For a month she tried. Christmas came and went, as well as the New
Year celebrations, but the focus of her life was on somehow contacting Kell. It
took a month for her to admit that either there was no way of getting a message
to him, or he'd gotten them and still hadn't called.
To give up again, after trying so hard, hurt almost more than she
could bear. For a while she'd had hope; now she had nothing.
She hadn't let herself cry much; it had seemed pointless, and she
had really tried to pick herself up and keep going. But that night Rachel cried
as she hadn't cried in months, lying alone in the bed she'd shared with him,
aching with loneliness.
She had offered him everything she had and
was, and he'd walked away.
The long night
hours crawled by, and she lay there with her eyes wide and burning, staring at
the darkness.
When the phone rang the next morning she still hadn't slept, and
her voice was dull when she answered.
"Rachel?" Jane asked hesitantly. "Is that
you?"
With an effort Rachel roused herself. "Yes. Hello, Jane, how
are you?"
"Round," Jane said, summing it up in one word. "Do
you feel like coming up for a visit? I warn you, I have ulterior motives. You
can chase the boys while I sit with my feet up."
Rachel didn't know how she could bear to see Jane and Grant so
happy together, surrounded by their children, but it would have been small of
her to refuse. "Yes, of course," she forced herself to reply.
Jane was silent, and too late Rachel remembered that nothing got
by Jane. And being Jane, she went right to the heart of the matter. "It's
Kell, isn't it?"
Rachel's hand tightened on the receiver, and she closed her eyes
at the pain of just hearing his name spoken. So many people had denied his
existence that it stunned her for Jane to bring up the subject. She tried to
speak, but her voice broke; then suddenly she was weeping again. "I've
tried to call him," she said brokenly. "I can't get through. No one
will even admit that they know him. Even if they're giving him my messages, he
hasn't called."
"I thought he'd give in before now," Jane mused.
By that time Rachel had gotten herself under control again, and
she apologized to Jane for crying all over her. She bit her lip, promising herself
that it wouldn't happen again. She had to accept his loss and stop mourning.
"Look maybe I can do something," Jane said. "I'll
have to work on Grant. Talk to you later."
Rachel hung up the phone, but she didn't let herself dwell on what
Jane had said. She couldn't. If she got her hopes up again only to have them
dashed, it would destroy her.
Jane went in search of Grant, and found him in the barn, working
on the tractor. It was cold, but despite the chill he was working in only his
shirt sleeves, and they were rolled up to his elbows. Two chubby little boys
with white-blond hair and amber eyes, snugly bundled against the chill, played
at his feet. Grant had started taking them out with him, now that she was so
big with pregnancy that it was hard for her to chase after two rambunctious
toddlers.
When he saw her he straightened, a wrench in his hand. Swiftly his
gaze went over her, and despite her bulk a certain gleam entered his eyes.
"How do I get in touch with Kell?" she asked, getting
right to the point.
Grant looked wary. "Why do you want to get in touch with
Kell?"
"For Rachel."
Consideringly, Grant eyed his wife. Kell had had his private phone
number changed soon after he'd returned home, and Grant had made certain Jane
hadn't discovered it since then. It was too dangerous for her to know things
like that; she had a positive genius for attracting trouble.
"What about Rachel?"
"I just talked to her. She was crying, and you know Rachel
never cries."
Grant looked at her in silence, thinking. Not many women would
have done what Rachel had. She and Jane weren't ordinary women, and though they
went about things differently, it was the basic truth that they were both
strong women.
Then he
looked down at the little boys playing happily in the hay, crawling over his
feet.
Slowly a grin cracked his hard face.
Kell was a good man; he deserved some of this happiness.
"All right," he said, putting the wrench aside and
leaning down to scoop the twins into his arms. "Let's go into the house.
I'll put the call through. There's no way in hell I'm letting you get his
number."
Jane stuck her tongue out at him, but followed him to the house
with a big grin on her face.
Grant didn't take any chances; he made her wait in the next room
while he made the call. When he heard the line ringing he called her, and she
raced in to grab the receiver from his hand. It took three more rings before
the phone was picked up on the other end and a deep voice said,
"Sabin."
"Kell," she said cheerfully. "This is Jane."
There was dead silence for a moment, and she stepped into the
breach. "It's about Rachel."
"Rachel?" His voice was guarded.
"Rachel Jones," Jane said, rubbing it in. "Don't
you remember her? She's the woman in Florida–"
"Damn it, you know I remember. Is something wrong?"
"You need to go see her."
He sighed. "Look, Jane, I know you mean well, but there's no
point in talking about it. I did what I had to do."
"You need to go see her," Jane repeated.
Something in her voice got through to him, and she heard the
sudden sharpness that edged into his tone. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"She's been trying to get in touch with you," Jane said
evasively.
"I know. I got the messages."
"Then why haven't you called her?"
"I have my reasons."
He was the most stubborn, noncommittal man she'd ever met, except
for Grant Sullivan; they were two of a kind. Still, even stone could be worn
away by dripping water, so she didn't give up. "You should have called
her."
"It wouldn't do any good," he said sharply.
"If you say so," Jane returned just as sharply.
"But at least Grant married me when he found out I was pregnant!"
Then she slammed the phone down with a satisfying bang, and a pleased smile
spread over her face.
Kell paced his office, running his hand through his black hair.
