Belonging (26 page)

His jaw hardened as she ignored his
outstretched hand and sat down in the nearest chair, prim and
poised. So this is how it's going to be, he thought silently, his
feelings a curious blend of frustration and resignation. She was
still putting up barriers between them. But he was going to get
through that wall around her if he had to tear it down piece by
piece. They had played the game by her rules, but no more, dammit.
No more!

Still, he found himself giving her one more
chance. "I noticed Bill and Janice's wedding picture tonight— the
one hanging in their dining room." He paused, watching her closely.
"I couldn't help but wonder about yours and Evan's."

If he had surprised her, she gave no sign of
it. "Why?" she asked bluntly.

Matt shrugged. "No special reason, I guess."
He wandered over to stare absently out the window. "How long were
you and Evan married?"

Angie glared at his broad back. She knew what
he was trying to get at, and she didn't like it. She didn't like it
at all. "Ten years," she replied curtly.

"Ten years," he murmured. "All of them
happily, I take it?"

She sucked in a harsh breath. Damn! she
moaned silently. She should have realized Matt wouldn't be
satisfied with the little she had told him. She clasped her fingers
tightly in her lap as she tried not to let his words rattle
her.

"You already know that," she started to say,
but Matt cut her off.

"No, I don't know that, but it occurred to me
tonight that I don't even know what the hell Evan looked like. And
it also struck me as odd—damn odd—that the woman who is supposed to
be so damn smitten with her dead husband doesn't even have a
picture of him. No reminders whatsoever."

He faced her once more, his eyes glittering
angrily. "Married for ten years, widowed for two and still in love
with her husband. All along that's what you've wanted me to
believe. Isn't it, Angie?"

Boldly he confronted her, his voice ringing
with accusation. His eyes bored into hers, stripping away all
pretense between them. Her tongue darted out to trace suddenly dry
lips. She'd been right to be wary of him.

"Isn't it, Angie?"

Numbly she nodded.

"It was just an excuse, wasn't it?" His voice
was blunted with both hurt and anger.

"Yes," she whispered again and closed her
eyes. That she had hurt him was something she had never even
considered. She had thought only of herself, yet she knew that if
the same choice had to be made all over again, it would have been
no different.

A bitter oath penetrated the air. The
confusion and conflict in her voice tore him apart, but there was
such a wealth of pain and despair burning inside him he could fight
it no longer.

Strong arms snaked out to trap her in her
chair. He bent over her, his expression dark and relentless and
piercing.

"Good Lord, Angie!" he cried. "What are you
trying to do? Punish yourself because Evan is dead?"

For one paralyzing second she stared at him,
her mind whirling. At Evan's name every nerve in her body
tightened. Her stomach knotted into a sickening coil of revulsion.
All this time she hadn't wanted to face up to her feelings about
Evan. The anger at his abuse, the guilt she'd suffered by her
decision to leave him. She had buried them in a far corner of her
mind, refusing to examine them and let them go.

And then there was Matt. Was he right? she
wondered giddily. By denying her secret longing for him, had she
somehow been trying to punish herself because Evan was dead and
she was alive?

Something within her snapped. She was furious
with Matt for dredging up such painful memories, furious with Evan
for stripping her of her pride, her dignity, destroying their
love.

"No!" she cried, her eyes sparkling wildly.
Shoving him back, she jumped to her feet. She was only half aware
of what she was saying. All her resentment at Evan was suddenly
directed at the man before her. "I'm not trying to punish myself
because I hated him! Do you hear? I hated him! I didn't want him in
my life any more than I want you!"

Words. They were just words, uttered in the
heat of the moment. In his rational mind Matt knew that. But
because he was angry and because he was hurt, he struck out—just as
she had struck out.

Her breath was torn from her lungs as he
reached for her and grabbed her shoulders. "Dammit, Angie!" he
muttered fiercely, giving her a little shake. "What will it take
for you to see—"

He got no further. Launched from the shadows,
a small body suddenly threw itself between them.

"Leave her alone!" a voice cried. "I won't
let you hit her like Daddy did. I won't!"

