His Partner's Wife (33 page)

Not until she was tucked in could he reach for the phone.

"Hey," he said quietly, when Natalie answered.
"What's up, Sleeping Beauty?"

"Why didn't you kiss me awake?" she countered.

"You looked so peaceful. And sexy," he added,
leaning back against the tiled edge to the kitchen countertop.

She didn't react to the addendum. "Did you have to get
home to your kids?"

"Yeah. I'd called Mom to pick them up at day
care."

"Oh."

He hated the awkwardness of the silence and the knowledge
that she didn't know what to say. That
he
had destroyed the ease between them.

"I wanted to stay," he said. "But I didn't
like the idea of having to call home and tell my mommy where I was."

He almost heard her shudder. "Heaven forbid. I already
wonder what she thinks about me. The way I keep popping up at your breakfast
table."

"Mom called you 'a nice young woman' last week. In the
midst of chewing me out for failing to catch your bad guy."

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry you got a lecture because of
me."

"But she does like you."

"I'm glad." Natalie sounded slightly wary.

"Damn, I wanted to see you tonight," he said
explosively. "I can't tell what you're thinking when we're talking on the
phone."

"My thoughts aren't that mysterious." But that
hint of aloofness clung to her voice.

"No? Then what are you thinking right now?" John
challenged.

Only the smallest hesitation preceded her saying, "That
I wish I could see you, too. For the same reason. Because…" She stopped so
fast he could almost hear the screech of brakes.

"Because?" Cordless phone to his ear, John paced
across the kitchen and back. "Come on, Natalie. We've been honest with
each other. Let's not stop now."

"Have we been?" She gave a small sigh. "Okay.
I'm thinking that you might have called tonight just because you're a
gentleman. Sneaking out in the middle of the night isn't your style."

He closed his eyes. "Having affairs isn't my style at
all. You must know that's not what's going on here, Natalie."

"Then … then what
is
going
on?" Pride mingled with anger—or was it fear?—in the question. "You
wanted to see me tonight. Why aren't we together?"

"Evan's sick," he said bluntly. "He puked all
over the driveway. I was going to call and suggest we all go out to dinner
together. Not exactly a romantic date, I realize, but at least we could have talked.
Instead, I took his temp, got some meds down to lower his fever, gave him a
back rub, and lent my artistic aid to Maddie's social studies project, which
was building a colonial era church out of cardboard."
My life in a nutshell,
he thought.

She was silent for a moment. "I know how busy you are,
John. I shouldn't have even said that."

With an edge, he said, "You mean, what a goddamned mess
my life is, don't you?"

"Mess?" For all the world, Natalie sounded
genuinely startled. "You've got a beautiful home, a job you seem to love,
incredible kids, and a great extended family. Where's the mess?"

He tamped down on soaring hope. "Debbie…"

"Debbie?"

"You know I still feel an obligation to her."

"Of course you do." Faint surprise infused her
ready agreement. "She's Maddie and Evan's mother." Then her tone
abruptly changed. "Oh. Are you trying to tell me you won't get seriously
involved with anyone because you feel too much tied to her? If so, it's really
not necessary—"

"No!" He swore. "No."

"Then what?" she asked.

He ached again to see her mobile expressions, the way her
eyes darkened with emotion, the softening of her mouth just before she smiled.

"We should be having this discussion
face-to-face."

"But then," she pointed out tartly, "the only
time we've been face-to-face since I left your house was last night."

He grimaced. "And I said I didn't want to talk."

"That was one of the things you said."

"I need you. I meant that."

"Yes. I noticed."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not just
physically." His voice had roughened. "Even last night, it was
complicated. I wanted you, but mostly I needed your arms around me."

After a moment, she said softly, "I'm glad you came
over." Another small silence. "I don't think Stuart ever needed
me."

"Like I said, he was an idiot."

Then she irked the hell out of him by saying lightly, and
not for the first time, "You're good for my ego." This seemed to be
her standard line to put him at a distance by implying they were indulging in
no more than a frivolous flirtation.

"Is that all I'm good for?" he asked grimly.

Tension quivered in this silence. "No." She spoke
quietly. "You're good for me in every way."

Eyes closed, he leaned his forehead against the pantry door.
"I love you."

Her breath rushed out, as if he'd winded her.
"John?"

He unclenched his teeth. "I shouldn't have said that.
Not like this. You don't have to reciprocate. I just wanted you to know. To be
thinking about it. About me."

She made a sound. Was she crying? But, no. Incredulous, John
realized she was laughing with an edge of hysteria.

"That was funny?"

"No, I…" She hiccuped, then giggled again.
"Oh, dear. I'm sorry!"

John straightened and glared at the empty kitchen. Stiffly
he said, "I'm glad I didn't show up at your door with a ring and red
roses. If you think this is funny…"

"But that's just it!" Abruptly she sobered.
"It's the fact that … maybe this is the only way we
can
talk.
On the phone, when we can't see each other. Lately, we've been so constrained
in person."

"I had a hell of a time keeping my hands off you, you
know."

"But even after…"

"And then I was afraid I'd blown it. You wouldn't meet
my eyes, you wouldn't talk to
me.
I thought I'd lost your friendship."

