Mountain Laurel Page 11

  "Nothing." The lies just seemed to roll off her tongue with ease these days. "Nothing at all. I was just going to make some tea."

  "Well," Ginny said, following her into the kitchen, "are you going to guess?" She stood close to the sink as Laurel put water in the tea kettle and turned on the burner.

  Finally, Ginny waved her hands in frustration. "Never mind. I can see you're not up to it, so I'll tell you." Sitting down at the table, Ginny lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I had a visit with Jim's fiancée."

  "You met Darlene?"

  "How did you know her name?" Ginny demanded. "When did you meet her?" She tilted her head and frowned. "And how come you didn't tell me?"

  "Wait a minute, now. I never met her. I saw her once. At a distance. Michael told me about her." She told her sister about having seen Darlene the night of the dance but kept the details sketchy. "I was going to tell you it, but I forgot." Laurel slid into the chair opposite Ginny and eyed her curiously. "How did you meet her?"

  "Eric and I got to talking about Jim. He told me about Darlene. Can you believe Jim's engaged? And he never said a word to us." Then she shook her head. "Anyway, I wanted to meet her, so Eric took me to her apartment early this morning."

  "How did it go? What did you think?"

  "She's nice, Laurel. Really nice. And she loves Jim. I mean, she loves Jim." The kettle whistled and Ginny got up to pour boiling water over the tea bags that Laurel had tucked into the ceramic mugs. "Why do you think Jim never told us about her? Or the wedding?" Her tone lowered. "Or the fact that he's going to be a daddy?"

  "Michael seems to think Jim felt it might jeopardize his job." Laurel accepted the steaming mug, and after spooning sugar into it, she slowly swirled the liquid with a spoon.

  "But that's silly."

  "I think so, too. But Michael says that this is the longest Jim's ever held on to a job, that it means a lot to him. Makes sense, if you think about. Michael also told me that Jim intended to come back to marry Darlene and then take her back to Ocean City."

  "Well, there's no need for that now." Ginny smiled smugly.

  "Why? What do you mean?" Laurel stopped stirring her tea to look questioningly at her sister.

  "Darlene wants to come home with us. And I don't think we should wait, Laurel. She wants to be with Jim when the baby comes. She says the baby's not due for another month, but if you ask me, she looks as though she could have it tomorrow."

  "Darlene wants to leave with us?"

  "Yes. That's okay, isn't it?"

  "I can't see why it wouldn't be." But as Laurel said the words she wondered what Michael would think.

  "I'm going to change," Ginny said.

  But Laurel didn't even hear her go up to the loft, she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts. It was apparent Ginny wanted to go home. And Darlene wanted to come along. And from the sound of it they wanted to leave soon, at the earliest opportunity.

  She'd been so worried about going out with Michael again. She'd brooded about it and mulled it over in her mind until she was sick. But now it would all be taken out of her hands if they left Western Maryland.

  But how would Darlene's arrival affect her mom? The idea of having a baby around might deepen her depression, make her pine for the son she'd lost. Or a giggling baby might lift her spirits. And how would Jim feel about them bringing Darlene? Oh, but surely Jim would be more than pleased. He was planning to come back here to marry Darlene anyway. The two of them could just as easily marry in Ocean City as here.

  And then there was Michael. How would he feel about all of this? Well, he had said he thought Jim and Darlene should be together, that they loved each other. Now they would be together.

  But, she thought ruefully, more than anything else Michael would be relieved that this stupid game he and she were playing would be over, that he would no longer need to fritter away his time with her.

  Deep inside Laurel felt a little relieved at the idea of leaving, too. But it was an odd sort of feeling. Empty and hollow.

  "Laurel," Ginny said, waltzing down the steps, "I'm meeting Darlene for dinner. We're going to make plans about the trip home. I just need to drag the brush through my hair. You want to come along?"

  "Thanks, but no." She shook her head. "Michael said he'd call."

  "Michael, Michael, Michael!" Ginny scowled. "That's all you've been talking and thinking about. And you're sitting around waiting for him to call?" she asked, horrified. "God, Laurel, you don't wait around for a guy to call! What's the matter with you? Anybody'd think you were in love or something!"

