Forever Spring (24 page)

Karen had to swallow before she could articulate. “And your daughter?”

“Ahhh, Nicole,” Paul responded in a loving murmur. Then he gave a short, helpless laugh. “As luck would have it, Carolyn didn’t conceive again until after Peter’s ninth birthday. 1 had thought it would be nice to have a daughter, but I couldn’t imagine.. Paul’s voice faded on a note of wonder, then came back with a note of awe. “Though I wouldn’t have believed it possible, my daughter was exquisite from birth, even more beautiful than her mother.” He exhaled a heartfelt sigh. “Nicole was in a car accident several years ago and was left with a scar on her right cheek, but she’s still exquisitely beautiful.” He smiled into Karen’s eyes. “Her husband, J.B., would die for her without a second thought, he loves her that much.”

“As you loved her mother?” Karen’s voice revealed a longing ache. She breathed a sigh of relief when he appeared not to have noticed.

“Yes, until—” Paul broke off abruptly to change the subject. “Is there any coffee left?”

Alert to his evasive ploy yet cautioning herself to be patient, Karen slid her chair away from the table. “There’s a fresh pot. I’ll get it.” Grasping the carafe, she stood up, frowning when he pushed his chair back.

' “We may as well clear the table,” he said in answer to her silent, frowning query.

“You were saying you loved Carolyn until...” Karen prompted some ten minutes later when they were again seated at the neatly cleared table.

Avoiding her direct gaze, Paul sipped his steaming coffee, then shifted to glance at the carpet. A sensuous smile curved his lips. “This dining area holds some very pleasant memories for me,” he murmured.

Karen had a fleeting vision of herself, naked and eager, wantonly stretched out on the spot where his dark-eyed gaze rested, and choked on a swallow of coffee. “Yes, well, ah—” She cleared her throat. “Are you digressing?”

“No, I’m stalling,” Paul admitted wryly.

With the sudden realization that she really had no right to probe into his past, Karen reached across the table to clasp his hand. “Paul, I’m sorry. We’ll discuss something else. The snow, the coming holidays, the—”

“Karen, shut up.” Paul’s voice was low, rich with his appreciation of her understanding. “I loved Carolyn until the day I found out that she was unfaithful to me, had been unfaithful to me for over ten years. That was over six years ago.” His eyes narrowed and he watched her closely, waiting for her reaction. He didn’t wait very long.

Karen’s eyes widened as she absorbed the enormity of what he’d said. “You mean,” she breathed, “that it was on learning of her infidelity that you became—”

“Yes.” Paul spoke quickly, interrupting her before she could say the hated word.

“Did you consult a doctor?”

Paul’s spine grew rigid, and he lifted his head. “No.”

Karen was appalled at his unequivocal reply. “But Paul—” she began in protest, but again he cut her off.

“I didn’t need a doctor, Karen,” he said harshly. “Very likely because, for a long time, the last thing 1 wanted was intimate contact with a woman—any woman.”

Karen didn’t respond; she couldn’t. She had to concentrate on merely breathing. She hurt all over, for herself but more intensely for Paul. What she would finally have said in the event she found both breath and voice Karen was never to know, for at that moment, in an eerie repeat of another time they’d been alone in the alcove, the phone rang.

“I’ll get it!” Grateful for the diversion, Karen scrambled to her feet and fled to the kitchen wall phone. Without ever having heard the voice before, Karen knew at once that it belonged to Paul’s son, Peter.

“Ms. Mitchell?” His voice was deep and dark and incredibly sexy. “This is Peter Vanzant. May I speak to my father, please?”

“Yes, of course,” Karen said, picturing him in her mind as a younger version of Paul. She decided she liked him, sight unseen. “Just a moment, please.” She turned to find Paul watching her, his expression tense, revealing. Karen knew his fear was that the call concerned Charles. Her smile reassuring, she held out the receiver. “For you,” she murmured. “It’s your son.”

Karen started to move away after handing Paul the phone, but he slid an arm around her waist and drew

her tightly against him. As he held the receiver loosely, she couldn’t help but overhear the conversation. “Yes, Peter?”

“Dad, J.B. called a few moments ago. Nicole’s in labor.”

