From This Day Forward (12 page)

Ignacio had delivered a beautiful eulogy in Jason's stead, and if anyone thought it strange that the
patrao
was absent, Caroline had seen no sign of resentment.

How could she have forgotten? How could she have be
en so insensitive as to berate J
ason last night? He had lived with such bitterness and pain for so long, it must be eating him up inside.

His sister Peggy haunted him still. He blamed himself for her death; he'd as much as admitted it in his letters. Not with words, but there had been as much meaning in what he hadn't said in those letters as there had been in the actual words themselves.

"Thank you for coming,
Senhora
."

Caroline turned to see Ignacio standing close beside her, his brown eyes bright with sincerity and unshed tears. "It meant much to the family."

"It was the least I could do," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "I am only sorry..."

"It is not your fault. It is not his fault either," he said, gesturing at something over her head.

Caroline turned slowly. Jason stood in the distance beside his horse, the reins held lightly in his hand. Her heart froze. She could feel his pain reach out to her from across the distance.

He was too far away for her to see his eyes, but she knew his gaze had found her. His body stiffened and he turned, mounting his horse and galloping away as if all the demons of hell followed after him.

She moved to follow him, but a hand on her arm stilled her. Turning, she gazed into Ignacio's eyes.

"He will punish himself."

"But why?" she asked, her heart aching for Jason.

Ignacio shrugged. "It is his way. He takes responsibility for everything that happens on
the
fazenda
.
He does not understand that some things are beyond his control."

"So much guilt," she murmured. The weight must be crushing, even for a man of Jason's strength.

"I see you understand him better than I had guessed," Ignacio said, and Caroline turned to gaze into his wise eyes. "Jason likes to think he is invincible, that he needs no one. He is not nearly as strong as he would like the world to believe."

"Thank you," she said past the tears in her throat. "For what? It is I who should be thanking you. If not for you, there would be another funeral today."

"For understanding him."

"He will need you, not me," Ignacio told her. "He will not want to admit it. In fact, he may try and push you away. You understand."

Tears welled in Caroline's eyes and she turned away before she humiliated herself. If only she could reach him somehow. "No, I have to go."

Running for the wagon, she climbed on to the seat as the tears fell down her cheeks. Not only did he still carry the guilt of not being able to stop his sister from dying, he felt responsible for Ernesto's death as well.

She picked up the reins and froze. Where was she going? Back to her roo
m to hide again? She knew that J
ason wouldn't return to the house, not yet, but she didn't know where he would go. And even if she did, she wasn't sure she wanted to face him right now.

Slowly she turned toward home, urging the horses into a sedate walk. There was no need in hurrying. There was nothing waiting for her but a lonely, empty house.

Peggy was the only beautiful thing in my world. She almost made me believe there could be something else to life besides constant misery. But she couldn't shut out the world. She allowed everything to touch her, to affect her. Her skin wasn't thick enough for the Irish Channel. She wore her feelings out in the open so that anyone could see them and use them to hurt her. Even so, / didn't know how desperate she'd become.

Caroline lowered her hand to the bed beside her, allowing the letter to slip from her fingers. Tears rolled unchecked down her face.

"It wasn't your fault," she said aloud.

She'd read that letter dozens of times and it never failed to move her to tears. She'd written back to him exhorting him not to blame himself. As a result, it had taken several months of dry, pointed business letters before he opened up to her—to Derek—again.

Rolling over, Caroline dropped the letter into the medical bag beside the bed and extinguished the lamp. She wiped her eyes and settled comfortably once again.

He hadn't come home all day. He was out there somewhere, suffering, trying to deny that he could still be hurt. What was she going to do? If she could only pry that shell open and free the man inside, the man who had written those letters.

It wouldn't be easy, peeling back all those layers of protection, but Jason was worth it, worth saving. As she settled into a restless sleep, she wondered if she were equal to the task.

Chapter Six

Jason entered
the
courtyard
with a sigh of disgust. In two short weeks his home had been transformed into something that resembled a combination zoo and produce market. A jackass stood sedately drinking from his fountain as if it were a trough. Against the kitchen wall stood baskets of yellow corn, green beans, and fresh melons, gifts for the great healer, no doubt.

It had started the day after the accident. His workers and their families had begun coming to Caroline every time one of them stumped a toe or caught a chill. They paid her with produce and livestock, both of which he had in abundance. He had no idea what he was going to do with the surplus. Give it back to them when they ran out, he supposed.

Their wide-eyed adoration was almost more than he could bear. Even Ignacio, his most trusted employee and the closest thing he had to a friend,
had been bewitched by her. Every morning it was,
"Bom dia, patr
ao!
How is
a
Senhora
?"

Not only that, but his own feelings were becoming more and more confused. He admired her too damned much. He was getting used to having her here, to watching her graceful movements and smelling the intoxicating fragrance that always clung to her, to imagining what it would be like to have her in his bed.

