The Promise (35 page)

Cara looked up from the shirt she was mending, her
stomach churning at the look in his eyes. "About Striker?"

"No, Cara. About us. About what happens after all of
this is over."

She stared down at the needle, willing her fingers to
stop shaking. "Maybe this isn't the right time, Michael."

He sat on the bed beside her, taking the sewing out
of her hands. "There will never be a
right
time, sweetheart.
And I've always been a man to speak my mind."

She nodded, still unable to look at him, her heart
thudding against her chest.

He gently cupped her face in his hands, forcing her
to meet his gaze. "I love you, Cara." His eyes reflected his words,
and her breath caught in her throat. "I think maybe I always have.
Since that night I found you in the snow. But I didn't know for
certain until this morning, when I almost lost you in the
tunnel."

"Michael… I—"

"Wait." He laid a finger against her lips. "Let me
finish. I know that you are afraid. Hell, I know better than anyone
how you're feeling. Like a fish out of water. But I can make it
better. I can make a life for us here. I know I can—if you'll just
give me the chance."

She swallowed tears, fighting for control. "I can't
Michael. I don't belong here."

"How do you know that?" His eyes searched hers for
answers she knew she couldn't give.

"I don't know, I just do." She stood up, walking to
the window, trying to sort through her thoughts.

"Are you saying you don't love me?"

"No." She swung around, her eyes meeting his, begging
him to understand. "I care about you. I do. It's just that isn't
always enough."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The words
exploded from him, his anger reflected in his tone.

"I can't afford to love anyone. Don't you understand?
Every time I believe in someone, every time I love them, I wind up
getting hurt. I loved my parents, I loved my grandfather, I even
loved Adrian. But they all left me anyway. Even you left me,
Michael."

"Adrian was a fool. And your family didn't leave you
on purpose, Cara. They died. And I certainly had no control over
our situation."

"But that's just the point, isn't it? None of us has
any control. Everything you love can be wiped out in an instant
without the slightest bit of warning. And when it happens, your
heart is ripped out and torn to shreds." She pushed her fist
against her chest, physically trying to hold in her emotions, to
protect her heart. "Don't you see, Michael? I can't go through that
again. I just can't."

"Cara, you're not making sense." His face was a wash
of emotion, pain and frustration warring with compassion and love.
"None of us knows what's going to happen from one moment to the
next. That's part of life. You can't just sequester yourself from
caring."

"I can try." She paused, searching for the right
words, trying to make him understand. "You make me feel things I
haven't felt in years and it scares the hell out of me. Every day
that goes by I care a little more. I don't think I could survive
the pain of losing you, Michael. And the truth is, one way or the
other, whether it's today or tomorrow, I
will
lose you."

"But isn't a little time together better than no time
at all?"

"No. The price is too high." She blew out a breath,
her eyes meeting his, her gaze steady. "I'll stay until we've seen
this through. Until I know that you'll be okay, but then I have try
and find my way home."

"What if you're home now, Cara?" His words were soft,
the expression in his eyes breaking her heart.

"This can't be my home, Michael. I'd always be
looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Waiting to wake up and find you gone again."

"So for peace of mind, you're willing to give up all
that's between us?" His fists were clenched at his sides, his fury
washing over her.

"I have to." She deliberately turned away, fighting
her tears, cringing as the door behind her slammed shut.

It was the only way. She didn't belong here. Didn't
belong with him. No matter what her heart said, she had to listen
to reason and logic. They were from different worlds, and no matter
how much she wanted him, she was better off letting him go.

*****

Loralee stood at the window looking out at
the moon, her thoughts filled with a jumble of emotions. Memories
of Zach and their days together danced through her head. She could
still hear his laughter, see the crooked slant of his smile. She'd
loved him with all her heart. And when he'd abandoned her, she'd
shoved those feelings so deep inside, she'd never thought to see
them again. But here they were crowding into her heart, reminding
her all over again of all that she'd lost.

Tears filled her eyes, joy warring with grief. She'd
meant what she'd told Michael. Zach
had
loved her. And he'd
loved Mary. And part of her truly believed that he'd never have
deserted them willingly, but another part of her, the contrary
part, had believed the story about him and Rose. Even secretly
hoped it was true. Because, even if it meant he'd up and left her,
it also meant that he was still alive.

She sighed, watching the grass waving silver in the
moonlight. But if the Macpherson's were to be believed, he was
dead. He'd loved her. But he was dead. And it was almost as if he'd
disappeared all over again. She looked up at the star-filled night
and wondered if she'd ever be able to let him go. He was so much a
part of her. So much a part of Mary. In truth, part of the reason
she'd sent her daughter away was because seeing her every day had
been too painful a reminder.

Shame washed through her, and Loralee tightened her
fingers around the soft cotton of the curtains. She loved Mary with
her whole heart, but what kind of mother could she possibly be?
What kind of life did she have to offer her?

Loralee turned resolutely from the window, putting
the moonlight firmly behind her. Moonlight was for dreamers, like
Duncan—and Patrick. He was more like his father than he knew. He
had the same charming manner. And she suspected, like his father,
when he loved a woman, it would be forever.

She wondered, just for a moment, what it would be
like to be that woman, and then pushed the thought away. She'd
already lost one man. And truthfully, she didn't know if she could
stand to lose another. She sat down on the cot and leaned back
against the wall, closing her eyes, a picture of Zach filling her
head, his crooked grin a reflection of the love in his dark
eyes.

And then, without so much as a by your leave, he
faded away, his brown eyes turning green, his face turning into
Patrick's. And Loralee realized it was already too late to decide
not to care about Patrick Macpherson. Her heart had always had a
mind of its own. Loralee smothered a sob, burying her face in the
pillow.

No sense waking the rest of the household with her
tears.

