From This Day Forward (31 page)

"You shouldn't be here," he said gruffly, breaking the spell of desire that had consumed her. "Go back to the house."

"No." She would not be dismissed without a fight.

He had already started to walk away when her single word halted him. Turning, he glared at her as if she were some alien species he'd never seen before.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to deflect the incredulous anger in his expression. "Ines says you never eat lunch and—"

"Ines should mind her own business. It's hot and smoky here. You know my men are collapsing in this heat. You have no business here in your condition."

The baby chose that instant to change positions, and a sensation like tiny fingers poking at her stomach from the inside surprised a gasp from her lips.

Jason lurched forward, shock and fear contorting his face. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"

In the fraction of a second it took him to reach her and take the basket from her hand, Caroline made a decision. Sighing, she acted as if she might sink to her knees at any moment from whatever malady Jason imagined she might be suffering. She wasn't proud of herself, playing on his concern and fear, but desperate situations demanded desperate measures.

"I do feel a little weak," she murmured, holding her hand to her forehead.

"I told you to go back to the house." Now he was angry.

"If I could just... sit down for a minute."

In the blink of an eye, he swept her into his arms. Quickly Caroline recovered from the initial shock and twined an arm around his neck, smiling inwardly at the warmth of his masculine body and the security of his strong arms.

He didn't look at her, his expression intent on his task. Carrying her to the one empty patio of the
beneficio,
he settled her gently into a worn wicker chair she'd had placed there while he was in Manaus so she could sit here in the shade of the
beneficio
and oversee the harvest.

Glancing up, she found Jason watching her closely and feigned a wan smile. "I feel much better now."

"You look pale," Jason told her crossly. "I'm sending you back to the house right now. You shouldn't be running all over the countryside in that contraption. Where is Vincente?"

"Jason, I feel much better. Really. Besides, the cart was built for me. Vincente is far too tall to fit comfortably. And I think the wagon ride would make me sick right now." She gestured toward the basket hooked over his arm with a nod of her head. "You might as well eat while I recover."

Jason studied her, his expression revealing nothing. He was weighing his options—trying to decide between two evils.

Reaching for the basket, she placed it on what was left of her lap and withdrew a clean linen napkin, holding it out to him. Smiling crookedly, he took the cloth and wiped as much grime as possible from his hands.

"The fish is still a little warm," she told him, waiting expectantly for him to react. What choice did he have? His invalid wife couldn't be moved at present, and the food must smell delicious to a man who hadn't eaten since morning.

Finally, he dropped the soiled cloth to the floor beside her chair and took the plate, helping himself to the fish.

"I hate for you to eat standing up," she said. "Maybe you could find another chair or—"

"This is fine." His blunt voice cut her off.

"It's been nearly four weeks," Caroline said, referring to the last time they'd made love or even spoken more than a few polite, meaningless words to each other. "Are you ever going to talk to me again?"

"I have nothing to say," he said, brushing his arm across his mouth. "As you can see, I've been busy."

"What about the baby?" she asked, determined to force some kind of response from him and succeeding. She could feel the tremor that coursed through him as he handed the plate back to her and turned away.

"You seem to be better," he said over his shoulder. "Wait here until you feel like moving, then go back to the house. I've got work to do."

He didn't want to hear what she had to say, she knew, didn't want to face the truth. "It won't go away!" she called after him, placing the plate in the basket and the basket on the ground.

Paralyzed with apprehension, Caroline waited. He stood at the edge of the patio, his back rigid, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I'm going to have a baby soon—your baby, Jason!"

"Go back to the house," he said, his stance unbending.

In desperation, Caroline went to him, grasping him by the arm so that he stopped and turned to face her. Taking his hand, she placed it on her belly. Instantly, he recoiled, jerking away and putting a safe distance between them.

"Leave me alone!" His voice shook with suppressed emotion. In his eyes she saw fear and fury.

He was like a rain cloud about to burst. Pressure built inside him so that an explosion seemed unavoidable. And as much as she wanted to be anywhere else when he finally erupted, she couldn't let him go, not like this. He wanted the baby; she knew he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. So why did he deny it? Why couldn't he be glad?

