The Gauntlet (12 page)

Hungry on so many levels, Cam insisted she fill her plate first, passing her each entrée. Frowning when he saw how little she took, he asked, “Are you trying to lose weight or something?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s not enough on your plate to feed a bird.”

Laughing, Molly spread the maroon linen napkin across her lap. “I always eat like this.”

“That’s starvation fare,” Cam muttered and heaped a huge portion of everything onto his plate without apology. The classical music playing in the background was pleasant and unobtrusive. Cam occasionally heard the lonely cry of a sea gull in the distance. His gaze kept returning to Molly, who was obviously schooled to the hilt in manners. He was less so, but it didn’t matter to him. The food was delicious and a welcome relief after a year of his own cooking—mostly frozen dinners.

Molly tried not to stare openly at Cam as he ate. The food on his plate disappeared like vapor, and he went for seconds of everything. He ate as if he hadn’t eaten in years! And in her opinion, the pleasure wreathing his features was something to behold. Never had she seen a man so enjoy food. He seemed almost reverent about every bite he took. Nearly half the loaf of homemade bread disappeared, Molly having eaten one slice. Where was Cam tucking it all away?

The wine bottle was empty. Molly smiled over at Cam, who had leaned back, his hands across his stomach. “I think you’re going to burst any second, Cameron Sinclair. You ate enough for three starving men.”

“I made a pig of myself.”

“With no apologies.”

He grinned, sated. “No, ma’am. No apologies.” He reached out, overwhelmed by the need to touch her. Capturing her hand beneath his, he gave it a small squeeze. “Just unending compliments and thank-yous for the beautiful woman who took the time and care to create such a meal.”

“It was just a meal,” Molly protested, her heart leaping wildly at his brief touch.

“Food cooked with love is always the best kind,” Cam said.

“Come on, let’s get away from the table. We can sit in the living room and let it settle. I don’t think you’ll be ready for dessert for at least an hour.”

With a groan, Cam slowly got to his feet, a sheepish grin on his features. “An hour sounds fine.”

Shaking her head, Molly remarked, “Cam, I don’t see how you can even think about having dessert. Look how much you ate!”

He glanced across the table. “I did demolish a lot of it, didn’t I?”

“There won’t be many leftovers, that’s for sure.” She moved to the living room, her wineglass in hand. A beautiful flower garden and well-kept lawn were visible just outside her first-floor window, and Molly had the bamboo sofa turned so that she could sit and enjoy the view. Walking over to the couch, she sat down, taking off her low-heeled shoes and tucking her legs beneath her. Cam sat at the other end of the couch. Molly didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. She soon found out why he’d chosen that position.

“Mind if I stretch out a little?” Cam nudged his loafers off.

Smiling, Molly shook her head and patted the sofa. “This couch invites lying down. No, go ahead.”

With a groan, Cam did exactly that. His feet almost brushed Molly’s thigh. “This is what a good meal does to me. It makes me sleepy afterward.”

“You’re more like a cougar that overate and has to go sleep it off.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Why should I?”

Cam felt an incredible sense of peace stealing over him. He searched Molly’s serene face. Her fingers, long and graceful, curved around the stem of the wineglass. Everything was so perfect…so perfect. “Well, some ladies might get insulted if I dropped off to sleep after a meal.”

“You’re here as a friend, Cam. No expectations, no demands. Okay?”

He smiled tiredly, his eyelids drooping. “I knew you’d understand.”

Molly’s heart went out to Cam as he closed his eyes, his fingers laced across his belly. He was hauntingly human right now, and she was being given access to the real man hidden beneath that hard mask he usually wore. The difference was shocking, warming. As she sat there, the music flowing across the apartment, the dusk light softly invading the living room through the open window, Molly felt a peacefulness she never knew existed.

Glancing over at Cam, who had promptly fallen asleep, she knew the feeling was directly linked to him. Yes, he’d loved her cooking, but it was far more than that. He gave her a sense of confidence in herself. It was as if he instinctively knew when she was feeling insecure about herself or a situation, and was able to step in and say or do the right thing to help her achieve the balance she needed. What kind of magic spun between them? Whatever it was, Molly mused as she sipped her blush wine, it was powerful and wonderful. The evening was perfect in every way.

