Deadly Vows (9 page)

O
livia woke before dawn. Gritty-eyed from lack of sleep, she glanced at her watch and frowned. Six o’clock was early, even for her. She got out of bed anyway, shuffling across the room and pulling open the bathroom door. A man stood near the sink, scruffy blond hair falling below the nape of his neck, broad shoulders covered by nothing but taut muscle and smooth skin. Faded jeans hugging lean hips. A gorgeous, dangerous looking creature she had no right to be staring at.

She slammed the door, her cheeks hot.

A man was in her bathroom!

A man with blond hair.

Ford?

“Good morning.” He stepped into the room, pulling a blue T-shirt over his head and tugging it down to cover a dark purple scar that snaked around his ribs.

“The Martinos hurt you more than you said,” she managed, and he shrugged, broad shoulders pulling against the fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t really say anything, because there’s nothing much to say.” He smoothed a hand over shower-wet hair.

“I think you’re lying, Ford. And I’m so sorry you were hurt because of me.” She put a hand on his arm and knew
immediately it was a mistake. His skin was warm and firm beneath her palm, the contact pulling her back to a place she didn’t want to be. A place where touching Ford’s arm was as natural as breathing. Where heat spread like wildfire, and where love had no limits and no boundaries.

She blushed again, taking a step away.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “I told you, what happened to me wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

“Because you want to believe that if you want something badly enough it will happen, and you’ve never been one to want anything but the best for the people you love.”

“Who said anything about love?” she asked, flustered and uncomfortable. How had the conversation become so personal, so quickly?

“Me. And I’m also saying that what happened to me, is nothing to do with you. This,” he pointed to his cheek.

“And this.” He lifted his shirt and gestured to the raised scar. “They’re Martino’s little gift, and I want you to stop blaming yourself for them.”

Blame herself?

She was too busy ogling his six-pack abs to do much more than gape. He looked good. Much better than any man who’d nearly died had the right to look.

She raised her eyes, looked into his face and her heart skipped a beat. Just as it had the day they’d met and the day they’d married.

Say something, Olivia. Don’t just stand here staring at him like a ninny!

But her mind was blank, her cheeks blazing three shades of red.

“You can go ahead into the bathroom if you want. I’m
done in there now,” he said, a smile hovering on his lips as he tugged his shirt back into place.

“You shouldn’t have been in there at all.” There. She’d broken the spell of silence, but her cheeks were still blazing and she wanted to run into the bathroom and splash cold water on her face.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Why not?”

“Because…”
I don’t want to see you standing around half-dressed when I’m trying to convince myself that we’re better off going our separate ways.

“Look, if it bothers you that I was standing in the bathroom without a shirt on—”

“It doesn’t,” she rushed to say before he could finish.

Liar.

“Good, because we’ve been married for eleven years, and there’s no reason for us to act like we’re strangers.”

“We were married for ten years and we’ve been separated for one.” Not that she was counting the months. Or the weeks. Or the days.

“How about we save this argument for after I get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“Go eat, then.”

“You’re touchy this morning, sunshine. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I slept fine.”

“You’ve still got dark circles under your eyes.” He touched the tender flesh beneath her eye, the caress as gentle as a butterfly’s kiss.

“It’s been a long few months.”

“Martino’s trial will be over soon, and you can go on with your life and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Is that what you want to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I want to build a new life with you, Olivia. I think I’ve said that several times already,” he responded, all his amusement gone.

“And yet you still refuse to discuss a baby that is going to be very much a part of that new life,” Olivia said, knowing she was baiting him, but unable to stop herself.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t stalk off as he would have a year ago. “I need more time to think about it.”

“What is there to think about? The deed is already done. The baby already exists.”

“And deserves a father who loves him wholeheartedly. A father who will be there for him as he grows.”

“You said you wanted a second chance for us. If you’re with me, you’ll be with our baby,” she argued, but Ford shook his head.

“That’s not always the case, and you know it. Sometimes parents just don’t love their kids. No matter how much they want to. They may be in the home, but they’re not part of it.”

“You’re not one of those parents.”

“You don’t know that, Liv. I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll see you in a few.” He shoved the door open and walked out of the room.

Olivia didn’t follow.

What good would it do?

There was nothing she could say that could change things. She’d tried telling him that he wasn’t his father’s son. That he was stronger, more determined, more loving than his Dad ever could have been. She’d said it so many times they’d both gotten tired of it. In the end, she’d finally had to accept what she hadn’t wanted to: Ford didn’t want to be a parent.

That had been okay for a while, but loneliness had set in. Ford had been gone more than he’d been home, distant more than he’d been close, and Olivia had faded into herself, lost in a world where she was married, but not.

And she’d finally told him that she needed more.

If she couldn’t have children, she at least wanted a husband who loved her, who wanted to spend time with her.

It had backfired. Ford had said that he’d offered her everything he could, that if she wasn’t satisfied she should leave.

“And, I did, pumpkin, but I sure didn’t want to. And now I’ve got to think of what you need rather than what I want,” she said, patting her stomach, wishing things weren’t so complicated. That she could accept Ford’s offer of second chances without worrying about his lack of enthusiasm for their child.

But she couldn’t.

Being raised by parents who were consumed by their careers had taught Olivia everything she needed to know about what it meant to not be loved. She wouldn’t allow her child to experience that.

She sighed and shook her head. Enough thoughts of the future. Right now, what she needed to be thinking about was surviving the present. If she didn’t manage that, there’d be no sense worrying about the rest.

Of course, surviving meant spending three weeks confined to a house with Ford. Putting him out of her mind had been difficult enough when he’d been hundreds of miles away. Now it was going to be impossible.

