Beside a Dreamswept Sea (34 page)

Angry all over again, he slapped soap on his body, and visualized her. Laughing, giving him that secretive smile, looking at him and letting him see she was feeling fragile, vulnerable. His hands gentled and, in his mind’s eye, he saw not his own but her hands, her long, slender fingers, gliding lazy trails over his bare skin. Heat furled in his groin, and he grew aroused. Merely thinking of her, he’d tripped into hormone hell. Again.

Grimacing, he jabbed the soap into its dish, then flipped the tap over to cold. When the water turned frigid, he jerked, clenched his teeth, muttered a healthy, “Animal crackers.”

His teeth chattering, he forced himself to stay under the icy spray. Pangs of conscience attacked him, full force. Could he marry Cally, loving her, and denying he did? Promising her he never would? He’d given her the words and, at the time, he’d meant them. But at gut level, he must have known the truth back then. Even if he hadn’t, after the dream tonight, he couldn’t deny it anymore; not to himself. The question was, Should he tell Cally the truth? Should he keep his vow to be honest with her and tell her he’d done the singularly most stupid and irresponsible thing of his life? Should he tell her he’d fallen head over heels, heart over ass, in love with her?

She’d take off like a jet propelled with rocket fuel.

He’d lose her.

He slumped against the shower wall. How the hell had he gotten caught in this web of deception? He batted at the tap, and the water shut off. Snatching a towel from the bar, he rubbed it briskly over his skin. The kids loved her, needed her, and they’d lose her. The M and M’s played an important part in this relationship, but they weren’t the bottom line. He would lose her. That was the bottom line. He’d lose her, and he didn’t want to lose her.

But to keep her, he’d have to pull a Gregory-type stunt and lie to her. Bryce jammed the damp towel between the bar and the wall, then tugged on his robe. He just couldn’t do that to her, or to himself. Tugging at the sides of the robe, he cinched it closed with a belted knot. Pulling a Gregory Tate antic ate at everything decent inside Bryce. He couldn’t live with it. Not even for Cally.

He returned to his room with a heavy heart; tried going back to bed, but only tossed and turned. Finally, he just got up. His knee aching like hell, he paced the room to work out the stiffness, and muddled over their mess. How could he resolve it without losing her?

Inside his head, he heard a knock.

He stilled on the corner of the rug and stared at a snow globe paperweight on the desk. “Tony?” he asked, surprise skittering through his voice. It couldn’t be anyone else, but why would he be knocking?

You wanted a warning I was coming, so I gave you one. Having a rough night, eh, Counselor?

He’d forgotten. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s not easy seeing the truth. Sometimes it’s not pretty.

Tony knew about the dream and what it had revealed to Bryce about Meriam. “No.” His voice went flat. “It’s not.”

If you talked it over with Cally, you might feel better about this.

“I’m sure I would. But I don’t think the woman I’ve proposed to would feel better at hearing my realizations about my former wife.”

Maybe you’re right. Women are hard to figure. Hmm, I’m just talking off the top of my head here, but I seem to remember in Relationships 101—you cut that class, too—there was an in-depth discussion on a topic called trust. Probably structured by some wimp—not a real man—but this guy suggested that when a man asks a woman to share the rest of her life with him, he should trust her. Radical concept, isn’t it?

“I hate it when you get sarcastic, Tony. Especially right now. In case you haven’t noticed, that dream knocked me on my ass.”

If I hadn’t noticed, I wouldn’t be here.

“Then drop the sarcasm.”

Okay. Here’s the straight skinny. Trust Cally. And talk to her about this.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

I don’t think you really trust her. I think you tell yourself you do so you can keep your secrets to yourself and not risk losing your pride.

“Pride has nothing to do with this. I have none, and she gets hers from a bottle of perfume, remember?”

Pride has everything to do with this. I warned you I’d be in your face, that you could lie to me, but not to yourself. Pride is the problem, Bryce. Way down deep inside you, in places you don’t like to acknowledge even exist, you want Cally Tate. You need her. And you want love. You damn well crave it. But to admit any of that you have to risk your pride, risk having her toss those cravings right back in your face. And that’s why you proposed a contract for a marriage of convenience to the woman you love. So you get what you want, but avoid risks. You copped a plea, Counselor. Played it safe. But that won’t give you what you crave. Only risks will do that.

“You’re finding fault with the proposal? You’re the one who said love was mucking things up. Now you’re feeding me this garbage about pride and risks being the problem? No way, Tony. Pride isn’t the problem. Having been in love before and not being loved back—that’s the problem.”

Exactly.
Tony’s voice softened.
Loving and not being loved back. Being afraid it’ll happen again. That it can’t not happen again.

Bryce went stock-still. He had said that. And he’d meant it. Meriam hadn’t loved him. Ever. He knew that from the dream. He’d loved her, but she’d never loved him. In all of their marriage, all of his adult life, he’d never been loved by a woman. And because he hadn’t, he doubted he was lovable.

Just like Cally.

Talk to Cally, hmm? Maybe you can help each other. Maybe not. It takes guts to believe. And to dream for longer than the span of a kiss. To tell you the truth, Bryce, I’m not sure either of you have enough guts to handle it. But I figure your odds together are better than they are apart.

Bryce grimaced and grabbed the snow globe from the desk, then clenched it in his palm. “Sometimes you’re a real bastard, Tony.”

Yeah, I know. The prognosis is that I’ll get worse before I get better. Thanksgiving is only three days away.

The anger fell away from Bryce like a thin layer of sun-warmed ice. “I’m sorry about you and Miss Hattie.”

