Wade (22 page)

“I don't want you to take care of me,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I have other things to do with my life. The women I left behind are my family, just as you have yours. I can't run out on them any more than you could desert those you care about.”

His movements stilled and his hold loosened. “You don't want a family of your own.”

“I'd be trapped in it as surely as I was ever trapped in Ahmad's house.”

“You see marriage as a threat.”

“Is that so hard to understand? I thought most men looked at it that way.”

“Not Benedict men. So you don't want me?”

She did want him. What she didn't want was to love him. She didn't want to, but she did, heaven help her.

That was something he must never guess. The longer she was near him, the more he touched her, the worse it would get. The more time she spent here, the harder it would be to ever go. She needed to get away, but there was no one she could turn to, no place to run as long as death and danger waited beyond these walls.

She could see only one way out.

“No,” she said, and met his eyes, finally, with hard-held purpose. “No, I don't want you, don't want to marry you now or ever.”

He opened his arms. His face was bleak as he stepped away, then backed slowly from the bathroom. “Forget I asked,” he said.

“I intend to,” she answered, giving the words the low intensity of a vow.

“Fine. I'll do the same.”

He turned then. Seconds later, the bedroom door closed behind him. The quiet click of the latch was unmistakably final.

T
he smell of wonderful things to eat met Chloe in the upper hall and drew her down to the kitchen. She hadn't left her room all day, hadn't felt hungry and still didn't, but the food spread out on the countertops was almost enough to make her reconsider. Platters of sliced meats, bowls of vegetables and salads of all kinds jostled huge casserole dishes holding what looked like dressing and dumplings and jambalaya. Tall pots were filled to their brims with soup and gumbo and fluffy white and brown rice. Then there were the desserts, an endless array of layer cakes and pound cakes, puddings and cobblers, meringue-topped pies, crusted pies, and pies coated with coconut and pecans. Plastic plates, glasses and utensils were stacked in one place, and crushed ice filled two large coolers. Everything sat ready, waiting for people to gather for the evening meal.

As Chloe hesitated in the doorway, a woman with her long golden-brown hair in a knot on top of her head and a pen behind her ear turned from where she stood at the stove. She took one look at Chloe's face and gave a low laugh before she continued ladling
gumbo over rice. “I know, culinary overkill. But when the Benedict guys go hunting, Benedict women cook. It helps the stress level, for one thing, but it also feeds the horde on their return. This time, it's also meant to keep us from starving in case of a siege.”

“It should work,” Chloe said stiffly.

“Help yourself. That's what it's for—though I say it who cooked not the first dish.”

“I don't think so, not just now.”

“Whenever you're ready. No need to wait until dinner. I'm certainly not going to, since I missed the fish fry, only had cheese and an apple at my desk for lunch.” The woman stepped forward and offered her free hand with friendly warmth in her gray eyes. “You're Chloe, aren't you? I'm April Benedict.”

“The writer?”

“Afraid so. I'd have been here to welcome you earlier, but deadlines go on, regardless.”

“You had to cancel your tour, too, I think. I'd say I'm sorry, but Wade seems to think I've done that enough.”

April gave a light shrug. “I can't imagine you actually wanted to be followed back to the States. So what was the trouble in town this morning?”

“He didn't tell you?” Chloe moved to a platter of smoked ham and took a slice, then peeled off a sliver. It had been years since she'd tasted such a thing. The hickory and honey flavors that met her tongue were
laden with childhood memories of Sunday breakfasts and picnics.

“It was discussed, though I wasn't there at the time. Luke gave me the capsule version before he went back on watch, but you know how that goes.”

“Not much detail?”

“Exactly. Besides, I'd like to hear yours.”

Chloe told her, also answering the quick and penetrating questions that April put in at intervals. When she was done, she was afraid she'd said more than she should, certainly more than she'd intended.

“So Wade was upset, was he?” the writer asked. Her gaze was veiled as she dipped into her gumbo with appetite and precision.

“You could say that.”

“I thought he looked like a thundercloud for some reason.”

Chloe made a noncommittal sound as she reached for another piece of ham. To change the subject, she asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Here and there.” April watched her for a moment. “Are you sure you don't want a plate?”

“Maybe I will.” Chloe picked up one from the stack nearby, and put a slice of roast on it that would be big enough to feed a family in Hazaristan. After a moment, she asked, “Wade ate earlier, I suppose?”

