You can’t hibernate forever; Beth. You’re hardly old enough to take up celibacy as a hobby.” Carol waved a danish for emphasis.
“I’m not planning on hibernating forever. It hasn’t been that long. It’s only been a few months, and I’m just not ready to start dating. And I’m definitely not ready to sleep with anyone.”
“I didn’t say you had to go to bed with a guy on the first date,” Carold said. “That may be the rule in some parts of the country but here in Remembrance, we expect our womenfolk to have more discretion than that.
“All I’m saying is that if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone, you’d better start looking around now. There aren’t that many great guys lying around waiting to be found. Look at me, I haven’t found one yet.”
“That’s because you’re so finicky.”
“I know.” Carol shook her head. “I always insist on a man who can walk and chew gum at the same time. And in this town that’s a rarity. Donovan is one of the few good ones, and you’re crazy to have turned him loose. If I managed to get hold of a man like that...” A sigh completed the thought, and Elizabeth forced herself to smile.
Carol pulled herself away from her daydream. “Anyway, you’d better start looking around. We ain’t getting any younger, you know.”
“I know. It’s just that it’s only been a few months; and Donovan and I were together for so long.” She pushed a crumb across the table with the tip of her finger.
In the bright warmth of the tiny apartment kitchen, it was almost possible to forget that meeting with Donovan a week ago. Until then, she’d been proud of the way she was putting her life together. She was proving that she could make it on her own, and she was happy. Mostly happy anyway. Definitely not unhappy. Okay, so she’d been reasonably content. Somehow seeing him again had made it all seem so hollow, as if it was just a facade and he’d shown her the emptiness underneath.
“Beth, I know it’s not going to be easy for you to see other men. But unless you want to spend your life alone, you ought to start looking around. Take my word for it, living by yourself isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Right now it seems okay, but wait until you’ve done it a few more years. Sure, there’s nobody to tell you what time to get home, but there’s nobody to care if you don’t make it home at all. It can get damned lonely. It’s okay for me. I’m used to it, and I’ve gotten pretty set in my ways over the years, but you aren’t used to it, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”
Elizabeth reached out to squeeze Carol’s hand, knowing that anything more concrete by way of sympathy would be dismissed with a laugh and a joke. The picture Carol drew was not inviting. She loved her job, but it wasn’t enough to fill her life.
“Even if I wanted to date—and I’m not saying I do—I don’t know how to go about meeting men. If there’s a singles’ bar in town, I don’t know where it is.”
“Not to worry.” Carol set down her danish and leaned across the table to pat her friend’s hand. “Just let Matchmaker Carol take care of everything. I have a guy in mind.”
“Wait a minute. What kind of a guy?”
Carol grinned. “A male kind of a guy. Two legs, two arms, two eyes, one—”
“I can fill in the rest,” Elizabeth said hastily. “What does he do for a living? Do I have anything in common with him? What makes you think he’d even want to go out with me?”
“Beth, Beth. Don’t be an idiot. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re gorgeous.”
“I thought I wasn’t getting any younger.”
“You’re not but some things age well. Believe me, George will be more than happy to pay for dinner just for the chance to drool at you from across the table.” She waved a hand, cutting off Elizabeth’s next objection. “Trust me. Would I lie to you?”
Three days later Elizabeth was still debating the answer to that question. It wasn’t that she thought Carol would actually lie. But she’d been known to poke the truth into a shape that fit her wishes.
She smoothed her hands over her hips, turning to check the fit of the pale aqua silk dress. She felt a little reassured by the reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, but she didn’t look half-bad. Maybe Carol was right, perhaps she had improved with age. The dress was new and very flattering if she did say so herself. She’d bought it just the day before, and the fitted top and flared skirt suited her.
Would Donovan like it? He’d always liked her in anything blue. She traced her, fingers over the scooped neckline. He’d definitely approve of the fit. She stared in the mirror. With her eyes half closed, she could almost imagine him coming into the room, could see his reflection in the mirror. He’d pause when he saw her, his eyes flaring for an instant. Then he’d come up behind her, and his hands would slide around her waist, pulling her back to rest against his chest. He’d hold her, and then maybe he’d reach up to pull the pins out of her hair because he always preferred it down. Her hair would spill over his fingers, and he’d brush it aside to kiss her ear. She’d turn and--
Her eyes snapped open, and Elizabeth stared in the mirror, horrified by the direction her thoughts were taking. She hadn’t put this dress on for Donovan. She didn’t dress for him anymore. She had to get it through her head that he wasn’t the center of her life. Not now, not ever again.
She tucked a strand of hair into place and reached for her earrings. Donovan Sinclair had no business intruding into her daydreams. He was part of her past, and she wanted him to stay that way. The immediate future belonged to George Bonner.
