With This Ring (32 page)

Sam's voice startled her:
Amy, this is Sam. I have to see you tonight. It's important. I have some news.

News? What news? Was he leaving for another assignment? Already? But he was still under a doctor's care. Her mind churned as she hastily dialed the magazine's number and asked for him.

"I got your message," she said a little breathlessly, because hearing his voice after not hearing it for a while always affected her this way.

"Can I come over now?"

He sounded funny. Tense, or maybe excited. It was hard to tell without seeing his face. Her stomach clenched. "Sure."

The thirty minutes she had to wait for him to arrive were agony. What was so important it couldn't wait? Had something happened?

When he arrived, some of her anxiety drained away, because he didn't look upset. His eyes were bright and his smile was the old Sam smile—the kind that made her heart turn over.

She listened, dazed, as he told her about the book. "Are . . . are you planning to take the offer?" she finally said.

"Yes."

But where did that leave her? Where did that leave them?

He took her hand, his voice filled with intensity as he tried to explain. "I know this is a shock to you. But Amy, this offer has clarified everything in my mind. It's shown me that I've been kidding myself . . . and you . . . for a long time."

She could do nothing but stare at him, while her heart beat too fast, and her entire being was filled with fear.

"I can't be the kind of man you want me to be. I wish I could, but I can't. I'm who I am, Amy, and even though I love you and want you, I can't make myself into someone different. I've resigned my position at
World of Nature,
" he continued. "I'm going to Minneapolis on Tuesday, to meet Cheryl—Cheryl Gerhardt—she'll be the collaborator on this project . . . do the actual writing, that is . . . then I'll come back here and make all the arrangements for my return to Nepal. Hopefully, I can head out before winter sets in, because I don't want to wait until spring. Then, when I'm finished in the village, I'll go back to Minneapolis and stay until the book is finished."

Amy felt stunned. She couldn't believe this. It was so ironic. Only two days ago she'd told Lark that Sam had changed. That he would never again let her down. That he had learned his lesson. That he was ready for marriage and all that it meant.

And now . . . he was showing her so plainly that nothing had changed. Sam would always be off chasing rainbows. Leaving her behind to cope and wait. She would never be first in his life.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

"You could come with me, Amy."

"Come with you?" she said dully.

"Yes," he said eagerly. "I know it's not what we planned, but it could still be a good life. Who knows? You might even find you like it."

"Sam . . . I-I have a job. A contract. I can't just walk out in the middle of the term. And . . . how would we live? Wh-what about my things?" She looked around, her gaze settling on Delilah, who was delicately giving herself a bath. "What about my cats? What about . . . having a home and . . . children?"

The eagerness slowly faded from his eyes. "Of course, you're right." His smile was self-deprecating, his voice gentle. "I knew it was a long shot, but hell, can't blame a guy for trying." He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry for the way I've hurt you. I never meant to. And you're right, I know you are. Justin's better for you than I am. He can give you all the things I can't. He'll make you a good husband."

And then, he took her in his arms and kissed her good-bye, holding her close for long moments before whispering, "Be happy, Amy."

Five minutes later, he was gone.

* * *

Justin had done nothing but think for two days. And he'd finally faced what he had known ever since Sam's return.

Amy didn't love him the way she loved Sam.

And Justin wanted that kind of love. He wasn't willing to settle for less.

She would get over this. She would get over him.

After all, hadn't she gotten over a lot worse?

She tried to pretend the heaviness of her heart and the aching emptiness of her body did not exist.

* * *

Friday night was the worst night of Sam's life. Worse even than those first nights after his accident. Then what he'd felt was physical pain. This pain was infinitely worse. Amy.

It hurt to think of her, hurt to remember the stunned look on her face, the disappointment and betrayal in her eyes.

He told himself he'd done the only thing he could do. By releasing her, he'd ensured her future happiness. He told himself he would get over her. He told himself he had lived most of his life depending on no one, and he could do so again. Nothing helped.