Paul’s only reaction was the compulsive tightening of the arm encircling Karen’s waist and the terseness of his tone. “Is there a problem?”

“No. It’s early, but only by two weeks. J.B. just wanted to let us know.”

“All right, Peter. Thanks for calling.”

“You flying to Fort Worth, Dad?”

The inflection in Peter’s voice reached Karen with revealing clarity; Peter knew his father very well. Paul’s smile was wry. “Yes, Peter, I’ll be flying to Fort Worth.”

“That’s what I thought. Give Nicole and J.B. our love and tell them Patricia and I will be bringing little Paul out to meet his cousin the day after Christmas. And, Dad, call us the minute the baby arrives.”

“Of course, Peter.”

There was more. Paul asked after Peter’s wife and son, but Karen was tuned out, her mind numbed by the realization that Paul was leaving. And although she understood his desire to be with his youngest child at the birth of her first baby, Karen felt frozen by the possibility that once he left Paul might not return.

Her fear grew during the next few hours as Paul swiftly and efficiently booked airline reservations for his flight to Fort Worth and prepared to leave. His remote withdrawal reinforced the possibility, changing it to a probability.

In her determination not to emulate Charles by attempting to force the issue or be manipulative, Karen promised herself she would not pressure Paul by asking if he was planning to come back to her. And she maintained her resolve until he was ready to walk out the door; then she broke her promise to herself with a gush of blurted words.

“Will you be coming back?”

“I don’t think that would be wise, Karen.” Though Paul’s eyes were tender, his tone was adamant. As she stared at him, a thousand arguments rushed through Karen’s mind. One word found its way to her lips. “Why?”

Paul’s chest moved as he exhaled deeply. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.” He held up a hand to silence her when she would have protested. “I have a memory, an image of you in my mind that torments me. The memory is of the first day we met, when you sat across the table from me while in the kitchen. You said, ‘I love babies’ when I told you I have one grandchild and another on the way. The image in my mind is of the expression of longing on your face.” As he had earlier that morning, Paul reached out to trace her features with his fingertips. “I’m past the age of starting another family, Karen, even if I were certain I could, which I’m not.”

“Oh, Paul, I don’t—” Karen began.

“I am fifty-six years old, Karen!” Paul said harshly. “And, as I told you before, that doesn’t leave much of a future to offer you.”

“Dammit, Paul!” Karen exploded, forgetting her determination not to apply pressure in her fear of losing him. “When you arrived here the day after Thanksgiving, you told me you thought you were failing in love with me,” she said, grasping his hand to hold it to her cheek. “Well, I don’t think I’m falling in love with you—I know I’m in love with you.” She paused for breath, taking courage from the light of emotion her confession of love ignited in his eyes, but hurried on before he could respond. “And as to the future, no one ever knows how much or how little we have of that. When I married Charles, the future seemed as never-ending as youth. Well, I’m now past the age of believing in forever spring, and though I know I can be content without ever having another baby, I’m not as certain I can ever again be content without having you.” Falling silent, Karen clutched his hand and waited breathlessly for his reaction.

Paul closed his eyes as if he were in pain. When he opened them again, they were suspiciously bright. Moving her hand, he slid his palm to the back of her head; then, tangling his fingers in her hair, he drew her mouth to his. His kiss was hard and hungry and desperate. Karen barely had time to respond before he released her abruptly and turned to pull the door open.

“I must go now or I’ll miss my plane.” His voice was husky with emotion. He stepped outside, then turned to look at her, absorb her, with intense dark eyes. “I’m still not sure, but I’ll think about everything you said.” Paul hesitated, took another step into the glistening snow, then turned to stare at her once more. “But there is one thing that I’m now absolutely sure of,” he said softly. “I do love you, Karen— deeply, maturely, in a way I never loved Carolyn.”

Leaving her that one precious gift, Paul turned and strode to his car.

Why doesn’t he call me? Please, God, make him call me.
Karen was getting used to the litany. It had run through her mind continuously for three excruciatingly long days, ever since Paul’s departure four days before.

Throughout those four days, Karen had made a production out of busy work. She had laundered literally everything in the house that would fit into the clothes washer. Every room in the large house was spotless and gleaming with a fresh coat of polish. She had even tackled the detested job of cleaning the kitchen cabinets. She had been anxious to do anything and everything to keep her mind as well as her hands occupied. But after four days of industrious labor, though her house was in order, Karen’s mind was in a muddle of uncertainty and fear.

