Authors: Patricia Coughlin
Borrowed Bride (20 page)
“Seat belt,” she said, shutting the door after him, and Connor noticed that as she slid into her own seat in front she turned to make sure he had heeded the reminder to fasten it.
The whole procedure was done smoothly and efficiently, as if she had done it hundreds of times before. Which, of course, she had, Connor realized, seeing her at that instant not simply as the woman he had fallen in love with, but as a living, breathing, integral part of something much bigger than anything the two of them alone might share. She wasn't simply his lover and never would be, but someone's mother and someone's daughter, a sister, a friend and probably a lot of other things he wasn't even aware of.
She had a whole other life he knew nothing about, and thinking about that other life made that sliver of feeling he'd carried away from her house shift inside him, sliding in a little deeper.
He thought about that other life of hers most of the way back to the cabin, with Toby chattering to his mother about all the great things he and his nana had done while she was gone. He thought about where he might fit into that life of Gaby's, amid all the swimming lessons and gardening tools and irreplaceable possessions. He thought about it and he realized that the uneasy feeling he'd had back at her house, the feeling he'd at first thought was fear of being trapped by everything the house symbolized, wasn't really fear of being trapped at all. He could see now that it was something much worse.
What he was really afraid of was failing, of trying to find a place for himself in her life only to discover there wasn't one, or worse, that one existed but he didn't have what it took to fill it. He wasn't like Joel. He never had been. And he was afraid of letting Gaby down all over again.
How did that old saying go? he thought as he drove on into the deepening afternoon. “Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.” That wasn't it exactly, but it would do. Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all. The problem with all those old sayings was that they never went far enough.
Better to have tried and failedâeven if it might mean screwing up other people's lives and hurting a woman who, God knew, had already been hurt more than enoughâthan never to have tried at all. That version came a hell of a lot closer to the truth, and he wasn't buying it, not for a minute.
When they pulled within sight of the lake, Toby whooped with excitement and strained at his seat belt to see as much of it as he could. Listening to him, Connor was struck by how differently a five-year-old perceives things. To Toby the medium-sized lake was “the ocean,” the cabin “a cowboy's house,” the surrounding woods a whole new world he was champing at the bit to explore.
“Later,” Gaby told him, stretching her legs after the long ride.
“You always say later,” Toby grumbled. “I want to touch the water now. Please, just my toes, Mommy?”
She shot Connor a resigned smile. “Do you mind? He's been cooped up for a while andâ”
“Go ahead,” he said without letting her finish. He opened the door to the cargo compartment in back. “I'll bring this stuff inside.”
“If you wait a few minutes we canâ”
“I said go ahead,” he told her. “I don't mind.”
It was true. He didn't mind. In fact, he preferred to do it alone, making several trips from the car to the cabin rather than having to work alongside Gaby, joking as they divvied up the boxes and bags, brushing against each other each time they passed in the doorway.
The fact is he was used to doing things alone. He worked best that way. A few days and some great sex didn't alter the habits of a lifetime. Or anything else, for that matter. As he grabbed her open-topped tote, the books she'd brought along for Toby slid out. Connor hurriedly grabbed them and jammed them back into the bag. What did he know about storybooks and garden tools and kids? Nothing, that's what, and at thirty-five it was a little late to start learning. For everyone's sake he had to reestablish some distance between himself and Gaby, and unloading the car by himself was as good a place as any to start.
He had the job done before she and Toby came racing back from the water. From his chair on the deck he noticed how Gaby slowed slightly as they reached the steps, just enough so that Toby touched the top railing first.
“I won,” he shouted. “I beat you.”
“You sure did. I'm going to have to start eating my Wheaties if I'm going to keep up with you, kiddo.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head emphatically, his silky hair lifting like a halo around his head. “I'll still beat you, cause you're a girl and boys are always faster than girls.”
“What?” Gaby gasped, her expression one of mock horror. “Who told you that?”