  Ginny disappeared into the bathroom. Laurel hadn't literally meant she was waiting for Michael to call. She had a lot on her mind and thought he might call while she was here. She shook her head. That didn't make sense. Was she waiting around for him? Her sister emerged, her long blond hair smooth and shiny.

  "Look, Laurel, the purpose of this whole thing was for you to have a little fun. And I thought you were doing that. I admit, you looked a tiny bit stiff at times, but all in all, I thought you were doing a great job of having a good time."

  Laurel stifled a sigh, remembering all the hard work she'd put in to making Ginny think she was having a good time in the midst of all this emotional turmoil play-acting caused her.

  "I never for a minute meant for you to fall in love," Ginny continued. "You've only known the guy a week, for goodness' sake! And I could count on my fingers the number of times you've been out with him."

  Ginny looked at Laurel piteously, shaking her head. "You just don't wait around for a guy to call."

  "Okay, okay!" Laurel said. "I get the message."

  "So, you're not in love?"

  "Ginny." Incredulity widened her eyes.

  Her sister's expression was unrelenting.

  "No, I am not in love!" Laurel stated emphatically.

  "And instead of hanging around here, you're coming with me?"

  "Yes," Laurel replied. "I'm coming with you."

  But even as she grabbed her coat and shrugged into it, she was shaking her head dubiously. She wasn't so sure a woman couldn't fall in love in just a handful of days with a man she'd met only a handful of times. Then she opened the front door and felt the warmth of the sun on her face, and she laughed out loud at the ridiculous notion. She couldn't be in love. It simply wasn't possible.

  Michael drove up as she was locking the door of the cabin.

  He greeted Laurel with a wide smile and a warm embrace, igniting flashes of fire in every part of her.

  Trying to pull away from him, she found herself pinned to his side by the arm he held firmly around her shoulder.

  "We were just on our way out, Michael." Although Ginny smiled, there was brashness in her tone.

  "Yeah." But Laurel's agreement sounded limp even to her own ears.

  "That's impossible. You see," he said, placing a tender kiss on Laurel's temple, "I have plans for you."

  "Plans?" Laurel shied away from his kiss, fearing he might feel the blood pounding through her veins.

  "Mm-hm. Plans that include soft music, candlelight...and solitude."

  "But, Michael..." The rest of Laurel's sentence trailed off.

  "It's okay, Laurel." Ginny laughed as she plucked the keys out of Laurel's hand. "You can't possibly miss out on something that sounds as good as that!"

  "But what about Darlene?" Laurel questioned.

  "Don't worry about it. I'll go myself. You can meet her another time." Ginny hurried down the porch steps and opened the car door, then turned back toward them.

  "Hey, how about we meet back here for dessert, hot fudge sundaes? Say around eight-thirty? I'll stop at the store and pick up ice cream and all the toppings I can carry."

  "Sounds good to me." Michael waved after Ginny. Turning to Laurel, he asked, "She knows about Darlene?"

  "Apparently Eric introduced them."

  Laurel could feel the desire emanating from his eyes, almost as though it were a tangible thing. She had thought herself out of th
e woods when it came to this game playing. With Ginny wanting to go home, Laurel had been convinced that she'd no longer need to be a pawn in this false romantic frolic.

  Taking what she thought was a safe step away from Michael, she realized that even if she was a mile away from the man she wouldn't be safe enough. Just being near him, her body felt flushed with heat, ripe with anticipation. It became more and more unbearable each time she was near him as she found herself hungering for a look, the sound of his voice, the feel of his fingertips on her cheek.

  She wouldn't, couldn't, put herself through it again.

  "Look, Michael, I'm not feeling well." She closed her eyes, embarrassed at the lame excuse.

  "Then—" closing the gap between them, he reached up and began to slowly massage her shoulders "—a nice quiet evening is just what you need."

  His smooth voice was a balm to her nerves and she wanted nothing more than to relax into him, surrender herself to his gentle care.

  No. She couldn't.

