Upon a Mystic Tide (40 page)

“Of course it matters.”

“No, it really doesn’t. Jonathan won’t lift a finger to stop it.” And Bess couldn’t blame him. Maybe if when she’d left him, she’d told him explicitly why she’d left him, things wouldn’t have gotten so out-of-hand. Big mistake on her part. Not her first, and surely not her last, but one with painful, long-term repercussions. “I’ll call you tomorrow or maybe the day after. I need to sleep, and then to think.”

“All right, Bess. ’Nite.”

“’Nite.” Bess cradled the receiver and headed toward the stairs, feeling so low she’d have to look up to see down. “Tony, if you can hear me, I sure could use a friend.”

You have one, Doc. He’s waiting for you right up those stairs.

“I let
him down. I should have trusted his judgment on the kidnaping/elopement thing with Dixie. It really didn’t occur to me that he’d take my stand as a lack of faith in him personally.”

We all make mistakes, Bess. But I’m not sure your opposing view on that issue was one.

“It was.” The third stair creaked. Holding onto the banister, she looked up at Cecelia’s portrait. “She never would have sided against Collin.”

She did. Often.

“Then she did it differently. Collin didn’t doubt her belief in him. Not if the legend is true.”

It’s true. And he didn’t doubt her; that’s true, too.

Bess turned the corner at the landing then continued on up the stairs. “We’re back to worth, aren’t we?”

Looks that way to me.

“That’s the difference, then. Cecelia opposed Coffin, but she didn’t threaten his sense of worth.”

That’s right.

“I’m not sure how I threatened Jonathan’s worth.”

You’ll figure it out. I have every faith in you, Doc.

Could she? “Tony?”

Yes?

“I’m scared.”

I know, Bess.

“I don’t want to get hurt anymore. I don’t want to hurt John anymore either. I’m so tired of trying so hard and still losing what’s important to me. Miss Hattie says it’s pride, but it’s a lot more than that.”

There’s an old saying about everything coming out in the wash. When your wash is done, is there really more than fear and pride left soiling the washtub? You have a man lying awake waiting for you, Bess.
A man who loved you enough to marry you. A man whose ring you still wear. He’s seen you without your mask now and he didn’t run. He didn’t condemn you, or seem mortified, or give you the silent treatment as your parents did. He asked you to again be his wife.

“For seven days.”

Seven days, yes. But isn’t it interesting how much can be accomplished in seven days, Bess? How long did it take to create an entire universe? Hmmm, I wonder how long it would have taken if pride and fear had stood sentry? And I wonder, if you felt seven days was seven more than you deserved, would you have dared to ask for a lifetime? Think about it, Doc. Think about it
 . . .
and leap.

Bess crawled over John
and snuggled up against him. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” On his back, he shifted his weight and curled an arm around her bare shoulder. He’d lain here spitting nails of green envy because she’d talked with Santos, because he’d had the ability to touch her emotions so deeply when John did not. He’d lain here feeling like a slug for not telling her Santos hadn’t bought the station, and wondered how the hell he was going to tell her that he had without her walking out on him again. And he’d wondered what was going on in her mind. Though she’d drifted off to sleep, awakened, gone downstairs, and then had come back to his bed, he still didn’t have the foggiest notion about that—or about how to untangle and resolve this mired mess.

She cuddled close, stroked his chest with her hand. His insides quivered. He wanted to make love with her. On that level, he could communicate with her. But he couldn’t do it. Not now. Not with deceit between them. He wanted to; God, but he wanted to. He wanted to mark her as his in every way a man can mark a woman. But his pride and reverence wouldn’t let him. He’d never touched Bess to mark her as his possession, or in jealousy, or in fear that a deceit would be discovered and she’d leave him. He wouldn’t start now. He might have no right to love her, but he did, and his heart wouldn’t let him touch her with anything in his heart but love.

He loved her. But he didn’t know her, not anymore. Bess wasn’t Bess. He didn’t know who exactly this new Bess was, but he liked her. He liked her telling him her feelings, her laughing and splashing in the surf, and her asking him for his promise to return to Little Island with her to watch the sunset. And he liked that she clearly wasn’t in love with Santos. Surely if she had pursued the divorce so she could marry the man, she’d never have agreed to John’s proposal—and she’d surely never have made love with him or come directly to his bed for comfort after talking with her sorry Spaniard. What kind of relationship they had, John didn’t know, but on Bess’s part, it wasn’t love. At least, John didn’t think it was. With this new Bess, who knew? Maybe she did love the man. Could she? No. No, of course not. Well, maybe.

“Hold me, John. I’m chilled.”

His heart in his throat, he wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled closer to his side, bent her knee, then rested it on his thigh. He lay staring at the shadows on the sloped ceiling, knowing they were both holding their thoughts to themselves, both upset, both hurting. Why didn’t he talk to her about this? He’d started to earlier, but then she’d gone downstairs. The stair had creaked then, and again on her return. He’d heard her footfalls hesitate at the landing, too. She’d debated between returning to her own room and to his. That she’d come back to him had that tender hitch in his chest swelling, and his heart feeling full. And all of him determined not to again make the mistake he’d made before she’d gone downstairs.

He eased his hand over her ribs, splayed his fingers on her skin. “Bess?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we talk?”

