Elise stripped off her gloves and unzipped her short coat. Anyone who thought Florida was sunny and warm all year around should be in Miracle Springs on this particular Thanksgiving Day. The sun was shining. That part was correct. But it was anything except warm outside. Fall had only just arrived, but already it felt like winter. Elise had just completed an errand in record time, anxious to stay indoors for the rest of the day.
With her winter garb carefully stowed in the closet, she walked through the hallway into the kitchen. The room looked exactly the way a kitchen was supposed to look on Thanksgiving. There were pots and pans that needed washing, dinner ingredients that needed to be put away, leftovers that needed to be wrapped. It was funny, really. Here were the remnants of a Thanksgiving feast, and she hadn’t eaten a bite all day.
At this moment two elderly widows who lived out on Mercy Road were enjoying her cooking, as they had every year for as long as Elise had known how to cook. It was one of those acts of conscience that Elise truly enjoyed performing. Mrs. Waid and Mrs. Furman counted on her to make the holiday special, and she never disappointed them. In return, they served her peach brandy and regaled her with tales of Miracle Springs sixty years ago. It was an hour of folklore that Elise wouldn’t miss for anything.
Usually she came home to put the finishing touches on the rest of the meal so that when Amy and Bob came for dinner late in the afternoon she could just sit and enjoy being with them. This Thanksgiving, for the first time in ten years, Amy and Bob were eating at home, alone. Elise was eating alone, too.
She supposed it was for the best. She had invited Bob as usual, and he had stiffly declined. There was no question why. He was still angry with her for interfering in his handling of Clay and Amy. She didn’t regret her interference, not one little bit. But today, faced with the remnants of a Thanksgiving feast that she would have to eat by herself, she did regret the change it had made in all their lives.
What was lonelier than a banquet for one? She knew she was responsible for her own loneliness. Whatever she was, it was because of choices she’d made. Whatever she became would be because of the choices that were left to her. Her life probably wasn’t even half over. She could turn it around, fling her arms open wide and embrace opportunity. She deserved happiness—and could make it happen.
So why was she staring at the holiday dinner like a lost waif? She smiled at her own vulnerability. She had great intentions, but today even a little thing like a kitchen filled with uneaten turkey and dressing could bring her down quickly. She was going to have to learn how to be courageous. It was going to take time.
Halfway through repackaging the turkey into freezer bag-sized portions, she heard the knock on her front door. “I hope it’s somebody who’ll take some of these leftovers,” she said out loud, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she went to the door.
Sloane stood at the front door, dressed in a wool jacket the color of his eyes. He was the last person she had expected to see. “May I come in?”
She stepped back, and he brushed against her, bringing the smell of autumn air and wood smoke with him as he stepped into the hallway.
The fragrance of turkey and Thanksgiving greeted him. Sloane sniffed appreciatively. “Obviously I’m interrupting dinner.”
“Not really.”
“You’ve eaten already?”
She shook her head.
“Then I have interrupted.”
“Actually, I was just putting it away.”
“Without eating?”
“It’s a long story.” She turned back to the kitchen. “Do you mind if we talk while I finish up?”
As she moved away Sloane watched the gentle sway of her hips. Elise had a natural grace to her movements that sometimes haunted him. He wouldn’t be thinking of her; she would be the furthest thing from his mind, and then suddenly, he’d be struck by a memory of her body in gentle motion. It seemed his unconscious mind was always waiting for exactly the right moment to surprise him, the moment when he least expected it and his defenses were down.
He followed her, hopelessly entranced. He had not come to renew a relationship that could never be renewed; he had not come for intimacy. He had tried that once, and it had only led to a new distance between them. No, today he had only come to say thank-you.
So why hadn’t he said it and left?
In the kitchen he was surprised at the signs of a big meal. “There’s enough food here to feed the world’s hungry.”
“I know. I guess I got carried away.”
“Who’s coming to dinner?”
