A Winter's Rose (21 page)

“Bentley…”

He tried to pull her into his arms, but she slapped his hands away. “We have the same exact problem we had the day we met. You don't believe in me. You can't see beyond my family name to see me for who I
really am. What if our situations were reversed? What if I couldn't see you as anything but a shrimper's son? I'd be a bigot, wouldn't I?”

She turned to his garden. A tiny purple flower peeked out from underneath fallen leaves and ground cover, and she stooped and moved aside the brush so that in the morning the blossom would have sun.

She lifted her face to Jackson, towering above her, and smiled through her tears. “Something wonderful happened today. I saw David. At first I panicked. I wanted to hide, to run. Then I realized I wasn't frightened any more. It was my own fear, my own doubts, that gave him power over me. I stood up to him. I let him know he couldn't hurt me.”

Jackson searched her expression, the panic that he'd been battling on and off all day racing through him once again. “What are you getting at?”

“I'm not going to marry you, Jackson.”

He took a step back from her, his world shifting crazily on its axis. “What?”

“I'm not going to marry you. I can't. Even if you didn't love me, if you believed in me, I would try to make it work. But you don't, and I won't settle for less.” Her voice cracked and she looked at that tiny, hopeful flower. “I shouldn't have to work for your respect. And without it, our marriage
would
fail.”

“This is unbelievable…crazy. It's…” Jackson wheeled away from her, struggling to even his breathing, to slow the frenetic beat of his heart. He crossed to the other side of the drive and for long moments stared blankly at the lighted windows of the house next door.

When he turned to her, he had his emotions and his voice under control. “You convince me to marry you, now you don't want to get married.”

“That's the whole point,” she whispered, wiping at the moisture stinging her cheeks. “I don't want to have to convince you to marry me. I want you to want me, for me.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “And
I won't settle for less than everything.”

He curled his fingers into fists of frustration. “This is my baby, too. I have rights.”

“And I won't deny you them. But I'm not going to marry you only for the baby's sake.”

“Damn it, Bentley.” His voice thickened. “Don't do this.”

“I would have thought you'd be happy, Jackson.” Her tears brimmed again. “You're off the hook.”

“What if I don't want to be? What if—”

“You don't have a choice. Not unless something pretty drastic changes. Inside you.”

Desperation and frustration washed over him, and he strode across the drive. He caught her upper arms. “Do you want me to lie?” he demanded. “I could. I could tell you everything you wanted to hear.”

Tears slipped helplessly down her cheeks. “That would be less than I already have now. Is it so wrong to want everything? Don't you?”

Jackson dropped his hands and stepped away from her. That was the damnable thing. He did want everything. But right now that seemed like what they'd had. And lost.

Bentley slid his ring off and held it out to him. “It's a beautiful ring. I loved wearing it.”

Jackson gazed at the ring for long moments before lifting his gaze once more to hers. “So, that's your decision?” His chest ached so badly, he had to force the words out.

“Actually, it's yours.”

He paused a second more, then took the ring from her fingers, his own closing tightly around it.

Battling sobs, she pushed past him toward her car.

Jackson caught her hand. “Bentley, wait. Please—”

She shook her head and tore her hand from his. “No. Goodbye, Jackson.” A moment later she was in the BMW and backing down the drive.

Jackson watched her go, his eyes burning, his chest tight. It was for the best, he told himself, turning to face his dark, empty house. She would be happier; they would both be saved a lot of pain. She'd done the right thing for them both.

Then why did he feel as if nothing would ever be right again?

Chapter Thirteen

T
he peal of the phone dragged Bentley from sleep. She struggled into a sitting position and, pushing the hair out of her eyes, reached for the phone. “Hello?”

“Bentley. It's Jill.”

Disoriented, Bentley looked around her room. Sunlight streamed in from behind the blinds, and she squinted against it, a dull headache beginning to thrum behind her eyes. “What day is this?”

“Sunday. Bentley—” Jill sucked in a sharp breath. “Something terrible's happened.”

Bentley sat up straighter, instantly awake, instantly alarmed. “Jackson?” She tightened her grip on the receiver. “Is he—”

“Fine,” Jill assured her quickly.

“Chloe?”

“She's fine. It's…there's been an oil spill in the ship channel. Between Texas City and Bluebonnet. A tanker and a barge collided. Late last night.”

“Oh, God.” Bentley sank back against her pillows. “How bad?”

“I don't know. But it doesn't look good. Not only is the high wind making the containment booms almost ineffectual, it's pushing the oil in toward Bluebonnet.”

“Jackson?” Bentley asked. He would be distraught, she knew. Beside himself with frustration and worry. Even as she reminded herself that Jackson's feelings were no longer her concern, she wished she could comfort him.

She couldn't help herself. She still loved him.

“Out there already,” Jill answered. “Since about dawn.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. I just thought you'd want to know.”

“Nothing?” Bentley repeated incredulously. “Jill, I know the number of volunteers needed when a spill occurs.” She drew her eyebrows together. “What's going on?”