Kim was pushing at his legs with surprising
strength. Caught off balance, Matt regained it only to find she had
thrown herself at him again.

Along with the flailing fists, the kicking
legs, the pathetically furious little voice came a numbing
realization. It hit him with shattering clarity, but for a
fraction of a second, he was overcome with disbelief. Was it the
product of an overly imaginative young child, or was it really
true... ?

One glimpse of Angie's haunted expression was
all it took to know that it was.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was suddenly so crystal clear that Matt
wondered why on earth he hadn't been able to see it before.
Everything pointed in only one direction: Angie's dislike of being
touched, the fear he had sensed in her, especially at first, the
way she clung to her conviction that she wanted no part of him, of
any man.

And Kim. Only two days ago she had looked up
at him, her eyes huge and solemn. You won't hurt my mommy, will
you?

A wrenching pain ripped through him. But
there was no time for his own emotions—he was still the target of
an eight-year-old bundle of rage determined to protect her mother.
From the corner of his eye, he saw that Angie had stumbled over to
the sofa. She was staring blindly ahead of her, her face white with
shock. Matt swore softly, torn between mother and daughter. He'd
never felt so helpless in his life.

It was Kim who ultimately made the choice for
him. She was crying, screaming, "Don't hit her. Don't hit her!"
over and over. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was on the
verge of hysteria.

"Kim." He spoke in a firm but reassuring
tone, not wanting to frighten her any more. She didn't even hear
him. "Kim!" Finally he dropped to his knees and picked her up,
wrapping his arms around her flailing limbs and gathering her small
body up against his chest.

"It's all right, Kim. Your mom and I--we were
arguing. But please believe me when I say I would never, never
hurt your mom." He took a deep, ragged breath, marveling that he
could speak at all, let alone calmly, soothingly. But something in
his voice must have convinced Kim of his sincerity. Her sobs
eventually gave way to a watery hiccough, but when she looked up at
him, her drawn features were still filled with anger, fear and
resentment.

Then suddenly her face crumpled. "He hit
her." The pitifully thin voice quavered. "I had to go to the
bathroom and that--that's when I saw Daddy hit Mommy and she—she
fell down the stairs. He—he hurt her, Matt."

Matt drew in his breath sharply and glanced
at Angie. She gave no sign that she had heard. The knowledge that
Evan had abused Angie had been a shocking revelation. It had shaken
him badly, and his throat worked silently as he saw the tormented
anguish that lingered in her eyes. She hadn't known about Kim; that
much was clear. For a child to witness such a brutal act, for Angie
to have endured such a brutal act... His eyes closed.

This time he had to struggle to speak. "I
know, sweetheart." His large hand stroked Kim's hair gently. "But
no one is ever going to hurt her again. I swear." Cradling her limp
body tightly in his arms, he picked her up and rose to his feet,
praying that Angie would be okay until he could get Kim settled
down.

The little girl clung tightly to his neck as
he mounted the stairs. How he found the words to comfort her he
never knew, but somehow he did. Still, it seemed an eternity before
she finally drifted off to sleep.

Angie was another story. He had no idea what
to say to her. She had fought him for so long that he wasn't sure
what his own reaction would be if she turned away from him now.
Now, when she so desperately needed someone to lean on. Someone to
share her pain.

She hadn't moved from her place on the sofa.
From where he stood behind her, Matt could see the soft swirls of
golden hair that had escaped their prison and lay loosely on the
tender curve of her nape. Oddly, those few curls only accentuated
her vulnerability even further.

As he watched, she drew her legs up to her
chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head dropped forward so
that her forehead rested on her upraised knees. She looked
completely drained and lifeless.

The utter bleakness in that one action
affected him even more deeply than anything in the preceding half
hour. Matt felt an unfamiliar tightening of the muscles in his
throat.

Swallowing convulsively, he moved to stand
before her. "Angie?" His voice sounded raw, as raw as the storm of
emotions churning inside him.

Slowly she raised her head and looked at him.
"Is Kim okay?" Her whisper was reed thin.

