Chapter 10
“I knew you’d be up early.” Libby slipped out the back door to join her mother.
“Not so early.” Caroline sighed, annoyed with herself for missing the sunrise. “I’ve found myself getting a slower start the last couple of months.”
“Morning sickness?”
“No.” Smiling, Caroline hooked an arm around Libby’s waist. “It seems all three of my children decided to spare me that. Did I ever tell you I appreciated it?”
“No.”
“Well, I do.” She gave Libby’s cheek a quick kiss and noted the faint shadows under her eyes. Biding her time, she nodded toward the trees. “Like to walk?”
“Yes, I would.”
They started off at a meandering pace, the bells Caroline wore at her wrists and ears jingling cheerfully. So much was the same, Libby thought. The trees, the sky, the quiet cabin behind them. And so much had changed. She leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder for a moment.
“Do you remember when we used to walk like this, you and Sunny and I?”
“I remember walking with you.” Caroline laughed as the branches arched overhead in a cool, green tunnel. “Sunny never walked anywhere. The moment she could stand she was off at a dash. You and I would poke along, just as we’re doing now.”
And what would this child be like? Caroline wondered, feeling a fresh thrill of anticipation.
“Then we’d pick some flowers or berries so that Dad would think we’d been doing something productive.”
“It seems both our men are sleeping in today.” When Libby didn’t respond, Caroline waited until the silence between them was comfortable again. The forest was alive with sounds, the rustling of small game in the brush, the call of birds in flight. “I like your friend, Libby.”
“I’m glad you do. I wanted you to.” She bent to pick up a twig, then broke small pieces off as she walked. It was a nervous gesture Caroline knew very well. Sunny would let any and all feeling burst straight out, but Libby, her quiet, sensible Libby, would hold them in.
“It’s more important that you do.”
“I do, very much.” Suddenly aware of what she was doing, Libby tossed the rest of the twig aside. “He’s kind and funny and strong. This time I’ve had here with him, it’s been wonderful for me. I never really thought I’d find someone who would make me feel the way Caleb makes me feel.”
“But you don’t smile when you say that.” Caroline reached up to touch her daughter’s face. “Why?”
“This . . . time we have . . . it’s only temporary.”
“I don’t understand. Why temporary? If you’re in love with him—”
“I am,” Libby murmured. “Very much in love with him.”
“Then?”
Libby drew a long breath. It was impossible to explain, she thought. “He has to go back, to his family.”
“To Philadelphia?” Caroline prompted her, at a loss.
“Yes . . .” There was a smile now, faint and wistful. “To Philadelphia.”
“I don’t see why that should make a difference,” she began. Then stopped and put a hand on Libby’s arm. “Oh, baby, is he married?”
“No.” She might have laughed then, but she noted the deep and genuine concern in her mother’s eyes.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Caleb could never be dishonest. It’s very hard to explain, but I can tell you that right from the start we both knew that Cal would have to go back where he belonged, and I . . . I would have to stay.”
“A few thousand miles shouldn’t matter if two people want to be together.”
“Sometimes distance is, well, longer than it looks. Don’t worry.
” Leaning over, she kissed Caroline’s cheek.
“I can honestly say that I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve had with Cal for anything.
There was a poster in the cabin when I was little.
Do you remember? It said something about .
. . if you had something, let it go. If it didn’t come back to you, it was never yours. ”
“I never liked that poster,” Caroline muttered.
This time Libby did laugh. “Let’s pick some flowers.”
***
Libby watched them go a few hours later, her father behind the wheel of the rumbling pickup, her mother’s earrings dancing as she leaned out of the window to wave until she was out of sight.
“I like your parents.”
Libby turned to Cal, linking her hands around his neck. “They liked you, too.”
He leaned down for a brief kiss. “Your mother, maybe.”
“My father, too.”
“If I had a year or two to win him over he might almost like me.”
“He wasn’t scowling at you today.”
“No.” He rubbed his cheek against hers as he considered. “It was down to a sneer. What are you going to tell them?”
“About what?”
“About why I’m not here, with you?”
“I’ll tell them that you went home.” Because she made the effort, her answer sounded casual and easy. So easy that he nearly swore.