Rachel was pregnant, carrying his baby. He counted the months; she would be six
months along, so why had she waited so long before trying to contact him? Had
something gone wrong? Was she sick? In danger of losing the child? Was
something wrong with the baby?
The worry ate at him; it was even worse than what he'd gone
through every day since he'd left her in the hospital. The want and need hadn't
lessened; if anything, they had grown stronger. But every time the temptation
to call her began undermining his common sense, his memory would dredge up the
picture of her lying on the yard with her blood soaking her clothing, and he
knew he couldn't live if his very presence put her in that sort of danger
again. He loved her more than he'd known a human being could love; he'd never
loved before, but when he'd fallen, he'd gone over hard. It pervaded his bone
and tissue; he was never allowed to forget even for a moment. When he slept it
was with the memory of holding her in his arms, but more often he lay awake,
his body hard and aching for her softness to surround him.
He couldn't sleep; his appetite had suffered; his temper was shot
to hell.
He couldn't
even have sex with other women, because the simple fact was that other women
didn't even tempt him enough to arouse him.
When he closed his eyes at night he saw Rachel, with her straight
dark hair and clear, lake-gray eyes, and he tasted her on his tongue. He
remembered her directness, her honesty, and the games played by women who tried
to attract him did nothing other than turn him off.
She was going to have his baby.
The messages he'd been getting had been driving him crazy, and a
dozen times he'd reached for the telephone. The messages had all been the same,
short and simple.
"Call me. Rachel."
God, how he'd wanted to,
just to hear her voice again, but now those messages took on more meaning. Had
she just wanted to let him know that he was going to be a father, or was it
more urgent than that?
Was something wrong?
He reached for the telephone and actually dialed the number, but
slammed the receiver down before her phone could begin ringing. Sweat broke out
on his forehead. He wanted to see her, to make certain that everything was all
right. He wanted to see her, just once, heavy and rounded with his child, even
if he was never given anything else in this life.
It was raining the next day when he drove down the narrow private
road that led toward the beach and Rachel's house. The sky was low and gray,
sullenly pouring rain as if it would never stop. The temperature was in the
forties, but that seemed almost warm after the twenties he had left behind in
Virginia, and the weather report on the radio had promised clear skies and a
warming trend for the next day.
He had arranged for a flight to Jacksonville, then caught a
commuter plane to Gainesville, where he rented a car.
It was the first time he'd ever walked out
of the office like that, but after what had happened last summer, no one
questioned him.
It wouldn't have done much good if
they had; once Sabin decided to move, he moved.
He stopped the car in front of the house and got out, ducking
against the rain. Joe was braced in front of the steps, snarling, and it was so
much like before that a tight smile tugged at Rell's mouth. "Joe,
heel," he said. The dog's ears perked forward at that voice and the
command, and with a small bark he bounded toward Kell, his tail actually
wagging.
"That's quite a greeting," Kell murmured, leaning down
to rub the dog's head. "I just hope Rachel is as glad to see me."
After he'd ignored all of her messages she might well slam the door in his face.
Despite the chill he felt himself starting to sweat, and his heart was slamming
against his ribs. He was so close to her; she was just on the other side of
that door, and he was shaking with anticipation, his loins hardening. Damn,
that was just what he needed.
He was getting soaked, so he sprinted across the yard and leaped
onto the porch with one bound, disdaining the steps. He knocked on the frame of
the screen door, then impatiently did it again, harder.
"Just a minute."
He closed his eyes at her voice, then heard her footsteps
approaching the door, and opened them again, not wanting to miss even a second
of looking at her. She opened the door, and they faced each other silently
through the screen. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. He tried to see her
through the screen, but there were no lights on in the living room, and the
dim, gray day didn't help much. All he could really see was the pale oval of
her face.
"May I come in?" he finally asked quietly.
Without a word she pushed the screen door open and moved back for
him to enter.
He stepped
inside, closed the wooden door behind him and reached to flip the light
switch, flooding the room with light.
She stood before him, small and fragile and very slim. She was
wearing tight jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt; her hair was longer and
pulled back from her face on each side with two big tortoiseshell clips. She
was pale, her face strained.
"You're not pregnant," he said in a tight voice. Had she
lost the baby?
She swallowed, then shook her head. "No. I'd hoped I would
be, but it didn't happen."
Her voice, so low and well remembered, made him shudder inside
with pleasure, but her words brought him up short. "You haven't been
pregnant?"
Now she looked confused. "No."
His fists knotted. He didn't know which was worse, the realization
that Jane had lied to him, or disappointment that Rachel wasn't pregnant, after
all. "Jane told me you were pregnant," he ground out, then abruptly
remembered her exact words, and a bark of laughter burst out even through his
anger. "Hell, no, she didn't. What she said was 'At least Grant married me
when he found out I was pregnant!'" he told her, mimicking Jane.
"Then she hung up on me. She's so slick that I didn't catch it until
now."
Rachel had been watching him, not even blinking as she drank in
his appearance. He was thinner, harder, that black fire of his even more
intense. "You came because you thought I was pregnant?"
"Yes."
"Why bother now?" she asked, and bit her lip to stop it
from trembling.
Well, he'd asked for that. He looked at her again. She had lost
weight, and her eyes were listless. It startled him, hit him hard. She didn't
look like a happy woman, and all he'd ever wanted was for her to be safe and
happy. "How
are you?" he
asked, concern deepening his voice to a rumble.