Friends and Lovers (18 page)

“John Cameron Durango…!” she began.

He stopped at the passenger door of the sleek black car and bent his dark head to kiss the breath out of her, ignoring the small crowd of amused onlookers.

She didn’t even struggle. The touch of his mouth was new, exciting, and she loved the feel of it against her own. The slow, sweet pressure drugged her senseless as the sun beat down on them.

He drew back a breath. “Still want to argue with me?” he whispered unsteadily.

“More than ever, if that’s my punishment,” she whispered back, parting her lips invitingly.

He chuckled softly. “Wait until I get you home, honey,” he murmured. He set her down and opened the door. “Get in. I’ll have someone come back for the VW.”

“You’re going to just leave it there?” she asked.

“Well, it isn’t going to drive itself away,” he pointed out.

Her lips pursed mutinously. “You might at least get my purse for me,” she coaxed.

He looked up at the sky, his eyes pleading for strength. “All right,” he muttered, starting back across the street.

“Man’s work, is it?” she grumbled to herself, easing across the car into the driver’s seat. “Driving him nuts, am I?” She leaned out the window as she started the powerful engine. “I’ll leave your car in my driveway,” she called sweetly. “You can trade me the VW for it!” And she roared away, leaving behind a giggling bunch of spectators and a bitterly cursing John Durango.

***

He knew. She was absolutely sure of it now. It explained his strange attitude recently, all the pampering, all the unexpected meetings. He knew about the baby, and that was why he was pressuring her to marry him. He wanted the child—and he wanted her, physically at least. No child of his was going to be born illegitimate, no sir. Damn the personal sacrifice. He had probably figured it was all his fault, anyway; he had that much of a sense of responsibility. He hadn’t taken precautions, so it was up to him to take the consequences along with her.

She was crying bitterly when she got back to her house. She left the Ferrari in the driveway, with the keys in it, and ran inside and locked the door.

It seemed like hours before the tears stopped. At about the same time there came a furious knock on the front door.

She sat up on the sofa. “Go away!” she shouted tearfully.

“Open it or I’ll break it down,” came the taciturn reply. “Your choice.”

A premonition about the repair bill decided her in a flash. She got to her feet quickly and, drying the tears with the back of her hand, opened the door.

John’s eyes were blazing, his face stormy, but when he looked down at her sad little face, he softened visibly.

“I brought your car back.” He handed her the keys. “Are you all right?”

That deep concern in his voice almost made her knees buckle, but she only nodded, determined to present a calm front. “Thank you.”

He looked as if he wanted badly to say something but didn’t exactly know how to start. He made a strange little gesture with one big hand.

“See you,” he bit off, turning.

She stared tearfully at his broad back. He’d gone to all that trouble because he was worried about her, and she had repaid him by throwing pies in his face and leaving him to change a flat tire in the blazing sun. A sob worked its way out of her throat. He wasn’t even going to blow up at her.

“John!”

He froze in his tracks, without turning. “Well?” he asked testily.

“Sup…supper’s at seven,” she blurted out.

There was a long pause, and she was afraid he wasn’t even going to answer or, worse, refuse. “I’ll be here,” he said finally, and left without looking back at her.

She went back inside and closed the door. This wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do. He was so obviously upset, and it was her fault as much as his. She couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to let him assume the burden of both her and the child just out of a misguided sense of responsibility. If he loved her, it would be different. Her eyes closed on a wave of anguish. If he loved her…!

But that was like wishing that grass would turn to silver with diamond dewdrops. She’d wondered why he wanted to marry her—now she knew. John felt guilty, that was all. And he’d always been fond of her. He wanted her. But none of that added up to love. And Madeline couldn’t settle for anything less, not for a lifetime. A marriage that was entered into for any reason less than love on both sides automatically had two strikes against it. She worshipped the ground John Durango walked on, but unrequited love would eventually turn to ashes. The torment of loving and not being loved in return would kill her.

There was no longer any need for time to make up her mind. She had made her decision. It was far better for her, and for John, if they stopped seeing each other, and if she left Houston. That was what she was going to tell him tonight.

