Books by Maggie Shayne (37 page)

“I realize you’re concerned about her,” he said, knowing full well it wasn’t nearly enough. “I am, too. I only want her safe and happy.”

“She hasn’t been happy in a long time, young man. Sometimes…” Ira shook his head and looked away.

“Go on, please.”

He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever be happy again.”

Ren nodded. He would have liked to tell the man not to worry, that he’d see to Annie’s happiness if it killed him. But it was a promise he’d never be able to keep. Hell, if anything, he was only going to make her more miserable than she’d already been.

Ira turned away and fastened the saddlebag on the back of the horse he’d chosen for Ren. Ren had taken it upon himself to prepare Annie’s mount, a gentle dapple mare. He knew horses, and he was taking no chances on loose cinches or spirited mounts.

“All set?” Ira asked him.

Ren nodded. “Shall we go get Annie, then?”

Ira inclined his head, and the two men walked toward the house. Inside, on the window-lined porch, Ren waited while Ira went on into the house where Annie and her mother were chatting. He would have gone, too, but the sight of the frail woman, sleeping now, in the chair by the window struck him into silent, motionless wonder.

There was an odd lump in his throat when he looked at her. She was his mother. She’d given birth to him, raised him, loved him, and mourned him. And somehow she knew he was near.

Quietly he moved close to her, bent low, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

She patted his face with a wrinkled hand, and a soft smile touched her like a ray of sunlight before she settled into sleep once more.

“I hope your doctor was sure about this, Annie. We can still change our minds, go somewhere else. It’s not too late.”

Ren made the suggestion as they stood beside the horses, beneath the golden sun. But by then Annie had begun to look forward to the trip. She could use some time to regroup, and the rustic woodsy setting at Mystic Lake might help her get calm and centered. She wasn’t changing her mind now, and she wondered for a moment why Ren was having second thoughts.

Probably he was just realizing he’d be all alone with her up there. Really isolated, and what if she told him she wanted him then? Was that what he was afraid of? As if he couldn’t fight her off.

She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t try. It was going to be tough to work up the nerve to seduce her husband, to make him want her again. Especially when he’d made it clear he couldn’t work up enough interest to want her back. At least she’d thought so when he’d bounded out of bed in such a hurry this morning, injured side and all.

But then he’d kissed her in the car.

Oh, hell, the man was confusing. He hadn’t said he
didn’t
desire her. He’d said he
couldn’t.
And she’d give an awful lot to know for sure whether that was something that could be overcome.

He was frowning, coming to stand nearer her, his palms sliding protectively over her belly. Damn him and his conflicting signals. He’d drive her nuts. .

“Annie, I didn’t realize we’d be so completely cut off. I wanted seclusion but not total isolation. What it something happens?“

“Ren, there’s a CB radio at the cabin,” Ira told him. He stroked the Appaloosa stallion’s sleek neck. “You’ll be able to contact us at any time. And don’t you hesitate to do it if you have to. That’s our little girl you’re taking up there.”

“We could have her in a hospital within thirty minutes of your call, Ren,” Georgette informed him. “Guarantee it. By chopper if necessary. There’s a clearing just big enough to land one.”

“See?” Annie told him. “No problem.”

Ren shook his head, jaw set. “The horses are still a problem. Your mother was probably right about that. I don’t think you ought to be riding just now, Annie.”

Annie gaped in amazement. She’d never heard him say her mother was right about anything in her life! She almost said so, but that would have seemed odd to her parents. As far as they were concerned, she hadn’t known Ren all that long.

Only all our lives, she thought sadly.

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m not going to gallop, and the doctor says I can do anything I would normally do, as long as I’m careful. Horses are fine, at a nice, gentle walk. And you don’t have a medical degree, so stop arguing about it.”

Ken frowned. “Doctors have been known to be wrong.”

“So have you, a time or two.” She bit her lip and looked away. She’d also asked the doctor about sex. She felt incredibly self-conscious about that now. Ridiculous of her to be thinking about sex in her condition, even if the doctor
had
assured her that it would be perfectly all right. Same terms as the horse. Slow and gentle.

“You didn’t tell him where we were going, did you, Annie?”

She snapped herself alert and shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m not stupid. I just asked if it would hurt me to ride a horse for a short distance.”

Ren nodded but still looked uncomfortable. “And you’re sure he said it would be all right?”

