Midnight Sons Volume 2 (17 page)

In January, when daylight was counted in minutes instead of hours, people did feel trapped in their homes.

He wanted to sit down and tell her what had been burdening his heart for weeks now. Since Christmas.
He loved her.
So much it terrified him. He wanted to tell her about Lori; he hadn’t, simply because he was afraid of her response. Most of all, he wanted to tell her he loved her.

Bill Landgrin saw him, and they eyed each other malevolently. From the look of it, Bill was more than a little put out over their last meeting. Judging by the gleam in his eyes, he’d welcome a confrontation with Mitch.

Mitch wasn’t eager for a fight, but he wouldn’t back down from one, either.

Bill glanced from Mitch to Bethany and then back again. He set his mug on the counter and stomped over to the other side of the café, where Bethany was sitting, now that her dance with Duke was finished. Mitch started in her direction himself, scooting around tables.

Bill got there first.

“Beth, sweetie.” Mitch heard the other man greet her. “How’s about a dance?”

It seemed to Mitch that she was about to refuse, but he made the mistake—a mistake he recognized almost immediately—of answering for her.

“Bethany’s with me,” he said, his words as cold as the Arctic ice.

“I am?” she asked.

“She is?” Bill echoed. He rubbed his forehead as though to suggest he found it hard to believe Bethany would attach herself to the likes of Mitch. “Seems to me the lady can make her own decisions.”

It took Bethany an eternity to decide. “I don’t think one dance would hurt,” she finally said to Bill.

Mitch’s jaw hardened. He didn’t blame her for defying him; he’d brought it on himself. But the fact that she’d dance with
another man, for whatever reason, didn’t seem right. Not when she’d said she loved
him!

He sat down in the chair she’d vacated, and as he watched Bill draw Bethany into his arms, his temperature rose. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he sure could have used a shot of something just about then.

The song seemed to drone on for a lifetime. When he couldn’t bear to sit any longer, Mitch got to his feet and restlessly prowled the edges of the dance area. Not once did he let his eyes waver from Bethany and Bill.

Something that gave him cause to rejoice was the fact that she didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. Her gaze met his over Landgrin’s shoulder, and she bit her lip in a way that told him she was sorry she’d ever agreed to this.

He resisted the urge to cut in.

Although Bethany was in another man’s arms, Mitch found himself close to laughter. She’d said she loved him and in the same breath had called him an idiot. He was beginning to suspect she was right. He
was
an idiot. Love seemed to reduce him to that.

The song was finally over, and as Landgrin escorted Bethany to her table and reluctantly left her there, the tension eased from Mitch’s body.

He made a beeline for her, regretting now that he hadn’t been waiting for her when she returned. But he didn’t want to give her reason to think he didn’t trust her.

Unfortunately Keith Campbell reached her before he did. “A dance, fair lady?” Keith asked, bowing from the waist.

Mitch ended up cooling his heels again while Bethany frolicked across the dance floor in the arms of yet another man. While he waited, he ordered a soda and checked his watch.

He’d told Diane Hestead, the high school girl staying with Chrissie, that he wouldn’t be more than an hour. He’d already
been gone that long, and it didn’t look like he’d be getting home any time soon.

With the music blaring, he used Ben’s phone and made a quick call to tell Diane he’d be longer than expected.

“Bethany certainly seems to have captured a few hearts, hasn’t she?” Ben commented, slapping Mitch good-naturedly on the back.

“I don’t know why she needs to do that,” he grumbled. “She’s had mine for weeks.”

“Does she know that?” Ben asked.

“No,” Mitch blurted.

“What do you expect her to do, then?”

Ben was right, of course. Mitch returned to the table to wait for her. When the dance finished, he made sure he was there. “My turn,” he announced flatly the minute the two of them were alone.

Bethany’s eyes narrowed; she promptly ignored him and sat down. She finished her soda and set the glass aside.

“Let’s dance,” he said and held out his hand to her.

“Is that a request or a command?” she asked, staring up at him.

Mitch swallowed. This was going from bad to worse. “Do you want me to put on a little performance for you the way Keith did?”

“No,” she answered simply.

It was now or never. “Bethany,” he said, dragging air into his lungs, “I love you. I have for weeks. I should’ve told you before.”

She stared at him, her eyes huge. Then, as though she doubted his words, she hastily looked away. “Why now, Mitch?”

He could hardly hear her over the music. “Why now what?”

“Why are you telling me now?” she asked, clarifying her question. “Is it because you’re overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings?” She sounded just a little sarcastic, he thought.

“Or could the truth be that you can’t bear to see me with another man?”

He frowned, not because he didn’t understand her question, but because he wasn’t sure how to answer. She had a point. He might well have been content to leave things as they were if he hadn’t found her dancing with Landgrin.

“Your hesitation tells me everything I need to know,” she whispered brokenly. She stood then, in such a rush that she nearly toppled the chair. “Duke,” she called, hurrying toward the pilot. “Didn’t I promise you another dance?”

Mitch ground his teeth in frustration.

He’d started toward the door when Bill Landgrin stopped him. “Looks like you’re batting zero, my friend. Seems to me the lady knows what she wants, and it isn’t you.”

“I blew it,” Bethany muttered miserably. She’d stayed behind and was helping Ben clear the remaining tables. Mariah had disappeared hours earlier after a confrontation with Christian, and she hadn’t seen her since.

“What do you mean?”

“Mitch and me.”

“What’s with you two, anyway?” Ben asked as he set a tray of dirty glasses on the counter.