Later, Molly rose from the couch and went to clear the table as quietly as possible and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Sometimes, when she halted at the kitchen door to check on Cam, she could hear a soft, broken snore coming from the direction of the living room. Her heart turned somersaults in her chest. Everything was right. So right.

* * *

The phone rang, jerking Cam out of a deep, healing sleep. He sat up, disoriented. Molly came racing into the room, an apologetic look on her face as she reached for the phone, which he realized was on the lamp table at the other end of the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I’d turned off the ringer.”

Cam eased into a sitting position as Molly came around and sat down on the couch. “That’s okay,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

“Hello?”

“Molly?”

Molly’s heart sank. It was her father. She slid a look in Cam’s direction. His hair was mussed, and his features sleep-ridden. He sat forward, his elbows resting on his long, powerful thighs, his eyes still drowsy.

“Father.” How could she have forgotten that her family always called on Saturday evening? She should have scheduled the dinner with Cam on Sunday. She felt as if she were dying inside—she didn’t want him to hear the conversation. “Uhh…could I call you back later?”

“I’m afraid not, Molly,” her father answered brusquely. “I’m scheduled to fly to L.A. shortly, and I want to hear about your week.”

Cam lifted his head at the pain he heard in Molly’s contralto voice. He saw her hand clenched tightly in her lap, saw the anxiety in her beautiful green eyes. Not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, he got up and went into the kitchen. But something told him to listen to her phone conversation, even if it was wrong. He stopped at the kitchen doorway, where he could see Molly sitting on the couch, her back to him. She wouldn’t know he was there unless she turned around.

The phone call lasted twenty minutes. The first ten minutes she talked with her father, then she talked with her brother Scott, for another ten minutes. Cam scowled and wrapped his arms against his chest as he listened. Molly turned slightly, her profile visible. The serenity in her face had disappeared, and she was chewing distractedly on a fingernail, obviously nervous as she answered question after question. When she finally hung up Cam saw her bow her head and press a hand against her closed eyes.

He approached her quietly in his stocking feet. The distraught sound of her voice toward the end of the conversation made him reach out and place his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her.

“You weren’t kidding when you said your family called and grilled you every week.”

Molly felt Cam’s fingers gently massage her shoulders. His touch was at once relaxing and supportive. Miserable, she looked up into his shadowed features. She expected to find censure in his face, but instead, his eyes were turbulent with care.

“I forgot all about Father’s and Scott’s call.” Molly got up suddenly. With a weak shrug, she turned and faced Cam. “I should have scheduled the dinner for Sunday instead.”

Cam felt her pain. “No, I’m glad I was here today.”

“You heard everything?”

Cam couldn’t lie to her. “Yes.”

“Oh, dear…”

Molly looked like a doe caught in the glare of oncoming headlights. Cam couldn’t stand the despair in her voice or the haunted look in her eyes. He moved around the couch and put his hands on her shoulders.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Molly.”

“Yes, there is. I would hate to subject anyone to my family’s phone calls.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “We’ve got some serious talking to do, Molly. Come on, sit down.” He allowed his hands to slide down her arms, then captured one hand and led her back toward the sofa. Her fingers felt damp and cold.

“I’m so ashamed.”

“I’m angry.”

She gave him a startled look as she sat down. Cam refused to let go of her hand. He sat right next to her, their thighs brushing. “Why?” Her voice sounded shaky.

“Because no one has the right to grill you like that, Molly. Does your father call
every
Saturday wanting to know what the hell kind of grade you got at the end of the week?”

Molly winced, refusing to meet his narrowed eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

His hand fed her stability. Molly leaned forward, and pressed her hand against her eyes. “I disappointed my father so badly when I got washed out at Whiting. He’s afraid I’m going to fail here at TPS, too.”

“For someone who supposedly is concerned,” Cam ground out, “he didn’t seem very happy over the fact that you got an eighty-two percent on your last test. He should be jumping for joy.”

Lifting her head, Molly whispered, “You don’t understand, Cam.”

