A Lasting Love (6 page)

Sinking back into the depths of
the sofa, her head lolling back, Loren resigned herself
to
the idea. She could make it without him. After all,
she had
managed adequately for years. But, so far,
she
hadn't seen him again . . . hadn't looked into
those deep,
dark eyes. Loren thought she couldn't
stand the idea of
Reid being in Washington and not
seeing her. H
ow many times he had been there
and not bothered to look her up?

There was a sound of soft feet, then a familiar
purring, as Angel, her white Persian, hopped into her lap. Loren
stroked Angel’s silky back, something that seemed to calm them
both. A friend at work who was moving out of town had given her the
energetic and loving kitten a few months after Reid left. She was
truly an Angel for Loren during her worse time.

Another car rapidly turned the corner and
pulled immediately to a practiced stop in front of her brick
walk.
The driver obviously knew exactly where to stop.
There
were three hard, familiar knocks on the
door.

Taking a deep, ragged sigh, Loren gathered the
afghan
around her chilled shoulders. Angel bounded
away as Loren slowly opened
the door to facing
him.

She looked so lovely, so vulnerable, so
achingly proud.
Her tawny hair, shorter than before,
barely reached her
shoulders as it curled over the
familiar afghan that she was
clutching. Her eyes were
the same, more intense perhaps,
as when they had
laughingly made love in the field of
bluebonnets. Her
lips and neck and arms were tense— begging for his touch—yet
holding back from him. He
wanted to caress her, to
hold her, to crush her to him. But,
did he
dare?

There was a lightness in his tone. "Aren't you
going to
ask me in?"

Loren smiled faintly, then stepped back to
admit him,
once again, to her home . . . her
life.

As Reid walked into her home he was suddenly,
powerfully, overwhelmed with the sights and smells around him.

He was back!
Déjá vu!
This was where he
belonged. He
knew he couldn't leave her ever . .
.
ever again.
He gazed
at
her upturned face and immediately Loren was propelled
into his strong arms. His lips devoured her ravenously
while a low moan escaped from deep inside him.
Finally,
after an eternity of time and memories, he
released her,
murmuring, "Loren, oh, my God, Loren,
how I've missed
you."

Loren stumbled back, obviously shaken by his
actions
and words. She hadn't
expected
...
or had she? Maybe she
had moved into his arms of her own accord! "Please,
Reid,
don't—"

He ran his hand raggedly over his face, then
placed it on the wall above her head. "I'm sorry, Loren. I
didn't
mean to do that. I just couldn't resist you. I
don't know
how I stayed away so long."

"I don't know either." Her voice was a hoarse
whisper and she turned away from his closeness. She curled
into
the corner of the sofa, letting the afghan fall
from her
shoulders. The air was suddenly
warmer.

Reid stuffed his hands into his pockets and
glanced with
satisfaction around the once-familiar
room. He began to
walk around, stopping occasionally
to touch a lamp or wall hanging. Some were things they had
purchased
together while rummaging in old antique
shops or brow
sing through art galleries. But he didn't
mention that. He
didn't have to. They both
knew.

A me-oww broke the silence. He looked up to see a
large white cat, sitting in the doorway to the hall leading to her
bedroom, daring him to try to enter.”Well, hello. What a
beauty.”

“
That’s Angel. She’s my companion now.” There
was a tightness to Loren’s voice.

He moved back into the room with
Loren
. "Some things
never change.
Everything's just as I remembered it. Except for the
cat."

"But people do," she responded sadly. “I needed
someone after you left.”

"I suppose so," he admitted. "And people keep
living, doing
what they have to do. Only you look. . .
the same. Maybe
lovelier. The years have been good to
you, Loren."

“
Even though love wasn’t?” She smiled bitterly,
wondering why she wasn't gray and
bent with all the
sadness she'd held inside during that
time. Did she
dare tell him how hard the years—and life
without
him—had been? How much she hurt inside? "I just did
what was necessary to keep going all these years. I'm
sure
they took their toll."

He smiled slightly and white teeth flashed
against his
tanned face. "It doesn't show. You're
lovely."

Poignantly she answered, "The scars are all
inside."

"Loren, please—" he implored, hands palm out.
"It was
tough on me too."

"Well, what did you expect, Reid? Did you think
I
would fall into your arms the minute you walked in
the
door? Did you honestly believe that our
relationship could
pick up where it left off—six years
ago? No way."

He swallowed hard, knowing she was right . . .
and terribly hurt. As if he couldn't stand the intensity of
the
moment, he changed the subject. "It's cool in
here. I'll get
the heat." He walked confidently to the
hall and adjusted
the thermostat. "How about a cup of
hot tea? Then we can
talk. I think there's a world of
things to be said."

She shrugged neutrally. She had thought a lot
about this
moment over the last six years, and now he
wanted to
delay it. "Help yourself. 'Make
yourself
at home.' Or
mi casa
es su casa
as they say in your part of the
country."

His dark, devilish eyes cast a menacing glance,
but
he refused to answer her caustic statement.
Instead he proceeded to the kitchen, opening the cabinet where
he
knew she stored the tea. "Is Constant Comment
okay?"

Loren nodded silently and remained on the sofa,
feet
curled comfortably under her, watching Reid
work
around the kitchen. She found herself enjoying
the sight
of him puttering in the yellow kitchen, as
he had done so many times in the past. Oh, God, it had been a long
time.

