Behind the Mask (30 page)

“What are you doing?” she asked, coming down the stairs.

Cameron glared at the round of bread he was attempting to slice with his right hand. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He stabbed the loaf and left the knife there. “I’m trying to prove myself a fool once again.”

“If you weren’t so proud, you’d have asked for some help.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, I’m not.” She pushed past him to cut two thick slices of bread which she buttered and put on the table. “Sit down,” she ordered, “before you fall over. You’re as white as a ghost.”

She gathered dried fruit and jerked meat that he could eat with his good hand. She poured him a tall glass of milk and asked, “Is there anything else you need?”

Cameron swallowed. “No, thank you.”

“Then I’m going back to bed,” she said and headed up the stairs.

She was halfway up when Cameron said, “Abbi.” She turned to look down at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said and left him alone.

Chapter Nine

HOPE

T
hree days later, Cameron’s hand finally stopped throbbing—as long as he kept it higher than his elbow. He could move his fingers enough to know that they weren’t broken. But they were so swollen and discolored that it was impossible to do even the simplest task without experiencing great pain. Abbi took care of the animals and the meals without complaint. She was gracious and polite but said little. Her only comment beyond necessary exchange was a slightly sarcastic expression of gratitude for having ample wood chopped, because she felt certain she wouldn’t be any good at doing it.

Feeling useless as he did, Cameron keenly felt her reticence. He didn’t have any trouble with the fact that he deserved her behavior, but he had a hard time admitting that she’d learned it from him. Had she felt so disheartened and vulnerable when she’d first come here? The answer was a blatant yes. And he had to wonder if this ridiculous accident had truly been his own stupidity, or if God was trying to teach him a lesson. Either way, he hated it. At the same time, he felt something softening in him—almost against his will. Still, he preferred not to examine such feelings too closely.

A week after he’d smashed his fingers, Cameron began to hope that he’d get beyond this experience. He was able to use his left hand minimally, as long as he didn’t attempt a feat that took any pressure or strength. When Abbi set his dinner in front of him, which included a venison steak, he wondered if she were trying to make things as difficult as possible. Determined to be independent, he did his best to cut the meat into bite-sized pieces while Abbi ate her dinner, paying no mind to him whatsoever.

“Damn!” he finally muttered when he just couldn’t do it.

“There’s no need to curse,” she scolded. “If you want help, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fine,” he snarled. “Will you please cut this?” He pushed his plate toward her.

“I’d be happy to.”

“You find my cursing offensive?” he asked with a little smirk.

“Should I?”

He scowled. “Well, it hurts like hell and I’ll curse if I want to.”

Abbi threw down the knife and slid his plate back across the table. “If you can’t speak to me with any kind of respect, you can do it yourself.”

Cameron cursed under his breath and glanced down at his meal. He ate what he could, then had to admit he couldn’t do it alone. His only other options were to starve or eat like a barbarian. “Forgive me, Abbi,” he said. “I will do my best to control my speech.”

“Thank you,” she said with a forced smile and stood up to cut the remainder of his meat.

Before she was finished, Cameron reached up with his good hand to touch her hair where it hung in front of his face.
Could it be possible?
he asked himself.
A child with his face . . . and red hair?

“Abbi,” he whispered as she set the knife down.

“What?” she asked.

He only shook his head and said, “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll heal soon enough.”

Abbi sat back down and finished her meal, fighting to conceal her frustration. She wanted him to need her. But not like this.

While she was cleaning the dishes, Cameron appeared beside her, pushing her hair behind her shoulder so he could see her face. She glanced up briefly, attempting to gauge his motives. The sincerity in his expression made her heart quicken, and tears that were already close to the surface became suddenly difficult to subdue.

“You look as if you’re about to cry,” he said. She threw down the wet rag and turned her back to him. “Am I so cruel?” he asked, touching her shoulders.

Abbi couldn’t speak without letting go of her emotion. At times like this, when his sensitivity overcame his brusque exterior, she felt an innate closeness to him that she could never put to words. But she knew from experience that his tenderness would only be temporary, and she feared being too open, knowing they would be separated by an even thicker wall tomorrow.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he said when she didn’t make a sound. She felt his hand in her hair and closed her eyes to more fully accept his nearness, his touch.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Cameron said, wishing he could see her face, praying he wouldn’t regret setting such words free. “It runs through my head over and over. I fear if I don’t say it aloud, it will never leave me in peace.” Still she said nothing. Cameron took a deep breath. “Somewhere in Horstberg, Abbi, in the home where I grew up, there is a hobbyhorse, the color of wood, ornately carved, with a red lion painted where the brand would be.”

Abbi sucked in her breath and held it. She turned to face him, oblivious to the tears that refused to be held back another moment. Her breath escaped her with a quivering sigh. Cameron touched the tears on her face. “What does it mean, Abbi?”

She shook her head, unable to answer. He put his arms around her, pressing her face to his chest. Abbi just clung to him, aware of his heart pounding along with her own. She tipped her head back to look at him, wishing he could always be this way with her.

