“But you’ve been out of college for a long time,” he observed.
She shrugged. “I went right to work and there just has never seemed to be enough time to commit to any relationships.”
She couldn’t tell him that part of her problem had been an innate shyness, a shyness that had made dating torturous. She wasn’t good at small talk and wouldn’t know how to flirt if her life depended on it.
It had been easier to concentrate on her work, which had filled her life completely—at least she had believed her life fulfilled—until she’d held little Marissa in her arms.
“Anyway,” she continued, “what’s done is done. We’re here now and I have no regrets about the bargain we made.”
For a few moments they ate in silence, then he gazed at her once again. “You know, single parenthood isn’t exactly a piece of cake. Just ask me. My old man certainly didn’t do a bang-up job.”
“I’ll handle it just fine, and in any case your father probably wouldn’t have been a good parent even if your mother had lived,” she said softly.
He hesitated a moment, then nodded his agreement. “I used to think about that a lot,” he said. “I thought if my mother had been around, she wouldn’t have let him beat me or talk to me like I was a piece of dirt. Then I’d get mad at her for leaving us, even though I knew she’d had no control over her own death.”
“It was easier for you to direct your anger at your mother rather than at your father. You had to deal with your father on a regular basis. Your mother was a safe object for your anger.”
That half grin curved his mouth again. “Hmm, a wife, a good cook and a pop psychologist all rolled into one.”
Lana blushed, wondering if he was censuring her. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
He rewarded her with a full smile. “You listened to me cuss enough about it when we were younger. It should be your business.”
She relaxed. “I didn’t mind listening to you. You needed somebody to talk to.”
“And you were so easy to talk to,” he replied.
She said nothing, but she knew the truth. She’d believed herself so crazy in love with him, she’d hung on his every word, delighted in each tiny confession he’d shared with her. It had been easy to be a good listener if it meant spending time with him.
She’d known even then that part of what had made her so easy for him to talk to was that he didn’t consider her a peer. She was nothing more than a sweet kid to him. She was safe, and he could say anything to her, confess anything and not lose face.
He grinned at her again. “Yeah, you were always easy to talk to, and for the most part I always trusted your advice. Until Susan Cahill.”
Lana clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle.
Susan Cahill. She’d been a foster child with the Coltons for a brief couple of weeks. Almost eighteen years old and stunningly beautiful, Susan had instantly been pegged by Lana as conceited and vain and utterly silly. But Chance had developed an instant case of lust for the blond-haired, blue-eyed “older” woman.
“I gave you good advice,” she protested as she lowered her hand from her mouth. “How was I to know the girl had a germ fetish?” But she had known. In the single conversation Lana had shared with the girl, Lana had told her of her desire to become a nurse, and Susan had proclaimed that particular career “gross” because nurses were exposed to germs.
“There I was, feeling all sad because Susan barely looked at me, so what do I do?” He raised an eyebrow and eyed her wryly. “I went to the girl I trusted to get advice about women.”
Laughter once again bubbled to Lana’s lips. “And I gave you what advice I had. I figured if you sidled up next to her and told her you didn’t feel so well, she would lay her hand on your forehead, offer to help you feel better.”
“Yeah, and when I told her I didn’t feel so well, she shoved me halfway across the pasture and told me to get the hell away from her.” His laughter joined hers. “I should have known then that you were going to be a nurse. At that tender age you were already thinking of patient care.”
She sobered slightly. “Susan wasn’t right for you anyway.”
The laughter that had rang from him stopped, and his eyes grew stormy once again. “There isn’t a woman in this world right for me,” he said, his voice low and edgy. “I wouldn’t be in the marriage now if it wasn’t a way to beat my father. I don’t want to be married. I like the life I have just fine. I can’t wait to sell this place and get back to it.”
As he focused once again on his food, Lana wondered what had stirred his passionate outburst. Had she threatened him in some way? Did he not trust her to abide by their agreement?
It was as if he was warning her, telling her that she shouldn’t make the mistake of taking their marriage seriously.
He needn’t worry. Although her heart would always maintain a little glow for the boy he had been, she had no illusions where the man and this marriage were concerned.
“Chance, when the time comes for you to walk away, nobody will hold you here.”
He met her gaze once again, then nodded and returned to eating the meal. Any moment of shared laughter and warmth was gone, not even an echo lingering in the tense silence that returned.
Chance threw his sports car into fourth gear and raced down the road that eventually would take him into the town of Prosperino.
There was nothing he hated more than feeling guilty, and at the moment he was feeling damned guilty. Since the moment he and Lana had said “I do” he’d been behaving badly.
When he’d walked into the kitchen that evening, he’d been engulfed by the scents of home cooking, overwhelmed by the tiny little touches Lana had added to make the place seem more homey.
There was a part of him, a part of him that he had never before realized, that was hungry for a real home. A leftover piece from his dysfunctional childhood, he told himself.
When he’d agreed to this insane plot with Lana, he hadn’t really thought it through. He’d been so angry with his father, and so eager to win, he hadn’t considered how difficult it might be to live with a woman, especially this particular woman.
Lana, with her lovely dark eyes and that cascade of black hair. Lana, with her sweet smiles and an easy acceptance of each low and high point offered by life.
As a young girl, she’d been a balm to his spirit, a sympathetic ear that had offered no judgment, no censure no matter what he said.
She’d been pretty then, a shy, slender girl with big black eyes and a mane of hair. Each time he’d returned to Prosperino and had run into her, he’d been struck by how her beauty had only intensified with time.
He’d been pleasantly surprised last night by how passionately, how eagerly she had met his caresses, his kisses. He’d assumed she had experience. He frowned and tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. It had been a shock to realize she’d been a virgin.
He would not make love to her tonight. Even though she’d said nothing, he knew today she must be feeling some residual pain. He hadn’t been particularly gentle until too late. He frowned irritably. What he meant was he would not have sex with her tonight. That was all it was—sex with a purpose.
What worried him most of all was that she seemed to be nesting, creating a home where none had existed in preparation for a baby, a baby he wanted no part of.