“Aunt Lisa's boyfriend, Jack. Jack says boys do everything better than girls except cook.”
“Well, it so happens Jack is wrong, and I can prove it.”
Connor sensed her turning to him and he kept his gaze focused on the lake.
“Tell him, Connor,” she said.
He slanted a glance her way. “Tell him what?”
“That some boys cook better than girls.”
Connor shrugged. “Beats me.”
He could feel the surprise that jolted her at his coolness, feel her perplexed gaze resting on him even as Toby was whispering to her. All Connor heard was the last part of his plea. “Ask him. Please, Mommy, ask him.”
Connor braced himself as Gaby ambled closer to where he was sitting, standing between him and the water so that he was forced to look at her.
“Connor,” she began in a tone that wrapped around him like a silk sheet, “Toby and I were checking out the boat down there by the water and we wondered if maybe later you'd take us for a little spin around the lake.”
“It's broken,” he said. “Remember?”
The brightness in her eyes clouded over. “I thought you had gotten the motor going.”
“I did, but the cowling keeps lifting up and letting water spray in and she stalls out.”
She turned to Toby, who was standing by her side listening intently. “Sorry, kiddo, it looks like the boat is out of commission. But I have an idea. How would you like to take your dinosaurs down to that sandy patch over there and build your own Jurassic Park?”
Instantly the boy's face brightened. “Okay.”
“Come on, I'll help you find them.”
They went inside, reappearing a few minutes later, both with their hands full of plastic dinosaurs of various sizes and types. They carried them to a small area near the edge of the trees, where Gaby lingered for a few minutes before straightening and brushing the sand from her legs.
The second he saw her move, Connor abandoned his chair on the deck and went inside. Distance, distance, he reminded himself as he grabbed a can of cola from the refrigerator, intending to drink it upstairs in his room.
Gaby intercepted him just as he reached the stairs.
“Connor, hold on. I need to talk with you about something.”
“What's that?”
“The sleeping arrangements. There are only two bedrooms up there and, well, I know Toby is only five, but I still wouldn't feel comfortable having him know that we're sleeping together.”
“No problem.”
“So I thought I'd just keep my stuff where it is and put him in the room with me.”
“Fine.” He moved his foot up a step.
Gaby shook her head, eyeing him with a look that was part wounded, part bewildered. “No, it's not fine. It sucks, frankly.” Moving closer, she lifted her hands to his waist. “I loved spending last night in your bed. As far as I'm concerned, spending all night, every night there would be...heaven. It just wouldn't be reality. Not my reality, anyway.”
Connor felt his insides tighten.
“Toby is my reality and I have to think of what's best for him. But,” she continued before Connor could again say
No problem
and extricate himself, “fortunately he is a very heavy sleeper. Once I tuck him in, he's gone until morning. Which means there will be all those long, lovely hours in the middle of the night when I canâ”
No problem
and extricate himself, “fortunately he is a very heavy sleeper. Once I tuck him in, he's gone until morning. Which means there will be all those long, lovely hours in the middle of the night when I canâ”
“Can sneak off to spend a little time with me?” He removed her hands from his sides. “Thanks, Gabrielle, but I don't think that will work.”
“Connor, please...”
“No, you're right. You have to put Toby's needs first. I understand that. Honest. The fact is, we both have responsibilities to attend to. I ought to be keeping my mind on the reason we're here in the first place, and I can't do that the way I should with you in my bed.”
“I see.”
“Good. Then it's settled. You and Toby stay in your room, and I'll stay in mine.”
There wasn't anything to add to that, or if there was, Gaby couldn't think of anything. Not anything civil, at any rate. Once before, she had made the mistake of believing she knew everything there was to know about Connor DeWolfe. The past few days had proved how wrong her simplistic view of him had been, revealing to her new and utterly unexpected aspects of the man. It seemed, however, that she still had more to learn about him.