Her hands were shaking as she slipped her shoes on and took one last look in the mirror before going into the living room to await the arrival of her date. Her date. The words sounded funny even in her head. She hadn’t had a date in almost twenty years. What was she supposed to say to him? What did a man expect on a date these days? Would he expect her to be full of witty conversation?
As it turned out, she didn’t have to worry much about what to say to George Bonner. George didn’t need outside help with the conversation—he carried it quite efficiently by himself.
Seated across the table from him at the Haufbrau, Remembrance’s one genuinely fancy restaurant, Elizabeth was able to carry her end of the conversation with little more than an occasional yes or a mumbled sound of agreement. He didn’t seem to need anything more than a periodic indication that she was still conscious.
He ordered for her, a gesture that Donovan would have made seem courtly. George made it seem officious. She smiled and said nothing. This was her first date in twenty years; she was going to enjoy it if it killed her.
Staring at him, she couldn’t help but make a few comparisons. George was about the same age as Donovan, give or take a year, but he had none of Donovan’s hard strength. He was shorter, wider, softer, paler and duller.
She reached for her wineglass and took a sip of the California Chenin Blanc he’d ordered. He hadn’t consulted her, but he had informed her that it was a very modest little wine with no pretensions to greatness. Too bad the same couldn’t be said of George. The wine tasted rather thin to her, but she smiled and made polite noises about it. Donovan had always allowed her to order the wine, admitting quite bluntly that it all tasted alike to him. Too bad George didn’t know he had a cork for a palate.
“Carol tells me you’re an interior decorator.” Elizabeth looked at him, hardly able to believe her ears.
Good heavens, was the man going to let her talk? Was he actually expressing an interest in something she might have done?
“Yes, I am.”
“You wouldn’t believe how important some people think interior decorating is. It can make or break a house sale. I’ve had clients refuse to buy a house because they didn’t like the decoration. Slap on a little paint, I tell them, but they don’t listen. Just last week I had a place that was done in lime green, and I told the owners, I said—”
Elizabeth tuned him out. She could imagine what George had told the owners. It was amazing but, after only an hour or so in his company, she had the feeling that she could imagine what George would say in just about any situation.
It hadn’t been like that with Donovan. She’d known him as well as it was possible to know another human being, and yet he’d still managed to surprise her. She took another sip of her wine. What was Donovan doing tonight? Was he at home? Was he thinking about her at all?
Actually, at that moment, Donovan was about twenty feet away, sitting at a table just around the corner from Elizabeth. He smiled at his dinner companion and hoped that the glazed feeling in his brain didn’t extend to a glaze in his eyes.
This date had been a major mistake. He should have known better. It was too soon to start dating. In fact, it might never be the right time if tonight was any indication.
“You know, they’ve done studies that prove that a woman in my age group has a better chance of being struck by lightning than she does of getting married.”
Donovan resisted the urge to look hopefully upward. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when they drove here. Lightning was unlikely.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It was in the paper.” She stared at him, the expression in her eyes solemn. Clearly, if it was in the paper, there was no arguing with it. He thought of pointing out that it was possible to skew statistics to prove just about anything, and then he decided against it.
“Well, I’m sure any woman who truly wants to get married can find a like-minded man.”
He took a sip of his wine, wondering if it tasted as much like weak vinegar to her as it did to him.
She shook her head, her mouth pursed. “It’s not that simple. You see, statistically speaking, there aren’t as many men as there are women, and then you have to figure in the necessity of finding someone with like interests. Oh, and someone who wants children. Not all men want children, you know.”
He could have said the same about a lot of women, but he didn’t. He’d already learned that it was simpler to say nothing at all. He took another sip of his wine and then reached for the water glass. It was going to be a long evening.
Seeing Elizabeth last week had made him realize that he’d only been marking time since she left. He’d been living in limbo, not thinking about the future, trying not to think about the past. It couldn’t go on forever.
Jane Bartholomew was a sales rep for a firm he’d dealt with for several years. They’d talked at the office, and she’d always seemed to be intelligent and interesting. When she walked into the office on Monday, he’d found himself asking her if she’d like to have dinner with him on Friday. He hadn’t given it a lot of thought, hadn’t analyzed the decision to ask her out. He’d just decided that it was time he started giving up the past and this was as good a way as any to start.
Unfortunately, Jane seemed to see a dinner date as a prelude to happily-ever-after. Donovan leaned back as the waiter brought their food. He smiled across the table at Jane and wondered why he’d never noticed the hungry gleam in her eyes that had nothing to do with the trout almondine the waiter set in front of her.
It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with her. She was thirty-seven and clearly hearing the beat of her biological time clock. She wanted a husband and a baby and she wanted them now. The minute he asked her out, she’d refiled him in her mind from unavailable to available, and the change in her attitude toward him was nothing short of stunning.
