A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever (29 page)

“I know what you're going to say, and you needn't bother. Sammy gets to determine his own future. Whatever he wants to be is all right with me.”

“I'm glad you feel that way.”
Thank you, Lord. That was one battle I didn't want to fight.

“I don't want to be the kind of father mine was.” His fingers closed over hers, and she felt the warmth all the way up her arm. “Unfortunately I don't have any other models.”

“You'll learn by doing,” she said, knowing it was true. “That's all any of us can do.”

Just as she would learn to cope with his world by doing—beginning by staying with his friends and attending a social event. That was the only way she could help Sammy in the difficult adjustments he'd have to make when he started living with Tyler part of the time.

“Daddy, come see the cannon,” Sammy called. “I want to take your picture.”

“You've got it.” Tyler pushed away from the wall. He caught her hand as they walked toward their son, and she steeled herself for the inevitable tingle as their hands swung, palm to palm.

It doesn't mean anything, she told herself desperately. Tyler has made that clear.

“You stand there with Momma.” Sammy pushed them into place next to the cannon. “I'll take a picture.”

The cadets strolled by, and one of them stopped, smiling at Sammy. “Would you like me to take it so you can be in it, too?”

Sammy gave him an awestruck look, then nodded. “Thank you, sir. That would be very nice.”

He handed over the camera and scurried to pose next to his father. Tyler put his hand on their son's shoulder, linking them.

A family portrait, she thought as the cadet snapped one picture, then another. We might be any happy family out for the day.

Her smile faltered at the pain in her heart. Her goal—learning to function in Tyler's world to help Sammy—suddenly seemed a poor substitute for what she really wanted. For what she knew she'd never have.

They'd never be the happy family of the photo, because that wasn't what Tyler wanted any longer.

 

“This is the house.” Tyler parked at the curb on the cobblestone street. “You'll like the Carpenters.”
At least, he hoped she would. He could feel Miranda's nervousness from across the front seat.

He clasped her hand for an instant, telling himself he was only trying to convey assurance that this visit would be all right. He seemed to be doing that often lately—making an excuse to himself to touch her.

He got out, and Sammy came quickly to help him as he unloaded the bags.

“Look, Sammy. It's a genuine Charleston historic home.” Miranda nodded at the bronze plaque set into the faded brick wall.

Tyler pushed open the filigree wrought-iron gate in the brick wall, and they stepped into a lush green garden with azaleas in full bloom. The house ran along the left side of the garden, and the brick walls lined the other sides, creating an oasis in the midst of the city.

A fountain with a graceful seahorse spout sprayed water in an arc, catching and reflecting a ray of sunshine that filtered through the sheltering live oaks.

“I've never seen anything quite like this.” Tyler set down the bags on the brick walk to close the gate. “It's beautiful.”

Miranda's face had tightened. “Yes. Your friends have a lovely home.”

Sammy had run ahead to peer into the fountain, but Tyler lowered his voice anyway. “Why does it bother you? Your uncle's house is probably just as big.”

“It's not the same. People don't live in a house like this unless they're part of Charleston society.”

“Maybe Dan is from an old Charleston family. It doesn't matter. This is just business.”

What was she thinking? That this would be as difficult as those weeks in Baltimore had been?

She nodded, but the tense line of her jaw told him that his rationalization didn't really help.

He clasped her elbow as they moved up the walk, hoping she knew he was on her side. But then, why would she feel any assurance of that? He should have been on her side when he'd taken her to Baltimore as his bride, and he hadn't been able to help her then.

No, that was letting himself off too easy. He looked back with disgust at the callow boy he'd been then. He'd been so obsessed with filling his father's shoes that he hadn't given a thought to how his decisions affected Miranda. He should have known, he should have done better, he should have been smarter.

They'd both been too young when they fell in love, and they hadn't known how to make it work. Now it was too late. He couldn't offer her what he should have then, but he certainly could make an effort to see that she felt comfortable here.

“It's business,” he said again as they stepped onto the piazza. “You'll find both Dan and Sheila eager to make us welcome.”

She glanced up with a flicker of a smile. “Because you're the big boss, you mean.”

The smile encouraged him. “Oh, I'm an important person, all right.” He lifted an eyebrow, holding her arm in a firm clasp. “Ready?”

She nodded, and he reached out to let the brass knocker fall.

