Right Next Door (28 page)

After nearly two weeks in Texas, Alex had been starved for the sight of her, and he'd barely noticed the others in the class. In retrospect, he was sure his reaction could be attributed to seeing all those soon-to-be mothers.

In fifteen years Alex hadn't given babies more than a passing thought. He had a son and was grateful for that. He might have suffered a twinge of regret when he learned there'd be no more children, but he'd been more concerned about his wife's well-being than the fact that they wouldn't be adding to their family.

Then he'd watched Carol with those pregnant couples, and the desire for another child, a daughter, had suddenly overwhelmed him. He'd decided while he was in Texas that he loved Carol and wanted to marry her, but the idea of starting a family of their own hadn't so much as crossed his mind. But why not? They were both young enough and healthy enough to raise a houseful of children.

He'd been standing at the back of her class, waiting for her, when it happened. Out of nowhere, yet as clear as
anything he'd ever seen or felt, Alex saw Carol pregnant with a child.
His
child. He'd realized at the time that this—he used the word
vision
for lack of a better one—was probably due to physical and emotional exhaustion. Wanting to hold on to the image as long as he could, he'd closed his eyes. He'd pictured her…. Her breasts were full, and when she smiled at him, her eyes had a radiance that couldn't be described. She'd taken his hand and settled it on her protruding stomach. In his fantasy he'd felt their child move.

This fantasy was what had prompted the abrupt marriage proposal. He wanted to kick himself now. If he'd taken her in his arms, kissed her and said all the things she deserved to hear, things might have gone differently. He hadn't meant to rush her, hadn't meant to be so pushy, but once he'd realized how resistant she was to the idea, he'd panicked. The two-week ultimatum was unfair. He'd tell her that on Friday night when they went out for dinner.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't. He'd wait to hear what she was thinking, which way she was leaning, before he put his foot any farther down his throat.

Then he began to smile. Perhaps it wasn't too late for a proper proposal, after all.

“Alex?”

His name seemed to be coming from some distance away.

“What?” he asked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

“The game's started,” Barney said. “Don't you want to see it?” He peered closely at Alex. “Is something wrong with you?”

Yes, something
was
wrong, and there was only one cure. Carol Sommars.

 

Carol dressed carefully for her dinner date with Alex Friday evening. After going through her closet and laying half of everything she owned across the bed, she chose a demure, high-necked dress of soft pink that buttoned down the front. That seemed safe enough, especially with a shawl.

She'd hardly ever felt this awkward. Trying to make her decision, she'd swayed back and forth all week. One day she'd decide she would be a fool
not
to marry him, and the next, she'd been equally convinced she'd be crazy to trust a man a second time.

Marrying Alex meant relinquishing her independence. It meant placing herself and her son at the mercy of another human being. Memories of her marriage to Bruce swiped at her viciously, and whenever she contemplated sharing her well-ordered life with another man, she broke into a cold sweat.

Years ago, someone had told her it took a hell of a man to replace no man. It wasn't until Carol graduated from college with her nursing degree and was completely on her own that she fully understood that statement. Her life was good, too good to tamper with, and yet…

Her thoughts were more confused than ever when the doorbell chimed. She paused, took a calming breath and headed across the room.

“Hello, Alex,” she said, smiling stiffly.

“Carol.”

He looked gorgeous in a three-piece suit. Her eyes took him in, and she felt some of the tension leave her muscles. It was when she met his eyes that she realized he was chuckling.

“We're going to dinner,” he said, nodding at her dress, “not a baptism.”

She blinked, not sure she understood.

“If that collar went any higher up your neck, it'd reach your nose.”

“I…I was removing temptation,” she said, embarrassed by the blush that heated her face.

“Honey, at this rate, the only thing we'll be removing is that dress.”

Carol decided the best thing to do was ignore his remark. “Did you say where we're going for dinner?”