“Nobody. I cooked for a couple of ladies from my church and this was left over.” Elise waited for Sloane’s lecture. He would put her down for her unselfishness, ask her what she got from performing these endless acts of charity, and condemn her with a look that neatly said it all.
“Well, they were lucky ladies,” he said instead. “This looks fabulous. If I hadn’t just eaten at Aunt Lillian’s, I’d tackle some of this myself.”
Like a dog who’s expecting a kick and gets a pat on the head, she didn’t know how to react. He had missed a chance to give her a hard time. “Yes, well …”
“Lise, you ought to eat some of this before it gets cold. I’ll sit with you while you do.”
Too surprised to respond, she watched as Sloane opened the cabinet, got a plate and began to dish up the food. He piled the plate with turkey, then stuck a finger in the dressing and shook his head. “It’s cold. Will this dinnerware go in your oven?” He turned the oven dial as he asked the question.
He had taken over so quickly that she hadn’t made a move to stop him. She wanted to tell him to forget about her dinner, but suddenly she realized just how hungry she was. She nodded and was treated to the full power of one of Sloane’s disarming grins. For a moment she wondered exactly what she was hungry for.
He finished dishing up and then held out the plate for her approval. “Good enough?”
“Fine.” Elise watched as he slipped it inside her oven and adjusted the temperature. Then he straightened. “Now, how about a drink while we wait?”
“You really don’t have to stay to make sure I eat.”
“I want to stay. May I?”
She could have worked up the courage to send him away if he’d been belligerent or arrogant. But this concerned man was someone she couldn’t be rude to. “What would you like to drink?”
“Something light.”
“White wine?”
“Perfect.” Sloane watched as Elise poured two glasses, and he reached for his when she was finished. Then he followed her out of the kitchen and into the living room. “I could help you finish putting everything away.”
“I’ll do it later, after I’ve eaten.” She lowered herself to the sofa and took a sip of her wine. It hit her empty stomach like a blast of autumn air.
Sloane sat beside her. “How have you been?”
She set her glass on the coffee table and folded her hands in her lap. “You didn’t come here to ask me how I’ve been,” she said, more sharply than she had intended.
“No, I didn’t. But I’d still like to know.”
“I’ve been fine.”
“If you’ve been fine then why are you having Thanksgiving dinner alone?” he countered gently. “Where are Cargil and his daughter?”
“At home.” She lifted her eyes to glare at him. “If it’s any of your business.”
“Evidently it is my business. Clay told me today that you stood up for him with Cargil.”
She shrugged.
“Obviously it’s had an effect on your relationship with him.”
She shrugged once more.
“Cargil’s a fool.”
“Now you’re talking like the Sloane I know.” She reached for her wine again and swirled it in the glass for something to do.
“I mean he’s a fool for letting this come between you. You’re the best thing in his life.” Sloane put his hand on Elise’s shoulder. “But I didn’t come to insult him. I came to thank you for what you did for Clay. I had no idea what was going on until he told me this morning.”
“I’m surprised he never mentioned it.” Elise remembered what had happened at Destiny Ranch the one time Clay had asked an adult to help him. “I guess I’m not surprised,” she amended. “Clay doesn’t believe that adults will really do anything for him. I’m sure he felt if he mentioned Bob’s persecution to you, you either wouldn’t help or your help would make things worse.”
“He must have trusted you or he never would have told you.”
She was surprised by the hurt echoing behind Sloane’s words, and she found herself reassuring him. “The truth slipped out with me. He didn’t want to tell me, and then afterward he insisted that I stay out of it. The only thing I was allowed to do was arrange for Amy to tutor him. Even after the scene at the dance he—”
“What scene?”
Apparently Clay had not told his father everything. “Bob got angry because Clay and Amy were dancing together. I had to…to straighten Bob out. But after that, Clay refused to let me do more. Actually, Bob was the one who finally brought things to a head, and when he did, I was able to say what needed to be said to him.”