“Probably.” April tipped her head as she watched her. “Would it bother you if he hadn't?”

The bite of roast she'd taken suddenly tasted like
ashes, but Chloe swallowed it anyway. “Why should it?”

“I thought you might be concerned about him.”

“He can take care of himself.”

“Of course he can.” April's voice was dry.

A silence fell in which the only sounds were the dull scrape of plastic against plastic and the distant noise of children playing outside in the gathering twilight. An idea occurred to Chloe as she sat beside the writer. Since she wasn't sure how much time she might have before someone interrupted, she spoke at once. “Are you famous?”

“I don't know that I'd say that.”

“But you were on tour, which must mean that you have radio or television interviews? You know people in the media?”

“A few.” Caution was strong in April's voice.

“So if I had a videotape of atrocities against Hazaristan women, you'd have an idea of someone who might make use of it?”

April watched her an instant, then moved her chair a little closer as she said, “Tell me more.”

Chloe was glad to comply. Short minutes later, she knew a great deal about the news media across the country, and had April's pledge to see that the RAWA tape was aired to the best advantage. The relief she felt at fulfilling that obligation was an indication of how much it had been weighing on her.

The writer's wide-ranging knowledge and ready compliance made Chloe curious about her, however.
With a glance at the pen behind her ear and the ink stains on her fingers, she asked, “You don't type your books?”

“Honey, I use whatever it takes. Sometimes it's a keyboard, sometimes voice recognition software or pen and ink. If one thing doesn't work, another may.”

“And nobody interferes with you going off by yourself to create your books?”

“You mean does Luke interfere? Why should he? It's my job, what I do.” She paused. “Now ask if he minds.”

“Does he?” Chloe asked obligingly.

“He'd much rather I spent my time with him. I mean, he's a man, isn't he? But he understands that I have things I want to do, that I need something of my own.”

“That's very…reasonable.”

April smiled. “Benedict men are pretty considerate, if you lay it on the line for them in a logical way. Well, and if you let them know that what you're doing really isn't as important to you as they are.”

“You believe your husband will always be this way?”

“Why not?”

“Some do change. When the vows have been spoken and the dowry counted, even the most tender of bridegrooms can become a tyrant.” She'd numbered women among her friends who had learned that lesson the hard way.

“Luke would never do that.”

“You must trust him very much to say so.”

“I trust him, yes. I truly don't believe he has that kind of duplicity in him. But if he did, and allowed me to see it, then I'd have to realize he was never the man I thought him to be. In that case, I'd probably leave.”

Chloe set her plate to one side. “It's easy for a woman to do that here, just leave a marriage. But don't you ever feel…confined?”

“If I do, I have only to remember that Luke and I are in this together, that we're both confined. And I'll tell you a secret to go along with that.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice at the same time. “We like it that way.”

“What about the other wives, Janna and Lara and…”

“Regina and Tory?” April supplied. “I guess you could say we all do our own thing. Regina buys and sells antique jewelry, Tory deals with land and property she inherited in Florida, Janna designs specialty fabrics for textile manufacturers, and Lara has a quilt shop in her grandmother's old house.”

“And their husbands really don't mind?”

“If they do, they have the good sense not to mention it.” April smiled. “No, really, we all contribute to the family bottom line. We're part of the team.”

For the first time, Chloe allowed herself to question whether she might actually be able to do what she wanted and needed for her friends while remaining with Wade. She had assumed for so long that it was
impossible for a married woman to carry on the work that the idea had become ingrained. But she wasn't in Hazaristan anymore, and Wade wasn't of that backward country. He was different, an American, a Benedict of Louisiana. Thinking back, she recognized that though he might have disagreed with her ideas and her aims, he had not challenged her right to have them, never failed to listen when she spoke of them.

“How do you do it?” she asked, the words barely above a whisper. “How do you find the trust it takes to marry a man knowing that it may not turn out as you hope?”

“It isn't easy,” April answered with candor. “The basic requirement, I suppose, is courage.”

“And where do you find this courage?”

“The same place women have always found it, and also the trust it takes to allow a man into their bodies and their lives, the faith to risk bringing children into the world. If you love a man, these things are just there, a part of life.”

“Yes,” Chloe said as she thought of the women she'd left behind and their consummate and unending bravery. “But how do you and the others make time for the things of your own? I mean, don't you feel as if you're shortchanging something or someone?”

