A Lasting Love (9 page)

Reid pressed his lips together and acknowledged
the fact, continuing to amble around the sunny room. What
did he expect? She was only human . . . and feminine
. . . and sexy. He appeared cool, but inside he burned. It
wasn't the tree-planting, or engagement rings, or quiet dinners
that bothered him. It was the thought of Mark's
hands
inevitably on her that drove him crazy. Of the
shadows
of them alone in the dark. Of the image of them
entwined in that bed . . .
their bed.
. .
upstairs together. Suddenly his
fist crashed onto the counter, scattering the
cups
they had left the night before.

Loren jumped.

Reid appeared as startled over his action as
she was. His
dark, smoldering eyes caught hers in a
fierce gaze. Then,
just as quickly, it softened.
"Sorry, Loren. I... don't think
I broke them. It's
just that I was . . . oh, hell . . . it's
cracked." He
turned back to straighten the cups. One was
broken.

"Reid?"

"It's broken. This one's cracked." He sounded
as sor
rowful as if it had been a major
catastrophe.

She jumped up. "Not your mug!" Surely not his
tacky
mug with the roadrunner. Somehow it was
significant.

He handed her the fragile handle of porcelain. "It's
the dainty one. The mug's sturdy, still the same ..."

Relief flooded her face, and Loren began to laugh.
"Thank goodness. I like that stupid mug. Glad it's still the
same."

And she was in his arms, pressing her heart to his
fervently. They held each other for a long, long time, clinging to
memories that were not quite lost. Neither wanted them to be
forgotten. Perhaps, there was still hope. . .

When they finally parted they were serious and
pensive. Quietly they prepared breakfast together. Loren set the
table and divided the scrambled eggs on small plates decorated with
yellow flowers. "What are you doing in Washington, Reid? I don't
think I took the time to ask." She smiled impishly, knowing full
well why she hadn't taken the time.

Reid cut them both a chunk of cinnamon and brown
sugar topped coffeecake, then sat opposite her. "I'm lobbying. You
know Arizona's ever-present need for water. There's to be a new
bill before Congress this fall. I'm fighting that battle
again."

"Interesting.” Loren quickly polished off the eggs.
Then, alternating bites of cake and sips of coffee, she commented.
“I guess you would be the logical one to lobby for Arizonans."

He shrugged, amazed at her rapidly diminishing food.
"I was the natural choice. Because of the years my father and I
have spent in Washington, I'm supposed to have contacts here. And,
with the ranch, I certainly have a personal interest in the water
needs of southern Arizona."

She nodded. "Sounds logical."

"Trouble is, half the connections I had six years ago
are retired or have been voted out of office by now. It leaves me
scrambling. I don't even know anybody in the Department of the
Interior anymore."

Loren cut herself another square of the cake and
smiled sagely. "But I do."

"What?"

"Reid, I've lived here all my life. I've seen them
come and go. And I know who's in and who’s out. In fact, we are
attending a dinner given by the Deputy Chief of the Interior
tomorrow night. I could see that you're included. It would give you
a chance to meet some influential people at the Interior." She
stuffed another bite of cake into her mouth.

"Hey, Loren, that would be great. Would you do that
for me?"

She reached across the table to caress his face. "I'd
be happy to do anything you need, Reid. You know that. Anyway"—she
smiled teasingly—"it wouldn't be a boring evening if you went."

Reid stood and refilled their coffee cups. "You know
we could make a pretty good team, Loren. With your connections,
maybe I'll get you to work for Arizona's water yet."

"Reid, I'd do anything to help you, and if that means
helping Arizona, that's fine too. I'll bet if I put my mind to it,
I could come up with several others who might be willing to listen.
You'll need all the help you can get when the time comes for
voting."

He drank his coffee with renewed interest. "You're
fantastic, do you know that, Loren? What have you been doing with
yourself these past years? Are you still working on The Hill?"

Doing? she
thought acridly.
Crying a lot.
Her tone was considerably lighter
than her thoughts. "Oh, I've been busy. I don't go downtown any
more than I have to. I continued as Dick Neilson's aide for another
year, then started law school."

"Law school, eh? Get tired of informing old
Neilson on
everything that was happening in his
district and in the
world in general?"

She chuckled. "Something like that. After the
first year,
working and going to school was too much
to handle, so
I quit and finished law school on some
of the money
Daddy left in trust. I've been in
practice for two years
now."

Reid leaned back and inspected her with
appraising
eyes. "A lawyer now? Loren, you're amazing.
But I
shouldn't be surprised. You were much too smart
to remain behind the scenes. I'll bet you're a terrific
lawyer."
He was unabashedly enthusiastic at her
accomplishments.

Loren basked in his glory, glad for some crazy
reason
that he approved. "I share a small practice
with a friend
from law school."

He raised his eyebrows. "Who, Mark?"

She edged the rim of the coffee cup with a
finger. "No.
Another woman. Althea Montgomery and I
share the
same interests in the law and a small office
in Crystal
City." She watched his brow wrinkle at the
mention of the
location, but he didn't comment on
it.

Instead, he asked, "Same interests? What's that?"

She sipped slowly, then set the cup down and
exhaled.
"We specialize in women's legal
problems."

He raised his eyebrows again. "Like?"

She shrugged. "Oh, desertion, physical abuse,
child
support, divorce, of course. You know, the legal
difficul
ties women encounter in life."

Loren felt the inevitable curtain of hostility
between
them. It was thin, but unmistakable. Suddenly
she and
Reid were on opposite sides of the fence
simply because
they were male and female. However, she
always encoun
tered this feeling from men when they
discovered what she
did. She was accustomed to this
reaction. It's just that she expected . . . wanted . . . more
understanding from Reid.

