vanessa chose her words carefully. “That's why the rest was so difficult. But I don't think this is the time for us to talk about it.”

“Maybe not.” Loretta wasn't sure it would ever be the time for a full explanation. One that might turn her daughter away again, just when she was beginning to open her heart. “I just want you to know that I understand you're trying to forgive, and to forgive without explanations. That means a great deal
to me.” She took a chance and gripped her daughter's hand. “I love you now even more than I did that first moment, when they put you into my arms. No matter where you go or what you do, I always will.”