“No,” he answered cryptically, and his warm eyes caressed her with maddening purposefulness. “I didn't. It's a surprise.”

“Oh.” After all the time they'd been together, after all the moments she'd spent in his arms, after all the dreams she'd had about Alex, she shouldn't feel this uncomfortable. But her heart was galloping, her hands felt damp, her breath was coming in soft gasps—and they hadn't even left her house yet.

“Are you ready?”

It was a question he shouldn't have asked.
No
, her mind screamed.
Yes
, her heart insisted. “I guess so,” her lips answered.

Alex led her outside and held open his car door.

“It was thoughtful of you to drop the boys at the theater. Personally I don't think they were that keen on seeing a Disney movie,” she said, slipping inside his car.

“Too bad. I gave them a choice of things to do this evening.”

“Attending a kids' movie on the other side of town or
being set adrift in the Columbia River without paddles probably isn't their idea of a choice.”

Alex chuckled. “I don't want anyone disturbing us tonight.”

Their eyes met. Alex's were hot and hazy and so suggestive, Carol's heart skipped a beat. For sanity's sake, she looked away.

“I hope you like steak.”

“I love it.”

“The champagne's cooling.”

“You must've ordered in advance,” she murmured, having difficulty finding something to do with her hands. Her fingers itched to touch him…
needed
to touch him. A need that only confused her more.

“I…hope you explained to Barney—your friend—that I…that I don't normally look the way I did the evening we met. When I got home and saw myself in the mirror…well, I could just imagine what he must've thought.” Carol cursed the madness that had sent her rushing out of her house that evening to confront Alex.

“Barney understood.”

“Oh, good.”

A couple of minutes later, Alex turned into his own driveway. Carol looked at him, somewhat surprised. “Did you forget something?”

“No,” he said.

A moment later, he let her into the house. She paused in the doorway, and her heart gave a sudden, sharp lurch. They weren't going to any restaurant. Alex had always planned to bring her back to his house.

The drapes were drawn, and the lights had been lowered. Carol saw that the dining room table was set
with crystal and china. Two tapered candles stood in the middle of the table, waiting to be lit.

Alex went over to the stereo and pushed a single button. Immediately the room was drenched with the plaintive sound of violins.

Carol was still trying to assimilate what was happening when he walked over to the table and lit the candles. Tiny flames sent a golden glow shimmering across the pristine white cloth.

“Shall we?” Alex said, holding out his hands.

Carol was too numb to reply. He took the lacy shawl from her shoulders and draped it over the back of the sofa. Then he pulled her purse from her unresisting fingers and set it next to the shawl. When he'd finished, he turned and eased her into his arms.

Their bodies came gently together, and a shudder went through her. She wasn't a complete fool—she knew what Alex was planning. She lowered her eyelids. Despite her doubts and fears, she wanted this, too.

For a moment, she battled the feeling, then with a deep sigh, she surrendered.

Alex wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “You feel so good.”

She emptied her lungs of air as his hands slid down her back, to her waist.

There was music, such beautiful music, and then Carol realized they were supposed to be dancing. She rested her fingertips on his shoulders as his mouth moved toward hers. Carol sighed. Alex's breath was moist and warm, his hands gentle as they pressed her closer and closer.

When he kissed her, the moment of anticipation ended, and Carol felt a tremendous surge of relief. He groaned.
She groaned. He leaned back and began to unfasten the buttons at her throat.

That all too brief pause helped Carol collect her scattered senses. “Alex,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

“Undressing you.”

“Why?” she asked breathlessly, knowing what a stupid question it was.

“Why?” he repeated with amusement. “Because we're going to make love.”

Her pulse went wild.

“I love you,” he said. “You love me. Right?”

“Oh…yes.”

“Good.” He kissed her again, so passionately she could hardly resist—and yet she had to. She broke away from him with what little strength she still possessed.

“Alex…please don't.”

“Tonight's a new beginning for us. I'm crazy in love with you. I need you so much I can't think straight anymore.”

