A Bride Worth Waiting For. Caroline Anderson
‘Swapping houses? Just for a while. I could use the flat as an excuse to be there.’
There was a silence, and as it stretched out he turned and studied her thoughtfully.
‘Am I missing something?’ he asked, and she gave a wry little smile.
‘If you don’t need me, there’s somewhere else I’d rather be.’
‘Tim?’
She nodded. ‘He’s asked me to marry him—again. And somehow, with this finally over, I feel free at last—as if the debt’s paid and I can move on. And I do love him.’
He closed his eyes, let out his breath on a short huff of laughter before the emotion choked him. ‘Ruth—that’s great. Wonderful. I’m really glad for you. It’s about time—and of course I don’t need you. Not that much—not enough to get in the way of this. You know I’d never stand in your way. I’ve asked too much from you for too long as it is—’
‘No. It’s been fine. I needed your support every bit as much as you needed mine. You kept me safe, gave me a reason to live when it all fell apart, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but…’
‘But you don’t need me any more,’ he prompted.
‘Not now.’ She smiled gently at him. ‘I’ll always need your friendship, and you’ll always have mine. You know that. But Tim’s there for me now. I need to be with him.’
‘How much does he know?’
She shrugged. ‘Enough. I never thought I could ever trust a man again after what happened. And I certainly never thought I’d love again after David died. But—with Tim, it’s all fallen into place, and I feel I can start again. Draw a line under this, get on with my life.’
‘I’m so glad for you,’ he said softly.
‘Thank you. I’ll still work for you,’ she added. ‘If you want me to.’
His grin was crooked. ‘I don’t know. This changes things, doesn’t it? I don’t need to write for a living. Not any more. I might try something different. Grow grapes or something. We’ll talk about it. Why don’t you have a holiday—six months? I’ll take a break from my writing. That should give us both time to sort out the future.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘I’ll still pay you, of course, in the meantime. Put you on a retainer or something—and don’t argue.’
She opened her mouth, shut it again and smiled. ‘So when do you want me to move out—if you still do?’
He felt the lick of adrenaline in his veins. ‘Please—if you feel you can. I can use the excuse of refurbishing the building—that should give me plenty of opportunities to talk to her. How soon could you move?’
‘The weekend? I don’t know—the sooner the better, really. I can’t imagine not being with Tim now. I’ll talk to him when I see him.’
‘You seeing him today?’
Ruth nodded. ‘I’ll go back at lunchtime—he’s off today.’
‘Go now. I’ve got things to do as well—people to talk to. We’ll meet up again later in the week.’
She nodded again, then hugged him, the unprecedented physical contact taking him by surprise. In nine years he’d always kept his distance, giving her space, careful to preserve her comfort zone because of what had happened to her. Now it seemed she didn’t need it any more.
‘I hope it works out for you with Annie and Stephen,’ she said a little unevenly. ‘You deserve to be happy. It’s been far, far too long—for all of us.’
And for ever for David. He put away that thought, shaking his head slightly to clear it. It was time for the living, now. Time to move on.
Time for the last and maybe most important op of his life. He’d planned it meticulously over the past year, and thrown out each plan. He was going to have to fly this one by the seat of his pants, but he was going to succeed. He had to. The stakes were too high for him to fail.
‘You take care, babe. Tell Tim from me he’s a lucky man.’
He watched Ruth go, then sat down, staring blindly out over the gently rolling fields. He could see a tractor working in the distance, the gulls wheeling in its wake, dots against the vivid blue of the sky.
It was still warm during the day, even though it was September. It reminded him of France. That late September had been just like this, with glorious sunny days and then later, moving into October, clear, starry nights when the temperature would fall and their breath would fog on the cold night air as they walked hand in hand between the vines.
He shut his eyes, seeing her again, young and vibrant and full of laughter, her eyes bubbling over with joy. She’d tasted so sweet, so eager and passionate—so utterly irresistible. He hadn’t been able to resist—not that night, knowing things were coming to a head. He’d lost himself in her, and she’d given him everything. Her ring. Her heart.
And a son who didn’t know him.
Yet.
His fingers closed over the ring. He’d worn it on a chain around his neck for so many years now the chain had worn a groove in the band. She’d given it to him that night to keep him safe, after they’d made love, and he’d treasured it all this time. It was almost as if he’d survive as long as he had it on him. He’d never taken it off, but he would now. He’d have to, or she’d see it and know, before he was ready.
He took it off, slipped it into his wallet, fingering the lump it made in the soft leather.
Maybe soon he could tell her the truth. Not yet, though. First, she had to get to know him again, get to know the real man, the man he was now. And he had to get to know her.
At least they were free now—him free to woo her, her free to love him if she would. That was by no means certain, but he wouldn’t allow the thought of failure. Not now, not at this stage.
He moved away from the window, his eyes no longer focusing on the tractor in the distance, but on his reflection in the mirror. Dispassionately, with clinical detachment, he studied the man who stared back at him.
Would he get away with it?
He didn’t look like the man Annie had fallen in love with. Time and the surgery that had saved his life had seen to that. The results were passable—battered, but passable. He wasn’t actively ugly, at least; he should be grateful for that. He wondered if his own parents would have recognised him. At least they’d been spared seeing him at his worst. It would have killed his mother. It had damn nearly killed him.
He turned away, reached for the phone, dialled a long-familiar number.
‘It’s me,’ he said economically.
He could almost hear the smile at the other end.
‘Michael. Welcome back to the real world.’
CHAPTER ONE
‘HIYA.’
Annie was just about to close when she heard Ruth’s voice behind her. ‘Hiya yourself, stranger,’ she said, turning with a grin. ‘I missed you over the weekend. How are you?’
‘Better than you, apparently. You look tired, Annie.’
She flapped her hand. ‘I’m always tired. I’ve been tired for years,’ she said, dismissing it. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it. What can I get you? Coffee? Tea?’
‘Nothing. I don’t want to stop you, you’re about to close.’
‘I have done,’ she said, shutting the door and flipping the sign in the window. ‘There’s half a pot of coffee left and it’s only going down the drain