“What?”
Maura turned to look at him and she knew her aching heart had to be shining in her eyes, for the pain was staggering. She’d had hope, until tonight, that he might wake up and see that love was staring him in the face. She’d hoped he might let himself take the tumble. See what they could have together if only he’d allow himself to love.
Now, that hope was ground into dust. The man was just thickheaded enough to cling to a promise made by a heartsick boy so long ago. And if she couldn’t have all of him, she’ll not have him at all.
“Do you think this is what your Anna would have wanted for you?”
“We’ll never know that, will we? Because she’s dead.” His voice was tight and hard.
“And so are you, inside, dead as your lost love,” Maura told him. “The difference is, I believe if she were given the choice, your Anna would choose life. You’ve chosen to stay in the shadows and there’s nothing anyone but you can do about it.”
His features were as remote as if his face had been carved from granite. “You wanted honesty. I gave it to you.”
“So you did. I thank you for your offer, Jefferson King, but I won’t marry without love. Or at least the hope of it.”
“Maura, you’re being ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so,” she told him, keeping her voice even and steady despite her urge to shout the roof down and howl out her misery. “I’m sorry for you, Jefferson. I truly am.”
“I don’t want your pity,” he snapped.
“That’s a shame, for you have it.” She picked up her coat, slung her purse over one shoulder and said, “If you won’t let go of your past, what chance do we have of making a future? No, Jefferson, ’tis better this way, you’ll see.”
“How is this better?”
She walked to the front door, put her hand on the knob and paused for one last look at him. Instead of answering his question, she said, “You can come and see our child anytime you’re able. You’ll always be welcome, though you won’t have me.”
“Maura, think about what you’re doing.”
“I have. And I also think you should go home now, Jefferson. Back to Los Angeles and the empty life you’re clinging to with such steadfastness.”
“My life’s not empty,” he countered as she opened the door and stepped through. “But you’re right about one thing, Maura. It’s time for me to go home.”
She watched him walk toward her, his features a study in blank isolation. Maura curled her fingers into fists to keep from holding out a hand to him. It would change nothing, only prolong this wretched ending to all of their possibilities.
Maura wanted to brace herself for the pain that was building within but all she could do was wait for it. Impossible to prepare for a crippling misery that she knew would be with her for the rest of her life. But damned if she’d let him see that he had so much power over her heart, her mind, her very soul.
He wouldn’t learn from her that she loved him and always would. No, she’d send him back to his life, his world, as cleanly as she had before. And as before, she would take comfort in knowing that he would think of her—and their child—often.
His eyes were cool as glass as he looked down at her. “I’ll be by in the morning to see you before I leave.”
How businesslike he sounded. As if they were no more than acquaintances who’d happened upon each other. Already he was stepping away from her, closing the door on all they’d found, all they might have shared. And she wondered how it was she could love a man so bone-deep foolish.
“That’ll be fine,” she told him smoothly. “I’ll expect you then.”
“Good night, Maura,” he said and shut the door as she stood there.
“Goodbye, Jefferson,” she murmured as the first tears fell.
The pain lasted a week.
Maura had cried until she’d no more tears left in her body. She’d wallowed in her despair until even her sister, Cara, had lost all patience with her. She’d watched the last of the film crew pack up and leave when their work was done, severing that final thread connecting her to Jefferson.
Every night she dreamed of him and every day she missed him. Finally though, anger jostled her out of her self-pitying stupor. She hadn’t actually believed he would leave. Maura had left the hotel convinced that when he came to say goodbye, they would instead have a good clearing-the-air fight, followed by spectacular sex and pledges of eternal love.
Instead, the tricky man had come to her home cool, detached, handed her a bloody sheaf of papers, then walked away, as calm as you please. He hadn’t even looked back at her, the low skunk of a man, she thought with a hearty stomp in the mud.
The fury that had been growing inside her for the last couple of days seemed to explode all at once. Blast Jefferson King, she saw him everywhere she went. His voice haunted her home. His smile chased her across fields and even driving into town was no escape, as she was sitting in the bright red lorry he’d purchased for her.
He’d invaded her life, upset the balance and then disappeared. “What kind of man does that?” she asked aloud of no one.
Automatically, she checked the latch on the barn door where the ewes and their lambs were safe from wind and rain. Then continuing on toward the house, she asked King, “Am I that forgettable, then? Is it so easy to make love with me, then say ‘thanks very much, bye now’?”
The dog whined in response and she appreciated the support. “No, you’re right. I bloody well am not forgettable. The man’s crazy for me and doesn’t even know it.”
She remembered everything about that last night with Jefferson and hoped to Heaven he was remembering, too. And hoped it was tearing him apart. But even if she were sure that he was being tortured by the memories of what he’d tossed away, it wouldn’t be enough to ease the emptiness inside.
“How does he dare turn his back on me? On us?” She muttered dark and vile curses, all aimed at his handsome head, as she stomped through the farmyard, King dancing at her heels. “What gives him the right to say ’tis over? Am I to listen to him and go away quietly, like some schoolgirl afraid of punishment?”
The dog barked and Maura nodded as if the beast had agreed with her. She crossed the yard, ran up the short flight of steps to the back porch and kicked off her Wellington boots. As if in sympathy with her dark emotions, it had been raining steadily for the last few days and the farm was hardly more than a river of mud. King loved it, of course, which was why she also kept an old towel and a tub of water by the back door.