“Yes, Ren.” But he was still looking skeptical, and she read his thoughts as easily as if they were written in ink across his forehead. Suppose her doctor was this Blackheart character, and suppose he told her it was okay only because he knew it wasn’t?

“I’ve known Dr. Finnes for years, Ren. And besides, all my prenatal care books say basically the same thing.”

At last his furrowed brow cleared, and he nodded. No more excuses, Annie thought.

Soon he'd be stuck with her, alone in that cabin. Poor guy must be terrified of what would happen then. She almost smiled. Then she nearly laughed at the irony of it. Eight months pregnant and thinking like a seductress. It was almost absurd.

Ren took Annie in his arms and lifted her right off her feet. He gently planted her in the saddle, still looking worried, and bent to adjust the stirrups for her.

She wanted to protest, and realized she was a little bit angry with him for no reasonable cause. Except that he didn’t want her anymore. Didn’t love her anymore. Didn’t even remember their lives together. But she shouldn’t be angry. None of those things were his fault.

“I like the other horse,” she said with a frown.

“This one is the gentler of the two.”

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Since when was
he
an expert on horses, anyway?

“It’s in the eyes,” he told her. “And the other one’s eyes are filled with mischief.” He mounted his ghost-colored stallion, moved it up beside her mare, and took her reins in his hands. With a click of his tongue, they moved off onto the trail that twisted through the trees.

Ren held tightly to the reins of the horse beside his, largely ignoring his own. He guided his mount with a squeeze of his thighs and a nudge of one heel or the other, or of a knee. And the horse responded as if by instinct, slowly picking his way along the trail, taking his time.

Annie’s mount, too, seemed to know what Ren wanted from her. The mare snorted her impatience but kept to the plodding pace Ren had set. Annie, on the other hand, was anything but calm. She seemed excited and eager to pick up the pace. Every time he quelled her mare’s tendency to go faster, she shot him a playful glare.

“Watch yourself,” he warned, pointing out a low-hanging pine bough on her side of the trail.

She didn’t duck. Instead she shoved the needled bough aside impatiently. “Give me the reins, Ren. I have ridden before, you know.”

“Not very…” He bit his lip before he could finish the thought. He’d been about to say “not very well.” Because the sight of her sitting so rigidly on that mare had given him another flash of memory. Of her falling from a similar horse, landing irreverently on her backside, and being furious with him for laughing.

He hadn’t laughed at first, he recalled. At first his heart had tripped to a stop, and he’d raced toward her, terrified she might be hurt.

But she’d been fine. Just angry. And he’d laughed at her expression and made her angrier. It was all he could do not to laugh now at the memory.

“Not very what?” There was a speculative gleam in her eyes.

“Not very relevant,” he told her quickly. Maybe too quickly, judging by her frown. “Whether you’ve ridden before or not, it’s not the same as now. Your center of gravity is different, and you have to be a hundred times more careful. That’s all.”

Her green eyes narrowed. She studied him until he almost squirmed in the saddle, and when he dared return her gaze, she tossed her fiery hair in a way that sent heat sizzling right to his toes. What man had ever believed a pregnant woman was not sexy? Not him. Not looking at her. She was regal and beautiful and strong and fragile all at the same time. She was desirable enough to make even a White Knight hunger for her.

He smiled at her. It was good to see her this way, haughty and confident. Much more like the woman he’d known so long ago. Maybe it was this change in her that was urging more and more memories to the surface of his mind. She was more like the woman he’d dreamed about last night. The depressed, haunted, teary female he’d found on his return hadn’t been Annie. Not really. She’d been just a shell of her. Hollowed out, empty inside.
This
was Annie, filled with righteous indignation over his coddling.

God, but it was good to see her coming back to life. But would that life leave her when he did? Would she sink again into depression and despair? It wounded him to think that might be possible, but he was too realistic to discount it. She’d have the child: someone to love, to share her life with. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe the baby would keep her alive.

“There’s a fork in the trail up ahead, as I recall,” she told him. “Go left. Last time, we took the wrong way, and ended up…”

Ren’s head came up, but hers lowered. He saw the blush creeping into her cheeks, and the way she tried to hide it. He didn’t need to ask her to finish the sentence. He could guess what they’d ended up doing, if not where. It amazed him how many of the random memories he’d been discovering were of her. Of touching her, kissing her. Seems he’d had an obsession with making love to his wife, once upon a time. Not that it surprised him. He was rapidly reacquainting himself with the feeling. Even more so now, watching her sitting atop that mare so proudly and confidently. Watching the play of the sunlight that filtered down through the branches as it splashed random patches of color on her hair, her face. Watching the way she turned her head slightly in the direction of every bird’s lusty song and seemed to absorb the music.