It was true the subject of children had never come up, other than his casual queries the other day as to whether Toby was at all like his father. She had just assumed that, like most people in the world, he liked kids and got along with them reasonably well. It had never occurred to her that Connor was the type to be jealous of a five-year-old.
Shaking her head, she started to turn away then stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she stared at the empty staircase.
Either jealous, she mused, or afraid.
Chapter 10
T
hey decided to wait until after Toby was in bed to look through the box of Joel's papers. Actually Gaby mentioned to Connor that she would prefer to wait until Toby wasn't around, unsure as she was of what they might find, and he said, “No problem.”
hey decided to wait until after Toby was in bed to look through the box of Joel's papers. Actually Gaby mentioned to Connor that she would prefer to wait until Toby wasn't around, unsure as she was of what they might find, and he said, “No problem.”
That seemed to have become his answer to everything. Waiting to look through the box was no problem. Pasta and tomato sauce for dinner was no problem. Sleeping by himself while she was in the next room was no problem. The irony of it was that his black expression and brusque manner made her think he was definitely a man with a problem.
She just hadn't yet figured out exactly what it might be. Or what she was going to do about it when she did figure it out.
They spent the hours between dinner and Toby's bedtime mostly staying out of each other's way. Connor short-circuited all attempts at light conversation. Willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, Gaby considered that he might truly be preoccupied with the situation that had brought them there. Perhaps his sense of duty had kicked in as he sensed that things were about to start developing quickly and this was the way he acted when he was working. Perhaps, but Gaby didn't really think so.
She would have just asked him what was the matter straight out if Toby wasn't always within hearing. In case it was the investigation troubling Connor, she didn't want Toby overhearing too much. However things with Adam turned out, she was determined to shield her son from as much of the fallout as possible.
It was true that Adam and Toby had never become as close as she wished, in spite of Adam's best efforts, playing games and buying Toby outrageous presents. He had still come very close to being Toby's stepfather. Toby was bound to be hurt and confused if he had to face the fact that the man his mother almost married was in some way responsible for his father's death.
She sighed as she sat on the side of the oversize tub and watched Toby splash around, blessedly oblivious to the dark undercurrents that might be rippling beneath the surface of his life. In her fantasies of late, Toby's bonding with Adam was one more thing that would miraculously take place after the wedding, right after she and Adam learned to fall in love with each other and after she somehow managed to overcome the niggling suspicion that what Adam found most alluring about her was her share of the Black Wolf. She had been really dumb, she realized now. There had been so many signs that she was making a mistake. How could she have missed or chosen to ignore them all? If it hadn't been for Connor...
She yelped and feigned horror as Toby emerged from the water near her in a surprise attack, a sudsy warrior with dirt behind his ears and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. If it hadn't been for Connor, she thought as she grabbed her son with one hand and the washcloth with the other, who knows what would have happened to them?
Once Toby was safely tucked in bed, she decided to take a quick shower herself. It had been a long, hot, sticky day. Besides, she hadn't lost hope that Connor would renege on his earlier stance on separate beds, and vanity demanded that if he did, she should be wearing something silky and fresh scented, rather than the shorts and T-shirt she'd worn chasing Toby around all afternoon.
Not wanting to risk waking Toby before he was in a deep sleep, she opted to use Connor's room to dress after her shower. She didn't even bother to ask, deciding it wouldn't upset her if he walked in while she was rubbing the rose-scented lotion she'd brought from home onto her skin, finishing with a splash of the same fragrance on her wrists and behind her ears, followed by a nightgown that was no more than an ivory silk tube secured by two narrow straps at the shoulders. The bodice pooled in a soft U between her breasts. She checked her reflection in the mirror and smiled. All right, DeWolfe, she thought as she ran her fingers through her hair to tousle it, resist this.
Covering her handiwork with a midnight blue, kimono-style robe, she hurried downstairs. She found Connor in the living room, seated in one of the two chairs flanking the sofa, the unopened box on the floor in front of him. Just the sight of it was sufficient to instantly clear her head of all frivolous thoughts of seduction.