"She's asleep," he answered quietly. His eyes
never left hers as slowly he eased down beside her. If she turned
away from him now, he didn't think he could bear it.

She didn't. With a strangled little cry she
propelled herself toward him. Strong arms enfolded her with tender
urgency. A rush of relief poured through him, so powerful that, for
a fraction of a second, he went weak with it. His eyes squeezed
shut as he absorbed the almost unbearable sweetness of what she had
just done. She had finally turned to him of her own free will. But
Lord, what it had taken for him to reach this point!

His arms tightened around Angie's trembling
body. He buried his face in the fragrant silk of her hair, and for
a long moment they clung to each other.

Finally she drew back. She gazed at him with
dark and tormented eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

Matt had felt the tension invade her body.
His fingers came up to silence her. "Not yet," he pleaded. "Just
let me hold you a little longer." For just a moment he thought she
would refuse. Then with a breathless little sigh she sagged against
his chest once more, absorbing his warmth, his strength.

Long minutes later she finally stirred
weakly. Matt kissed her softly on the temple, not resisting as she
sat up in his arms. She didn't break the circle of his hold,
though. She simply repositioned herself so that her shoulder was
wedged in the crook of his arm.

Matt was well aware of what she was trying to
do, but he didn't argue. He, too, knew that what was to come in the
next few minutes would be easier for both of them if he couldn't
see her face. His eyes dropped to where her fingers plucked
restlessly at a fold in her slacks.

Sensing her uncertainty, he said quietly,
"You didn't know that Kim saw Evan hit you, did you?"

She shook her head and dug her teeth
viciously into her lower lip. A hollow silence ensued. She drew in
a ragged breath and finally spoke, venting her thoughts aloud.

"I should have," she said tonelessly. What
followed was in jagged bits and pieces. "She changed so much after
Evan died, became so silent and withdrawn— I thought it was because
she missed him. I thought her shyness around men was because her
father was gone, but she was probably scared to death. If she saw
what he did to me—my God, she must have hated him as much as I
did!"

He felt as if he'd been slashed to ribbons by
the guilt in her voice. "There was no way you could have known," he
told her quietly.

"But why didn't she tell me?" she cried.

He sighed. She was as tense as a taut metal
wire, ready to snap with the slightest pressure. He eased her
against him so that her back was flush with his chest. His arms
encircled her, his forearms resting against her ribs.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe for
the same reason children who are abused don't let anyone know.
Maybe she was afraid that somehow she would lose you, too." His
hand blanketed hers where it lay on her stomach. "She'll be okay.
She's young. She'll get over it in time." His fingers squeezed hers
reassuringly.

It was a touch of utter familiarity, a touch
that somehow gave her courage. She'd been so stunned by Kim's
revelation, and at the same time so horrified that Matt would know
her terrible secret, that she hadn't realized how perilously close
she'd come to losing control. Even now the threat of tears hovered
just beneath the surface.

It made the sudden quiet that descended
almost unbearable. She knew what was coming next by the rigidness
that invaded the arms that held her. Her heartbeat accelerated to a
point just short of panic.

Matt had to force the words past the ache in
his throat. "Kim said you fell down the stairs. How badly were
you—"

This time it was she who cut him off. "He
didn't put me in the hospital, if that's what you mean. My ribs
were sore and I had some bruises." She paused to take a deep,
uneven breath. "Nothing too terribly serious."

"You had no idea he was-—" he hesitated
"--violent?"

Wordlessly she shook her head. When it
appeared she had no intention of saying anything further, he
pressed on, gently but relentlessly. "Angie, please," he urged, his
voice slightly ragged. "I have to know."

She hesitated, but finally she began to speak
in a very low tone. "We'd been married for eight years the first
time it happened. He...he slapped me once when he'd been drinking.
He'd been off work for a while and...well, it wasn't the best of
times. I think, too, he was a little jealous of my success." Her
lashes dropped to veil her eyes. "He was as shocked as I was when
it happened. We... we both cried afterward."