Unexpected Son Page 13

  Fifteen minutes later she was back, dressed in a sweatshirt the color of honey that barely outlined the tips of her breasts but still made his heart pound and his gut tighten, and stirrup pants that molded themselves to the curves of her hips and bottom. Michael set a dish of steaming oatmeal in front of her with a thud that made her look up at him from beneath spiky lashes.

  “There’s brown sugar in the cupboard to the right of the stove.”

  He found it without any trouble. The inside of her cupboards were as neat as she was.

  “Aren’t you eating anything?” she asked, stirring sugar into the cereal.

  “I’m not hungry.” He began running water into the sink. He squirted soap into the water and watched the bubbles build for a long minute. Then he pushed up his sleeve and reached for the oatmeal pan.

  “Michael!” She was beside him in a heartbeat. “What happened to your arm?” He looked down in surprise, to where a scratch about three inches long oozed blood. It was raw and nasty looking but not serious.

  “I must have cut it on something at the fire.”

  “What something? Metal? Glass?”

  “Honestly, Sarah, I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll call Jeff Baron.” Sarah frowned as she realized he wouldn’t be at the clinic. “No, he’s probably still at the fire. Get your coat. We’ll go to the emergency room at Tyler General and get it looked at.”

  “Sarah, it’s just a scratch.”

  “Okay. Maybe. But you’ll need a tetanus shot—”

  He reached out and lifted her chin with his hand, holding her still with only the most gentle pressure of his fingers. “Sarah. I don’t need a tetanus shot. I’ve been in prison and working on a lake freighter. My shots are up-to-date. All of them.”

  She smiled, a quirky little smile that ended in a slight frown. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Does it need stitches?”

  “No, little mother hen. It does not need stitches.”

  “Then a bandage. I’ll get one from the bathroom.”

  He circled her waist with his hands, stopped her from moving away. “Later. I’ll put one on it later.”

  Her frown grew wider, pulling her eyebrows together, wrinkling her forehead. “Do you think I’m a mother hen?”

  He groaned, fighting the familiar urge to shut down, pull away, keep himself closed off and his emotions out of danger. He pulled her close against his heart. “I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  She tilted her head back to see his face. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “No one’s ever said that to me before. It’s not true, of course. But thank you, anyway.”

  He might have his neurosis under control, but not his libido. Her skin was dewy and fresh. Her hair, pulled up in a loose knot on top of her head, smelled of wildflowers and sunshine. There were pale violet circles under her eyes and tiny lines etched from nose to chin that attested to her fatigue, but she was, for him, the most beautiful and desirable woman in the world. He bent his head to kiss her. She tasted of toothpaste and oatmeal and passion. For a long moment he lost himself in the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. He molded her body to his, felt her arms go around his waist to pull him just as closely to her.

  “God, Sarah, you make me want to drag you down on the floor and make love to you here and now.”

  “What’s so awful about that?” she asked, her face pressed against his chest, her voice breathless and hurried.

  He groaned. “It sounds like some kind of damned porno flick. Reverend Sarah making it with the hired man on the kitchen floor.” He said it to shock himself as much as her.

  She pulled away from him, lifted her face to his. “If that’s all it would mean to you, then it does sound sordid and tawdry. But for me it wouldn’t be any of those things.”

  “What would it be?”

  “Making love with the man I love.”

  “The ex-con who’s got the hots for the preacher lady?”

  “The man who loves me.”

  He loved her. The realization of it still shocked him, still made him want to run for cover. Loving meant commitment and constancy, words that had meant little or nothing to him before Sarah came into his life. Words that still scared the hell out of him.

  “What if I want to go back to Florida and live on the beach somewhere? And I say come with me or it’s over? What if I decide to work the lake freighters and be gone for six months out of the year and leave you here to fend for yourself?”

  Her smile was serene. “I’ve been fending for myself for more than three years now. I can’t say I approve of your being a beach bum—you’re much too talented for that. But if you want to continue working on the lake freighters, I would understand.”

  “You’re being damned obliging this morning.”

  “Is this a test, Michael?”

  “No.” His laugh was harsh and sharp, because he was so amazed at himself and so scared. “I think it’s a proposal.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “A PROPOSAL?”

  “Marry me, Sarah. Marry me and make me the luckiest man on earth.”

  They were the words she’d wanted to hear for days, longed to hear. But they were words she’d convinced herself would never be spoken. “I love you. But...” She lifted her eyes, searching his face. “Am I rushing you? Is this what you really want?”

  “Sarah, you’re not making this any easier.” He smiled. “I’m thirty years old. I know what I want. It’s just taken me so damned long to get my nerve up to say it.”

  She cupped his face with her hands. The pulse in his throat beat against her palm. “I would be honored to be your wife.” She searched his eyes. They were dark as a midnight sky and reflected her face like the surface of the lake on a moonlight night. “Are you sure—”

  “I’m positive, Sarah,” he said, squeezing her shoulders so hard she winced. He shook his head, loosened his grip immediately. He spoke quickly, hurrying his words. “I love you. I want to marry you. I’ll turn myself into the perfect preacher’s husband. I’ll be down front, first pew, every Sunday. I’ll wear a tie. I’ll sing the hymns. I’ll even stand beside you at the door and shake hands and make small talk.”