His tone was curt. "You mean, the problems that other
women have with their men." It was a cold statement.

She met his dark stare with a steady one of her own.
"No, it's usually the problems most women encounter when one party
or the other decides to end the relationship. Whether it's the man
who skips out, leaving her with the responsibilities of their
relationship, mainly children, or the woman who's trying to escape
an abusive husband, it's the severance that usually causes the
problems. And the financial devastation."

His ebony eyes bore into her. "Fighting a personal
war, Loren?"

"What's wrong, Reid? Feeling the pinch of a little
guilt?" The words just slipped out.

"Hell, no. What severed our relationship six years
ago left me with no guilt. Regret, maybe, but no guilt." He was
extremely defensive, and Loren knew it was her fault. She hadn't
intended to put him in that position. It just happened. Her
subconscious was working overtime.

With a calm, quiet voice, in contrast to his
outburst, she said, "As a woman, I'm interested in the injustices
to other women. Part of the fault may be the woman’s, but most with
her man. And society's."

He listened quietly, then: "OK, I'll agree with that.
Spreading the blame around makes sense."

She shook her head, unwilling to argue further, but
willing to make her stand. "I'm proud that I'm able to help other
women. But, I'll admit, Reid, I suppose I do relate to some of my
clients." She stood and began clearing the dishes from the table.
"I know what it's like to be left."

Reid's angry face drew near to hers. "You also know
what it's like to be loved. And I know what it's like to be
refused."

She glared. "Is that why you fell so quickly into a
marriage? Got your ego damaged? Wanted to prove something?"

"Damn it, Loren! You know that's not the reason."

She turned away from his angry countenance. "Well, I
know what it's like to be left with the woman's burden of a
relationship."

"You – the woman's burden? What the hell are you
talking about?"

She turned back and looked at him coolly. "I was
pregnant when you left."

"Pregnant?" The words echoed in his mind, trying to
sink in. "You were pregnant with my child and didn't tell me? Why,
in God's name, not?"

"At the time you left I didn't know, actually. But,
within a few weeks, I was sure."

"You carried my child, Loren, and didn't tell
me?"

"There wasn't time."

"Time? I—I can't believe it!" He was obviously
shaken. "Why didn't you pick up the phone and call me?"

"Because I. . . aborted at six weeks." She hated that
medical term, but at least she could say it now. She had been alone
and shed many tears over this.

"Abortion! My God, Loren, how in hell could you?" He
grabbed her arms with such a forceful grip that, for a moment,
Loren feared his strength.

Angel stood in the doorway, switching her tail and
me-owing.

Chapter Five

Loren tried to wrench free from Reid's powerful
grasp, but found herself lifted almost nose-to-nose with him. She
could feel his steady breath falling evenly on her face, while hers
was an irregular rasping that caught in her throat. Her immediate
fear of his masculine strength was replaced with cool anger. Reid
wouldn't dare hurt her. Through clenched teeth Loren muttered, "I
was all alone here in Washington. You were out in God-knows-where,
Arizona, getting ready for your big wedding when I had the
miscarriage. It didn’t seem to be the right time."

Reid shook her slightly, his breath hot on her face.
"Miscarriage . . . abortion—which was it? Your choice of words is
confusing."

"What difference does it make?" Her voice was grating
and hard. "You weren't here, didn't care what happened to me. Or
our child."

His ebony eyes cut into her, and he clamped his jaw
tightly. A muscle flexed across the dark cheek as Reid shoved her
roughly from him. Fury raged through him, affecting his formerly
even breathing. "Of course, I care. Cared," he retorted. "Oh,
Loren, how can you say that? You act as though you don't know me at
all, when you actually know me better than any woman ever has. I .
. . loved you. I trusted you."

Her hands rubbed the throbbing forearms where
he had
gripped her. "Trust?" she stormed. "We don't
know each
other at all now."

"I can tell you this. If only I had known, if
you had told
me you were pregnant, I would have been
here, by your side, immediately.
"

Loren's voice countered coldly, left that way
from too
many tears shed alone over the years. "No one
could have
prevented what happened, Reid. Even if you
had been
here . . . and cared. I told you that I
miscarried, aborted naturally. I wouldn't have an abortion.
Couldn 't!
Surely
you realize
that."

He turned to her, crumbling inside at her
words. "Mis
carriage?" The full implications rocked
through him.
"Loren, Loren, honey, I'm sorry. So
sorry." Suddenly his voice
was shaky, and he attempted
to take her in his arms. He
craved to comfort her, to
hold her. But it was too late. She was stiff and cold in
response.

"I wish to God I had been
here
with you. More than ever,
mi amor.
"

Loren quivered inside at the sound of the old
affection
ate phrase. With effort she pushed his arms
from her.
"Please, don't, Reid. It's over now. Long
time over."

Then another thought struck him. "What if . . .
what
if you had been able to carry my child, Loren?
Would you
ever
have let me know? My own
child!" His broad chest
heaved with emotion, and he
struggled to keep from
touching her.

A vengeful smile curled Loren's lips, and she
folded her
arms across soft breasts. "Oh, you bet! I
would have
slapped you with a paternity suit so
quickly! What a lovely
wedding present that would have
made!"

He sighed heavily as his hands knotted into
impotent
fists. "I wish you had, Loren. Oh, God, I
wish you had."

Loren watched him carefully, almost
vindictively. After
all, she had been through a lot of
hell because of him.
Because of him?
Was
that entirely fair? She had been a willing lover. Now he was saying
he wished he had known about her tragedy.
Their
tragedy.
He would have been here. Helped ... shared
... comforted. Should she believe him? She tried to explain,
feeling that he deserved to know.