At three o'clock, knowing he would not sleep this night, he got up, dressed in his running clothes, and headed for the hotel's exercise room, which was open twenty-four hours a day. He would wear himself out. And if that didn't work, he'd find an all-night bar.

* * *

Amy lay awake most of the night. She told herself Sam's decision to take the book deal and leave her should have made everything easier for her. Now, as he'd said, she could marry Justin and live happily ever after.

At four o'clock, knowing she would not get any sleep, she got up and walked out to the living room. Shivering a little—she hadn't bothered putting on her robe—she reached for the afghan folded over the arm of the rocking chair and wrapped it around herself. Then she headed for her storage cupboard. Minutes later, the half-finished portrait of Sam that she'd banished so long ago, was once more sitting on her easel. Moonlight spilled over the likeness, giving his face an ephemeral quality.

She stared at the portrait for a long time. And as the first blush of dawn tinted the eastern sky, the final truth settled around her with absolute certainty.

She could not marry Justin. It wasn't fair to him, because she didn't love him the way she should. And she never would.

* * *

When Amy called Saturday morning, Justin said, "I was just going to call you."

"Would you like to come over?"

He tried to determine what she was feeling by the tone of her voice, but it told him nothing. He wondered if Sam had told her about the book deal yet. He guessed he'd find out soon enough.

Later, as he drove to Amy's, he felt calmer and more resigned than he'd felt in weeks.

His resolve teetered only slightly when she opened the door to his knock. The impact of seeing her after a week of being away from her was almost his undoing. But he reminded himself of everything he'd been thinking, and within moments, he'd regained control of his emotions.

"I've got fresh coffee. Do you want some?" she said.

He shook his head. He just wanted to get this over with and get out of there.

He followed her into the room. She sat on one end of the couch, but Justin was too edgy to sit. Instead, he walked to the bar and propped one elbow on it.

She bit her bottom lip.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Justin plunged in. "I've been thinking," he said, carefully keeping his voice as free of emotion as possible. He took a deep breath. "And I think you should marry Sam."

Her eyes widened.

"Because he's the one you're in love with," he rushed on. "You've always been in love with him. I just haven't wanted to face it."

"Justin—"

"No, wait, let me finish. I don't want you to feel bad about this. I know this isn't your fault. You can't help how you feel. And I thought I didn't care. I thought I'd take you any way I could get you, but I've discovered something about myself in the past couple of days, Amy. I'm not willing to settle. I want the kind of love you and Sam have. Nothing less is acceptable."

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Amy felt stunned. She knew it was unworthy of her, but she also felt ridiculously hurt. She'd gone from being a woman two men professed to want to a woman neither man seemed to want. Then she immediately felt ashamed of herself. She should be grateful to Justin. He was making everything so easy for her.

"Some woman is going to feel awfully lucky one of these days," she said softly. "Because she'll be getting one of the greatest guys I know." She slowly removed the diamond ring.

Amazingly, Justin felt no pain as he took the ring and they said their good-byes.

That, he knew, would come later.

* * *

Lark was just getting out of the shower on Saturday afternoon when her doorbell rang.

"Damn you, whoever you are, this better be important," she muttered, grabbing her terry cloth robe. "Or else you're gonna be
dead meat!
"

Charging to the front door, she peered through the peephole. Her heart leaped. Justin! She fumbled with the safety chain, unlocked the dead bolt, and threw the door open. "Hi," she said.

His smile didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Hi."

So Amy had finally lowered the boom. "C'mon in. What brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing much. My life just went down the toilet, that's all." Then he laughed wryly.

"Sounds to me like you need a beer."

"Is beer your solution to everything?"

"You got a better one?"

He laughed again, and this time it had a more genuine ring to it. "I see your point. Sure. I'll have a beer."