  She laughed, a shaky little laugh that hid her elation and her excitement. He meant it. She could feel it in the tension in his body, hear it in the roughness of his voice. “You don’t have to do all that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He pulled her back into his arms. “I love you, Sarah.” His voice was rough with emotions that he usually tried to hide. “I want to be with you. All day. All night. Every day for the rest of our lives.”

  “But, Michael, do you want to settle down in Tyler?” She thought a shadow passed across his face, but he dropped his head to nuzzle the curve of her throat, and she let the wonder of it all push her doubts to the back of her mind. He loved her. He wanted to be with her. They could make it work despite the differences in their background and their outlook on life. He loved her, that was all that mattered.

  “I want to be where you are.”

  “How will you earn a living?”

  He shrugged, smoothing wisps of hair away from her face. “I don’t know yet. Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. Not because of the money,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It matters because I want you to be happy here.”

  “I’ll be happy wherever we’re together.”

  Sarah let her breath sift out between her lips. She guessed Michael had never been truly happy anywhere he’d lived. She knew so little about him, really—who his family was, what his childhood had been like. She wanted him to trust her, to tell her all those things, and he hadn’t as yet. But for him to make this one, sim
ple statement was a beginning, and it meant more to her than all the flowers and candy and love poems in the world.

  “We can make a good life for ourselves here,” she said, raising her lips to his. “We can put down roots, raise a family.”

  “Kids?” He drew back a little and stared into her eyes. “Do you think I can do it? Be a father? A good father?” Now she wasn’t imagining a shadow on his face. It was there, doubt and anxiety and some other emotion she couldn’t decipher.

  “Yes,” she said, and smiled. “I think you can do it very well.”

  “Then I’ll try my damnedest.” His fingers tightened on her arms again, but there was no pain. “Sarah?”

  “Yes?” She swayed toward him. She couldn’t help it. It felt so good to be in his arms. She was aroused and exhausted all at the same time. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling.

  Michael sucked in his breath. His mouth came down on hers. His kiss was rough at first, hungry for the taste of her, then gentled when she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. “God, Sarah, you make it hard to do what’s right.”

  “This is right,” she said, losing herself as always in the power of his attraction for her. “This is most wonderfully right.” She moved against him without conscious thought, naturally, but the effect on him was immediate and incen

  diary. He slid his hands down her back and swept her into his arms. He turned on his heel and carried her into her bedroom without a moment’s hesitation.

  “How did you know which room is my bedroom?” she asked, her face pillowed on the hard curve of his shoulder.

  “I’ve watched you turn on your bedroom light nearly every damn night since I came to this town.” His voice was smoke-roughened and dark with passion, with a need as great as her own.

  “I do the same thing,” she said, feeling his arousal hard and hot against her thigh as he set her feet on the floor. The back of the bed pressed against her legs. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Michael.” She could barely form his name.

  “I should go,” he said, and turned as if to leave the room.

  “No!” Sarah reached out and grabbed his arm, holding as tightly as she could. He stood still but she knew he could have broken her hold with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t go. Stay with me. Please.”

  He groaned deep in his throat and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. He took her in his arms, rolled onto his side and pulled her close against him. “You make it so hard to do what’s right, love.”

  “This is what’s right, Michael,” Sarah replied, ignoring the small but insistent voice of her conscience echoing inside her head. It was not right. Lovemaking was a privilege and celebration of marriage, reserved for couples who had made that ultimate commitment to each other. She had believed that all her life, practiced that belief, taught it to others. But that was before Michael. Before her need for him.

  He closed his eyes as though the plea had been an arrow aimed straight for his heart. “Sarah, we’ve been through this before.”

  Fear blossomed inside her, not fear of physical lovemaking, not fear of her own desirability, but fear of losing him, of watching him retreat into himself where she could not follow. And that fear was strong enough to cause her to risk everything, even her soul, to keep him with her. “I want to be with you, Michael.”

  “And God, I want to be with you.” He eased her onto her back, his leg riding between hers. His sex, outlined sharply beneath the fabric of his jeans, was heavy against her leg. His body moved against hers in concert with his kiss, a dance of love, a simulation of a joining even more intimate than the embrace they now shared. Sarah moved beneath him, her hips answering each thrust of his, her body suspended between heaven and hell.

  Michael slid his hands beneath her sweatshirt, brushed aside the thin lace of her bra and caressed her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She arched against him, longing for more, wanting to touch him in return, pleasure him as he pleasured her.

  “Michael,” she said breathlessly. “I want you to make love to me. I want you.”

  He went still a moment, then moved against her again, slower, less demanding. “Damn it, Sarah.” He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her eyelids. “You make it harder than hell for me to be the knight in shining armor.”

  “Michael?” Her body ached for his touch. Her heart ached for the lost look in his eyes.