“I hope I didn't take too long,” she said. “I felt sticky all over.”
His eyes collided with hers, their dark luster reminiscent of tangled sheets and hot, damp places.
“I mean...” She faltered.
Connor shrugged. “I know what you meant. Forget it. It'sâ”
“No problem,” she finished along with him. “I know.”
Settling herself in the corner of the sofa nearest him, she tugged on the sash on her robe, aware that it had loosened to reveal the bodice of her nightgown beneath. Connor was aware of it, as well, and his smoky gaze lingered there as she pulled the robe shut and secured it.
“So,” she said, “have you found anything interesting?”
“I haven't looked,” he replied, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “These papers belong to you, after all. I thought it only right that I wait for you to go through them.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. I guess we should start before it gets any later.” She reached for the cover of the box and removed it. “Maybe we should divide it up. It will go more quickly that way.”
“All right. What do you want to start with? Date books or notebooks?”
She bit the edge of her lip. Neither, she thought, dreading the mere act of holding in her hands something that Joel had once held, reading the words that he had written with no inkling of where those words would end up or the tragic circumstances that would one day lead her to read them in search of clues... clues that might not even exist, clues to an act of betrayal that might not even exist.
“I'll take the date books,” she said.
The process was every bit as emotionally wrenching as Gaby feared. After only a few pages she was tempted to tell Connor she'd changed her mind, that they should switch and he should do the date books or, better yet, that he could do all of it. She didn't, however. She gritted her teeth and pressed on, starting with the year before Joel was killed. Connor had explained that since they had no idea of when his suspicions were first aroused, they had to look at everything.
January, February, March. She read entries for lunch dates with friends and clients, appointments to get his hair cut and reminders to himself to bring her flowers on the third of every month... the day of the month that Toby had been born. She recognized his
p
s that looked like gs and the unique brand of shorthand he used. Joel's life unfolded on the pages before her, and it broke her heart all over again.
p
s that looked like gs and the unique brand of shorthand he used. Joel's life unfolded on the pages before her, and it broke her heart all over again.
Only one thing kept her going when she wanted to quit, to throw the book across the room and run upstairs to hug Toby to her and pull the covers up over their heads. The knowledge that she owed it to Joel to see this through. And to Toby. And in a way to herself, as well.
The family they had once been had been shattered forever by the explosion that ripped apart the Black Wolf. For Joel and Toby and her there would be no more family outings, no more Christmas mornings, no little brothers or sisters for Toby or a smiling family portrait snapped at his wedding on some distant future day. There was no future for them period.
She understood now how the obliteration of that future made it all the more important that she not surrender their past. For all their sakes, but especially for Toby. She'd been wrong to put away Joel's pictures and discourage Toby from talking about him. Joel was worth remembering, no matter how painful the remembering could sometimes be for her. She knew now that she was strong enough to handle it. And hopefully, in spite of what she had claimed to Connor, time would lessen the pain, leaving behind only her memories of the joy they had once shared.
She would have to work at it, she knew, and the first step was the one she was taking right now. In a way this was the beginning of the complicated and sorrowful process of letting go while holding on, of looking back in order to move ahead. It was closure. It was the last act they would make as the family they once were, with Joel's own words and notes helping her to uncover the truth, a truth that sometime in the future, when he was ready, their son was going to want to hear.
Connor's agitated sigh intruded on her thoughts, startling her. She had been feeling so alone it was almost a surprise to look up and find him sitting there. A welcome surprise.
He was kneading the back of his neck, his dark brows arrowed down in a deep frown.
“No luck?” she asked.
“I can't even read some of this,” he complained. “I thought doctors were supposed to have bad handwriting, but if Joel is any indication, then accountants could give the medical profession a run for its money.”
“He did have a tendency to squeeze his letters together a little, ” she conceded.