Just talk to Cally and get this worked out, okay? I swear to God I can’t take another Thanksgiving around here without things working out right for somebody.

“I’ll talk to her. And, if I might make a suggestion . . .”

Why not?

“I think you should talk with Miss Hattie, too. She’s really worried about something, and she won’t discuss it even with Miss Millie. It has her rattled.”

I can’t talk to her.

“Why the hell not? You two love each other.”

Yes, I love her. I’ve always loved her. Tony let out a heartfelt sigh. Imagine this, Counselor. Imagine loving a woman, hearing her talking to you every day, but never being able to converse with her. Imagine seeing her, day in and out, but never—not once—being seen by her. Imagine never being able to touch her, or to hold her, or being touched or held by her. And imagine her loving you with all her heart and never having more than your whispers inside her mind. That’s all you can give her. Signs. Cool breezes. Never a word, a smile, a simple kiss good morning. Imagine it, Bryce. For you, and for her. That’s the position I’m in with Hattie. Or, more accurately, the position I have been in.

Bryce struggled to talk around the lump in his throat. “It’s pretty grim.”

Yes, it’s grim. I’ve been a damn fool, Counselor. That’s hard to admit, but it’s true. I’ve been content to be close to Hattie most of the time, but she deserved better. She deserved the best of everything and, because of me, she got nothing.

“Anyone who knows her, knows she only wanted you, Tony.”

But if I weren’t here, then maybe she’d have gone on with her life. Maybe she would have—

“She did go on with her life.”

I meant without me.

“If you think that’s possible, you’re crazy as
hell.”

I hope not. Because from what’s in the wind, she’s soon going to have to do it.

Dread snaked through Bryce. He’d imagined all Tony had said. Living it for a few seconds had been painful, but they’d lived it for fifty-one years. Their circumstances were familiar, and they’d adjusted. Now they were going to have to adjust again? That seemed too much to ask of any couple. “That’s why you’ve been so different from how T.J. described you. And why Miss Hattie’s been so worried.”

Yes. It’s totally my fault. I busted the regs. But we both get to pay the price.

“It’ll break her heart.” Bryce couldn’t imagine Miss Hattie without her soldier.

And mine.
Tony let out a shuddery sigh that blew a cool wind across Bryce.
Look, the problem with me and Hattie can’t be fixed. Yours can. Go talk to Cally. Please. At least when they force Hattie and me apart, we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you two and the kids are all going to be together and you’ll be okay.

Force them apart? Who? Bryce shut out the question, certain he really didn’t want to know. “I’ll talk to Cally, but don’t you give up on finding a solution for you and Miss Hattie. You’re always telling the rest of us miracles are possible here. Maybe you need to believe it, too.”

I wish I could. But Seascape’s miracles are for special guests, not for Hattie and me. Never for Hattie and me.

Bryce walked into the salon.
Cally hadn’t been in her room, but following the light seeping from here into the stairwell, he’d come downstairs. She lay sleeping slumped against the sofa, her breathing soft and easy, her full lips slightly parted. A thick, cloth-covered photo album lay open on her lap. Old photos of the Freeport family.

He lifted the book, set it onto the coffee table, then just looked at Cally. At her sweet face, unguarded in sleep in ways she’d never let anyone see when awake. Her hands lay at her sides, her fingertips curled, bunching her teal skirt, and the memory of her touching his face eased into his mind. Desire drugged him like a sucker punch.

He sat down beside her on the brocade sofa, then leaned over and lowered the hemline of her skirt. When he’d lifted the album, she’d shifted, and it’d crept up her thigh. His chest brushed against her forearm, and her lips tempted him. He shouldn’t do it, but couldn’t resist, and touched a tender kiss to them.

“Bryce.” She sighed his name, and her lashes fluttered open.

“Hi.” Her eyes were unfocused, dreamy, and he sensed that’s exactly how they’d look when she was making love. Desire curled deeper, coiled tighter, filling the crevices of him with longing. They would be loving, he promised himself. But first they needed to talk, to resolve his emotions regarding Meriam. He had to put her to rest. She was content.

And now Bryce wanted contentment, too.

“You fell asleep,” he whispered, smoothing a hand down Cally’s side, ribs to hip.

Her cheeks turned the warm pink of Miss Hattie’s Peace roses. “I guess I did.”

“Are you awake enough that we can talk a little?”

“I think so.” She stretched out, turned toward him and slid on the cushion, then tucked up one leg. “Just don’t expect any brilliant deductions. I’m not comatose, but I’m lingering in dream state. I kind of like it there.”

He’d like to be there with her. “Dreams are what I want to talk about.” He lifted her hand and brushed his thumb over her nail. The grating friction felt good. “I had one a little while ago that was . . . different.”

“Good, or bad, different?”

“It was about Meriam.” He searched Cally’s eyes, let her see his uncertainty. “Would you mind my talking about it?”

Curiosity fell to compassion. “It rattled you.”

He nodded. “In ways I didn’t expect.”

“Sounds ominous.” She laced their fingers, sandwiched his hand between hers, then rubbed her fingertips over the back of his hand. “I think we’d better talk about this. I don’t like seeing you tensed up, Counselor.”

“Thanks.” Now what did he say? He hadn’t thought beyond confronting her with this. They’d surpassed that, so where did he go from here? He wanted to talk it out, but where did he start?

“Don’t struggle with it. Just let it come.” Cally glimpsed their reflection in the television screen. They looked good together. Him, dark-haired and handsome; her, fair and blond. Sensing him at a loss and needing a show of support, she again clasped their hands. When he clamped down on hers, she knew she’d been right. He was floundering.