“What did you say?” Sloane sat back and took his hand from her shoulder.
“I just told him if he didn’t leave Clay alone, I’d make life difficult for him.” Elise took another sip of her wine and then set it down. She had to eat.
“You threatened him?”
Elise smiled a little at the memory. “Sort of.”
Sloane didn’t miss the smile. Elise might be sad that Cargil was angry, but she wasn’t sad that she’d stood up to him. He was ridiculously pleased at her reaction.
“I won’t ask you exactly what transpired.” He stroked the smooth sides of his glass, and he watched her relax at his words. He’d seen that she was gearing up to tell him to mind his own business. He waited until she appeared completely relaxed again before he continued. “But I will ask why Cargil’s been picking on Clay. Clay says it has something to do with us.”
So far they had managed to keep their conversation fairly impersonal. Elise didn’t want that to change. “Clay’s different, and Bob doesn’t like people to be different. I think it frightens him.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what do you and I have to do with it?”
She realized he wasn’t going to let the subject drop easily. Her best defense was to answer quickly and simply. “Bob’s jealous because he knows you were my first lover.”
“Well, well.” Sloane drained the contents of his glass. “Territory. Is he afraid I’m back to take you for my own?”
Elise was surprised how much Sloane’s words hurt. He made the possibility sound ridiculous. “I suppose,” she said. “Silly, isn’t it?”
“Silly, considering how clear you’ve made it that you wouldn’t consider such a thing.” Sloane got to his feet. “I’m going to check on your dinner.”
He was in the doorway before Elise’s words stopped him. “Would you consider such a thing?”
He faced her, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What are you asking?”
She had known Sloane wouldn’t make this easy for her. She’d thought if she ever had the chance again to put things right between them, she’d do it with courage, ignoring his scorn. Instead she stood, nervously smoothing the folds of her plaid wool skirt. “I’m not sure.”
“Then how can I answer?”
She reminded herself that Sloane had come to her. She remembered their angry words weeks before, but she also remembered the impression she’d had when he stormed out of her house—the impression that she’d made a terrible mistake. She knew this was her last chance to reach out for what she wanted and hold fast to it.
She thrust her hands in her pockets and lifted her chin. “Sloane, I know you didn’t come back to claim me as your own—that’s Bob’s little fairy tale. I know you’ll be leaving town in June, and I won’t be. But is it so silly to believe you might want me while you’re here? Was he wrong about that?”
“I answered that the last time I was in this house,” Sloane said, almost hissing the final word. Gratitude was forgotten and weeks of repressed anger poured out. “You knew I wanted you that night. The signs were unmistakable. You were too worried about what Miracle Springs would think.”
“You’re wrong about that.”
He was at her side in a moment, her dinner forgotten. “What am I wrong about?” he demanded.
“I was scared.” Elise saw her own hand leave its shelter and reach out to touch Sloane’s cheek. It surprised her.
“Scared? Of what?”
“Of doing exactly what I wanted, without worrying about the consequences. Can you understand that?”
He shook his head, but he reached up to cover her hand with his to keep her from withdrawing it. “Explain it to me.”
“I thought you only wanted me for that one night. I knew that afterwards I couldn’t bear seeing you day after day, continuing to want you and knowing that I couldn’t have you again.”
“You thought I wanted to make love to you once just to get you out of my system?” His laugh was harsh. “How little regard you have for either of us.” His hand dropped to his side, and Elise withdrew hers.
“What did you want, Sloane?”
“Believe it or not, I hadn’t drawn up a contract. I wanted you. I knew that feeling well enough to know it wasn’t going to go away after one night together. And I knew us both well enough to know that when June came, I’d leave, and you’d stay behind. Beyond that, I didn’t know anything.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s nothing left to know. You made it clear you didn’t want me in your orderly existence. I bowed out as gracefully as I could.”
“There was nothing graceful about it. You ranted and raved.”
