Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (22 page)

In the momentary stillness that followed, Brand allowed a small space to come between them. Her gaze met his penetrating one as he reached out and wiped the moisture from her pale cheek with his index finger. Her lips trembled, anticipating his kiss, and he didn’t disappoint her. His mouth captured hers. Warmth seeped into her cold blood at the urgent way in which his mouth rocked over hers.

“Brand.” She said his name in a tortured whisper, asking for his love. She needed him. Just for tonight she hungered for the feel of his arms around her, and she longed to wake with him at her side in the morning. Just for tonight, tomorrow, with all its problems, could be pushed aside.

Hugging her more tightly, Brand lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hall and into their bedroom. The springs of the bed made a squeaking sound as he lowered her onto the mattress.

Carly’s arms encircled his neck, directing his mouth to hers. She tasted his restraint the moment his mouth brushed past her lips.

“Brand,” she whispered, hurt and confused. “What’s wrong?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward. The shadow of a dejected figure played against the opposite wall. He looked broken, tired, and intolerably sad. Carly propped herself up on one elbow and ran her hand along the curve of his spine. “Brand.” She repeated her plea, not knowing what had prompted his actions. She was sure he desired her as much as she did him. Yet he’d called everything to an abrupt halt.

“Before we were married you suggested that we become lovers,” Brand began. “I told you then that I wanted more out of our relationship than a few stolen hours in bed.” His tone was heavy and tight. “I married you because I love you and need you emotionally, physically … every way that there is to need another person.” He hesitated and straightened slightly. Wiping a hand over his tired eyes, he turned so he could watch her as he spoke. “My home is here—
our
home, our bedroom. I’m asking you to share that with me as your lover, your friend, your confidant, your husband. Someday I want to feel our child growing inside you. I won’t accept just a small part of your life. I want it all. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is that I can’t continue living like this, praying every day you’ll see all the love that’s waiting for you right here. And worse, witnessing the battle going on inside you and knowing I’m losing. And when I lose, you lose. And Shawn and Sara lose.”

Carly fell back against the mattress and stared at the ceiling. “Brand, please,” she pleaded, in a soft, pain-filled voice. He couldn’t believe that she
wanted
to be like this. She’d give anything to change and be different.

“I’ll be your husband, Carly,” he said flatly, “when you can be my wife.”

Her heart cried out, but only a strangled sound came from her throat. Her emotions had been bared, and he’d known how desperately she’d needed him. There hadn’t been any pretense in her coming to him tonight. She’d wanted his love and he was sending her away.

By some miracle, Carly managed to stumble out of the bedroom and the house. She didn’t stop until she arrived back at the apartment. There were no more tears in her to cry as she paced the floor like a caged wild animal confined to the smallest of spaces. Mindless exhaustion claimed her in the early-morning hours, but even then she slept on the sofa rather than face the bedroom alone.

The following morning, Carly was able to avoid seeing Brand. Intuition told her that he was evading her as well.

At the end of what seemed like the longest day of her life, Carly drove to her apartment, parked the car, and, without going inside, decided to go for a walk. If she was able to exert herself physically, maybe she’d be tired enough to sleep tonight. With no set course in mind, she strode for what seemed miles. Her hands were buried deep in her pockets, her strides urgent. At every street she watched in amazement as long parades of boys and girls captured her attention. Never had she seen more children. It was the first week of June and the evenings were light. Young boys were riding their bikes. For a time a small band of bikers followed her, dashing in and out of the sidewalk along her chosen route. Ignoring them, Carly focused her attention directly ahead until her eyes found a group of young girls playing with cabbage-faced dolls in the front yard of a two-story white house.

Quickening her pace, she discovered that she was near the library. A good book would help her escape her problems. But once inside, Carly learned that the evening was one designated for the appearance of a prominent storyteller. The building was full of children Shawn’s and Sara’s ages. One glance inside and Carly hurried out. Her breath came in frantic gasps as she ran away.

For one insane moment Carly wanted to accuse Brand of planning the whole thing. She didn’t need to be told her thoughts were outrageous, but the realization didn’t help.

The remainder of the week passed in a blur. If she was staying away from Brand, then he had changed his strategy and was making every excuse to be near her.

“I don’t mind telling you,” George commented early Monday morning, “I’ve been worried about you and Brand. The air between you has seemed a mite thick lately.”

Carly ignored him, centering her attention on the Pacific Alaska Maritime docking schedule. “We should get the Wilkens account to Nome by Thursday.”

“I was worried,” George continued, undaunted, “but the way Brand watches you, I know what brought you two together is still alive and well.” He chuckled and rubbed the side of his unshaven cheek. “On his part, anyway.”

Carly’s fingers tightened around her pencil. “Have you looked over Primetime Gold’s claim for the last shipment? Apparently, the dredging parts were damaged.”

If George made one more comment on the way Brand was looking at her, Carly was sure the pencil would snap. Brand came into the office daily when he knew she’d be there. Often he poured himself coffee, looking for an excuse to linger and talk to her. He wasn’t exactly subtle
with what he had to say.

“Three more days” had been his comment this morning. He didn’t need to elaborate. Shawn and Sara would be arriving on Thursday.