She let out a little sigh that reeked of relief. “I’d really like that.”

He dragged a gentle thumb down the side of her face, then curled his fingers at her nape to thank her. “I want you to know that today has been really special to me.”

“To me, too.”

His heart tripped a beat. “This is hard to put into words, but
 . . .
” He was lousy at this talking-about-his-feelings business.

“Just say it.” Her voice was soft, coaxing, encouraging.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said—about me putting Elise first. I know I did it, and I think that had a lot to do with why you left me. I didn’t mean for anything to drive us apart, Bess. I want you to understand that. I was just so hungry to prove myself. And I guess I took you for granted.” Never, never in his life, would he be so foolish as to do that again. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that I know a lot of the blame for the divorce is mine.”

“Jonathan.” She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I was so slow to catch on to why you left me. I just
 . . .
wasn’t thinking about things from all sides.”

“We all make mistakes, including me.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead to apologize further. “You’re a hard act to follow, you know?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He let his hand drift down her hair. Soft. Silky. Sexy. “You’re always in control, always calm.”

She grunted. “Jonathan, I just spent an hour soaking your shoulder. That’s hardly controlled or calm.”

He smiled against her cheek. “I liked it.”

“You hated it.”

“I hated you crying. I liked you choosing my shoulder to cry on.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at her cheek with his nose. “Before, you always knew what to do. I loved you, Bess, but I never felt like you needed me. Tonight you did. I liked it.”

“Me, too. You do good shoulder, Jonathan.”

He smiled. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it. His soul was too hungry and this morsel fed to it tasted too delicious not to be savored. “I’ve been a loner all of my life, Bess. When we got married, I thought things would be different. But they weren’t. I was still a loner, only married. From the sidelines, I watched you conquer one mountain after another
 . . .
without me.”

“Jonathan, no. It wasn’t like that.”

“It was. You were always so sure of everything.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not.” She reared up to look at him, moonlight from the window flooding her face. “I’m not sure of
anything,
Jonathan.”

“Bess—”

“No, really.” She lifted the hand rubbing his side to his shoulder. “I wanted to share things with you. I just didn’t know how.” She pressed a kiss to his chest. “We can’t go back, Jonathan. But we can do things differently now.” She dragged in a deep breath. “I got fired today. Millicent didn’t have the guts to do it herself. Sal called. And then Millicent sold the station to Miguel. And do you know what I feel about all that, Jonathan?”

“I imagine you’re hurt and angry.”

“I am. But the sad truth is, more than anything, I feel relieved.”

“Why?” His surprise riddled his voice.

Bess stared down at him, praying she could get through the telling. Praying he didn’t hate her when she was done, or worse, that he’d lose every ounce of respect he’d ever had for her. She could take a lot of things, but losing Jonathan’s respect wasn’t one of them. “I’ve wanted to leave my job for a long time. But I had no place to go and I needed the money to live.”

“I don’t get it.” He clasped her shoulder, his fingers firm yet gentle. “You love your job.”

“Because I’ve felt like such an arrogant fraud!” She let her head dip to his chest, then let out a self-deprecating laugh and looked at him. “Who am I to give advice to the lovelorn? I’ve made a shambles of my own love life. Physician, heal thyself!”

“You’re not a fraud.”

“I am!” Tears she’d fought since her talk on the stairs with Tony crawled up her throat. “I loved you so much, and I still couldn’t hold onto you. I tried, Jonathan. I really, really tried. But I just
 . . .
couldn’t.”

“Bess, honey, don’t.” He pulled her down until she half-draped his chest, then rolled her onto her back, following her over until he rose above her. “Don’t cry.
Please.
I hate your tears.”

“I’m
 . . .
sorry. It’s just that for the first time since we separated, we were happy. Today was just perfect. It was just so beautiful and perfect, and then I got fired, and Miguel, the traitor, bought the station—after I asked him not to do it—and then Francine called and—everything is just so screwed up now, and I’m so confused and angry. They
 . . .
ruined
 . . .
our
 . . .
perfect
 . . .
day.”

“Shh.” He pressed tender kisses to her eyelids, her salty cheeks, her nose. “They didn’t. We won’t let them. They can’t ruin our day, if we won’t let them. Things will look better in a few days, darling, I promise.”

“They won’t. In a few days, I’ll still be fired. Everyone in New Orleans will be laughing at silly Bess Cameron, the doctor to the lovelorn who can’t keep her husband
or
her job—not even with her friend buying it for her. And in a few days, then you’ll be gone, too. How can things be better if you’re gone, too?”

A hand at her shoulder, the other at her ribs, John went still. “Will you miss me, Bess?”

Bess swallowed a sob. Would she miss him? Absurd question. His heart jackhammered against her breasts and his eyes looked so solemn. So very solemn. Pride should keep her from telling him the truth, but pride paled to the magic, just as Miss Hattie had said. “I will, Jonathan. I’ll miss you so badly I’m not sure I can stand it.”

He looked stricken. Stunned. Then stricken again. He cupped her face in his hands, his voice a gravelly whisper that poured his sincerity straight to her heart. “Right now, I can’t give you the words, Bess. Or forever. The fault for that is mine. You have no reason to believe me, but if I could give them to you, I would. I’d go back and undo the hurt. I failed you, but I swear to you, woman, I loved you.”