Ten minutes later, she'd combed her hair, thrown on jeans and a shirt, and she was sitting across from him at her miniscule kitchen table. "Okay, spill it," she said. "Why has your life gone down the toilet?"

He grimaced. "The wedding's off. Amy and I aren't getting married."

His matter-of-fact reaction, the acceptance she saw in his face, in his eyes, in his entire body, surprised her. "For someone who said his life had just gone down the toilet, you don't seem as miserable as I would have thought you'd be," she said carefully.

He nodded, even smiled. "I know. But see, I'd already decided it was never going to work. In fact, I told Amy so. And you know what?"

"What?"

"It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

"So you didn't come here to cry on my shoulder?" Lark said it lightly and tried to ignore the tiny seedling of hope that wanted to sprout.

His eyes met hers. God, she loved his eyes. A woman could drown in those eyes.

"I don't know why I came here," he said slowly, "I only know you are the person I wanted to see. Do you mind?"

Her smile bloomed slowly, just like the seedling. "No. I don't mind. I don't mind at all."

* * *

Late Saturday afternoon, Amy walked over to her parents' house. Her mother wasn't home, but she found her father in his study.

"Hi, sunshine," he said, looking up from his book. Then he frowned. "Is something wrong?"

She tried to smile, but it wasn't easy. "Justin and I have broken our engagement."

He nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "Does that mean you're going to marry Sam, then?"

"No."

"No?"

Slowly, she told him everything. About Sam's visit. About the book deal. About her decision regarding Justin. And then how Justin had beaten her to the punch.

Alan listened quietly. When she was finished, he said, "Amy, do you love Sam?"

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she said, "Yes."

"Then why aren't you going with him?"

"But Dad, can't you see? Mother . . . everyone was right. Sam will never change."

Her father was silent for a long time. And then he said the words that changed her life. "If the way Sam is is so bad," he said, "then why did you fall in love with him in the first place?"

Amy's heart beat in slow thuds as her father's question reverberated in the air. "Oh, God," she whispered. "I'm so stupid."

Her father smiled. "No, you're not."

"Yes! Yes, I am!" Amy jumped up, her head whirling. "You're absolutely right! All the things I love most about Sam are all the things I wanted to change. I-I probably wouldn't even
like
him if he were different. Why, all those reasons I gave him for not being able to marry him . . . none of them are really important, are they?"

"I don't know if they are or not," her father said. "Those are things you two need to work out. But I do know one thing. The only safe place to be is with the person you love. Everything else is just window dressing."

* * *

"I'm here to see Sam Robbins," Amy told the desk clerk.

"Name?" said the bored-looking man.

"Amy Carpenter."

She listened as the clerk rang Sam's room. "Sorry," he said, replacing the receiver. "There's no answer there."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you." Disappointment rose like bile in her throat.

"Did you want to leave a message?"

Amy was still thinking about her answer when, from the arched restaurant entrance across the lobby, Sam, hardly limping at all, emerged.

Her heart skyrocketed. He looked freshly showered and shaved. His hair was neatly combed, his eyes questioning, his smile cautious as he walked slowly toward her.

"Amy?" he said when he reached her side.

"Hi." She felt suddenly uncertain. Did he still want her?

"What are you doing here? Has . . . " He lowered his voice, taking her arm and moving her out of earshot of the obviously-interested clerk. "Has something happened?"

She smiled up at him, heart in her eyes. "Yes. Something's happened. I-I've finally come to my senses. I was wrong. I love you, Sam, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you . . . wherever that life takes us." She took a deep breath. "Do . . . do you still want me?"

"Still want you!" he shouted, forgetting about the clerk, forgetting about the other people in the lobby, forgetting about everything except the miracle of Amy's presence. Laughing, he swung her up in his arms.

She laughed, too, heart soaring.

He kissed her then, a thousand-watt kiss filled with love and hope and happiness and the promise of all things magical. Neither one of them cared that there were dozens of people looking at them.