“I need longer than that,” Carly had pleaded for the hundredth time. “I’m not ready for them. I want to be sure.”

The pain in Brand’s eyes mirrored her own. “Will you ever know? That’s the question. Carly, how can you turn away from us when we love and need you?”

“I can’t rush what I feel,” she murmured miserably.

“If you’re waiting for me to give up Shawn and Sara, set your mind straight right now. I won’t.”

“Oh, Brand,” Carly cried softly, then lowered her head so that her chin was tucked against her shoulder. “I would never ask that of you.”

“Then just what do you want? Three days, Carly,” he repeated with grim impatience. “They’re arriving in three days, and they expect a home and a mother.”

“I won’t be there. I can’t,” she cried on a soft sob.

The pain etched in Brand’s eyes as he left the office haunted Carly for the remainder of the day.

George had already left for the afternoon when Brand checked in after a short flight. He filled out the information sheet and attached it to the clipboard for George’s signature.

Although Carly attempted to ignore the suppressed anger in his movements, it was impossible. Silently, her eyes appealed to him. His gaze met hers boldly, and darkened.

“If you’re through, I’d like to close up,” she said, struggling to control the breathless quality in her voice. The office keys were clenched tightly in her hand. She’d seen that look on Brand’s face before. Frustration hardened his eyes to a brilliant shade of brown, wary anger that all but flashed at her.

“Why should your likes concern me? Obviously my needs don’t trouble you,” he taunted softly. “Carly, I’m tired of playing the waiting game. I want a wife.” With every word, he advanced toward her. An unfamiliar harshness stole into his features as he reached for her.

His mouth sought hers.

Carly tried to resist him, but she was weak and panting with need when he began kissing her. At first he was gentle, his mouth caressing and teasing hers until she responded, wrapping
her arms around his neck and arching against him so that her body was intimately thrust against his.

“I should make love to you here and now,” he whispered.

“Brand, no … not here,” she pleaded. Still he kissed her again and again until she cried out, certain she heard someone approach. Whoever it was went into the hangar and thankfully not the office.

Brand must have heard the noise, too, because he broke away. Stepping back, he looked at her with wide, shock-filled eyes, as if he’d just woken from a trance and hadn’t known what he’d been doing.

He released her.

If Carly was pale, Brand was more so. He looked for a moment as if he was going to be ill. He hesitated only long enough to jam his shirttails inside his pants. Without giving her another look, he turned toward the door.

“There was no excuse for that,” he said, looking away from her. “It won’t happen again.”

“Brand …”

Halfway out the door, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, but he made no attempt to come to her. His eyes met hers in quiet challenge. There were so many things she wanted to say, but no thought seemed clear in her mind.

“I … I understand,” she murmured.

On Tuesday afternoon, another long letter from Jutta Hoverson was waiting for Carly. She held off opening the envelope until she had a cup of coffee. Carrying the mug to the kitchen table, she sat down and propped her bare feet on the opposite chair.

Of all the people in the world, Carly expected that Jutta would understand the hesitancy she felt toward Brand and the children. Diana, whom she loved and respected, hadn’t come close to comprehending the heart-wrenching decision Carly faced. More than once during Diana’s short visit, Carly felt that Diana had wanted to give her a hard shake. For once, Carly needed someone to identify with her needs, her insecurities. Jutta could do that.

Slipping the letter from the long envelope, she read:

Carly reread the letter three times. The message should have been clear, but it wasn’t. Jutta had listened to the advice of an uncle and won a race. Carly couldn’t see how that could relate to Brand and the children. The letter was a riddle Jutta expected Carly to understand. But Carly had never done well with word puzzles.

Not until Carly was in bed did she think again of Jutta’s strange letter. The picture her mind conjured was of a young, dark-haired girl struggling against high odds to excel. In some ways, Carly saw herself. With her personality quirks, her chances for happiness had to be slim. Her thoughts drifted to the first few days of lightheartedness after she and Brand were married. Content in their love, they had lived in euphoric harmony.

Suddenly, Carly understood. Abruptly, she struggled to a sitting position and turned on the small lamp at the side of her bed. This kind of underlying accord was what Jutta had tried to explain in her letter. There was harmony in Jutta’s steps as she ran because she no longer struggled. When something is right, really right, there is no strain, no effort. The harmony of body and soul supersedes the complications of life. There were rhythms and patterns to every aspect of human existence, and all Carly had to do was accept their flow and move with the even swell of their tides. Problems erupted only when she struggled against this harmony. Once she reconciled herself to this flow, she could overcome the trap of always fearing borrowed dreams.

Carly didn’t know how she could explain any of this to Brand, but she knew she had to try. The physical strain that had marked her face over the last weeks relaxed as she reached for her phone. He’d think she was crazy to be calling him this late at night, particularly when she didn’t know what she was going to say. Probably the best thing to do was blurt out the fact that she loved him and that together they’d work out something. The love they shared was the harmony in her life because it was right. A lot of uncertainties remained; she hadn’t reconciled
everything. But at least now she could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

The phone rang ten times and Brand didn’t answer. Perplexed, Carly cut the call. A look at her wristwatch confirmed that it was after midnight. Brand worked hard, and he slept hard. It was possible he’d sleep through the interruption, but not likely.