Sheila Carpenter opened the door at once. “Come in, come in.” Her wide smile swept them into a cool, elegant hallway. “We've been waiting for you.”

“It's good to see you again, Sheila.”

He glanced around, trying to see what Miranda might find intimidating about the place. The spiral staircase that swirled upward without apparent support might take his breath away, and the portraits on the walls might be antebellum ancestors, but otherwise it was just a house.

“We're just so happy to have y'all here.” Sheila clasped Miranda's hand. Tall and blond, she was as elegant as her home, but genuine welcome shone in her wide blue eyes.

“It's very kind of you to invite us.” There was no trace of nervousness showing in the warmth of her response.

“Our boy, Todd, is looking forward to having a guest.” Sheila smiled at Sammy. “This must be Sammy.”

Sammy shook hands with a grave courtesy that seemed inborn.

Tyler glanced from his son to Miranda. They both had that innate courtesy and dignity. With that and her native intelligence, Miranda could fit in anywhere. She just didn't seem to have confidence in that fact.

She'd had it, once upon a time. His memory flashed him an image of the girl Miranda had been
when he'd met her. She'd had such natural grace and such bright confidence. She'd been willing to take on anything. She'd lost that somewhere along the way.

No, not somewhere. She'd lost it when he'd swept her into a marriage neither of them had been ready for.

The guilt he'd denied for years burst out of hiding. Their marriage and what had happened to her as a result had robbed Miranda of her girlhood, her college education, her chance at the happy family she deserved.

What could he offer her that would make up for that?

M
iranda took a deep breath, opened the bedroom door and stepped into the upstairs hall of the Carpenters' house. She sank almost to her ankles, it seemed, in plush carpet.

Tyler waited under the amber glow of the wall sconces. He looked at her, not speaking, a portrait in black and white with his dark hair and dark eyes, his white shirtfront and black tuxedo.

She smoothed her hands nervously down the black silk of the evening pantsuit her sister had insisted she borrow.

“Well? Is this outfit all right?” Pitiful, a tiny voice in her mind taunted. You're begging for a compliment from him.

“Very all right.” Tyler reached out to touch the curl she'd let fall to her shoulder from her swept-back hair. “You look beautiful.”

Begged for or not, his words were good to hear.
“It's not me—it's the clothes. Chloe got this outfit for the kickoff party when Dalton Resorts broke ground for the new hotel. She said it would be just right for tonight's concert, but I wasn't sure.”

“Chloe has good taste, but you're wrong.” His fingertips trailed from her hair to her cheek, and she had to fight the longing to lean against him.

“I'm wrong about what?” How had her voice gotten so breathless?

“You are beautiful no matter what you wear.” He pressed his palm against her cheek, and heat rose to her skin where he touched. “Now just say thank-you instead of arguing.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her senses swimming.

This was what she wanted—this kind of relationship with Tyler. She'd been kidding herself to think she could be happy with any less.

“What do you think? Are we all ready to go?” Dan asked the question as he and Sheila came out of a door farther along the hallway.

Sheila looked elegant in cream lace shot through with gold thread. Dan, like Tyler, wore a tuxedo, but to Miranda's eyes he couldn't hold a candle to Tyler's dark good looks.

Tyler nodded. “We're ready, and you and I are lucky. We'll be the envy of every man there.”

Sheila laughed as she started down the open spiral staircase. “That's what I like—a man who knows how to turn a compliment.”

Tyler took Miranda's hand, slipping it into the crook of his arm. Her fingers closed on hard muscle.

“Smile,” he whispered as they reached the top of the staircase. “This evening will be fun.”

Fun, she thought, trailing her hand along the polished mahogany railing. This evening with Tyler wasn't fun. It was magical.

She had seen no reason to change her mind by the time they arrived at the restaurant Dan had chosen on Bay Street. Tyler helped her from the car, and she felt like Cinderella alighting from her coach.

He clasped her hand in his, waiting while Dan gave his keys to the valet. “Relax,” he murmured softly, his breath brushing her ear as he bent close to her.

Was it conceivable that he thought she could relax when every nerve in her body was on edge at his nearness?

Dan and Sheila led the way through a wrought-iron archway, and they followed the hostess across a cobblestone patio surrounded by gaslights on black iron posts. The lights flickered on boxwood hedges and white tablecloths. String music from some hidden source muted the echo of conversation.