  Her back stiffened. Planting her hands on top of his, she stilled their kneading motion.

  "There's no need for you to take me to dinner. Ginny thinks—"

  Michael placed a finger against her lips. "I'm not doing this for Ginny. I'm doing this for you. You've worked hard all week trying to convince Ginny that it's possible to be mature and responsible and at the same time have a free spirit. And I think you deserve a little pampering."

  She looked at him questioningly.

  "The table's set, the salad's in the fridge, the potatoes are baked, and the steaks are ready to be popped under the broiler."

  "You cooked for me?"

  "Everything except the mushroom sauce."

  Her heart began to melt and she smiled.

  Whoa, her conscience scolded. What about her fear of being alone with him? Of controlling herself? Of embarrassing herself? But it was surprisingly easy to ignore the pesky questions. This most probably would be the last time she ever spent with Michael. Then it would be back to her busy, duty-laden life.

  "What would you have done if I hadn't been here?" she asked.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily. "Well, then, you see, the only part of my plan that would have panned out would have been the solitude. A lonely solitude."

  Unwittingly, a tiny grin pulled at her lips. "In that case, I'd love to have dinner with you."

  ~ ~ ~

  The fire crackling in the hearth combined with several well-placed candles filled the room with a golden glow. Laurel basked in Michael's easy company and the relaxing atmosphere. It seemed that he had turned off his romantic charm for this evening.

  Was it her imagination or had she noticed that he was taking great pains not to touch her? He had let her hang up her own coat, claiming to want to see to dinner. And he'd also set her glass of wine on the table rather than handing it to her.

  Well, she appreciated his platonic attitude and was content to sit and talk, person to person, friend to friend. She truly felt that he had become her friend this week. No one else but a friend would go to the lengths he had gone to help her with her problem.

  He served dinner, and they ate in near silence. Maybe he sensed the end of her vacation looming in the not-too-distant future. Or maybe he simply couldn't think of anything to say.

  "Can I get you anything else?"

  Michael's question snapped her out of her contemplation.

  "No, I'm filled to the brim. Thank you, though. Everything was delicious."

  "Then, let's make ourselves more comfortable." He came around the table and pulled out her chair.

  Again she noticed his hands had not come into contact with her. And when she followed him to the couch opposite the fireplace, he let her sit first and then settled himself well away from her.

  "Tell me more about your family." Michael turned sideways, resting his elbow on the back of the couch. "I know we talked about them some when I took you to the meadow. But I'd like to know more."

  "Well, you know Ginny."

  "Yes, I know Ginny. And aside from being the tiniest bit spoiled, she's a great kid."

  Laurel nodded. "I've come to the conclusion that I didn't do such a hot job of raising her."

  "You did a fine job," Michael assured her. "Considering it wasn't your place to begin with. That should have been handled by your parents. I'm curious about why it wasn't."

  She stared down into the crystal glass half-filled with rich, red burgundy. "There was a time when we were so happy, a real family. Dad, Mom, Brian, Ginny and me."

  She looked into Michael's eyes and saw tenderness expressed there.

  "When Brian died, it was as though a great black cloud descended on all of us. And it's been shadowing us ever since." Setting her wine down and grinning humorlessly, she said, "It isn't as though Ginny hasn't tried. God, how she's tried to break free."

  "What happened?" he asked softly.

  Her gaze left his face to stare unseeingly into the fire. Although Michael's query seemed vague, although he hadn't used her brother's name, Laurel knew he was asking about Brian's death.

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He drowned." She was quiet a moment, then turned back toward Michael. "You know, it's been more than five years since he died. And even after all this time, those words still sound so unbelievable to me."

  Michael's face relaxed with understanding, as though he wanted to absorb some of her pain.

  "He'd gone out with a group of his friends. They'd been drinking. My brother went into the water after hearing a shout for help. That's what the others said, anyway.

  "To this day I don't know if it was Brian's drunken state or the other boy's struggles that caused both of them to lose their lives. I'm sure I'll never know." She picked up her wine and, after sipping it, replaced the glass on the table. Sighing, she gazed at Michael's silent, concerned expression.