He nudged the horse left and kept hold of Annie’s reins despite her objections. They rode in silence, until they came to a deep gully, its steep sides raw, unstable dirt and stone, its bottom far below. Ren halted the horses at the bridge that spanned the gaping chasm. He questioned its safety with no more than a look, a raised eyebrow.

“It’s safe,” Annie told him. “My father wouldn’t have let me come up here unless it was.”

“Are you sure? Annie, that’s quite a drop. If it should give—”

“It won’t.”

Ren frowned at her, then glanced at the bridge again. “Stay here. I’ll go over first, just to be sure. If it holds the two of us”—he patted his mount’s neck—“then it will certainly hold you and the mare.”

“Will you quit playing knight to my damsel in distress? I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Old habits,” he said. “Hard to break, you know.”

“I wish.”

He frowned at her, half afraid he understood that remark. She continued to protest, but he went ahead anyway. He refused to take unnecessary chances with his wife and his child.

God, when had he begun thinking of them in those terms? Ren sighed as he crossed the bridge, wondering just how thoroughly his feelings had already damned him.

The cabin was just the way she remembered it, the dark, ancient-looking logs standing solid and strong. It was like a symbol of continuity—one thing that would never change in an ever-changing world. The full front porch seemed to Annie like an open-armed welcome. She wanted to run to it. She wanted to fling her arms around the cabin, hold it like a lost friend, and cry with it because they couldn’t go back to those good old times. But instead she just sat astride a dusty Appaloosa mare and stared at it and tried not to cry. She hadn’t been back here since Richard had died. She hadn’t been able to face their haven without him. She’d vowed long ago never to come back here again because she’d sensed the painful memories would be too much.

Maybe they would be.

The windows met her eyes, and they understood. The surrounding pines whispered their sympathies along with their welcome, and the breeze that was their voice caressed her face and carried their scent. They knew as well. Everything had changed all around them, but here, they seemed to tell her, here everything was the same. It would be all right… here.

She smelled the water, heard it lapping at the dock. And she wanted to see it first, before anything else. She gripped the pommel, swung her leg up in front of her, and then slid down to the ground.

“Annie!”

“What?” She looked up fast at his exclamation.

Ren shook his head and sighed his frustration at her. “Be more careful, okay?”

He’d softened his tone. It was an effort, she could tell. Hell, did he think she was too helpless even to get down off the horse on her own? She ignored him and loosened her pack from the mare. As she did, Ren climbed down and did the same. She was only mildly irritated when he took both packs, his and hers, in one hand and led his horse up to the cabin with the other. She was left with little recourse but to follow.

Ren tossed the packs onto the porch and turned to look around. He spotted the fenced clearing and the small but sturdy shed at its center. Then he faced her again. “I’ll take care of the horses. Why don’t you go on inside and rest for a few minutes?”

She sighed through her teeth and snatched the mare’s reins away from him. “For God’s sake, Ren, I’m pregnant, not comatose. Gimme a break.” Then she stomped off toward the corral, leading the mare at her side. She only glimpsed Ren’s puzzled expression briefly before she put him firmly behind her. She led the mare through the open gate, loosened the cinch, and tugged off the saddle.

And he was right behind her, impatiently taking the saddle from her hands.

She sighed and looked up at him. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know that?” Then she bit her lip and averted her eyes because he had seemed startled by her words. “I mean, I’m not an invalid. I wasn’t before, and I’m not now. Pregnant or otherwise.”

“Did I say you were?”

He was all wide-eyed innocence, and she felt a prick of conscience at being so impatient with him. He’d always tended to coddle her. It wasn’t the patronizing attitude that was irritating her. Being treated as helpless drove her wild, and always had, but not when it had come from Richard. His tender care had always gone hand in hand with his incredible love for her, and she’d cherished it. So it wasn’t the care that was bothering her. It was that the love no longer came with it. And that he kept doing tiny little things to make her want that love back so much, she ached with it. The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way his voice went soft when he spoke to her, so much like it had before.

She had to look at the ground because there was a bit of that sparkle in his eyes right now. The one he used to get just before he’d sweep her up into his arms and carry her off to bed— or to the nearest possible alternative. She relaxed her grip on the saddle and tried to still the flutter of awareness in her belly.