“You brought me here to make love to me, didn't you?”

“You mean it wasn't obvious?” he asked as he nibbled kisses along the side of her neck.

“Why now? Why not that night on the Washington coast…? Why tonight?”

“Carol, do we need to go through this evaluation?”

“I have to know,” she cried, pushing herself away from him. Her hands trembled, and it was with some difficulty that she rebuttoned her dress. “The truth, Alex. I want the truth.”

“All right,” he murmured. “I thought…I believed that
if we made love, it would help you decide you wanted to marry me.”

Carol felt as though he'd tossed a bucket of ice water in her face. She raised her hand to her pounding heart. “Oh, no…” she whispered. “Not again.”

“Carol? What's wrong?”

“Bruce did this to me, too…pressured me into giving in to him…then he hated me…punished me….” Blindly she reached for her purse and shawl, then headed for the front door.

Alex caught up with her before she made it outside. His hand clasped her shoulder as he turned her to face him. By then she was sobbing, her whole body trembling with terror. Stark terror—stark memories.

Alex took one look at her and hauled her into his arms. “Carol.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “It's all right, it's all right. I would
never
have forced you.”

A
ll Carol could do was cry, and the pile of used tissues was mounting. Alex tried to comfort her, to help her, but everything he did seemed to make matters worse. One thing he'd immediately recognized—she didn't want him to touch her.

She'd curled herself up on his sofa and covered her face as she wept. She wouldn't talk to him. She wouldn't look at him. The only comprehensible statement she'd made in the last fifteen minutes had been a demand that he take her home.

Fear knotted his stomach. He had the inexplicable feeling that if he did as she asked, he'd never see her again. He had tonight and only tonight to repair the trust he'd unwittingly destroyed.

“Carol, I'm sorry.” He must have told her that twenty times. It was true enough. Everything he tried to do with this woman was wrong. Tonight was the perfect example. For days he'd been searching for a way to prove to Carol how much he loved her and how right they were for each other.

This evening had seemed the perfect place and time. He'd planned it all—the music, champagne, the carefully worded proposal, the diamond ring.

He'd thought that if everything went well, they'd make love, and afterward, they could discuss the details of their wedding and their lives. He wanted her in his bed, and although it was more than a little arrogant of him, he didn't think he'd have any problem getting her there.

He'd also come to the conclusion that once they made love, she'd be convinced that they belonged together, and their marriage would naturally follow.

At first, his plan had worked flawlessly. Carol had walked into the house, seen that the table was set and the candles ready to light. She'd looked at him with those huge eyes of hers and given him a seductive smile. Then, with barely a pause, she'd waltzed into his arms.

From there everything had gone downhill.

One minute he was kissing her, marveling at the power she had over his body, and the next, she was cold and trembling, demanding answers that should've been obvious.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked her gently for the second—or was it the third?—time. Although his arms ached with the need to hold her, he resisted.

“No,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

“We need to talk first.”

“Not now. I
need
to go home.” She rubbed her face and plucked a clean tissue from the nearby box. Apparently she'd regained her resolve because she stood, wrapped her shawl around her, and stumbled to the door. “If you won't drive me, then I'll walk.”

Alex heard the desperation in her voice and was helpless to do anything other than what she asked. As he
stood, the regret swept through him. If there was anything he could do to ease her pain, he would've done it. If there were any words he could have uttered to comfort her, he would've said them gladly. But all she wanted him to do was take her back to her own home. Back to her own bed. Her own life.

Who did he think he was? Some Don Juan who could sweep this beautiful, sensitive woman into his bed and make love to her? He felt sick to his stomach at the way he'd plotted, the way he'd planned to use her body against her, to exploit the attraction between them to serve his own ends.

