A Husband For Christmas. Diana Palmer
first, she wondered if he’d heard her. Until she looked up and saw his lean hands, tough from years of ranch work, contract slowly around the cup until it shattered and coffee went in a half-dozen directions onto the deep gray pile carpet.
Her eyes shot up to his face, reading the aching compassion and murderous rage that passed across it in wild succession.
“Who?” he asked, the word dangerously soft.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“Surely to God there was a suspect!” he burst out, oblivious to the shards of pottery and the coffee that was staining his jeans, the carpet.
“Not yet,” she told him. “Cade, the carpet...look, you’ve cut your hand!” she exclaimed, seeing blood.
“Oh, to hell with that,” he growled. He glanced at his hand and tugged a handkerchief from his jeans pocket to wind haphazardly around it. “What do you mean, not yet?”
“Just what I said. It’s a big city.” She got up, kneeling beside him. “Let me see. Come on, let me see!” she grumbled, forcing him to give her the big warm hand. She unwrapped the handkerchief gently; there was a shallow cut on the ball of his thumb. “We’d better put something on it.”
“Is that why you backed away from me earlier?” he asked, his eyes on her bent head. “Why you were afraid when I was rough with you earlier, outside?”
Her eyes clouded. “Yes.”
He started to touch her hair and froze, withdrawing his hand before it could make contact. He laid it back on the arm of the chair with a wistful sigh. “What can I say, Abby?” he asked gently. “What in hell can I say?”
Her fingers let go of his hand and she got to her feet. “There’s some antiseptic in the guest bathroom, isn’t there?” she asked.
“I suppose so.” He got up and followed her down the hall, sitting uncomfortably on the little vanity bench, which swayed precariously while she rifled through the medicine cabinet for antiseptic and a bandage.
He sat quietly while she dressed the cut, but his eyes watched her intently.
“Please don’t watch me like that,” she asked tightly.
His eyes fell to his hand. “It’s an old habit.” His chiseled mouth made a half smile when she looked down at him, startled. “You didn’t know that, I suppose.” The smile faded. “Can you talk about it?”
She studied him quietly and lowered her eyes. “I was coming home from an assignment, at night. It was a nice night, just a little nippy, and I had a coat on over my dress. I only lived a few blocks away, so I walked.” She laughed bitterly. “The streets were deserted, and before I realized it, a man started following me. I ran, and he caught up with me and dragged me into an alley.” She shuddered at the memory. “I tried so hard to get away, but he was big and terribly strong....” Her eyes closed. “He pushed me down and started kissing me, touching me... I screamed then, just as loud as I could, and there were three men coming out of a nearby bar who heard me. They came running and he took off.” She drew in a steadying breath, oblivious to Cade’s white, strained face. “Thank God they heard me. People talk about cities being cold and heartless places, but it didn’t happen that way for me. The people at the emergency room told me I’d been damned lucky.”
“Was there someone to take care of you?” he asked as if it mattered, really mattered.
“Yes. There was a Rape Crisis Center. All women,” she said with a faint smile, recalling the gentle treatment, the care she’d received. “They sent me over there, despite the fact that I hadn’t been raped. It’s still a mentally scarring thing, to be handled that way, mauled. Thinking about the way it might have been... But I felt dirty, you know. Soiled. I still think about it constantly....”
His face hardened as he watched her quietly. “If I’d made love to you that night, kept you here with me, none of this would ever have happened.”
“Did you want to, really?” she wondered softly.
He drew in a long, steady breath. “I wanted to,” he admitted after a minute, and his eyes darkened. He got to his feet, towering over her. “But it would have been a slap in the face to your father. He trusted me to look after you. And God knows, it would have been a mistake, a bad one.” He studied her intently. “I’d never touched a virgin until that night.”
She felt a surge of pride at that confession, and it showed in her eyes.
“I’ve never touched one since, either,” he added with a quiet smile.
“Learned your lesson, huh?” she murmured with a feeble attempt at humor.
He nodded. “Can you sleep now?”
The thought of the dark room was disquieting, but she erased the nervousness from her eyes. “Yes. I think so.”
“You can sleep with me if you want to,” he said quietly, and she knew exactly what he meant—that he’d die before he’d touch her, unless she wanted it.
Hesitantly, her hand went out to touch his arm, a light touch that was quickly removed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “But I’ll be all right now.”
His eyes searched hers for a long moment. “You trust me, don’t you?” he asked gently.
“Yes,” she said simply. “More than anyone else in the world, Cade, if it means anything.”
“Yes,” he bit off, “it means something.”
“The carpet!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, Cade, I’ll bet the carpet’s ruined....”
“I’ll buy a new one. Go to bed.”
“Thank you,” she said as he turned to go out into the hall. “I...I... Melly said I should have told you about it, but I didn’t...I wasn’t sure....”
“You didn’t think that I’d blame you?” he asked softly.
She stared down at the carpeted floor, embarrassed now that he knew.
“Stop it, for God’s sake,” he said bluntly. “So you got mauled. You’ve had a terrible experience, and I’m sorry as hell, but it doesn’t change who you are!”
Her lips trembled. “I feel unclean,” she whispered, shaken. “As if I’d been robbed of something I had the right to give to a man I chose. He touched me in ways no man ever did, not even you...”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Yes, you were robbed, but not of your chastity. Even if he’d raped you, you’d still have that.”
She stared up at him numbly. “What?”
He lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. “Oh, hell, I’m putting this badly.” He blew out a cloud of smoke and stared down at her with narrowed eyes. “Abby, how long ago did it happen?”
“Week before last,” she confessed.
“Okay, and you’re still raw, that makes sense. But you’ll get over it. And it will be different, with a man you care about.”
Her lips pouted. “It wasn’t any different this afternoon. You scared me to death.”
His face paled, but he didn’t look away. “My fault. I’ve been without a woman for a while, and the feel of you went to my head. I was rougher than I ever meant to be. But you’ve got to help yourself a little by not dwelling on what happened to you.”
“How can I help it? It makes me sick just remembering...!” she burst out.
“Put it in perspective, honey,” he said curtly, jamming his bandaged hand in his pocket as if he were afraid he might try to touch her with it. “Has it occurred to you that by letting the experience warp your mind, you’re giving that piece of scum who attacked you more rights over you than you’d give a husband?”