“That was as graceful as I could be!”
He looked so fierce, and yet, once again, Elise could sense the pain behind his words. She swayed toward him and her body was heavy with longing. She saw a chance, a small one, but a chance nonetheless. Sloane looked as if he’d like to pick her up and shake her. He was fed up with her cowardice, her excuses. As she stood in front of him, trying to put her doubts behind her, she could feel him slipping away.
“Sloane…”
“Don’t apologize. I don’t need your apologies.”
She focused her eyes resolutely on his. This was the man she had loved so long ago. Inside of him was the boy who had taught her all she knew about her own body. It was to that boy she spoke.
“Make love to me, Sloane. Now, and for as long as you still want me. I won’t be afraid anymore.”
He shut his eyes, and suddenly he looked tired. “Don’t, Elise.”
She understood his response. She had offered herself before, and then afterward she had sent him away. The miracle was that he was in her house again. She reached up to stroke his cheek once more. Even with his eyes shut, he flinched at her touch.
“I want you, Sloane. And you want me. We care too much about each other to want to inflict more pain than we already have. Love me now. When it’s time for you to leave, I’ll let you go. And I’ll cherish the months we had together.”
Sloane felt the gentle slide of Elise’s fingers over his cheek. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to hear those words. The floodgate of desire he had so carefully locked threatened to burst open.
“What about the town?” he asked.
“What about it?” Elise smoothed her fingers around each of his eyes and then into his hair. “I won’t lose my job if we’re the slightest bit discreet. Beyond that, I don’t care what people know or think they know. I want this for myself. For me. Just for me.”
Sloane opened his eyes and gathered her close in a painfully tight hug. “This is crazy,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m crazy. You’re crazy.”
“No, it’s just crazy to resist,” Elise whispered. She could feel Sloane’s body stir to life against her. She had months of wonderful closeness, this anticipatory pleasure ahead of her. It would be enough. It would have to be.
“Can we make it to your bed this time?”
“If you promise to ignore the rug on the landing.”
“That’s going to be hard.”
She broke away from him and took his hand. The trip to her room was a blur. Later she would remember only the steady pressure of his fingers wrapped around hers and the moment when he scooped her up and fell on the bed with her.
He clasped his body against hers, as if he needed to feel every bit of her at once.
“I didn’t expect this.” He made a sound low in his throat when she slid one leg around his and trapped him tighter against her.
“I’m becoming a fan of the unexpected.” She kissed his earlobe, then tugged gently with her teeth.
“You’re becoming an expert, too.” He reached for the top button of her blouse and unbuttoned it, sliding to the next, then the next.
“Speaking of expert…” She moved a little as his lips began to follow the path of his fingers. “You clearly know what you’re…doing.”
“Why have an expertise you can’t show off?”
He spread the blouse apart and before she could react, his hand slid under her to unhook her bra. As he continued undressing her she arched against him without shame. In their years apart Sloane had mastered control. He moved slowly, and definitely with expertise, but there was nothing patient in the way he touched her. His need was clearly powerful, evidenced by the faint trembling of his hand and the sounds deep in his throat. He focused on each movement as if that much patience took inhuman effort, each caress building excitement into excruciating mutual arousal.
She was no less hungry for him than she had been weeks before, but this time she knew he wouldn’t disappear. She knew where their lovemaking would end, and she trusted his passion and her own. He would take what he needed and wanted, and give as he did. And she would do exactly the same. When it was her turn to undress him, she opted for speed over patience, and laughing, at last, he helped.
When they were finally naked together he trailed kisses from the hollow of her throat to her breasts. Her fingers dug deeply into his flesh, first pushing him away, then pulling him toward her. Without conscious consent her body spun out of control. Her legs wrapped around him and she urged him on. Their skin warmed and became slick with moisture; she felt the boundaries between them soften and disappear.
This time as Sloane explored he held her back from completion, pulling back when required to prolong the moment. The time for conversation had passed. There was no need to talk. Everything they would have to say for the next months had already been said.