“A little? Take a look at this.” Carrying the notebook he'd been looking through, he moved to sit next to her on the sofa. “These are so tightly packed they don't even look like letters.”
Amused, Gaby peered at the passage he indicated. “It says, âProfits equal expanded client base plus expansion versus profits equals selective client base with application focus. The big question is how to convince Higgins and Clarke to act.'”
She looked up triumphantly.
“You're making that up,” Connor declared.
“I most certainly am not.”
He took the notebook from her and studied the scribbled paragraph again, squinting and angling his head to the side in concentration. “No way,” he pronounced. “Those words you read are just not there.”
“Of course they are,” Gaby said, laughing. “I admit that Joel used his own style of shorthand when he wrote, but they're all there. Look, I'll show you.”
She leaned closer in order to see the notebook balanced on his lap and once again read the passage out loud, following along with her finger.
“Plus?” he interrupted at one point. “Where is the word
plus
?”
plus
?”
“Right here.”
“That's
plus
?”
plus
?”
“Yes. Pretend the g is a
p
. See it now?”
p
. See it now?”
He shook his head. “Thank God we weren't pen pals, or it would have been the shortest friendship in history.”
Smiling, she continued to read.
He stopped her again. “I don't see the word
with
. Show me
with
.”
with
. Show me
with
.”
“Right here.”
“Ha,” he said loudly. “I knew it. You're faking. You can't read it, either.”
“I can so.”
“No way. You can tell me to pretend a g is a
p
, but there's no way you can convince me that is the word
with
.” He stabbed the page with his finger.
p
, but there's no way you can convince me that is the word
with
.” He stabbed the page with his finger.
“All right, I admit it. It's not exactly the word
with
. It's actually the medical transcription symbol for
with
.”
with
. It's actually the medical transcription symbol for
with
.”
“Run that by me again.”
“Joel's father was a doctor,” she reminded him. “Who knows? Maybe Joel inherited his poor handwriting from him. But along with it he picked up some of the common symbols used in transcribing doctors' orders and he incorporated them into his. own writing. A
c
with a straight line over it is the symbol for
with
. I guess I picked them up from Joel so completely I forgot that I use them, too. For instance,” she continued as he listened, looking only half-convinced, “if I wrote a note to Joel telling him I left the keys with the baby-sitter, I would write âKeys, c with a line over it, sitter.' See?”
c
with a straight line over it is the symbol for
with
. I guess I picked them up from Joel so completely I forgot that I use them, too. For instance,” she continued as he listened, looking only half-convinced, “if I wrote a note to Joel telling him I left the keys with the baby-sitter, I would write âKeys, c with a line over it, sitter.' See?”
“Would you also write a
d
and pretend it was a
k?”
d
and pretend it was a
k?”
She laughed. “Not quite. But you get the general idea. Trust me, that paragraph says exactly what I told you it says.”
“In that case,” he said, pulling the low table in front of the sofa closer and placing the open notebook on it so it was halfway between them, “you're a genius. I think we ought to go over this together ... and we better start back at page one. Just to be sure I didn't miss anything.”
They worked for the next hour and half without stopping. It actually went faster working together. Partly because she was so much better than he was at deciphering Joel's scrawl and partly because having Connor to talk to kept her from sinking into her own thoughts.
Not that his company was enough to keep the bad feelings at bay entirely. It wasn't, and she was certain that Connor understood how difficult this was for her. Time and again he casually rescued her from the clutches of her own memory with a remark or insight that quickly tugged her back to the here and now, and to his intoxicating blend of charm and humor. And Gaby knew that at that moment in her life, it was exactly where she wanted to be.
They broke for coffee sometime around ten-thirty, both a little discouraged and doing their best to hide it from the other. Neither of them was ready to confront the possibility that they might be pursuing a dead end ... that there might not be any evidence against Adam buried in Joel's copious notes...and that the reason it might not be there was because Adam was innocent of any wrongdoing.
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