“Just like that?”
Her voice was a little brittle now, she knew, with a tone that could easily be taken as callous. “They won’t pry if I don’t want them to. It will be simpler for everyone if I tell them the truth.”
“Which is?”
Was he determined to make it difficult? She moved her shoulders restlessly. “Things didn’t work out, and you went on with your life. I went on with mine.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s best. No mess, no regrets.”
Irritable, she thrust her fists in her pockets. “You have a better idea?”
“No. Yours is just dandy.” He pulled away, annoyed with himself, annoyed with her. “I’ve got to get to the ship.”
“I know. I thought I’d run into town and pick up the camera and some other things. If I get back early enough I’ll ride out, check on your progress.”
“Fine.” He was damned if it was going to be so easy for her when he was being torn in two. Before he could regret it, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers.
Hot, edgy, tasting of anger and frustration, the kiss spun out.
Libby hung on, to maintain her physical, as well as her emotional, balance.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, give him what he seemed to need.
Total capitulation. He’d never asked for that before, nor had she known she would so firmly withhold it.
Trapped, she couldn’t soothe, couldn’t demand, as he devoured.
In one long, possessive stroke, his hands ran up her body, then down again with no lessening of force.
She might have protested. There was something here that frightened her, that left her weak—not meltingly, but with an open-ended vulnerability that made her struggle to find her feet again.
There was no gentleness here, nor was there the sense of urgent desire he had once shown her.
Instead, the kiss was like a punishment, and a brutally effective one.
“Caleb—” She began, hitching in a shallow breath, when he released her.
“That should give you something to think about,” he said, then turned abruptly to stalk away.
Stunned, she stared after him. One unsteady hand reached up to press against lips still tender from his assault.
When her breathing steadied, her temper took hold.
She’d think about it, all right. She stormed inside, slamming the door behind her.
Moments later she stormed out again to climb into the Land Rover.
***
It was all going perfectly. And he was mad as hell. Technically he could take off within twenty-four hours. The major repairs were done, the calculations as finely tuned as he and the computer could make them in the time allotted. His ship was ready. He wasn’t. That was what it came down to.
She was certainly ready to see him off, Cal thought as he fused a tear in the inner shell with his spot laser.
Damned anxious, if it came to that. She was probably in town right now buying a camera so that she could take a few souvenir pictures before she waved goodbye.
He shut off the laser and checked the seam.
Why did she have to be so practical about it?
Because she was practical, he reminded himself as he yanked off his protective goggles.
That was one of the things he most admired about her.
She was practical, warm, intelligent, shy.
He could still see the way her eyes had looked the first time he’d told her he wanted her.
They’d gone from big and tawny to big and confused.
And when he’d touched her. She’d gotten hot and trembly.
She was soft, so incredibly soft. Cursing himself, he stowed the laser in the tool compartment, then tossed the goggles in beside them before he slammed the door.
He couldn’t imagine a man in the universe being able to resist those eyes, or that skin, or that wide, sexy mouth.
That was part of the problem, he admitted as he prowled the ship.
Men wouldn’t. Maybe she hadn’t paid attention before.
Maybe she’d been too wrapped up in her books and her work and her theories on the societal tendencies of man as a species.
One day she was going to slip those glasses off her nose and look around—and realize that there were men, flesh-and-blood men, looking back at her.
Men who could make promises, he thought in disgust. Even if they didn’t mean to keep them.
Perhaps she hadn’t realized how much passion, how much heat, how much power, she held. But he’d opened those doors for her. Opened, hell—he’d smashed them. Once he was gone, other men would tend the fire he’d lit.
The thought made him insane. Cal admitted it as he dragged his hands through his hair. Stark, raving crazy. He belonged in one of those padded cells Libby had spoken of. He couldn’t stand it—the thought of someone else touching her, kissing her. Undressing her.
With an oath, he wheeled into his cabin and began to put it in order. That is, he tossed things around.
He was being selfish and unfair. And he didn’t care.
It was true that he would have to accept the fact that Libby would go on with her life, and that her life would include a lover—or lovers, he thought, grinding his teeth.
A husband, perhaps, and children. He had to accept that. But he was damned if he had to like it.