And in a strange way, even in her fear of losing Paul, Karen understood and sympathized with the position he had taken. Karen also knew that there was more, much more involved in his decision than the span of years separating them.

Though proud, Karen knew Paul was a man of deep loyalties. Because he had loved, he had persevered with his marriage even after learning of his wife’s infidelity. Because he was proud, Paul had borne the fear of impotence in stoic, if misguided, silence. Because he was loyal, he had endured alone while keeping his family together.

Karen acknowledged sadly that she loved Paul because of all his fine qualities, even though they might prove the reason she would lose him. The paradox was nearly unbearable.

Unabashed tears glistening in his dark eyes, Paul stood at the nursery window, staring in awe at the tiny form of his new granddaughter. Like her mother before her, the infant was exquisite in her perfection. But the cost of her entrance into the world had been high— almost too high, for while fighting to give life to her daughter, Nicole had come perilously close to losing her own.

As
to the future, no one knows how much or how little we have of that.

Paul heard Karen’s voice as clearly as if she stood beside him in the hospital corridor.
I love you.
Paul wasn’t sure if his silent message was meant for the tiny bundle in the small nursery basket or the woman who commanded his every thought and emotion. But then, it really didn’t matter. The message applied to both.

By late afternoon of the fourth day, for want of something to do, Karen was reduced to checking her food staples and writing a grocery list. She was bent over a piece of paper on the kitchen counter, about to add baking powder to the list, when she heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the driveway. For an instant, she froze. Then the pencil went sailing into the air as Karen spun to make a mad dash to the door. Hoping, yet afraid to hope, she swung the door open.

“Paul.” Every hope, every dream, every aching ounce of love Karen felt for him was wrapped within the whisper of his name.

Looking far less urbane, sophisticated and intimidating but infinitely more relaxed, freer and younger than Karen had ever seen him, Paul smiled, strode into the house and swept her into his arms. His kiss was deep and hungry and spoke eloquently of his need of her. Karen reveled in being crushed beneath his demanding mouth and moaned a soft protest when he raised his head and stepped back. As he moved, he caught her hand with his, as if not wanting to lose contact entirely. Gazing at him, Karen felt her heart flutter at the emotion burning in his dark eyes. Her pulses leaped with his first words to her.

“I want to try to make a baby with you.” Paul’s voice was low but firm with certainty.

“Is this a proposal of marriage?” Karen asked in a dry, crackling whisper.

Paul’s smile held the promise of heaven and the glitter of devilry. “I guess it must be, because I feel positive that Rand would never forgive me if I suggested anything less than marriage.”

Wanting to cry, wanting to laugh, and in the end doing both, Karen managed to ask, “And Rand’s opinion is important to you?”

Paul replied at once. “Of course, as is the opinion of Mark and Peter and Patricia and Nicole and J.B., and little Paul and my darling new granddaughter.” His smile and tone deepened. “Their opinions are very important—for the future.”

* * *

“Catch it, Paul!” Mark called excitedly, jumping up and down in the sand near the water’s edge.

“You’ll never make it!” Rand whooped, proud of the toss he’d made.

The bright orange Frisbee arced high against a brilliant blue spring sky before diving to earth inches from the blanket Karen was sitting on. Scrambling to her feet, she swooped down and plucked it from the sand an instant before Paul came to a panting halt in front of her.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he gasped, indicating her laughing sons with a backward toss of his head. “Me, the father of their unborn brother or sister!” His teasing eyes lowered to the barely discernible bulge in Karen’s jeans.

Controlling her own bubbling laughter, Karen managed a concerned “tsk-tsk” and a frown. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Vanzant,” she said, biting her lip, “but weren’t you the one who suggested the game in the first place?”

Paul flicked his hand dismissively. “That’s beside the point, Mrs. Vanzant.- I  hardly expected—”

“Hey, when do we eat?” Rand shouted, drowning out his stepfather’s complaint.

“Soon,” Karen called, releasing her pent-up laughter. The happy sound wafted along on the warm, balmy air, drawing an exchange of contented grins from Rand and Mark.