Jill paused. “Jackson didn't want you out there. It's exhausting work, and he's worried—”

Angry heat stung Bentley's cheeks. “He doesn't think I can handle it, does he? I can't believe he—”

“Simmer down,” Jill said quickly. “That's not it. He's worried about the baby.”

Bentley brought a hand to her throbbing temple. “He has nothing to worry about,” she snapped. “I'm taking very good care of myself.”

Jill was silent for long moments. “I know now's not the time, but what's going on between you two? One week ago everything was fine. You two left the office on Friday, engaged and walking on air. Monday morning comes and you two aren't even speaking, let alone engaged any more. Talk to me, Bentley. Maybe I can help, maybe there's something I can—”

“There's nothing you can do,” Bentley said quickly, her voice thickening with tears. “I don't want to talk about it, Jill. It's not you, and I do appreciate your concern, but—”

“But you're so much in love,” Jill murmured. “Don't throw that away.”

“That's the problem,” Bentley said, hearing bitterness and hating it. “
I'm
so much in love.” Her throat closed over the words, and she cleared it. “Please, Jill, just tell me how I can help with the clean-up. I'll go crazy sitting around here all day.”

The other woman was silent for a moment, then she sighed. “Okay. The veterinarian in charge of the bird rescue operation needs volunteers desperately. The birds are in real trouble.”

“Where do I go?” Bentley asked, climbing out of bed, scrambling around for a pen and paper.

“They're setting up the rescue operation at the Bluebonnet middle school. Dr. Marjorie Friends is in charge. Tell her I sent you.”

After Jill had given her the directions, Bentley cleaned up and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Deciding to get breakfast on the way to save time, she raced from the apartment.

The drive to Bluebonnet took nearly forty-five minutes. During that time Bentley tried to focus on the job that was going to have to be done, tried to remember what she'd read about other successful bird rescue operations from other spills.

Instead, she thought of Jackson. And of the words he'd so bluntly handed her. He didn't love her. He never would. An ache speared through her, and she caught her breath. The week before, her path had seemed so clear, her decision either black or white. But a week before she'd been riding high on adrenaline and the feeling of power at having stood up to David.

Today she felt like what she was—a rejected lover, an unwed mother. Today she didn't feel nearly so strong, nowhere near invincible.

Bentley tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. But no matter how she felt, she'd made the right decision. She couldn't marry a man who didn't believe in her.

Tears blurred her vision. Would the pain ever go away? Would the need? She turned into the middle school's parking area, found a space and stopped her car. She rested her head for a moment on the steering wheel. Would a day ever go by when she didn't think of him and ache?

She lifted her head and swiped at the tears that had escaped despite her best efforts at containing them. She doubted it. Because of their child, Jackson would always be a part of her life; she would never be allowed to just forget.

Bentley threw open the car door and stepped out. As she did, the scent of the oil, rich and cloying, hit her. Her stomach lurched, and she put one steadying hand on her stomach and the other on the car.

“You okay?”

Bentley turned and managed a wan smile at the woman who had stopped to help her. “Yes. The smell, it's so potent.”

The woman's mouth tightened. “This is a bad one. And a bad time of year, too. Besides all our native species of birds, we've got migrating and wintering waterfowl here right now.” The woman held her hand out. “Dr. Marjorie Friends. I hope you're here to volunteer?”

* * *

Hours later, exhausted, strung out on coffee and adrenaline, Jackson raced into the gymnasium. He stopped just inside the doors, moving his gaze frantically over the room full of volunteers, searching for Bentley.

When he didn't see her he swore.
Where was she?

He'd wanted to throttle his office manager when she'd told him what she'd done. Bird rescue was one of the most difficult parts of a spill clean-up. The distraught, oil-soaked birds would fight the volunteers, pecking at them with their razor sharp beaks, screeching their outrage and fear. And the great majority of the birds, despite the volunteers' efforts, would die right before their eyes. It was as emotionally draining as it was physically exhausting.

Jackson dragged his hands through his hair. The last week had been hell. She'd surprised him by showing up Monday morning, ready for work. She hadn't resigned, as he'd expected. So they'd worked alongside one another. Not speaking unless absolutely necessary. Not touching at all.

He'd gotten an idea of what it was going to be like, having Bentley be a part of his life, but not in his life. An agony. And one of his own creation.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said to him, or about how her words had made him feel. Desperate. Like a fraud and a liar.

And he couldn't stop yearning for her. Her laughter, her companionship. Her love. Jackson brought a hand to the back of his neck and massaged the tight, aching muscles there. He didn't know what the answer was, he only knew that as hour after hour surveying the wreckage outside had passed, he'd been unable to stop thinking of the wreckage inside himself. The wreckage of his life. Of his heart.

He had to see her. He had to assure himself she was all right. After that, he didn't know.

“Jackson!”

He turned. Marjorie Friends had spotted him and was rushing over. She looked as wiped out as he felt.

“What's going on out there?”

He rubbed his hands wearily over his face. “It's looking up some. The wind's died down. The containment booms are doing a pretty good job of keeping the oil off shore. Turns out the barge had a double hull. Most of its oil was caught by that second hull.”

