Authors: Margot Dalton
Memories of You (20 page)
“Callie,” he whispered at last, reaching out to touch her cheek. “Callie, sweetheart.” His voice was husky, his eyes wet with tears.
She gazed at him in wonder, trying to understand what was happening.
“These are for you.” He held out the package.
With shaking hands, she unwrapped the paper to reveal a massive bouquet of yellow roses, their amber
hearts flashing like jewels in the depths of the glossy leaves.
“Jon…”
“Because you’re a golden princess,” he murmured, caressing her shoulders. “I wanted to pick you some wildflowers from the ditch, since that’s what you really like, but all the ditches seem to be full of snow.”
“Oh, Jon.” She began to cry.
He took the flowers from her hands and placed them on the hall table. Then he gathered her hungrily into his arms, kissing her wet cheeks, her eyelids and neck and mouth.
“You don’t know,” he whispered, “how many times I’ve dreamed of this. I spent so long looking for you, then didn’t recognize you when you were right in front of my eyes.”
She nestled in his arms, hardly daring to believe what was happening.
She felt whole again, clean and unafraid, ready to face anything. And yet she felt strangely new and unformed, as if her life was just beginning and could take on any form. The squalor of her past, the lonely years of struggle, the weary burden of deceit were all gone. Now the joy and excitement made her tremble in his embrace.
“Callie,” he murmured. “Are you all right, darling?”
“I’m fine.” She leaned back in his arms to give
him a tearful, misty smile. “I’m just thinking how happy I am, and how terribly much I love you.”
He kissed her again with seeking tenderness, then smiled at her. “You knew right from the start, didn’t you? You recognized me the first time you saw me. sitting in your class.”
“That very instant.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t bear to have the past come back to life, or see you feeling sorry for me. At the time, my privacy seemed important,” she told him. “Now, after everything that’s happened, I’m amazed to find how little any of those things really mattered.”
“And all that talk about not wanting anything to do with me,” he asked, “and terminating the research project with the twins?”
“I was trying to protect myself. I was so afraid that if we spent any more time together, you were going to recognize me.”
He hugged her again, whirling her around in boyish delight as he buried his face in the tousled fragrance of her hair.
“Jon,” she murmured against his neck.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“How’s Steven?”
“He’s fine. We had a long talk last night after you left, and I think I’m beginning to understand him better. You helped him so much, sweetheart. I owe you a huge debt of thanks.”
“Then we’re even.”
“Like hell.” His eyes danced. “I intend to spend a lifetime showing you just how grateful I am.” He released her and bent to pat Elton, who rubbed against his legs, purring. “Hurry up and get dressed. Wear something really warm.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Why?”
“Because I promised the kids I’d bring you home with me for a sledding party this afternoon, and they’re all waiting. I’ll go down and shovel snow while you’re getting ready.”
Camilla smiled, her heart bursting with happiness. “You can’t push me around like this,” she teased. “I’m not seventeen anymore.”
His face sobered briefly. “If I’d done a little more pushing when you were seventeen, we wouldn’t have wasted twenty years of our lives. Come on, darling.” ÌHe took her in his arms again. “We have to start making up for lost time.”
The look on his face made her shiver with anticipation as a warm excitement whispered passionately through her body.
“Yes,” she said softly, nestling contentedly into his embrace. “I think you’re right. We can spend a lifetime, my darling, making up for lost time. And every second of it will be wonderful.”
“D
ARLING, YOU SOUND
like a broken cappuccino machine,” murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.
Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn’t. If he
sounded
like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.
“What mischief did you and your friends get into at your bachelor’s party last night?” she continued.
She always had a way of saying “your friends” as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn’t swollen to twice its size.
“You didn’t do anything…bad…did you, Russell?”
“Bad.” His laugh came out like a bark.
“Bad as in
naughty.
”
He heard her piqued tone but knew she’d never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came
from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.
After agreeing to be at her parents’ pool party by noon, he untangled himself from the bedsheets and stumbled to the bathroom.
“Pool party,” he reminded himself. He’d put on his best front and accommodate Char’s request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he’d slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.
He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.
Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. “Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel.”
His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he’d been struck by lightning. “Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?” he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.
Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell’s gaze dropped
“What in the—”
Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.
Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.
“A red heart?” His voice cracked on the word
heart.
Something—a word?—was scrawled across it.
“Good Lord,” he croaked. “I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it.” Not Charlotte. Liz!
eISBN 978-14592-7062-6
MEMORIES OF YOU
Copyright © 1997 by Margot Dalton.
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