In a near whisper, she said, "And I thought the
same."

"I've never had a lover who was my best friend."

"Me, either." Her voice became even more
tremulous. "Maybe that's what love is."

He stared out the dark window. "I miss you."

"I have been so lonely," Natalie said in a rush.
"I've missed you, and the kids, and…" She broke off, her voice
changed. "But then I can't help thinking that we've always been better
friends on the phone than in person. Maybe we do best when we're sort of
anonymous to each other. Without any attraction complicating things. And that
scares me, because talking to you like this isn't enough anymore."

"It doesn't have to be! I love it when I'm with
you." John swore. From upstairs, Evan was calling him, in a high, panicky
voice. "Damn. I've got to go. Evan's awake, and I think he must be sick to
his stomach again."

"Oh, no!" Natalie said quickly. "I wanted to
tell you something I've been thinking about Stuart."

Taking the stairs two at a time, John didn't care about her
ex-husband.

In a hurry, she said, "It's that … the only thing he
bought was Foxfire. I thought he was trying to say he was sorry, or to tell me
he cared. But he didn't."

"Oh, damn!" Even with only the light from the
hall, John could see that poor Evan had thrown up all over himself and the bed.

Trying to pull his pajamas away from himself, looking so
little and miserable it about broke John's heart, Evan sat in the middle of the
mess crying. "I couldn't find the bowl!"

"Big guy, it's okay." John crossed the dark room
and flicked on the small bedside lamp. "Hey, don't worry. We'll get you cleaned
up in no time." He laid a hand on the boy's forehead, which nearly
scorched him. God. Should he call the doctor? Straightening, John said into the
phone, "Natalie, I've got to go. Evan's fever has skyrocketed."

"Oh, no. Okay. It's just … I was wondering if Foxfire
could possibly be…" She let out a whooshing breath. "Oh, never mind.
It can wait. And it's probably a wild idea anyway. Tell Evan I wish I could
give him a hug. And I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he promised, and then, "Love
you," but he wasn't sure she hadn't already hung up.

It was well over an hour before he'd bathed his son, changed
the sheets and tucked him in.

"Don't go away, Daddy," the five-year-old begged.

John smoothed wet hair back from his hot face. "I won't
go anywhere," he murmured. "You try to sleep, and I'll be here when
you wake up. I promise."

He sat beside him, cooling his forehead with damp
washcloths, watching him at last fall into a heavy slumber. Evan's face was
flushed, his movements restless.

It was going to be a long night, John could tell. He'd leave
the light on so Evan wouldn't wake up scared. If he lay down beside his son and
kept the stainless steel bowl between them, maybe he could snatch a few hours
of sleep between bouts. If Evan's fever climbed any more, he would call the
hospital. They must have a pediatrician on duty at night.

John pulled an extra quilt over himself and stretched out
next to Evan. Sleep was slow coming for him.

Maybe that's what love is.

Yeah. Maybe. If so, he was the luckiest man on earth to have
found it. She hadn't said,
I
love
you,
but he'd swear she meant it.
She didn't just miss him, she missed his kids.

He lay there trying to sleep, greedily replaying over and
over every word she'd said, every peal of laughter, weighing every hesitation,
every nuance.

He heard himself.
I've
never had a lover who was my best friend.

And her voice, as rich and velvety as if she lay beside him,
whispering in his ear.
Me,
either. Maybe that's what love is.

He wouldn't think about her worries. Sure they'd always
talked more easily on the phone. They'd been attracted to each other, and
neither one had wanted to acknowledge it. There'd always been a tension in
person that had bothered him. All he had to do was persuade her that it
wouldn't be a problem anymore, not now that they didn't have to pretend
friendship was all they felt.

It wasn't until the third time Evan awakened, endured dry
heaves and finally slept again that John remembered the tail end of the conversation.

The only thing he bought was Foxfire. I thought he was
trying to say he was sorry, or that he cared. But he didn't.

Abruptly wide-awake, John listened to what he hadn't let her
say.

Her marriage was failing, and she knew it. Clearly Stuart had
intended to leave her. But when he'd gotten his hands on big money, what had he
done with it? He'd bought his wife an extravagant present. Why?

What was it she'd said at the end?
I
was wondering if Foxfire could possibly be…
What?

Morning—and answers—seemed an eternity away.

Chapter
15

«
^
»

H
ow
dumb
even to have mentioned her crazy idea to
John, when she hadn't had a chance to check it out. And it probably
was
crazy.

Sure, horses were sometimes worth half a million dollars or
even more. Stuart could have bought one of those, knowing full well that the
average person couldn't tell the difference between a National Champion
stallion and a nice Arabian. People did keep commenting on how extraordinary
Foxfire was. What was it Pam Reynolds had said the other day? She'd implied
that the stallion made the ten-thousand-dollar Arabian in the barn look like a
plug. Stuart wouldn't have even had to hide the registration papers;
she
wouldn't
recognize the name of any top Arabian horse. The breed never received the
publicity that Thoroughbreds did, where everyone on the street knew the name of
the Kentucky Derby or Breeders' Cup winners.