There was nothing obscure about the gift she was giving him, and she responded in kind. She was giving herself, her softness, her warmth, the very center of her being. That gift was apparent in every stroke of her hand, every sweep of her lips and tongue, every twist of her body. They melded together, changing forever what they had been before.
Finally Sloane pulled her under him, sliding deeply inside her. Elise wanted more. She strained to gather all of him within her, the indefinable essence of him, the whole person. She loved him, had never stopped and never would. Sloane Tyson, her teenage lover, now a man. Her love was ageless and without boundaries.
She vibrated to the rhythm he set, meeting each thrust with one of her own. Each time she gave, her own pleasure increased. Wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? Always?
She squeezed her eyes shut and let the rhythm accelerate, let the faster tempo eat into her control until what little had been left vanished altogether in a wild burst of heat and color and primitive sensation. She could feel him explode too, his release part of her own and yet different. She wrapped trembling arms around his back and pulled him to rest against her.
Sated and content, they lay entwined, this time exploring each other’s bodies without haste. She lazily traced the ridges of Sloane’s muscles, the curve of his ribs, the tapering curls. She leaned over him and the black silk of her hair, which he had unpinned, fell over his chest. She watched his eyes widen in pleasure, and she bent forward to kiss him. “That was spectacular. Amazing what a few years did for your skills.”
Sloane laughed and affectionately patted her rump. “Shall I tell you what a few years did for yours?”
Elise nodded, then kissed his nose. “Tell me.”
“Absolutely nothing. You were always the best lover a man could want. That hasn’t changed at all.”
She was surprised by the tears that sprang to her eyes. “That’s lovely.”
“It’s true.” Sloane pulled her to rest on top of him with her head cradled on his shoulder. “I’ve never met anyone who had your capacity to give and receive love. That’s true in bed, too.”
“Just how many people have you met in bed, young man?” she asked in her best schoolmarm voice.
Sloane laughed and hugged her tight. “Enough to know.”
Elise basked in his embrace. There were few times in her life when she’d felt she was exactly where she was supposed to be. This was one of them.
“After you left,” she said softly, “sometimes I’d lie in bed and remember just exactly what this felt like. Then I’d pretend that wherever you were, you were remembering, too. There were times when I actually felt like I was communicating with you, that somewhere, you were listening.”
Sloane slipped his hand under her hair and kneaded a path along her spine with the palm of his hand. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “I’d be in the middle of something—important, or not important, it didn’t matter—and out of nowhere I’d start thinking about you. Other times I wouldn’t even have you on my mind—not consciously anyway—and the next thing I knew I was turning around, expecting you to be there.”
“I probably was there, at least a part of me was.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said with a trace of bitterness.
“Hush.” Elise lifted to look at him and put one finger against his lips. “We can’t change the past. And if we could, who knows where it would have led? Were you really ready for a wife at eighteen? You had wild oats to sow. I would have held you back. Wasn’t there relief mixed with regret when I told you I wouldn’t come with you? Wasn’t part of your rush to get out of town because you were afraid I might change my mind?”
Sloane parted his lips to protest, then closed them abruptly. He had sometimes wondered the same thing. “We were both immature,” he said finally. “I was a volatile mixture of emotions I can’t even identify now. “
“And neither of us will ever know what would have become of our relationship if we’d left here together. Perhaps we wouldn’t have this much left.” She smoothed his hair back from his face and kissed him. “I’m through with regrets. Tell me you are too.”
“I’m through with regrets,” he repeated. Then his eyes warmed, smoldering with new heat. “But I’m not through with you.” With one quick twist he turned her over onto her back and covered her body with his own. Elise gave herself up totally to the present. There was no more past and no future. She had the man she wanted. Time was no longer important.
