Future Perfect (22 page)

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, her voice low.

“But Juliana—”

“
Please,
” she said, and he fell silent.

She waited while Webster pulled on his boots, then led him out onto the back porch.

“Woodshed’s almost empty,” he said quietly.

“There’s a load of wood in the truck,” Juliana said, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s already split. If you don’t mind, you can bring some of that in, too.”

The snow was still falling, thick and wet, and Webster went back inside to get his jacket.

Juliana set her candle on the porch, then grabbed a broom from the mud room and headed out to where the truck sat in the driveway. Nearly eight inches of heavy snow covered the wood that was in the truck bed.

But as soon as she stepped onto the driveway, her feet broke through the snow to the slick pavement below and then went out from underneath her. She grabbed wildly at the air, but there was nothing to hold on to, so she fell. The snow cushioned her fall, but not enough for her already injured ribs. Juliana felt a dizzying wave of pain engulf her, and she closed her eyes, hanging on,
waiting for it to pass. Around her, the snow continued to fall, quietly, serenely.

Webster came back out on the porch and saw her sitting in the snow out by the truck.

“Are you okay?” he said, moving toward her quickly.

“Careful,” she said. “It’s—”

His feet hit the ice, and he slipped. He tried hard to get some traction, moving his legs furiously, like a cartoon character running in place. Gravity eventually won out, and he lost his balance and went down, landing on his rear end.

“—all ice,” Juliana finished inadequately.

“Ouch,” Webster said, a rueful grin on his handsome face. His look turned to concern. “Jule, did you hurt yourself?”

He already knew the answer to that question from the pain he could see in her eyes.

“I’m okay,” she said tightly.

“Oh, God, don’t start
that
again,” Webster said, crawling toward her to help her up.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, backing away.

Webster rubbed his face tiredly with his hands. “Juliana, why would the sheriff suggest that you might want me to read your mail to you?”

Juliana froze. Slowly she moved her head to look up into Webster’s eyes. He knew. He knew, but he wasn’t sure. And she didn’t want to talk about it.

“Are you going to help me with the wood, or am I going to have to do it myself?” Using the truck’s bumper for stability, Juliana painfully pulled herself to her feet. It was clear from her face that even that slight movement hurt her badly. Still she began sweeping the snow off the wood.

“I was wrong, wasn’t I?” Webster said softly, standing up next to her and helping remove the snow. “You didn’t know I was from the newspaper because you didn’t read that letter. You
couldn’t
read that letter.”

“Oh, damn!” Juliana said. The wood had become one giant block, covered with a thick layer of ice that had frozen rock solid underneath the snow. It would have taken a strong man with a sledge hammer to break it apart, assuming that man could find someplace to stand without slipping and sliding. And even after the wood was freed from the ice, it would be wet and soggy and nowhere near ready to burn. “How much wood did you say was in the shed?” she asked Webster. Sweet heavens, her ribs hurt.

He looked down at her through the falling snow. Flakes had fallen on her hair, creating a shimmery veil of snow over her curls. She looked like an angel. How could he possibly have mistrusted her? He felt sick, remembering the things he had said and done in his anger. He reached out to brush a snowflake off her cheek, but was stopped by the hostility in her eyes.

He’d really blown it. She was never going to forgive him.

“There’s probably enough wood to last through the night,” Webster said. “Provided we share a fireplace.”

Juliana swore, but weakly, with resignation. “My luck just never runs out, does it?” she said.

The firelight flickered across Juliana’s face as she stared into the flames. If she was thinking at all about that other night they’d sat here in front of a fire, that first night they’d made love, her expression didn’t give her away.

Webster watched her. “Jule,” he said softly, and she looked up at him. He could still see the hurt in her eyes, and silently he berated himself. How could he have accused her the way he had? “You didn’t read that letter, did you?”

She looked away from him, back toward the fire. When she spoke, her voice was low. “No.”

“You can’t read.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t bother to answer it. She just looked into the flames.

“I didn’t know that,” he finally said softly.