She spent the entire afternoon making a special spaghetti sauce, preparing a chef’s salad and homemade garlic bread to go with it. And for dessert she made John the rum cake he loved.

It was nerve-wracking; she dreaded telling him her decision. But it would be for the best. She repeated that like a litany while she showered and rifled the closet for something to wear. The black dress was definitely out, unless she could slit it all the way down one side from breast to toe, and she hadn’t bought another evening gown. So she decided to be casual and dressed in powder blue slacks with a pale blue patterned flowing cotton blouse. She left her hair long, because he liked it that way. Then she sat down and tried to find something to keep her busy until he arrived.

Time dragged horribly, and her own thoughts tormented her. These past weeks had taught her how much a part of her life John was. They’d taught her one more thing—that living without him was going to be nothing more than existing. The baby would compensate, of course. Her hands touched the slight swell of her stomach and she smiled. Oh, yes, the baby would compensate. She drifted off into a lazy daydream about John holding their soft little baby in his big arms.

She got out of the chair and went to make tea. That kind of thinking would get her nowhere. She had to be strong.

She opened the door at seven sharp, and found John on the doorstep with a bouquet of yellow and white daisies. Like Madeline, he’d opted for a casual suit of denim, expertly cut, with an open-necked, blue-patterned shirt.

“Read my mind, did you?” he asked, indicating her own casual outfit in a complementary shade of blue.

She laughed softly. “Looks like it, all right. What’s the matter, did the florist run out of roses?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek, as he handed her the daisies.

He looked briefly uncomfortable. “Well, you said you were tired of them, didn’t you?”

“I was. Thank you, John. I love daisies, too.”

He lifted his head as he removed the Stetson and scowled. “What do I smell besides coconut?”

“Roses,” she sighed, indicating the living room, which was a fragrant riot of vivid color.

He chuckled. “Overdid it, didn’t I?” he asked.

She shook her head as she went off to find a container of some sort for the daisies. “A little. But I really did love them.” In desperation, she pulled out a small vase and made a flower arrangement out of the daisies while he stood in the doorway and watched.

“Spaghetti, I believe you said?” he remarked. “Do I get to eat it this time, or are you planning to pour it in my lap again?”

“Just be thankful that you aren’t getting a cream pie for dessert,” she pointed out.

“Oh, hell, I forgot the wine,” he said abruptly. “Want me to go out and get some?”

“No, that’s all right,” she said quickly, turning. “I’d just as soon have milk, myself, if you’ll settle for coffee or iced tea.”

“Suppose we both have milk?” he asked.

She eyed him coquettishly. “What a comedown.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her intently as she moved around the kitchen, setting the small table, laying out trivets, moving the spaghetti to the table, pouring the sauce.

“Be sure you don’t miss anything,” she chided gently. “Want to count my teeth?”

One corner of his mustache went up. “I like looking at you. Do you mind?”

She flushed like a young girl and bent to retrieve the garlic bread from the oven. When she had finished pouring milk into the glasses, she gestured for him to sit down.

“We could eat in the dining room, but it’s so cluttered right now with my notes and drafts….”

“I kind of like the kitchen better,” he admitted, seating her before he pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

They ate in a strained silence. It wasn’t like old times, when John would be telling stories about the oil company’s early days, or about some of the places he visited on business. Or when she’d try out new plots and characters on him, to get his reaction. Now they seemed to have nothing to say; it was as if the pain of memory was lying heavily on them both.

When they finished—neither of them had shown any real appetite—Madeline led the way into the living room, leaving John to carry the coffee service on a tray. He set it down on the coffee table and plopped down next to Madeline on the sofa.

“Is this where you tell me you’re leaving Houston?” he asked matter-of-factly, staying her hand as she reached for a cup.

She gaped at him. Her mouth fell open and she gasped at the unexpected question.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed bitterly. “All this special treatment, right down to my favorite dessert…. Why the hell didn’t you just come out with it? No guts?” he added with a cold smile.