“Thank God.”

“Don't thank anybody just yet,” Jackson said grimly. “The birds are going to keep coming.”

“And coming,” she added. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What brings you in here?”

“I'm looking for one of your volunteers.” Jackson gazed past the woman, searching the room again. “Bentley Cunningham.”

Marjorie Friends shook her head. “There are so many—”

“Tall, gorgeous brunette. She's here, I saw her white BMW in the lot.”

“Oh, sure.” The vet motioned to the corner and a figure huddled under a blanket. “I finally convinced her to get off her feet. She'd been going at it for hours. She refused to rest while there was a bird that needed her.”

Jackson stared at Bentley, his heart turning over.
How had he ever thought her shallow and spoiled? How had he ever been so blind?

“That lady's made of some tough stuff.” Marjorie laughed. “Finally, I told her if she didn't eat and rest, I was sending her home. She somebody special?”

Jackson swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Very special. Excuse me.”

Jackson crossed the gym, ignoring people who called to him, never taking his eyes from Bentley. Finally, he stopped in front of her and for long moments just gazed at her while she slept. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, her face streaked with oil. One arm had slipped out from under the blanket, and he saw that bright red welts, the result of the terrified birds striking out, dotted the back of her hand and arm.

Dear God, how had he ever believed himself not in love with her? He'd been in love with her almost from the beginning.

His love rushed over him in a crystal-clear, intoxicating wave. And with it came wonder and a kind of freedom, a boyishness he hadn't felt in years. Victoria had stolen the last of his youth from him, he realized. And Bentley had brought it back to him.

Jackson knelt down beside her, tenderness taking his breath. He lifted her hand and brought it gently to his mouth. He kissed one tiny wound after another, aching for the wounds he had caused with his harsh words the week before, praying for the chance to heal them with his love.

He thought of their first meeting and their second, he remembered their first kiss and the afternoon they'd first made love. From the very beginning, she had been everything wonderful and good in life—
strong and loving, kind and vulnerable.

What a fool he'd been. What a blind idiot. Because of past unhappiness, he'd almost thrown away his future.

He could have lost her. Maybe he had.

Desperation coursed through him. It couldn't be too late.
It couldn't be.

Bentley stirred; her eyelids fluttered up. “Jackson,” she whispered. “It's you.”

“Yeah, it's me.” He laced their fingers. “I shouldn't have awakened you. You need to rest.”

Bentley blinked and looked around her, realization racing into her eyes, along with the horror. “The birds…Jackson, it's so awful.”

“I know.” He brought her hand to his mouth once more. “But a lot of them will be saved because of your efforts. You have to focus on that.”

Bentley was silent a moment, then she eased her hand from his. The hurt in her eyes tore at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Finding you.”

She drew the blanket more tightly around her, sitting up straighter. “I see.”

“No, you couldn't possibly.” Jackson smiled and caught her hand again, curling his fingers possessively around hers. “Because I've only just seen myself.”

She eyed him as warily as one of the wild birds. “Jackson, we've said all there is to—”

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeated. “So much I feel like I'm going to burst with it.”

For long moments, Bentley gazed at him, her heart a jackhammer in her chest. “And just what caused this epiphany?”

“Fair question, Princess.” He laughed and drew her against his chest. “But the answer is so simple. You did.”

“Me?”

“Mmm.” He drew away from her so he could gaze into her eyes. “My marriage did more damage to me than I'd admitted or even realized. I'd always acknowledged my anger, but never my hurt. I'd admitted to bitterness, but not disillusionment. Not fear. But Victoria
did
hurt me. She stole some of my dreams, a whole bunch of my confidence. I was afraid to love, to trust again.

“When I met you, I stuck you in a box neatly labeled Just Like Victoria. But you wouldn't stay in that box, because you were nothing like her. And even after you'd shown me, time and again, the person you really are, I wouldn't allow myself to see the truth.”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “And God knows, I wasn't about to allow myself to love you. I believed if I didn't allow myself to love you, I couldn't be hurt, couldn't be disillusioned. But I did love you.” He laced their fingers. “And being without you hurts like hell.”

“I don't want you to feel trapped, Jackson.” She looked at him. “I don't want you to mistake wanting the baby for wanting me.”

“This isn't about the baby. This is about you and me and the way I feel. And I feel anything but trapped.” He brought her hand to his mouth. “Happy, yes. Blessed. Ecstatic. Passionate. Younger than I have in fifteen years.”

He laughed again. “The night Chloe ran away I got the first inkling of my real feelings for you. She told me you were in love with me. That terrified me, because on some level I knew I felt the same. So I tried to push you away, tried to distance myself from you.”

“So, I was right,” Bentley said. “It wasn't just Chloe. You were keeping something from me.”

“And from me, too.” With his thumb, Jackson brushed at a smudge of oil on her cheek. “You forced me to see the truth, Bentley. You forced me, despite myself, to trust again. You taught me how to give and bend, showed me that everything isn't black and white.” His voice deepened. “You showed me how to love again.”