“There’s a place for the saddles in the shed,” she said, wondering if she sounded as nervous as she felt. “And some brushes to rub the horses down.”

“I’ll get them.”

He walked away, a saddle over each shoulder. She checked to be sure he’d closed the gate. He had, of course. Then she took the bridles from the horses and gave the mare a pat on the nose. Ren returned and patiently began brushing the stallion. He hadn’t bothered bringing a brush for her. So she stood there watching him.

“When did you learn so much about horses? You used to avoid them like the plague.”

He glanced up at her, smiling. “Had to learn,“ he said. ”Sometimes I’m sent to eras where they’re the only mode of transportation.“

“That must be something.” She shook her head and sighed. “Sounds like every man’s fantasy.”

“Not even close,” he muttered. And the way he said it…

Annie licked her lips and her stomach flip-flopped.

“You groom like a pro.”

He smiled, his hands running slowly over the animal’s sweat-dampened coat. And in a few minutes she was mesmerized by watching them. “You always did have great hands,” she muttered. And by then she was running hot and cold remembering the kind of magic they’d once worked on her.

As if aware of her every thought, he stopped rubbing, straightened, and turned toward her. His gaze met hers, and she felt a current run between them. For a second she felt stripped bare, as if he could see everything going on inside her mind, and her heart, and even into the depths of her soul.

The feeling shook her to the bone, and she tore her gaze free. Was she imagining the flare of desire in his eyes? Or could it be real?

Before she could decide, he banked it and turned back to the horse as if escaping. With a sigh of frustration, Annie snatched up the blankets and bridles, and took them into the shed.

It was cool in there. Cool and dim and smelling of the hay that was stored overhead. Annie hung the bridles up, leaned back against a rough wood wall, and closed her eyes. This wasn’t good. Initially she’d felt only emotions. Pain when she’d first seen him and he’d claimed he wasn’t Richard. Then joy at learning he really was, and more pain that she’d lose him again.

Now, though, something else was slowly overwhelming her. And she supposed it was only natural that it would. She really should have expected it. She and Richard had always had an explosive passion for one another. Why would she think it would be any different now? She’d never stopped wanting him, craving his touch in the night. That hadn’t changed.

It should have, of course. It was entirely different now. She wanted him more every time she looked at him. Unfortunately he didn’t feel the same way.

Or did he?

Annie cleared her throat and straightened away from the wall. She’d better get back out there or he’d be wondering if she’d tripped and fallen.

When she emerged into the sunlight again, he was already working on the mare. It seemed she wasn’t needed, so she went right past him, out through the gate and toward the back of the cabin.

“Where are you going?” He released the mare, and she trotted a few steps before finding a succulent patch of clover on which to nibble.

Annie didn’t alter her pace. “Just out back,” she called over her shoulder. “I want to see the lake.” And then she was out of his field of vision. Heading over the well-worn path that wound its way through thin, scraggly grass, down a wildflower-dotted slope. At the bottom the lake spread out, still and shimmery as fine blue crystal in the sunlight.

Annie stopped for a second on the shore and just looked at the water. Placid, calm, soothing. God, she’d needed this. She just wanted to absorb the feeling of peace into her troubled soul. The sun glinted off the water’s surface, twinkling playfully on her face. She smiled at the light and hurried out onto the dock that reached into the water like a broad, curious finger. Still stained dark brown like the cabin. Still in good shape. Solid. Unchanging. She took off her shoes, rolled up the legs of her pants, and sat on the edge, dangling her feet in the water. Cool, wet, energizing.

Last time they’d been here, she’d put on a skimpy bikini and Richard hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. And then she’d taken it off, and he…

Annie sighed and frowned down at the stretchy material sewn into the front of the pants she wore. Nothing sexy about them. Nothing she could do about it. God, why couldn’t he have come back when she was in her normal shape? She’d have made him remember then. She’d have made him realize that he didn’t want to go chasing dragons with his armor and his magic sword. She’d have made him want her again.

Hell, she was going to make him want her again anyway. Because if she could restore those feelings in him, then maybe she could restore his memory, too. And if Richard remembered, he’d never want to leave her again. He’d fight with everything in him to stay. She knew he would.

He’d never seen anything more alluring in his life than Annie the way she was right at that moment. Sitting on the dock, leaning back on her hands, bare feet toying with the water. Her long auburn curls spilled crazily over her shoulders, halfway down her back. And when the slightest breeze stirred, her hair came alive, moving, dancing in the wind. Reveling in it the way Annie was reveling in the sunshine. And the sun seemed to be reveling in Annie, making her hair gleam, her eyes sparkle. Glittering on her skin, kissing it the way Ren wished he dared.