Donovan cut into his steak, trying not to notice the way she watched him. He now knew how a stallion must feel when it was being considered for stud. Any minute now he expected her to lunge across the table and pry open his mouth to study his teeth.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jane. He did, despite her not-too-subtle hints about marriage and children and time running out. She was a nice woman, and he wished her the best of luck. But he wasn’t interested.
He speared a mushroom and stared at it glumly. The problem was he wasn’t interested in any woman except Elizabeth, and he’d been stupid enough to lose her. Asking Jane out had been a foolish attempt to pretend that he was going to get over Beth. It hadn’t worked. She was deep in his soul. It was only now that she was gone that he realized just how much he needed her.
The past six months had been gray and barren, an empty wasteland without her. She was probably perfectly happy without him. After all, she hadn’t lost that much. She’d been right, he had let their marriage drift away while he pursued his work. He’d thought somehow that it would simply maintain itself, without any effort on his part. He realized it now that it was too late.
He took another bite of steak and forced himself to smile at his date. It was too bad he wasn’t a drinking man. Right now the idea of being stinking, filthy drunk had a definite appeal—if only to help him forget what he’d lost.
The date wasn’t a raging success, but it wasn’t a total disaster. Eventually Jane did allow him to turn the conversation away from marriage. When the small band began to play in the bar, he forced himself to do the gentlemanly thing and ask Jane if she’d like to dance.
She was light on her feet and, if their steps didn’t match quite like his and Elizabeth’s had, Donovan didn’t allow himself to think about it. The music was slow and mellow, and they moved around the dance floor in reasonable harmony. At least she didn’t feel as if she had to carry on a conversation while dancing.
He casually gazed over her head, looking at the other couples. He nodded to one or two acquaintances. In a town the size of Remembrance, it was impossible to go out without running into someone you knew. There was Jase Bower, who owned the local feed store, out with his wife, who was pregnant again, and Levar Davis who was the closest thing to a celebrity Remembrance could boast. He’d been on Jeopardy three times and had actually won some money. Levar was with his wife. George Bonner, the local real estate agent, was dancing with—
Donovan mumbled an apology as his foot came down on Jane’s toe. Elizabeth. He wasn’t imagining things. She was actually here dancing with George Bonner, that annoying pip-squeak. She looked up and her gaze fell on him. George seemed to stumble, as if confused by the sudden rigidity of his partner. Then Elizabeth dragged her gaze away from Donovan’s and stared fixedly, downward, her feet moving automatically to the music.
Donovan turned Jane so that his back was to the other couple. He hadn’t expected to feel the absolute, blinding rage that gripped him. If he’d thought about it, he would have expected Elizabeth to be dating. After all, she was the one who’d left him, so it made sense that she would be ready to see other men. How long had she been dating George, and what did she see in the little twerp?
Had George kissed her? Were they sleeping together? Jane squeaked in protest as his hand tightened on hers.
“Sorry.” But the muttered apology was automatic. Even though his back was to her, Donovan was aware of Elizabeth with every fiber. She had no right to be going out with other men. She was his: his wife, his woman. She had been since the moment they met.
He turned Jane again. Now Elizabeth’s back was to him, and Donovan scowled at the way George was holding her. His hand was too low on her hips. He was too close. They were making a spectacle of themselves.
The music came to a halt, but Donovan wasn’t aware of it until he realized that no one else was moving. George started to lead Elizabeth off the dance floor. Without thinking, Donovan moved forward, pulling Jane with him.
“Elizabeth, George. How nice to see you.” Elizabeth stiffened before turning slowly toward him. George turned, and Donovan was maliciously pleased to see a twinge of uneasiness in the smaller man’s eyes.
“Sinclair. Nice to see you.”
“Have you met Jane? Jane, this is George Bonner, our local real estate whiz kid, and this is Elizabeth Sinclair—my wife.”
“That’s not quite accurate.” Elizabeth kept the smile on her face, but Donovan could see her annoyance.
Jane murmured hello, clearly uncomfortable. Donovan barely noticed. The band had started playing again, and his smile became even more shark-like. “George, would you mind if I danced with Elizabeth. This used to be our song, didn’t it, Beth? Why don’t you and Jane dance? I bet the two of you have a lot in common.”
It was rude. It was ruthless. But he didn’t care. He pushed Jane’s hand toward George and reached around her to take Elizabeth’s arm. Without creating a scene, there was nothing anyone could do but go along with the arrangements he’d so cavalierly made.
Elizabeth was stiff as he led her onto the floor and pulled her into his arms. Her steps matched his automatically even as she tried to avoid letting him draw her close.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself. That was quite a performance.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to dance with my wife.”
“I’m not your wife,” she spat out, but the words lacked impact. It felt remarkably nice to be in Donovan’s arms. “And this isn’t our song. I don’t even know what song this is.”