Six years. Six heartbroken, hard-working,
life-building
years for her. And now, how dare he step
back into her life? How could he think he had that right? And how
in the world could she allow him in? Was she absolutely crazy?
Things were going too well in her life to disrupt it now. There
would be only one reason that would merit the discordance a
relationship with Reid would surely create. Only one.
If their love was strong enough.
But, Loren
wondered, could she relent to love?

She focused again on Reid moving about the tiny, well
organized kitchen. It was no surprise that he had shed his jacket,
draping it casually over a chair. As his muscular arms and
shoulders rippled with his movements, she remembered those arms
around her. His chest strained tautly against the beige shirt, and
she recalled times when that chest had pressed lovingly against her
own. His dark hair fell in casual disregard across his forehead,
and Loren could see strands of gray not previously there. The lines
in his forehead and along his cheeks were more deeply etched,
indicating that the years had taken their toll of him. Perhaps his
life had been difficult . . . but, no. She wouldn't provide excuses
for him.

Reid reached for the cups, the dainty china that was
always dwarfed by his large hands. Once, as a joke, she had bought
him a mug, one to fit his hands. His western hands were made for
mugs—something large enough for him to grasp. The mug was a tacky
thing, with a roadrunner imprinted on its side. But Reid had
laughed that marvelous low laugh he had, and always insisted on
using it.

His sudden low laughter jarred Loren back to
the present. He had found it! It had been tucked away, hidden from
her sight, but saved, nonetheless.
Saved for
tonight,
as if she had known all along that he would
return.
And leave again.
A chill passed
through her at the thought.

As he puttered around the kitchen, fixing hot tea,
setting the cups on a tray along with sugar and spoons, Angel came
to the kitchen doorway. She stood and watched him, her luxurious
tail waving as she slowly waved it back and forth. Obviously, she
wasn’t happy with this intruder. She bounded away before he
returned to the living room with the tray.

Reid
smiled at the cat’s
antics,
revealing the incongruous dimple in his
left
cheek. Loren accepted the delicate
china cup and saucer he offered. In his typical masculine way
he grabbed the mug—his mug—and sat beside her. She caught his
leathery, manly scent, which reminded her
of all
outdoors. She had forgotten that about him. And that
she still loved that smell . . . still loved him.

There was a smile in his voice. "You saved it.
My mug
was well hidden, but still there."

She shrugged. "It belongs."

"Like everything else around here?"

Her heart reached out to him.
Like
you,
she thought. "I
suppose
so."

He set the mug down and turned to her. "I've
missed
you, Loren
..."
He
moved closer, overwhelming her with his fragrance. It had been so
long since she had been close enough to smell his marvelous
masculinity, feel his warm,
inviting lips on hers,
know his immediate response to her
being
there.

His kiss was gentle this time, soothing and
loving.
Lov
ing?
But Loren
pulled back. She had to. She couldn't—
wouldn't—open
herself to his kind of hurt again.

She drew in a shaky breath. "Please, don't, Reid . .
."

He shifted away from her, feeling her
reluctance to his presence and yet confused by her varied
reactions. Sigh
ing, Reid gulped the hot, spicy brew
from his mug. "It's
been a long time since I've had
this flavor tea, Loren."

"About six years?" She sipped delicately,
feeling better
as the warmth spread throughout her
insides. "Why?
Won't your wife prepare it for
you?"

His dark eyes cut into her. "Tea wasn't my
former
wife's type of drink. Scotch was more to her
liking."

Loren raised her eyebrows. "Former wife? I see we
have a lot of catching up to do."

He answered honestly. "Yes, we do. I just hope you'll
give me a chance to explain. Give us a chance again, Loren. We
shared too much happiness to let time and bitterness drive us
apart."

"I thought by inviting you here tonight I was being
quite open-minded. The bitterness? It was six years in
accumulating, Reid. One night of explanation won't erase that."

"I realize we can't just pick up where we left off
six years ago, Loren. But could we try to catch up? Try to
understand?" His voice was almost a plea.

She smiled longingly. "We can try." She reached for
his face, just to touch it, caress it, run her fingers along the
lines and touch the grayness in his hair. "I.. . I've missed you,
too, Reid. And you know something funny? At first I wasn't sure it
was you in the restaurant tonight either. It was almost like a
dream, my imagination. And yet you're still the same. These lines
are deeper, a few gray hairs that weren't here before. And this
mustache . . ." She touched it curiously. "I like it. Gives you a
distinguished, mysterious appearance." Her hand fell away, and
suddenly she felt shy with him.

Reid's tone was soft and serious. "Loren, I
want you to know that through it all I have never forgotten you or
the love we shared. You have always been in my memory. Always. And
when I saw you tonight, I knew I had to talk
to
you
...
to hold you again. Just once
more. Can you
understand that?"

She nodded, muttering thickly, "Of course."

“
Can you forgive me?”

“
I don’t know. It’s a stretch.”

He kissed her forehead. "You are the same as in my
memory. Beautiful and smart and sweet."

“
No longer the sweet innocent person you knew.”
She sighed. "I won't deny that what we shared at one time was
special and wonderful, Reid. But we have both changed. We lead
entirely different lives now."