Magical, she thought as they reached a table set for four.

Tyler pulled out her chair. When she sat down, his fingers caressed her shoulders as lightly as the aroma of the flowers caressed her senses. The bowl of camellias in the center of the table seemed to waver for a moment.

“Good choice.” Tyler sat next to her, glancing across the linen-covered table at Dan. “You know how to pick a restaurant.”

Sheila looked around with satisfaction. “We thought you'd like it. They're known for doing great things with local fare like shrimp and black-eyed peas, so be sure you try something unique to Charleston.”

The conversation moved to food, giving Miranda a respite to catch her breath and try to slow her tumultuous pulse. What was Tyler up to?

The touches, the sultry glances—they weren't accidental. It was as if he'd set out tonight to remind her of what they'd once had.

She slanted a look at him from behind the protective cover of the menu, and her heart trembled. She didn't need reminders. All she had to do was look at him, and she saw again the husband she'd never stopped loving.

The strong bones of his face were more pronounced, and there were fine lines around his eyes that spoke of the stress of the past years. But one thing hadn't changed—the way her heart stopped when he smiled at her.

“What do you think?” Tyler lowered his menu. “Sullivan Island crab cakes for a starter, followed by pecan-crusted fried shrimp with apricot chutney?”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said, trying for normalcy. “I've never met a fried shrimp I didn't like.”

“That's it, then.” Tyler closed the menu. “We think alike tonight.”

He gave her a small, private smile, as if the two of them shared a secret.

Her heart swelled with love. Hopeless, to try to
keep her feelings a secret. Her love for Tyler must be shining in her eyes for everyone to see.

 

This was the way he'd once imagined their lives would be, Tyler realized as they drove to the house after the concert.

He glanced at Miranda, seated next to him in the back seat of Dan's car. He'd pictured them doing this sort of thing, had envisioned Miranda looking elegant, beautiful and perfectly at ease. Pictured them coming home to their own house with their children asleep in their beds.

It was too late now to think about what might have been once upon a time. He had to concentrate on the present, and the present included a Miranda who'd fit in perfectly and had seemed to enjoy the evening.

At the moment she continued a lively conversation with Sheila about the community's youth center. Apparently the volunteer work she did at the center in Beaufort was similar to what Sheila did in Charleston, and the two of them had been exchanging war stories.

He captured her hand where it lay between them on the leather seat. Her fingers curled around his, and he thought she nearly tripped over a word.

This was working—he was sure of it. Miranda had begun to see that she could function perfectly well in the world he moved in. It would be a small step from that to convincing her that a marital partnership was best for all of them.

“Here we are.” Dan pulled into the converted
carriage house that served as his garage. “We'll walk in through the garden. Sheila's done a wonderful job with it.”

“You're only saying that because you know it's true,” Sheila teased.

Tyler kept Miranda's hand securely enclosed in his as they went through a gate in the brick wall that rimmed the back and side of the enclosed garden. He heard her breath catch as they stepped into the garden.

He could understand her response. Tiny white lights, hidden in the shrubbery, picked out the gleam of a camellia here, the blush of an azalea blossom there. Lights illuminated the fountain, making the water glitter like crystal.

“It is perfectly lovely, Sheila.” Miranda's voice was soft, as if she didn't want to disturb the night. “I can't imagine anything more charming.”

“Well, now, y'all just stay out here and enjoy it for a bit.” She grasped Dan's arm and whisked him toward the door. “We'll go up and make sure those boys are asleep, and we'll leave the door unlatched for you. Stay as long as you want.”

The door closed behind them, cutting off Dan's surprised comment.

“Sheila's being tactful.” He guided Miranda toward a wrought-iron bench that faced the fountain. “She's giving us a chance to be alone.”

“I don't think…that is, we've been alone plenty of times.” She rushed the words, as if tension danced along her nerves, and sat down abruptly.

“Not in such a romantic setting.” He sat next to her, stretching his arm along the seat behind her and letting his hand cup her shoulder.

She sat very straight. “It sounded as if you and Dan were talking business at the intermission.”

Obviously Miranda didn't want to discuss how romantic the setting was, though he suspected she couldn't ignore the heavy scent of flowers that perfumed the air. But if it made her feel more comfortable, they'd talk business.

“Dan has ideas about our acquiring some other companies in the southeast. I guess he thought this evening was his best chance to air them.”