“Neither do I. Who cares?”
“You were very rude.”
“I know.”
“George probably thinks you’re nuts and so does Janet.”
“Jane.”
Beth’s perfume was just as evocative as ever. Soft and floral, it always made him think of wildflowers and bedrooms. He drew her a little closer, liking the way her breasts pressed against his chest.
“I wish you wouldn’t hold me so close.”
“You didn’t object when George held you like this.”
“He wasn’t holding me this tight. Besides, George is my date.”
“Do you let all your dates hold you like this?”
“No. Yes. It’s none of your business. Besides, this is the first date I’ve been on.” She could have bitten her tongue out the minute the words were said. She could actually feel the pleasure they gave him.
“So, is George showing you a rollicking good time? I bet you could qualify for a real estate license by now.”
Elizabeth bit her lip against a smile. Obviously Donovan had spent a little time with George. His hand tightened on her back, shifting her still closer. Not even a whisper could have worked its way between them. It was foolish. She’d regret it. But, for just a moment, she allowed herself to savor the hard length of his body against hers.
“I suppose Janine is a barrel of laughs.”
“Jane. Actually, Jane is looking for a stud.”
“What?”
Donovan ignored the pressure of her hands on his chest and kept her close. “She’s looking for a husband and a baby, and she wants them immediately.”
“And she thinks you’re a good candidate?” A confusing mixture of emotions churned inside, angering her.
“She seems to think I might qualify.” He sounded so smug it made her want to hit him. Hard.
“Tell her to talk to me first. She doesn’t realize what she’d be getting into. A man who’s married to his career first and his wife second, a man who’s never home. And when he does come home, he brings the office with him.” She was aware that her words were taking on an hysterical edge, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. “And as far as having a baby is concerned, she’d have a hard time getting pregnant. A rabbit couldn’t have gotten pregnant with our sex life the past few years. The music has stopped. Would you please let me go?”
She didn’t look at him as he let his arms drop. Without a word, she turned and left the dance floor, searching blindly for her date. She found him on the edge of the floor, holding an animated conversation with Janine or Janet or whatever her name was.
“I’m sorry, George, I’ve got an awful headache. Would you mind if we went home now?” She directed a vague smile toward the other woman, wondering quite viciously what bottle she’d found her hair color in. She was acutely aware of Donovan standing just behind her, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
George might have wondered that she’d developed a headache immediately after dancing with her semi-ex-husband, but he was gentleman enough not to question. He took her arm, murmuring solicitously as he led her away. Elizabeth could feel Donovan’s eyes on her until she and George turned a corner.
George had the good sense to remain relatively quiet on the way home. Elizabeth struggled to find answers to his polite comments regarding how pleasant he’d found the evening. He left her at her door without trying to kiss her good-night, which raised him a couple of notches in her estimation. He might be a bore, but he wasn’t totally insensitive.
She shut the door and leaned against it, staring at her apartment. She had gone to so much trouble to turn it into a home. It was her home. Why was it that a chance meeting with Donovan should suddenly make the place feel empty? She closed her eyes against burning tears. He’d been part of her life for so long, she’d been a fool to think that it wouldn’t hurt to cut him out of it.
A tear slid down her cheek. He’d put his career ahead of their marriage for so long. She’d waited and waited, and was devastated when she finally realized that nothing was going to change because he wasn’t unhappy with the way things were. She didn’t love him anymore. She didn’t. It shouldn’t hurt so much to see him again .
#
Outside, the street was dark. Most of the small town slept. Donovan hunched his shoulders inside his leather jacket, staring up at the angular building. He knew she was in there crying as surely as if he were standing next to her. It hurt to know that she was in pain and that he was the cause of it. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of satisfaction. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be hurt.
Elizabeth might not be ready to acknowledge it, but she did still care about him. She couldn’t cut him out of her life so easily.
He pulled his collar up and shoved his hands into his pockets. The spring air was cold late at night. He should go home. He was acting like a lovesick teenager. He’d never told her about the nights he’d spent standing outside her bedroom twenty years ago. Sometimes, he’d walk to her house late at night and just stand outside her window, imagining her asleep in her ruffled bed.
He’d always felt so unworthy and he’d never been able to believe that she really loved him. She could have had anyone, and she’d chosen him. Maybe that was part of what went wrong. He’d spent too much time trying to prove he was good enough for her, and in doing so he let his ambitions take precedence over their marriage.
A chill breeze. wove its way down the street and he shivered, staring at the building another long minute before turning to get in his car. He’d lost so much.
Michael’s birthday party was only two weeks away. Maybe that was long enough for tonight’s wounds to fade and for him to remember how to court his wife again. She hadn’t filed for divorce, hadn’t even asked for a formal separation. That had to mean something.