She drew in a savage breath. “I’ve got plenty of guts,” she shot back. “Why should I be afraid of you?”

“I’m a hell of a lot bigger than you are, for one thing,” he reminded her.

“Big deal. The bigger they come, the harder they fall,” she shot back, stiffening.

“I can’t fall any harder than I already have,” he said enigmatically. “If you leave Houston, I’ll go with you,” he added curtly.

She felt like grinding her teeth. “Will you be reasonable?” she burst out. “John, I’ve been taking care of myself for twenty-seven years! I’ve gotten very good at it!”

“You won’t eat right,” he growled, eyeing her. “You’ll do stupid things like trying to change car tires in the heat of the day.”

“I’ll reform,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll practice not lifting handkerchiefs two hours a day.”

He got up with a jerky motion and paced, fumbling to light a cigarette. “You could live at the ranch—I’d stay at the apartment. Josito could take care of you. You could have a maid, if you liked.” He took a deep, defeated breath, his eyes empty as he looked down at her, taut and silent on the sofa. “Oh, God, why won’t you marry me?” he ground out. “Have I managed to kill everything you felt for me?”

The look on his face made her hurt inside. Tears brimmed over in her eyes. She got to her feet and went to him, standing just in front of him, her hands going nervously to the front of his open-throated shirt.

“You know, don’t you?” she whispered, her eyes wide with anxiety.

He put the cigarette in an ashtray beside him and straightened. His big hands went to her thickened waist and he drew her very gently against his big, warm body.

“I may be a man,” he said softly, searching her eyes, “but I know a lot about these things. The fainting, the nausea—this…very attractive weight gain.” He let his hands move lower, touching, hesitantly, the slight swell below her waist.

“And when you put two and two together…?” she prodded.

“I went crazy,” he admitted, avoiding her eyes. “Absolutely crazy. I bought out half a toy store and hid the stuff in a closet at the apartment; I went to a bookstore and got everything they had on childbirth and being a parent. Then I sat down and tried to figure out how I was going to tell you that I knew—because you so obviously didn’t want me to.”

She toyed with a button on his shirt, her eyes closing wearily for an instant. “Because I was afraid you’d do exactly what you have done—insist on marrying me.”

“We get along well together,” he reminded her. “We always have, until lately. I could give the baby all the material advantages. I’d…care about him,” he added helplessly. He moved suddenly, cupping her face in his hands to force her eyes up to his. “Tell me you want the baby,” he whispered jerkily. “For God’s sake, tell me that, even if you have to lie!”

He blurred in her vision. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lifted her hand hesitantly to his crisp, dark hair, stroking it with a tenderness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Of course I want it,” she whispered shakily. “Your child. Our child. I love you so much, how could I not want…?”

“Love me?” His voice sounded ragged. He stiffened against her, a shudder running through him. He drew her painfully close, wrapping her up, his restless eyes sliding over her, down to the soft swell of her breasts crushed against his massive chest. “Oh, God, if this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up,” he whispered. “Love—sweet, sweet love! A baby!” He buried his face hungrily in her soft throat. Something wet moistened her warm flesh as he cradled her in his arms, trembling. “Our baby…And you were going to walk out the door and vanish,” he growled huskily, his voice accusing. “I would never have known what you really felt.”

She muffled a sob against his shoulder. Her hands entwined behind his head, clinging. “I didn’t want you to marry me because of the baby, because you felt it was your responsibility.”

“My God, you don’t know me at all, do you?” he mused. “In all my life I’ve never done a single thing unless it pleased me. And marrying you is damned sure going to fall into that category. You crazy woman, did you think it was only because of the baby? The baby is a bonus!”

Her heart threatened to burst with joy at the expression on his craggy face. “We should both have realized it would happen,” he added gently. “That night we shared was too beautiful not to have borne fruit.”

She smiled up at him, glowing. “What a very lovely way to put it.”

He traced her soft mouth with a caressing finger. “I remember telling you before I carried you into my bedroom that I wanted to make love with you. And we did.” He touched her rounded belly lightly, possessively, and smiled. “Love,” he whispered.