  "I do know, though," she continued, "what Brian's death did to my family. My mother, who once was a happy, healthy, amazing woman, was transformed overnight. She turned into a ghost, Michael. And she's never recovered. You see, they'd had a fight that night, Brian and my mother. It was Brian's eighteenth birthday and Mom wanted him to celebrate with the family. She'd baked him a cake. And decorated it herself. She was so proud of it. Taking pictures..." Laurel closed her eyes, remembering. "I can still smell it. Two-layer lemon cake. His favorite."

  Opening her eyes, she swallowed hard. "But, of course, he had other plans. He was a man; didn't want to be told what to do. Wanted to celebrate with his friends. They had a terrible argument. It was the first time I'd ever heard my brother yell at Mom." Her gut knotted as if the scene were happening all over again.

  "Anyway, after the police showed up at the house to tell us about Brian, Mom went...she..." The rest of the memory was too unspeakable to describe. "An ambulance took her away that night. Ginny and I were told she needed to rest. I found out later that she'd had a complete breakdown. She was in a convalescent home for six weeks before she came home." Laurel gave a small, slow shake of her head. "She's never been the same."

  Michael enveloped her hand in his.

  "Mom sort of withdrew inside herself. She didn't want to deal with any of it." Blinking, Laurel was surprised to find her eyes moist, a tear slipping to the corner of her mouth. She raised a hand to dry her cheek, but Michael caught her fingers in his and gently wiped the tear away.

  "And your dad?" he queried softly. "How did he react to all this?"

  "He couldn't deal with Mom's silence. He began to leave us more and more and stayed away longer on his buying trips."

  "Which left you to run the business, deal with your mother and raise Ginny all on your own."

  Hearing the words aloud and seeing Michael's sharp reaction to them, Laurel felt an enormous need to explain.

  "Michael, people deal with the pain of death in different ways. Mom had hers and Dad had his. Who's to say which way is right or wrong? If it gets you through, that's all that matters." Her e
yes pleaded for his approval. "Yes, I took care of my mother and Ginny. There was no one else to do it."

  "No." He slowly nodded his head, the tension in him easing. "There was no one else to do it."

  At some time during her story, he'd scooted closer. His long fingers slowly stroked up and down along her jaw. His arms wrapped her like a protective cloak and she felt soothed in his embrace. Resting her head on his arm felt like the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

  "Life hasn't been fair to you." He traced the line of her cheekbone. "You've given up a lot for your family."

  "Oh, but that's not true. I've been needed and I've been loved. How much more can you ask for?"

  "Much more." He lightly fondled her earlobe. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his fingers blazing a trail down her throat.

  Laurel lifted her head and, gazing into his eyes, saw dark sparks of desire. The calm, consoling mood between them suddenly shifted, and she wasn't quite sure how to stop it. Or, for that matter, if she wanted to.

  When he pressed his lips to her forehead, she spread her hand flat against his chest. The pounding of his heartbeat quickened, and her own desire flared within her.

  His eyes were darker now and he lowered his head to nibble at her ear. He kissed the line of downy hair behind it and a delicious shiver coursed through her. He kissed her mouth tenderly, gently, and liquid fire raced through her body. He nuzzled her neck with his kisses and little nips. She wanted to guide his lips back to hers, but it felt so good, so right, that she couldn't seem to lift her arms.

  "I want you, Laurel," he whispered.

  I want you, too. She wasn't sure if she had spoken the words aloud or not.

  He covered her mouth with his once more and she returned his kiss with fervor. He pulled back, cupping her chin in his palm, and rubbed his thumb over her moist lips.

  "Let me make you forget everything for a while." Nimbly working open at the buttons, he slipped his hand into her blouse to caress her breast. His lips brushed her throat and collarbone, then burned the creamy flesh of her breast. She lifted her hand to bury her fingers in his thick hair.

  For a while...

  For a while...

  His words replayed themselves over in her mind, rousing her from the foggy depths of desire. He wanted her, desired her. She knew that. Could feel it in his kiss, in his touch. But the words tolling through her head told her that there was no possibility of a commitment from him.