Now he was losing her, and there wasn't anyone he could blame but himself. He'd known his chances weren't good the night he'd asked her to marry him. He'd hoped to see joy in her eyes when he suggested it. He'd longed to see happiness on her face. He'd wanted Carol to hurl herself into his arms, excited and overcome with emotion.

He should've known he'd been watching too many old movies.

He'd asked Carol to marry him, and none of the things he'd hoped for had happened. Instead, her eyes had reflected fear. And tonight…tonight he'd witnessed stark terror.

Alex was astute enough to realize the problem lay in Carol's brief marriage. Whatever had gone on had left deep emotional scars. Even when he'd felt the closest to her, Alex had learned very little about her relationship with her late husband. She'd let tidbits of information drop now and then, but every time she did, Alex had the feeling she'd regretted it.

On her way out the door, Carol grabbed a handful of fresh tissues, and with nothing more to say, Alex led the way to his car.

He opened the passenger door, noticing how she avoided any possibility of their accidentally touching as she climbed inside.

The tension inside the car made the air almost too thick to breathe. He could hardly stand it and he wondered how she could.

When he braked at a stop sign, he decided to make one last effort.

“Carol, please, how many times do I have to tell you how sorry I am? I made a mistake. I behaved like a jerk. Tell me what you want me to do, because I'll do it. Anything you say. I love you! You've got to believe I'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you.”

His pleas were met with more of the same strained, intolerable silence.

In frustration he pressed his foot to the gas, and they shot ahead. The seat belts were all that kept them from slamming forward with the car.

The fiercest argument of their courtship now ensued, and the crazy part was, neither of them uttered a word. Every once in a while, Alex could hear Carol drag a breath through her lungs, and he knew she was doing everything in her power not to cry. Each tear she shed, each sob she inhaled, felt like a knife wound.

He was losing her, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. It wouldn't be so tragic if he didn't care for her so much. After Gloria's death, Alex had never truly believed he'd fall in love again. Even when he'd made the decision to remarry, he hadn't expected to find the depth of emotion he'd experienced with Carol.

And now it might be too late.

 

“Hey, Mom, did you and Mr. Preston have a fight or something?” Peter asked the following morning.

“W-why do you ask?”

Peter popped two frozen waffles in the toaster, then stood guard over them as though he expected Carol to snatch them out of his hands.

“I don't know. Mr. Preston was acting strange last night when he picked us up from the movie.”

“Strange?”

“Sad. Mr. Preston's usually loads of fun. I like him, I mean, he's about the neatest adult I know. He doesn't treat me like I'm a kid, and he likes the same things I like and—I don't know—I just think he's an all-around great guy. Fact is, Mom, men don't come much better than James's dad.”

“He is…nice, isn't he?” she agreed. She tightened her fingers around the handle of her coffee mug and looked anywhere but at her son.

Peter leaned toward her and squinted. “Have you been crying?”

“Don't be silly,” she said lightly, trying to make a joke out of it.

“Your eyes are all puffy and red like you have an allergy or something.”

“Pollen sometimes affects me that way.” Which was the truth. It just didn't happen to be affecting her eyes at that particular moment.

The waffles popped up, and Peter grabbed them, muttering under his breath when he burned his fingers. He spread a thin layer of butter on them and followed that with a puddle of syrup. Once that task was complete, he added two more waffles to the toaster, then sat across the table from Carol.

“I kind of thought you and Mr. Preston might've had a fight,” Peter said, obviously feeling it was safe to probe some more. “That would've been too bad because on the way to the movie he was telling us that he wanted to make this dinner the most romantic night of your life. Was it?”

“He…tried.”

“How did the Baked Alaska taste?”

“The Baked Alaska?” Carol made a nondescript gesture. “Oh…it was great.”

“Mr. Preston made everything himself. Right down to the salad dressing. James told me he'd been shopping for days. It would've been terrible if you'd had a fight and ruined it…. You love Mr. Preston, don't you?” Peter asked earnestly.