“Try me.”

“My average for the first month places me in the bottom third of the class.”

“That’s what he was hammering you about?” Anger spiraled quickly through Cam.

“Yes.”

He bit back an expletive. “So what? Every week your grade percentile is improving. You’ve got a long way to go before school ends. He ought to be looking at
that,
not the average. What’s wrong with him?”

Molly shrugged. “You heard me on the phone. I tried to explain it to him.”

Absently Cam rubbed the back of her hand. “Is he always this kind to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t he ever compliment you on what you do right?”

“Father is one of those people who see the glass as half empty, instead of half full the way I do.”

Cam shook his head. “And he pulled this same crap on you at Whiting?”

“And at Annapolis,” she said timidly.

“Jesus!” Cam got up, unable to sit still any longer. He paced the living room, wrestling with his anger, saying nothing for several minutes. He knew any words that came out of his mouth would be ugly, probably upsetting Molly even more. Finally he stopped pacing and came to crouch in front of her. Taking her hands in his, he held her gaze, seeing shame clearly written in her eyes.

“Do you realize what he’s doing to you?” Cam demanded.

“Father just wants me to be successful, that’s all.”

“No,” he whispered harshly. “No, Molly, he doesn’t. He’s controlling you through negativity and fear of failure. In my book, he’s manipulating your emotions, keeping your back pinned to the wall.”

Stunned by Cam’s intense emotional reaction, Molly whispered, “My father cares about me, Cam. It’s just that he had all his hopes pinned on Scott, and now Scott’s crippled for life. He has a dream—”

“Dammit, Molly! It’s his dream and Scott’s dream, not necessarily yours!” Cam released her hands and stood, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, I’m way out of line for saying that.”

Molly continued to sit, her hands clasped in her lap. “My father cares for me,” she repeated.

Cam bit back a reply. He saw the desperation in her eyes. “Controlling another person isn’t expressing love, Molly,” he said in a low, vibrating tone. “He’s controlling you. Can’t you see that?”

“No.”

“Then why is he cutting you down instead of building you up?”

Molly stared up at Cam. He was angry and upset. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“From what I heard of the two wonderful family chats you just had, they were emphasizing what you
weren’t
doing right—not taking a look at what you are doing correctly. Is that a fair analysis?”

Molly gave a jerky nod of her head, her throat constricting.

Cam crouched down again, this time not touching Molly for fear that he’d sweep her into his arms and hold her. He so badly wanted to give her a place of safety and protection. How had she stood four years of abusive tirades? It suddenly dawned upon Cam that Molly was desperate for love from her father, negative or not. He was all she had, and she clung to him. Sickened, Cam fought his anger.

“Anytime one person has to control another is bad news, Molly,” he said softly. “It means the controlling person is insecure—afraid he’s going to lose something he wants. A controlling person doesn’t allow other people to live their own lives. Instead, they have to live within the parameters the controller has set up for them. It’s like being a puppet on a string, your entire life a dance to someone else’s steps.”

“And you’re saying my father’s that way?” Her voice had gone off-key with tension.

Cam nodded, holding her frightened gaze. “In a healthy relationship, Molly, one partner doesn’t control the other. I don’t care whether it’s a parent and child or a husband and wife, the same rule applies.”

Almost angrily, Molly rose and circled the couch, stopping behind it, her arms crossed defensively on her chest. “You act like you know so much about this,” she hurled back at him bitterly. “Why should I believe you? My father loves me! He’s not doing this to hurt me.”

“Listen to me, Molly,” Cam rasped. “I was married to the most wonderful woman on earth and we had a son. I loved her with my life for seven years. She taught me what a healthy, loving relationship was all about. I know the difference.” Cam looked away. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about Jeanne or Sean since their deaths. His voice cracked. “Dammit, you’ve got to believe me when I tell you, a loving parent wouldn’t do what your father’s doing to you!” He forced himself to look at her, misery flooding him as never before. “My wife and son taught me what love was all about, Molly. They died a year ago in a plane crash, but I still carry that knowledge with me. Love doesn’t control someone else. Love gives you the ability to allow the other person to be herself, not what you want her to be.”