She pulled clothes from the dresser, barely looking at what she chose. God had a plan for her life and for her child’s. Olivia was sure of that. What she wasn’t sure of was why Ford was suddenly part of it.

She’d been praying that God would give her an oppor
tunity to tell Ford about the baby. Maybe everything that was happening was His answer.

But if it was, then why the confusion?

Olivia had been expecting Ford to turn tail and run as soon as he learned he was going to be a father.

He hadn’t.

Yet.

But it was coming.

Wasn’t it?

She frowned again, disgusted with herself and her inability to get Ford out of her mind. There were plenty of things she could be thinking about, plenty of worries she could dwell on.

She hurried into the bathroom, but a quick shower did little to cheer her mood. Dressed in a short jersey dress and leggings, she pulled a brush through her hair and scowled at herself in the mirror. Her skin looked pallid, her lips pale and her eyes red-rimmed. The curls she spent an hour taming every day spilled over her shoulders in ringlets that were already turning to frizz. Unfortunately, whoever had stocked the bathroom hadn’t thought to include hair accessories.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, using the only rubber band she had, and then turning away from her reflection. There was no makeup, nothing she could do about the fatigue so clearly written on her face. And that was okay. She wasn’t there to impress anyone.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous afternoon. During the first months of her pregnancy, she’d been so nauseated she’d lost weight. The obstetrician she’d seen in Billings had told her to eat small, frequent meals to try to bring her weight up. Of course, he hadn’t known that Olivia was running for her
life or that eating small, frequent meals wasn’t always possible when people wanted you dead.

Her stomach rumbled again, and she opened the bedroom door, nearly walking into a tall, thin man. With his dark hair swept back from a broad forehead, he looked to be closer to twenty than thirty.

Olivia stepped back, offering a smile she didn’t feel. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to nearly knock you over.”

“It would take a lot more than you to do that,” he responded, not bothering to smile in return. “I’m Marshal Green. I’m working the day shift. I’ve been told to check with you and see if there’s anything you need.”

There were a few things she wanted—hair accessories, makeup, a Bible, a couple of books to read—but nothing she needed desperately enough to ask the taciturn young man to bring her. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? I’ve got to do an errand run today, anyway, so I may as well pick you up anything you need while I’m out.”

“I’m sure. I’m just going to go get something to eat and then—”

“You know you’re not to leave the house, right?”

“Ever?”

“Not without an armed guard. Agent Parker is on a conference call. When she’s done, she’ll be happy to escort you outside.”

“Great.” Olivia muttered, jogging down the stairs, and wondering what Marshal Green would do if she opened the front door and stepped outside.

Probably tackle her to the ground and call for backup.

The thought made her smile, and she was still smiling as she walked into the kitchen. One look at Ford and the smile fell away. He stood with his back to Olivia. Lean and
hard, he looked thinner than he had been in December, his blond hair falling a little past his collar and making him seem like a stranger rather than the man she’d been married to for ten years.

He turned, as if he sensed her gaze, his azure eyes spearing into hers, his hard-angled face softening with a smile. “You look refreshed.”

“A shower will do that to a person,” she said, moving into the kitchen and pouring a cup of decaf coffee from the pot. Her hand shook, and she told herself hunger was making her tremble. The truth hovered in the back of her mind, begging acknowledgment. It wasn’t hunger that was making her weak in the knees, it was Ford.

He’d always had that affect on her, but this time she wouldn’t give into it.

“Want some bacon?” Ford asked, scooping crisp slices onto a plate.

“I can make some for myself.”

“There’s no sense in that. I’ve made more than enough for two. Eggs, too?”

Arguing would just prolong breakfast and the time she spent in Ford’s company, so Olivia nodded. “Sure. I’ll make toast.”

“Already done. It’s in the oven to keep warm. Want to get it?” He handed Olivia a plate filled with golden eggs and thick bacon strips. The food looked great, and Olivia’s stomach churned in anticipation.

“Since when did you learn to cook?”

“Since about three months after you left me. I got tired of eating out, and I decided it was time to try my hand at the stove.”

“It took you three months to decide that?” Olivia asked
as she pulled a warming plate from the oven and snagged a slice of toast from it.

“I was busy.”

“Aren’t you always?” The accusation slipped out, and Olivia wished it back. Why bait a man who would soon be out of her life? “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Didn’t you?” He scooped eggs onto another plate, piled bacon next to it and grabbed toast, then sat down at the kitchen table.

Olivia followed reluctantly, not sure sitting at the table with Ford was the best idea she’d ever had. Hadn’t that been how their relationship began? He’d nearly knocked her down and then invited her to breakfast to make up for it. They’d sat at a table in the college cafeteria, meeting each other’s eyes across nicked Formica. One smile, and Olivia had been lost.

Not this time, though.

Ford could smile all he wanted, but she wouldn’t agree to another go at their marriage. She’d fallen for his lines in December, allowed herself to believe there might be hope for their marriage. Look where that had gotten her—pregnant and running for her life.

“You look pensive,” Ford said, somehow managing to sound as if they’d had breakfast together every day for the past year.

“I’m not comfortable with this.”

“What?”

“Sitting here with you.”

“We’re having breakfast together.”

“We’re separated. Getting ready to divorce. This just isn’t…right.”

“We’re hiding from Mafia hitmen, Olivia. Do you really think it matters whether or not we have breakfast together?”

Of course it didn’t, so why did it feel so important to Olivia?

Because she cared, that’s why.

And she didn’t want to.

She wanted to sit down and eat breakfast just like she would if Ford were anyone else. She wanted to smile and laugh and then be able to say goodbye without her heart breaking in half while she did it.

“It doesn’t,” she managed to say, avoiding his eyes as she closed her eyes to pray.

“Mind if I pray with you?” he asked, taking her hand and surprising her so completely, she opened her eyes again.