“Women make time for the things they really want to do, and those who care about them do their best to help out. In an ideal relationship these days everybody adjusts, men as well as women. It's no good becoming a martyr to another person. You lose your
self in the process and, because of it, wind up hating the one you loved.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Chloe murmured, almost to herself.

“Do you realize what you just said?” April spooned up the last bite of her gumbo then stepped over to put the bowl in the sink.

“Oh, but I didn't mean…”

“I think you did. I'm so glad. We were afraid, the other wives and I, that you didn't feel anything for Wade. We thought you might be a taker, or one of those needy, clinging types who would leave him flat the instant you felt safe.”

So that was the reason she'd been given such a lukewarm welcome. She had misjudged the Benedict women, or so it seemed. Their reaction to her had little to do with what or who she was but what she was doing to one of their own. Was it possible that she had also misjudged Wade? The idea made her feel sick inside, especially when she remembered his face in the instant before he had left her alone upstairs.

It was possible, however, that the Benedict women had not misjudged her. She moistened her lips before she spoke. “I don't know that I can stay.”

“There's someone else somewhere waiting for you?”

“Not exactly.”

April seemed to hesitate, then spoke anyway. “I don't like prying into other people's business, but it might be best not to make any major decisions until
this is over. Wade obviously cares about you. Give him a chance.”

“Do you think so? That he cares, I mean?” She looked away because she couldn't bear to see the pity that might lie in the eyes of the woman beside her.

“He could have done a lot of things, taken you a lot of places, to keep you safe. He chose to bring you home to Grand Point. That says something, believe me.”

Chloe hadn't thought of it that way. But even if it might be some kind of indicator, it was too late.

The pain of desolation and regret rose inside her, not only for what she'd done, but also for how Wade may have felt and what that meant. Wade wouldn't ask her again. He wasn't the kind of man who needed to be told anything twice.

The back door banged open from the direction of the living room. Chloe spun toward the sound with her nerves jangling. It was only the little girl called Lainey, however, giggling and looking back over her shoulder as she ran into the kitchen. Behind her was Jake, obviously chasing her though moving at a fast walk.

“No running in the house,” April called out with the sound of an automatic warning.

“We're not,” Lainey said, decreasing her speed at once but still making excellent progress.

“Hide-and-seek,” Jake explained in an uneven rumble as he passed. “Uncle Clay said keep Lainey entertained, that it wasn't good for her to be upset.”

April rolled her eyes. “Carry on, then, since you're on a mission of mercy.”

“A what?” The teenager lifted a brow in a gesture so like his older cousin's that Chloe felt a small ache in her heart.

“Never mind.” April waved an airy dismissal. “Just don't damage the furniture, especially anything that looks old.”

“You got it. Anyway, I really think Lainey wants to see if she can make out where Clay is right now.”

“The windows are covered over, remember?”

“Always the roof.”

“The what!” The pair had disappeared down the hall, forcing April to raise her voice.

“Widow's walk,” Jake called back. “Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her.”

The footsteps faded, then could be heard on a set of stairs somewhere in that side wing. April looked at Chloe and shook her head in mock despair though indulgence warmed her smile. “I hope it's all right. Clay will murder me if anything happens to her.”

“It's nice of Jake to look after her,” Chloe said.

“He's a neat kid. Of course, he probably wants to check out the situation from up there himself. And it doesn't hurt that Lainey has a terrible crush on him amounting to hero worship.”

“He likes that?”

“It makes him feel good about himself and also more considerate of her feelings, neither of which is a bad thing.”

Chloe could only agree. “Should she be running and climbing stairs, though? I mean, if it's not good for her to be upset?”

“It's okay, at least according to her mom. Janna says she'll never be entirely out of the woods, but she's doing better than they had any reason to expect. Something about the happiness factor, if I remember. You've heard about Janna and Clay?”

“Wade told me.”

“Did he? Interesting.”

The back door opened again. From the increase in noise, it seemed as if the whole family reunion was moving inside. Women talked in a low hum, with the voices of men like a bass obbligato beneath the chatter. Children laughed and called. Mothers shouted. The door slammed, then opened again. Then it slammed shut and stayed that way. Chloe wondered about sleeping arrangements for everyone, but figured it was probably under control.