He stood there, undecided, halfway between the cabin and the lake. He’d been intending to go down there with her. He’d even started that way, wanting only to get closer to her. Maybe touch her.

But as he stood there watching her, he realized that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Not just now. No, he was in no condition to be near her. He was feeling too much—more than he could hide, maybe. He watched her for a moment, longing for her with everything in him. It was probably the only vow he hadn’t already broken, the one about not making love to a mortal woman. And he was getting perilously close to breaking even that one. Damning himself.

But God, if he had to leave her, he might as well be dead anyway. Maybe it would be worth the price. His life for a night in her arms. Yes. Yes, it would be worth the price he’d have to pay, he decided. And then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

Yes, it would be worth what it might cost him—but not worth what it would cost Annie. It would be a hundred times harder to watch him leave her again if she had a clue as to how he felt about her. It would have to be.

Grating his teeth against the regret that swamped him, Ren turned and walked to the cabin.

Maybe she just wanted to be alone. Maybe she needed some solitude to get her thoughts together. Maybe that was why she didn’t come inside for so long.

Ren had entered the cabin alone, noting the layout with approval. The bedroom on the first floor was a blessing. He couldn’t see Annie climbing the ladder to the one up in the loft. Too dangerous.

He set their bags down on the floor just inside the door, beneath the tent-shaped rain slicker that hung from a peg, and moved through to inspect the premises. The first-floor bedroom was through an open door to the left; the loft, right above it. The main room sported old, overstuffed, comfortable furniture and a huge fireplace on the facing wall. The kitchen was off to the left. Propane powered the range, he guessed, having spotted the tanks outside. But there was a refrigerator, and lights. He marveled at the effort and expense it must have taken to get power up here. And he admired Annie’s parents, and his mother, for having the sensitivity to use buried cable instead of stringing wire on poles and ruining the natural beauty of this place.

There was magic here. Ren could feel it all around him.

He glanced out a window. She was still there, on the dock. Hadn’t moved. God, she was beautiful.

Ren shook his head and made himself busy. There was plenty to do, and she’d be safe as long as he could see her. He’d distract himself. Figure out how to operate the CB radio on the little table. Unpack their belongings. Get their beds ready. Make sure there were locks on every door. Although mere locks, he thought with a shiver, would do little to keep Black-heart from getting inside.

He glanced out at Annie again. She was running both hands backward through that mass of auburn curls, lifting them from her shoulders, tilting her face up to the sun.

Yes, he’d get their beds ready. And his would be up in the loft. As far from hers as he could get. He’d sleep in the shed with the horses if not for the threat to Annie and the baby. But he had to remain close enough to protect her.

God help him have the strength to stay in the loft all night.

Hours later, he’d distracted himself all he was going to. And she still hadn’t come inside. He would have given a limb to know what he’d done to make her this angry with him. If, indeed, it was anger that was keeping her out there. Maybe it was hurt or sadness or shyness or…

Whatever it was, it was time she come inside. And if he had his way, it was time she stop being so damned stubborn and tell him what he’d done.

Ren strode down the slope to the dock, ready to insist on a full disclosure. “You can’t stay out here all night you know,” he informed her as he approached. “Now, Annie, I know something’s eating at you, so why don’t you just…” He frowned when he reached her, then crouched down beside her. “Annie?”

Her still, relaxed face didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t open. Like a careless mermaid sunning herself, she’d fallen asleep on the dock. Ren smiled to himself and reached out to push a lock of silken hair from her cheek. He’d imagined her out here fuming over some imagined slight all evening. But he thought she’d taken it a bit too far when the full moon had risen over the glistening water, and she still hadn’t returned. Instead, she’d simply gone to sleep.

She didn’t stir, exhausted, no doubt, from the turmoil of the past few days, the episode last night, the trip up here. God, he was pretty worn out, and he was a trained warrior. Maybe bringing her here had been a good idea after all. If she felt relaxed enough to go to sleep here by the water, she must be drawing some comfort from the place.

Ren looked around at the wide star-dotted sky and the tranquil water. How could she not take comfort here, in a place like this? It was little wonder they’d fallen in love when they’d met here, so long ago. And it was no wonder that love was powerful enough to survive, even now.