Every time he remembered that Derek's betrayal had caused this situation, a fierce rage devoured him. Derek should have known better, damn his devious soul. Jason had come here to escape the ugliness of his past. He'd wanted more than anything to start fresh, to rebuild his life and his identity. He wanted nothing that had been tainted by the outside world in any way, nothing that wasn't fresh and pure as the jungle around him.

He'd thought he could survive without female companionship. Women were so emotional, so weak. They seemed to require constant care and attention, something he couldn't provide. But they were also beautiful to look at and wonderful to touch. He'd convinced himself that if he got one young enough and innocent enough, he could cultivate her to his liking as he had the jungle. He could bring her under his control and make her what he wanted her to be, make her fit into the world he'd created for himself.

Caroline would not be molded or controlled. She had opinions and ideas and experiences. She was determined to make her own place, not to fit into the one he'd devised for her.

Experience had made her independent and given her insights that a more innocent woman would not have possessed, insights that made him wonder if she didn't see straight through his every defense, an idea he found immensely disturbing.

He had half a mind to jump on a boat himself and go all the way to New Orleans, just to wring Derek's neck personally.

Still, she was a lovely woman, a woman who stirred his deepest longings. He couldn't have her, couldn't touch her. The cost would be too dear. She would demand his heart, body and soul in return, and he couldn't give them. He couldn't be the man she wanted—a companion. Companionship meant sharing on a level that scared the hell out of him.

The donkey brayed as if mocking him. Waving his arms, Jason charged the fountain. "Go away, you bastard!" he shouted.

The beast glanced up at him with round, serene eyes. Obviously deciding he posed no real threat, it continued to drink unperturbed until Jason swatted its rump with his open hand. "Get out of here!"

"What the hell am I going to do with a donkey?" he muttered as he stepped through the open French doors into the parlor.

Sucking in his breath, he gazed around in amazement. Flowers covered every surface in the room—lavender orchids, pink bromeliads, and white lilies.

Ines stood across the room, her back to him as she arranged a vase of orchids. "What the hell's going on?" he asked.

Ines turned to face him, but it wasn't Ines at all. His eyes widened as they traveled from the bright bandanna on Caroline's head to the cotton sarong wrapped around her shapely body to her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the sarong.

"Do you like it?" she asked, pirouetting.

Jason scowled, using anger as a shield against the raw desire that had been his constant companion since he'd seen her standing on the pier that first day. "You look like a serving woman," he growled, but the truth was she looked like anything but.

The cotton fabric molded to her body in a way that made his heart leap into his throat. How did she manage to appear innocent and daring at the same time? Her eyes shone with mischief, a girlish smile curving her soft, full lips. He wanted to kiss her, more than anything else in the world at that moment. He wanted to take her in his arms and taste the sweetness of her lips.

But right now, he knew that kissing her would not be enough. He closed his eyes, shaken to his core.

"
You're
the one who said my clothes aren't suitable for the jungle," she reminded him.

Good girl, he thought as the tension in his body eased slightly. Always ready with a good argument. He imagined he would miss the arguments. It was hard to remember what his life had been like before she'd come, and he found he didn't want to dwell on it.

"It's certainly more comfortable than anything I brought with me," she went on, oblivious to the turmoil inside him. "Women in New Orleans should dress like this."

She stepped toward him, her bare feet patting the floor.

"If women in New Orleans dressed like that, they wouldn't be safe to walk the streets. Where are your shoes?"

She blushed and he wished with all his being she had not. The knot returned to his gut, sharper than before. She was all vulnerability, all sweet femininity, though he knew well enough that she could turn into a screaming virago without warning.

"I have a pair of sandals, but they rubbed blisters on my feet, so—"

"Sandals?" He didn't give a damn about sandals. He'd been wondering what, if anything, she wore beneath that flimsy, clinging garment, and he needed a distraction, time to gather his thoughts and quell the desire that threatened to take control of his body.

"Yes, one of the women made them for me," she explained. "Oh, I can't believe her name has slipped my mind. I'll think of it."

"More gifts for the healer?" he asked, gazing around the flower-filled room.

In truth, he was proud and a little in awe of her ability to heal sickness and mend broken bodies. She'd acquired that skill in another life, in a dark, distant past that she could remember but he could not share. It added to her mystery and his torment.

He wanted to explore her uncharted wilderness. His body and soul cried out for it. But someone had been there before him. Someone had laid claim to her heart and her body, someone whose shadow still moved behind her eyes. She had a whole history he could not control because it had happened without his knowledge or consent.

Secrets. He wanted to delve into her mystery and learn all there was to learn about her—her past, her likes, her dislikes. Had she been happy as a child? What were her parents like? Her father had been a doctor, and she had respected him enough to want to follow in his footsteps. Why? Where had they lived, her family?