  He kissed her again. “I’m trying to do the noble thing.” He smiled, a smile that was off-center and a little grim, but still a smile. She loved his smile, so rare and so precious. She closed her eyes against a surge of emotion so intense the pleasure of it was nearly pain.

  “I don’t understand.” He still held her tight against him, but he made no move to take their lovemaking further. His kisses grew slower, less passionate, feather-light caresses that soothed and gentled, brought her back from the brink. Sarah’s eyelids fluttered open. Her breath came in short little pants. She could feel Michael’s heartbeat thunder against her breast.

  He laid his forehead against hers, fighting to catch his breath just as she was. “We’re not going to make love. Not here. Not now.”

  “Michael, it’s all right. I’m not frightened of the thought of making love to a man again. I’m not frightened of myself. I want you. I love you. Let me prove it.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. I’ll cherish the offer of that gift for the rest of my days. But I’m talking about your soul now. Not your body. I’m talking about giving up everything you believe is right to prove your love.” He laughed, a harsh, grating chuckle that held no mirth. “Listen to me. Mr. Agnostic getting philosophical.”

  “Love isn’t wrong.” She couldn’t go on. Tears filled her eyes. She was torn, torn as she had never been before in her life.

  “Maybe I don’t believe what your church teaches about these things, about lovemaking and marriage and all the rest of it, but that’s not the point. You believe it.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. Michael brushed the hair from her face, leaning over her, pinning her with his blue-black gaze so that she could not look away. “You care very much. You told me how much when you talked about your congregation and your work with kids. With teenagers who feel the same damn way I do when I take you in my arms, who do what we’ve been doing, and then have to face the consequences.”

  She squirmed to get away, but he held her face between his hands. Dear Lord, what he said was true. How could she sit in front of her teens every week, seeing the trust in their eyes, and tell them not to let their feelings override their sense of right and wrong, when she was doing exactly that? How could she stand before her congregation and urge them to do their utmost to live by standards that she was not capable of upholding herself? Tears threatened at the back of her eyes. She blinked them away, made herself look straight into his eyes. “I’m human, Michael. I’m a woman. I’m not a plaster saint.”

  “Yes,” he said, smoothing his finger over her cheek. “You are every inch a woman. My woman. The woman I want to be my wife, the mother of my children.” He shook his head, as if marveling at some wondrous revelation. “And when it’s right, it’s worth waiting for. Don’t ask me how I know, but I do. Let me be the hero. Let me make the noble sacrifice. Go to sleep, Sarah.” He tucked her against his side and kissed her temple. “Go to sleep.”

  Her body still ached with frustration, with unfulfilled desire but her heart was suddenly at peace. “You’re a good man, Michael Kenton. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” She rested her hand on his chest, over the strong, steady beat of his heart. He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes.

  Sarah was content. He had opened up to her. He had spoken to her from his heart. She closed her eyes and murmured a silent prayer of thanksgiving. She had just learned something as well. Once in a while, perhaps only once in a lifetime, two people came together in a moment, in a joining, more preci
ous, more intimate, than sex.

  * * *

  “SARAH, WAKE UP. There’s someone at the door.”

  “What?” Sarah sat up, feeling fuzzy headed and confused. Anxiety swept over her, dissolving the lingering sweetness of her dreams—dreams of Michael beside her, laughing, content, with no shadows darkening his eyes, a child, their child, in her arms. Her bedroom was dark. The last of the short winter daylight was fading away outside the window just like the euphoria of her dream. She fought to hang on to the warmth and the sweetness, but the room was chilly and she shivered when Michael moved away from her side. “What time is it? Have we slept the day away?”

  “It’s a few minutes after five.” Michael swung his feet off the bed, sounding amused. “Yes, we did sleep the day away. But I think after last night you can be forgiven that one little sin.”

  There was a slight wariness in his tone. Sarah heard and was sad, but not discouraged. She would have to be patient, as patient as Job, to bring this complicated, enigmatic man all the way out of his shell.

  “Very funny,” she said, sliding her feet around on the floor, searching for her shoes. She switched on the bedside lamp. “My hair is a mess. I can’t believe we did this.”

  He caught her shoulder. “Sarah, don’t worry. I’ll slip out the back door. No one will know we’ve been together.”

  “No.” She reached out and wrapped her hand around his wrist. She wasn’t aware she’d spoken so fiercely until she saw the look of surprise on his face. “You won’t go sneaking anywhere. We haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.”

  “It’s a small town, Sarah. We’ve spent the day together in a house with the shades drawn. Someone’s always ready to think the worst.”

  “No.” She stood up so quickly the room spun in a slow circle. She still felt groggy and out of focus, but the ringing of the doorbell, interspersed with the sound of determined knocking, was a summons too insistent to ignore. “Someone might need me.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay out of sight.”

  Sarah hurried toward the living room, turning on lights as she went. She pulled open the heavy paneled door to find Brick Bauer standing on her porch. He was wearing a heavy, dark coat, open over his uniform. His badge gleamed silver in the glow of the porch light and his breath made white clouds around his head. It had warmed above freezing during the day. The snow was nearly gone, and fog and mist shrouded the trees and dampened the evening sounds from the street.