The firelike pain was back in her side every time she breathed in or out. It was appropriate, Juliana realized. As long as she was stuck here with Webster, it was fitting that she be in pain.

“Are you learning disabled?” he asked. “Dyslexic?”

This time it
was
a question, so she nodded. “Yes.”

“Juliana,” he said, “I honestly didn’t know, and I’m sorry. I … I guess I kind of lost it, and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t’ve said those things to you.”

“Damn right, you shouldn’t have,” she said, her green eyes sparking as she looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, ineffectively. “I’m really sorry—”

“Are you also sorry about not telling me that you were the reviewer?” Juliana asked sharply. “Funny, isn’t it, Webster, that you got so angry at
me
, when all along it was
you
who weren’t telling the truth. You should have told me you were from the newspaper right from the start.”

“You should have told me you couldn’t read,” Webster countered.

“I was afraid to,” Juliana said, her shoulders stiff. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Yeah, well, join the club,” Webster said. He stood up suddenly, stretching his long legs. He picked the candlestick up from the fireplace mantel and went to the door.

“Where are you going?” Juliana asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Up to your apartment,” Webster said. “I’m going to get your ace bandage. That fall hurt you. Maybe if we wrap you up, you’ll feel a little better.”

“I’m okay,” she protested.

“Yeah, right,” Webster said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“My apartment’s locked,” she said tightly. “And I’m not giving you the key.”

“I’ve still got my own key,” Webster said, and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

Damn
, thought Juliana, resting her head on her arms.
Damn, damn
,
double damn!
This was torture. It was going to take her long enough to get over him. She wanted him gone already. The sooner he left, the sooner she’d start healing.

Webster unlocked the door to Juliana’s apartment and went inside, holding the candlestick in front of him. The apartment was hushed and dark, the skylights covered with thick, white snow. He moved slowly across the floor. If he were Juliana, he wondered, where would he keep his ace bandages?

He opened the closet door. Rows of neatly hung clothing danced in the candlelight: all of Juliana’s prim, high-necked blouses, the long skirts, the more brilliantly colored evening gowns.… Something sparkled, reflecting the candle’s dim light and he stepped into the closet for a closer look. It was white, and it was a dress, and it was covered with literally thousands of tiny sequins. It
looked tiny, as if it would barely fit a woman as tall as Juliana, but it was made with that spandex material, the stuff that was designed to tightly hug every female curve. Her legs would look a mile long in a dress this short, Webster realized, his knees suddenly weak.

He had to make her forgive him. He
had
to.

Backing out of the closet, Webster closed the door and held up his candle, looking around the room, peering in the dim light. The dresser. That was a good place to look.

The first drawer was underwear. There was an incredible selection—everything from cotton jockey briefs to delicate wisps of satin and lace. But no ace bandage. He was about to close the drawer and move on to the next when a piece of paper caught his eye.

It was the note he’d written and left for her down in her office. It was the note he’d written the morning after he first told her he loved her. It was the note that she couldn’t read. And somehow he knew she hadn’t let Alicia read it to her. He picked it up and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans.

He pulled open the second drawer. It held Juliana’s exercise clothes—and the ace bandage. Triumphantly, he grabbed it and started down the stairs.

Juliana didn’t even look up when he came into the room.

“I found it,” he said. He sat down next to her and warmed his hands, holding them out to the fire.

“If you think I’m going to let you put that thing on me, you’re crazy,” Juliana said quietly, still not looking up at him.

Webster studied her profile for a moment. He had to apologize. He had to make her understand. “Juliana,
please, I am so sorry about what I said. You’ve got to forgive me.”

“No, I don’t,” she said hotly, suddenly turning to face him.

His eyes were dark with misery. “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “But I’m asking you. Please, look at it from my perspective.”

Juliana laughed humorlessly, then held her side from the pain. “You know what it looks like from your perspective?” she asked. “It looks like this is a damn convenient time for you to come crawling, asking for forgiveness. We’re stuck here together, alone in this big house. Yeah, I’ll bet you want me to forgive you, you son of a—”

“That’s not fair.”