“Abbi,” he murmured, cradling her head in his hand. And then he was kissing her. He kissed her like he never had before. Something honest and real and open crept into his affection. She could feel his reluctant trust, his flailing hope, his confusion, his fear, his aching spirit. And she responded with her whole soul, as if she were truly capable of saving him, as if she could feed him her hopes and dreams. She gasped with pleasure as he kissed her throat, her face, her lips again. She ached to have it go on and on, to make it last forever, but her common sense began to battle with the passion building inside of her. She resigned herself to stopping this the very moment he took a step back, heaving a breath of restraint.

“Abbi, we mustn’t,” he murmured close to her face.

“I know,” she whispered in reply.

“Forgive me,” he said, but he kissed her again before leaving the lodge. Abbi sat down and cried, knowing beyond any doubt that by morning she would be left alone once again with her feelings.

She hardly slept that night as memories of being in Cameron’s arms made her ache. But for what? In her heart she knew it wasn’t her physical desires that dictated this longing. But how could she express her feelings to a man who had apparently forgotten how to feel little
but
physical desire?

She rose early with little sleep behind her and quickly went to work preparing breakfast, until she turned to see Cameron standing in the kitchen. His expression made it immediately evident that he’d put up that impenetrable wall—just as she’d predicted. She turned her back to him, attempting to ignore his presence. She didn’t realize how distracted she was until he took a step toward her. She dropped the plate she was holding and it shattered on the floor. Cameron’s expression didn’t change as he bent to pick up the broken pieces. Silently, Abbi bent to help him, but she found herself so close to him that she could feel his breath. Their eyes met for an awkward moment, and she felt angry with herself for wanting him to kiss her. Knowing that he wouldn’t, she threw the piece of plate in her hand back to the floor, where it broke again, then she noisily put breakfast on the table while he got the broom and finished cleaning up the mess. Once seated, their eyes met with tangible communication passing through the air between them. Abbi knew he was remembering, just as she was, the passion they’d found in each other’s arms last night, however fleeting and innocent. Fluttery from the meaning in his gaze, she dropped her fork audibly to the table and leaned back, parting her lips to draw a deep breath.

“Forget about it, Abbi,” he commanded, his voice low.

“That will be no problem for you,” she countered. “You’re well accustomed to quickly forgetting any sensitivity that passes between us.” He looked insulted but said nothing, so she continued. “I don’t know what you’re running from, and I really don’t care, but it’s—”

“Forget about it!” he shouted. And for the first time in weeks, Cameron looked downright cruel. But Abbi didn’t feel the fear she knew he was trying to instill in her. She stood up and hit her fist against the table.

“I can’t!” she shouted back. “And you can’t expect me to!”

“You’ve got to!”

“Why?” she demanded.

Cameron glared at her with defiance, but he couldn’t come up with an answer. He knew his own anger was simply some warped attempt to mask the fear lurking beneath it. But he didn’t know what to do about it.

“You’re not going to make me forget this time,” she said, her eyes full of fire. “I’m going to make you remember. Think about it, Cameron.” Her voice quivered as she walked around the table to stand close to him, looking down into his face. “Think about it long and hard. Remember how it felt!”

Cameron could only turn away and swallow hard. She’d struck a nerve, and he felt certain she knew it. How could he
not
remember? His constant thoughts of everything sweet and tender he had shared with Abbi were the very thing that made him so afraid to acknowledge what he felt. Still, this was so much more complicated than she could ever understand. For all that they’d shared, the facts hadn’t changed. There was nowhere for these feelings to go, no future to invest in, nothing to hope for. He regained his composure and stood to face her. “There is no good in this, Abbi.”

“Then we’re not talking about the same thing.”

“What are you saying, Abbi? Would you have me compromise you? Is that what you want?”

“No! I would have you admit honestly to your feelings for me.”

“My feelings are irrelevant,” he snapped. “And I’m not going to destroy our friendship by gratifying carnal desires.” Cameron regretted saying that as soon as it slipped out.

The tears in Abbi’s eyes contradicted her determined expression as she retorted, “Why won’t you admit there’s more to what we share than some sordid physical attraction?”

“Because I can’t!” he shouted. Then his voice broke as the raw truth forced its way into the open. “I
cannot
allow myself to become personally involved with you.”

Abbi’s astonished gaze was more than enough to make him feel like a hypocrite. But she had to say, “You already are.”

Cameron sat back down and pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I know,” he said.

“Is it so bad?”

“For you, perhaps.”

“I’m capable of judging for myself.”

“You can’t judge the situation accurately when you don’t have all the facts. There is far too much you don’t know about me.”

“Tell me,” she challenged.

“I can’t, Abbi. You have no comprehension what you’re asking.”

“It really doesn’t matter what I know about you, Cameron. Because I know how you make me feel. I know what led me here, and—”

The severity returned to his eyes as he interrupted firmly, “We will forget last night.”

“You
might,” she reached out and touched his face, “but I doubt it.” She paused uneasily. “And I hope you don’t.”

Cameron closed his eyes tightly as if to shut out her words, then his hand went over hers. Turning his face into her palm, he pressed his lips there before he opened his eyes and looked up at her. Abbi could see by his expression that he wanted to say something, that he felt some kind of desperation. She wanted to be in his arms, to have him spill his heart to her. She ached to help him find the peace of mind he was searching for. If only she could reach him!

“Eat your breakfast, Abbi,” he said, pulling his hand away. “It’s getting cold.”

Overcome with defeat and frustration, she sat down across from him and tried in vain to eat.