“Are they good ideas?” She sounded relieved that she'd successfully turned the conversation.

“Fairly good.” He tilted his head, staring absently at the spray of water glistening in the light as he considered. “Maybe a little too ambitious for us right now. We have the other deal I told you about pending.”

“So you don't intend to go along with his suggestions?” She made it a question.

“He's a good man with a lot of talent,” he said slowly.

Funny. He wasn't used to discussing the decisions he made with anyone. That wasn't his style.

But Miranda had her gaze fixed on his face as if this was the most natural thing in the world, and at the moment, it seemed so.

“You don't want to discourage him,” she said.

“That's exactly right. Maybe his idea isn't best for us at the moment, but I'd never want to dampen his
ingenuity.” He drew her a little closer. “You'd make a good manager.”

“That comes of being a middle child in a big family,” she said lightly. “You learn to manage people or you fight all the time.”

“And you don't like to fight.”

“I'm not good at it.” She sobered suddenly. “Maybe if—”

“Maybe if what?” He wanted to know what had set that frown between her brows.

She gave him a solemn look that was very like Sammy's. “Maybe if I'd been better at fighting, things would have worked out better between us.”

He was startled, not so much at the truth of the statement but that she knew both of them well enough to say it to him. “You ran away instead.”

“And you didn't chase me.”

He caressed the smooth skin of her shoulder. “I should have. I wasn't smart enough to understand what was happening.”

Did he understand what was happening now?

The question annoyed him. Of course he did. He was showing Miranda that they had a chance to put their lives together again, the way they should be. They could have a marriage based on common interests and mutual respect.

Somehow the moonlit garden didn't seem the right place to be thinking about common interests. And the sensations he felt at having Miranda in the circle of his arm didn't have anything to do with mutual respect.

“We were too young.” She said the words softly, mournfully, as if grieving for someone who'd died.

We're not too young now.

The words hovered on his lips, ready to be spoken, but something held him back. He didn't want to embark on a discussion of the businesslike marriage he envisioned, not here in the moonlight, not in someone else's garden with Dan and Sheila inside wondering what they were doing.

“It doesn't matter now.” He turned her face toward him, hand cradling her cheek. “There's no point in dwelling on the past.”

His thumb brushed her lips, and he felt them tremble.

“There is a point.” Her lashes swept down, then up, unveiling the troubled expression in her eyes. “If you can't forgive me for not telling you about our son, it matters quite a lot.”

Her words arrowed straight into his heart and lodged there. “Is that what you think? That I'm still angry with you?”

“Aren't you?”

“No!” Suddenly it seemed the most important thing in the world that she believe him. “I
was
angry at first, but I understand now. Even if I didn't understand, I couldn't have gone on being angry when I saw how much you love our son.”

A tear spilled over, glistening on her cheek until he wiped it away with his fingertip.

“Thank you, Tyler. I'm glad.”

The soft words, the perfumed air, the warm
familiar body next to him wiped away whatever armor he had left against her. He ought to tell her, ought to explain his plans for their future, but all of that was swamped in the need to have her in his arms.

He lowered his head, and his lips found hers. He pulled her close against him.

Miranda settled into his arms as if she'd never left them. Her mouth was warm and sweet and alive against his, and he never intended to let her get away from him again.

This is going to work. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and felt her arms clasp him tightly. He'd find the right time, he'd explain it all to her, and Miranda would understand.

The fact that they still had such a powerful attraction to each other—well, that made it all the better, didn't it?

 

Miranda could only wish she knew where they were going. She looked out the car window the next afternoon, watching the thick pine forest slide past. Geographically they were on their way to Caldwell Island. But emotionally where were they headed?

She slid a sideways glance at Tyler. He looked simultaneously relaxed and in control when he drove, as if the mechanical actions freed him from some internal tension that was otherwise present.

He caught her glance and smiled, and her heart turned over in her chest. Well, her emotions certainly weren't in question.

But Tyler's remained a mystery. Even in the turbulent wake of last night's kisses, she wasn't sure of him. The only thing she was sure of, as a result of this weekend, was that she'd faced something she feared and come out okay. Gran had been right, it seemed. She'd grown up.

“Is Sammy still sleeping?” he murmured.

She glanced to the back seat, where Sammy leaned against his seat belt, eyes closed. She nodded. “Those two boys must have stayed up late last night playing.”