“Turkey tastes best as leftovers,” Elise said later. She and Sloane were sitting on the living-room rug, feeding each other bits of Thanksgiving dinner with their fingers. Elise wasn’t sure which she liked best, the food—the first food she’d put in her stomach that day—or Sloane’s fingers. “But didn’t I hear a rumor you already ate your dinner?”
“I think I worked off enough calories to deserve this,” he said, swallowing a morsel of dressing that she had dropped into his mouth.
“More than enough,” she agreed.
“You should have a family of ten children to cook for.” Sloane refused another bite. “I can just see you stuffing their little bodies until somebody would have to roll them to school.”
Elise laughed, and then she realized that Sloane was frowning at his own words. “What’s wrong? Did the turnips catch up with you?”
“Elise, are you using birth control?”
She licked her own fingers and wondered at the unexpected pain. Obviously he was hoping her answer was yes. But then, of course he would. He was still trying to adjust to one surprise son. He was a man who said quite frankly that he’d never expected to have any children.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why I didn’t get pregnant when I was seventeen? It wasn’t those condoms you occasionally remembered to use. I rarely ovulate. Without medical intervention—fertility pills, hormones—my chances of conceiving a child are infinitesimal.”
To Sloane’s credit, he didn’t breathe an audible sigh of relief. “When did you find out?”
“Years ago. Bob asked me to marry him, and frankly, I’d wondered for years why I’d never got pregnant when you and I were together. So I went to my gynecologist for tests. He explained my problem, and when I told Bob, he was overjoyed. Turns out he didn’t want another child—my child—anyway.”
“And that was the reason you didn’t marry him?”
“I’d like to think I wouldn’t have anyway. But honestly, I don’t know. If I could have had children with him, I might have felt it was worth it.”
Sloane surprised her by putting his arms around her and pulling her close. “You’d be a wonderful mother.”
“I would. But I’ve devoted all that maternal instinct to my students. It’s made me a better teacher. I have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve changed lives.”
“Clay certainly thinks the world of you.”
“He’s a beautiful young man. I love him.”
“So do I.”
Sloane’s voice was so thick with emotion that she turned in his arms and put her hands on his shoulders. “Of course you do,” she soothed him.
“I don’t know how it happened,” he said, almost as if he were confessing to a crime he had committed.
She smiled a little. “Hadn’t you ever thought you could love a child?”
“Not this way. I could lay down my life for him. I have nightmares of something happening to him and not being able to help. I wake up feeling like I’m fighting my way out of a pit.”
She understood. “You have to tell yourself that you’re there for him now. That you’ll always be there for him as long as you live.”
“How do I make him understand that?”
She drew a line from his brow to the tip of his nose. There was so much that Sloane understood about the world and so little he understood about human emotions. Especially his own and his son’s. “Have you told him?”
“Not in so many words. What would they mean to him? He’s never been loved before. A parent’s love is as foreign to him as white bread and roast beef.”
Elise smiled a little. “Well, he eats white bread and roast beef now—even if he was probably healthier without them. What makes you think he won’t get used to the idea of being loved, too?”
He shrugged in answer.
“I think you’re afraid.”
He stiffened, but she massaged his shoulders until he had to relax again. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Maybe.”
“Don’t be afraid, Sloane. He’ll love you back. You need each other.”
She let him pull her down to the rug, and she nestled against him as he began to cover her face with kisses. Clay wasn’t the only one who needed what Sloane had to give. But if there was a small part of her that envied Clay the love of his father, she pushed it away. She had as much of Sloane this moment as she would ever have. She could not begrudge the boy she also loved having more.
Afternoon turned into evening, and Sloane reluctantly dressed to go pick up his son. Elise stood in the doorway and watched as he walked to his car. He stopped and turned, lifting his hand in farewell. She saw him touch his fingers to his lips in an unusual gesture of affection. Then he was gone.
For the first time in seventeen years she knew he would be back. As she closed the door behind her, she reminded herself that it was more than she had ever hoped to have. It would have to be enough.