*****

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, listening
to Loralee's soft crying. He wanted to go to her, to hold her—to
somehow make her believe it was going to be all right. For the
first time in his life he wanted to make things right for someone
else, and the thought amazed him.

And shamed him.

Before his mother died, life had just been one long
picnic. Someone was always there to clean up his messes and make
sure he had what he needed. His mother and father, Michael, even
Owen, had all treated him like a little king. Whatever Patrick
wanted, Patrick got.

And, then, when his mother disappeared, his kingdom
had collapsed—everyone lost in their own grief. Owen had tried to
insulate things, to preserve Patrick's fairytale existence, but
there was too much gone. He stared out the window at the pale
silver of the moon.

He'd been angry at them all. Angry because his mother
had run out on them. Angry because his father and Michael hadn't
gone to get her, even angry with Owen, because he tried to pretend
that nothing had changed. But the truth was, he'd been angriest at
himself. Angry for not being enough to make her want to stay.

He sighed, looking again at the closed door. It was
quiet now. Maybe Loralee was sleeping. Or maybe she was lost in her
memories, too. He pictured her sweet face and wondered what it
would feel like to hold her in his arms, to be the kind of man she
deserved.

He grimaced, knowing that she'd had more men than he
could possibly imagine, and that, in many ways, he was no different
than they were. What did he have to offer her? He had nothing to
call his own. Nothing that wasn't a part of Michael or Owen.

He was a shadow man. Existing on memories and
anger—on resentment for what had been and could never be again. And
now… now it seemed that even that had all been a lie. His mother
hadn't run away at all. She was dead.

The words brought bitter tears to his eyes.

Dead
.

And because they'd all been so quick to believe the
worst, they'd betrayed her far worse than they'd ever believed
she'd betrayed them.

Patrick stood up, crossing to the window, the
moonlight washing over him, soothing in its touch. His mother had
been his whole world. And maybe, he admitted, that had been the
problem. Maybe he needed to find himself. Figure out who the hell
Patrick Macpherson really was. And only then would he be able to
love someone else.

He closed his eyes, and wondered if Loralee would be
willing to wait.

*****

Michael stood in the doorway, watching her
sleep. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
He let his eyes trail downward, taking in the soft curve of her
shoulder and the sweet swell of her breasts, and he felt himself
growing hard, despite all that lay between them.

God, how he wanted this woman.

He crossed to the bed, sitting down beside her,
tracing the curve of her face. Her eyes flickered open, regarding
him with a sleep-clouded gaze. "Michael." His name come out like a
sigh and he shivered as the sound caressed him.

"I'm sorry." He blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have
walked away."

"No." She shook her head. "It was my fault. I just
can't tell you what you want to hear."

"I know." He stroked her soft skin, needing her more
than he could have believed possible.

"Nothing's changed, Michael." She met his gaze, her
eyes searching for confirmation.

"I know that, too." He sighed, letting his hand fall
to his side.

"Stay with me, then." She reached for him, her need
reflected in her eyes, and his heart began to hammer in his chest
as the burning in his loins spread upward and inward, filling him
with a driving need.

With shaking hands, he pulled off his clothes, her
body warm against his as she helped with the buttons. Reaching back
with one hand, he cupped her neck, twisting around, pulling her
with him, satisfied when the maneuver placed her firmly beneath
him. She arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his
chest, her nipples tracing lines of fire each time she moved.

With a groan, he took possession of her mouth, his
tongue thrusting deep into her warmth. She met his passion stroke
for stroke, and when her hand closed around his aching manhood, her
rhythm matched the pace of their dueling tongues. Balancing on the
precipice, he held tight, wanting more than quick release.

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, their
mouths still locked in a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers closed on
her nipples and he rubbed and teased until she cried out for more.
Replacing his fingers with his mouth he suckled at first one nipple
and then the other, his mouth relishing the feel of her body
responding to his. He tugged lightly with his teeth and she ground
her hips against him, writhing with need.

"Now, Michael, please."

The entreaty was all he needed. Rolling over again so
that she was nestled in the warmth of the covers, he lifted his
body, bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes locked on hers. With
one smooth stroke, he drove deep inside her, her body surrounding
him in throbbing heat.

Her legs moved apart as she shifted, pulling him
deeper, her arms locking around his shoulders. He lowered his head
for a reverential kiss and then, feeling her tighten around him
with impatience, began to move, his thrusts meeting hers, body
against body, until he truly couldn't tell where he left off and
she began.

And in the moment just before the world turned to
light, he knew that somehow he'd find a way to convince her to
stay. They belonged together—now and always—and he wasn't about to
let her go without a fight.

The first trace of fuchsia had inched its way
over the tops of the mountains, the color reflecting off of the
bottoms of the clouds as if a celestial spotlight lit each one.
Cara sat on the porch steps, hugging her middle to ward off the
early morning chill, her attention riveted on the magnificent
display above her, watching as the deep pink slowly faded into
orange-tinged gold. She longed for a paintbrush, wanting to capture
the magic.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Cara started at the sound of a voice, glancing up to
see Loralee emerge from the doorway. She smiled at her
great-grandmother, the concept somehow seeming less foreign now
that she'd had a little time to get used to it. "I was wishing I
could paint the sunrise." She patted the plank next to her, and
Loralee dropped down beside her.

"It'd be nice to capture the magic. Hold on to it for
the hard times." Loralee closed her eyes, the sun illuminating her
face. "This is my favorite time of day."

"Mine, too." Cara studied the soft lines of Loralee's
face. She'd always imagined that ladies of the evening were a harsh
lot, but Loralee had a special glow about her. Almost as if the
sunshine emanated from inside her.
Goodness
. That's what it
was. Pure and simple goodness.