“I don’t know anymore. I thought…I’d hoped…” She felt tongue-tied, unable to explain. Slipping onto the stool opposite Ben, she let her shoulders sag in abject misery. She was still feeling a little drunk—and a lot discouraged—not to mention suffering from a near-fatal bout of cabin fever.

“Here,” Ben said, reaching behind the counter and bringing out a bottle of brandy. “I save this for special occasions.”

“What’s so special about this evening?” she asked.

“A number of things,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. He
brought out a couple of snifters and poured a liberal amount into each. “This will cure what ails you. Guaranteed.”

“Maybe you’re right.” At this point she figured a glass of brandy couldn’t hurt.

“Cheers,” Ben said and touched the rim of his glass to hers.

“To a special…friend,” she said and took her first tentative sip. The liquid fire glided over her tongue and down her throat. When it came to drinking alcohol, Bethany generally stuck to wine and an occasional beer, rarely anything stronger.

Her eyes watered, and this time it had nothing to do with her emotions.

“You all right?” Ben asked, slapping her on the back.

She pressed her hand over her heart and nodded breathlessly. Her second and third sips went down far more easily than the first. Gradually a warmth spread out from the pit of her stomach, and a lethargic feeling settled over her.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, surprising herself by asking such a personal question. Perhaps the liquor had loosened her tongue; more likely it was the need to hear this man’s version of his affair with her mother. This man who’d fathered her…

“In love? Me?”

“What’s so strange about that?” she asked lightly, careful not to let on how serious the question really was. “Surely you’ve been in love at least once in your life. A woman in your deep, dark past maybe—one you’ve never been able to forget?”

Ben chuckled. “I was in the navy, you know.”

Bethany nodded. “Don’t tell me you were the kind of sailor who had a woman in every port?”

He grinned almost boyishly and cocked his head to one side. “That was me, all right.”

Although she’d solicited it, this information disturbed Bethany. It somehow cheapened her mother and the love Marilyn
had once felt for Ben. “But there must’ve been one woman you remember more than any of the others,” she pressed.

Ben scratched his head as though to give her question heavy-duty consideration. “Nope, can’t say there was. I liked to play the field.”

Bethany took another sip of the brandy. “What about Marilyn?” she asked brazenly, throwing caution to the winds. “You do remember
her,
don’t you?”

“Marilyn?” Ben repeated, a look of surprise on his face. “No…I don’t recall any Marilyn.” He sounded as though he’d never heard the name before.

Ben might as well have reached across the counter and slapped her face. Hard. She hurt for her mother, and for herself. Before she met him, she’d let herself imagine that her mother’s affair with Ben had been a romantic relationship gone tragically awry.

In the past few weeks, she’d begun to think she shared a genuine friendship with Ben. A real bond. Because of that, she’d lowered her guard and come close to revealing her secret.

Bethany clamped her mouth shut. She wanted to blame the wine. The brandy. Both had loosened her tongue, she realized, but she’d been on the verge of telling him, anyway. She shook the hair out of her face and stared past him.

“Three years ago,” she began resolutely, struggling to find the right words, knowing she couldn’t stop now, “the doctors found a lump in my mother’s breast.”

“Cancer?”

Bethany nodded.

Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s getting kind of late, don’t you think?”

“This story will only take a couple more minutes,” she promised, and to fortify her courage, she drank the rest of the brandy in a single gulp. It raged a fiery path down her throat.

“You were talking about your mother,” Ben prodded, and it seemed he wanted her to hurry. Bethany didn’t know if she could. Those weeks when her mother had been so sick from the chemotherapy had been the most traumatic of her life.

“It turned out that the cancer had spread,” Bethany continued. “For a while we didn’t know if my mother was going to survive. I was convinced that if the cancer didn’t kill her, the chemo would. I was still in college at the time. My classes usually let out around two, and I got into the habit of stopping at the hospital on my way home from school.”

Ben nursed his drink, his eyes avoiding hers.

“One day, after a particularly violent reaction to the treatment, Mom thought she was going to die. I tried to tell her she had to fight the cancer.”

“Did she die?” Ben asked. For the first time since starting her story she had his full attention. Either she was a better storyteller than she realized, or Ben did remember her mother.

“No. She’s a survivor. But that day Mom asked me to sit down because she had something important to tell me.” At this point, Bethany paused long enough to steady herself. After all this time, the unexpectedness of her mother’s announcement still shocked her.

“And?”

“My mother told me about a young sailor she’d loved many years ago. They’d met the summer before he shipped out to Vietnam. By the end of their time together, they’d become lovers. Their political differences separated them as much as the war had. He left because he felt it was his duty to fight, and she stayed behind and joined the peace movement, protesting the war every chance she had. She wrote him a letter and told him about it. He didn’t answer. She knew he didn’t approve of what she was doing.”

“Whoever this person was, he probably didn’t want to read
about how she was trying to undermine his efforts in Southeast Asia,” Ben said stiffly.

“I’m sure that’s true.” Bethany’s voice quavered slightly. “The problem was that when he refused to open her next letter, he failed to learn something vitally important. My mother was pregnant with his child.”

The snifter in Ben’s hand dropped to the floor and shattered. His eyes remained frozen on Bethany’s face.

“I was that child.”

The silence stretched to the breaking point. “Who took care of her?” he asked in a choked whisper.

“Her family. When she was about four months pregnant, she met Peter Ross, another student, and confided in him. They fell in love and were married shortly before I was born. Peter raised me as his own and has loved and nurtured me ever since. I never would’ve guessed…. It was the biggest shock of my life to learn he wasn’t my biological father.”

“Your mother’s name is Marilyn?”

“Yes, and she named you as my birth father.”