Carol closed her eyes to the emotion assaulting her from all sides. She would be lying if she didn't admit it. And her heart refused to let her lie. But no one seemed to understand that love wasn't a cure-all. She'd loved Bruce, too—or thought she did—and look where that had gotten her.

“Yes,” she whispered. She'd averted her gaze, but she could hear Peter's sigh of relief.

“I knew you did,” he said cheerfully, slicing into his waffle. “I told James you were wild about his dad and that whatever happened at dinner would be okay in the morning.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Carol murmured.

 

An hour later, Carol was working in the garden space Alex had tilled for her several weeks earlier. She was cultivating the soil, preparing it to plant several different herbs that afternoon. She'd done her homework and dis
covered a wide variety that grew well in the moist climate of the Pacific Northwest.

Her back was to the kitchen, and she hadn't heard the doorbell. Nor was there the usual commotion that occurred whenever Peter let someone in.

Yet without a doubt, she knew Alex was standing in the doorway watching her. She felt his presence in the same way she experienced his absence.

Running her forearm across her damp brow, she leaned back and removed her gloves. “I know what you want to say,” she said, “and I think it would be best if we just dropped the whole issue.”

“Unfortunately that's a luxury neither of us can afford.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” she sighed, awkwardly struggling to an upright position. The knees of her jeans were caked with mud and the sweat was pouring down her flushed face.

There'd probably been only two other times in her life when she'd looked worse, and Alex had seen her on both occasions.

With the cultivator gripped tightly in her fist, she walked over to the patio and sank down on a deck chair. “All right, say what you have to say.”

Alex grinned. “Such resignation!”

“I'd rather be working in my garden.”

“I know.” He flexed his hands a couple of times. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”

“Oh, Alex, this isn't necessary, it really isn't. I overreacted last night. So, you made a mistake—you're only human and I forgive you. Your intentions weren't exactly honorable, but given the circumstances they were understandable. You wanted to take me into your bed and after
ward make an honest woman of me.” She made quotation marks with her fingers around the words
honest woman.
“Right?”

“Something like that,” he mumbled. Although of course the issue was much more complicated than that….

“The thing is, I've been made an honest woman once and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I'm not planning to repeat it.”

“What was your husband's name?” Alex asked without preamble.

“Bruce…why?”

“Do you realize you've never told me?”

She shrugged; she never talked about Bruce if possible.

“Tell me about him, Carol,” Alex pleaded, “tell me everything. Start with the minute you noticed each other and then lead me through your relationship to the day you buried him.”

“I can't see how that would solve anything.”

“Tell me, Carol.”

“No.” She jumped to her feet, her heart in a panic. “There's nothing to say.”

“Then why do you close up tight anytime someone mentions him?”

“Because!” She paced the patio. Stopping abruptly, she whirled around and glared at him, angry all over again. “All right, you want to know? I'll tell you. We were teenagers—young, stupid, naive. We made out in the back seat of a car…and when I got pregnant with Peter we got married. Bruce died three years later in a car accident.”

An eternity passed before Alex spoke again. “That's just a summary. Tell me what
really
happened in those three years you were married.” His voice was soft and insistent.

Her chest constricted painfully. Would nothing satisfy him short of blood? How could she ever hope to describe three years of living in hell? She couldn't, and she didn't even want to try.

Alex wouldn't understand, and nothing she could ever say would help him. What purpose would it serve to dredge up all that misery? None that she could see.

Slowly she lowered herself onto the deck chair again, trying to still her churning thoughts, to nullify the agonizing memories. The pain was so distinct, so acute, that she opted for the only sane solution. She backed away.

Alex reached for her hand, holding it loosely. “I know this is difficult.”

He didn't know
how
difficult.

“Bruce and I were married a long time ago. Suffice it to say that the marriage wasn't a good one. We were much too young…and Bruce had…problems.” She bit her lip, not willing to continue. “I don't want to drag up the past. I don't see how it would do any good.”