“What do you want, Webster? You want to kiss and make up, right? And then what? Then you want me to take off my clothes so you can help me put on that ace bandage that you so gallantly went upstairs to fetch.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “But, hey, as long as I’ve got my clothes off, you might as well take yours off, too. And then, who knows? Right, Webster?”

“No.”

Tears of anger welled up in Juliana’s eyes, and she blinked them furiously back. “Well, I hate to disappoint you,” she said, “but I
did
hurt myself when I fell. Even if I were stupid enough to swallow your penitent crap, I wouldn’t be able to give you what you want, not without it hurting. But you probably don’t care.”

He was watching her, his own eyes filled with tears. His face was full of pain, and his voice shook as he said, “I
do
care. I would never want to hurt you, Jule.”

“You already did,” she whispered. “I loved you, Webster,
and you took that and you killed it. I can’t forgive you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Webster felt sick. He
had
to make her understand. “Jule, when I saw that letter, it didn’t occur to me that you didn’t know what it said, that you couldn’t read it. You’ve talked so many times about having ‘read’ one book or another that
honestly
I didn’t know you can’t read. Really, please, just tell me what I was supposed to think. Add to that the fact that you just turned down my marriage proposal. I was hurt. I was angry. I—”

“That doesn’t excuse the things you said to me,” Juliana said.

“No,” Webster said quietly. “You’re right. It doesn’t excuse what I said and did. But maybe it can make you understand how I was feeling. And maybe if you understand that, you’ll be able to forgive me.”

Juliana stared into the fire. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “I can’t.”

Webster awoke from a dreamless sleep with a rough hand shaking his shoulder. The fire had dwindled to little more than glowing embers, and the room was cold. He stared up into a small, frightened face and then was hit by the beam of a flashlight.

He swore, closing his eyes against the brightness. When he dared to open his eyes again, the little face, which was attached to a small, wiry body wrapped in a bright-yellow snowsuit, had knelt down next to Juliana.

“Chris!” he heard her exclaim. She groaned softly as she sat up, unable to cover the aching pain he knew she was feeling from her re-injured ribs.

“Jule, it’s Mommy,” a small, scared voice said. “She’s gonna have the baby, and Daddy’s not home. Phone’s out, cell phones, too. You gotta come quick.”

“Oh, my Lord,” Juliana exclaimed. “You came all this way in the dark by yourself?”

Chris nodded. His eyes held a determination that made him seem a good ten years older than he was. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Webster was already on his feet, pulling his boots on, shrugging into his leather jacket. He lit the candle, and it threw dim light into the room.

“Chris,” he said. “Run down to the mud room and see if you can find me a pair of gloves or mittens—anything like that, okay? And gather up Juliana’s jacket and hat.”

“But—”

“Go on, Chris,” Juliana said, smiling at the little boy. “Webster’s got to help me wrap up my broken ribs. We’ll be down in one minute, I promise.”

He nodded and left.

Juliana was still wearing her big overcoat, and she slid it awkwardly off her shoulders. Her whole body had stiffened up while she slept, and she couldn’t pull her sweater up over her head. “Webster, help me,” she said, and then he was next to her, pulling off first one sweater, then the other, then the long thermal undershirt she had underneath it all.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples stood erect in the cold air, teasing his eyes. Webster tried hard to ignore that fact as he gently wound the ace bandage around her lower ribs. But it was like that old saying, the best way to think about an elephant is to try not to think about an elephant.…

His hand brushed the soft underside of her breast. “Sorry,” he whispered, glancing up at her. For an instant, he thought he saw a remnant of her desire for him spark in her eyes. Maybe the cold wasn’t the only thing her body was reacting to.

“Juliana, I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, his voice husky.

“Just hurry,” she said, not meeting his eyes again.

He fastened the little metal clasps, and helped slip her shirt back on. “What’s the fastest way to the Beckwiths’?” he asked, helping with her sweaters.