"It's our child, Jason," she told him, tears clouding her eyes and causing her voice to tremble. "Isn't that what you wanted? A child? I read your letters
.
If I could undo it, I would.
Can't we get past that?"

"I don't think so." He walked away from her, and again her words halted him.

"I know your sister killed herself!" she cried, knowing she might regret bringing into the light something he'd tried so desperately to keep in the shadows.

"No!" he shouted, turning and stalking toward her with such vehemence that it was all she could do not to back away. He stopped an arm's length from her, the fury inside him causing his body to tremble with suppressed violence. "You see, I don't want to discuss this with you. With Derek, maybe, but not with you. It never happened. Or it happened to someone else a long time ago. It has nothing to do with me, with now. I came all the way to Brazil to start over."

"It has everything to do with you," Caroline argued, though the urge to flee from the anger and anguish in his eyes resounded inside her. "Can't you see how it's tearing you up inside? You and I can't have a future until you deal with your past."

"I don't need or want you telling me that. I don't need you trying to fix me, the great healer, Mother Earth personified! You're like a whirlwind, you know? You whirl around and suck up everyone and everything in your path. If you don't like the way something is, you just tear it down and rebuild it to suit you. You and I are stuck with each other, but I don't have to like it."

His words pierced her soul like arrows. She tried to remind herself that it was his anger talking, but it did little good. He was trapped inside a prison of guilt and regret, and she didn't know if she had the strength or the courage to release him, to cross that moat of cold fury and free the man inside.

"I am your wife," she reminded him, struggling in vain to keep her voice from quivering. "Why won't you talk about it? Tell me about your past."

Jason laughed without humor. "You read my letters. Why don't you tell me about my past? You know, this is exactly why I asked for a young, inexperienced wife. I didn't want to have to be answering a lot of questions about my past, and I didn't want to always be wondering about my wife's past."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know," Caroline said, though she knew he was trying to change the subject.

"Did you love him?" he asked with an uncompromising glare.

The unexpected question hit her like a blow. She could only stare at him in openmouthed amazement. Finally, she shook her head wearily. "We've been over this before, Jason. Why is it so important to you?"

His lips twisted in a smug half smile. "Anything, you said. It's a simple question requiring a yes or no answer. Did you love him or not?"

Glancing away from the blue intensity of his eyes, Caroline murmured, "It's not that simple...."

"Admit it, Caroline, you loved him. Why is it so hard for you to say it? You never would have married him if you hadn't cared for him. I know you well enough to know that."

"I was infatuated with him," she conceded, searching her heart and mind for some link with that part of her life. She couldn't conjure any emotion for Wade. It was as if he'd never been a part of her life. She honestly couldn't say whether she'd loved him or not.

"Infatuated?" he asked sharply. "He charmed you, is that it? You found him attractive and he courted you patiently. Did you think of him when you weren't with him? What did you talk about, the two of you? Did you cry out when you made love?"

"Stop it!" Her face flushed at the memory of Jason's lovemaking. No, she'd never cried out with Wade, but she wasn't sure she should admit it. It would only give him an opening to steer the conversation down a road she didn't want to travel and away from himself. Angry and yet somehow thrilled that he cared enough to interrogate her, she asked, "Why are you doing this? Wade is dead! Dead! What does it matter whether I loved him or not?"

"My past is dead. Why is it that you think you have the right to dig up the corpses of my past but I shouldn't even be curious about yours?"

"Because it's irrelevant here. I've buried my corpses. You dug yours up and brought them here with you."

His jaw tightened, the only sign of reaction in his otherwise stoic expression. "I disagree," he said tautly, "I think your past is very relevant. What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?"

"My father's death," she replied without hesitation. She didn't have to think about it. Her father's death was the single most devastating event in her life.

"Your—your father's death?" he asked as if stunned by her unexpected response. "Not your husband's?"

"By then I didn't love him, if I ever did." In her mind, she relived the disillusionment she'd experienced so long ago, when she'd learned that Wade had lost all the money her father had left them and with it their future. "I can't answer your question because I don't know. I don't know if I loved him. I was so young, so..."

"So what?"

"So vulnerable." She felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. "He was handsome and witty and so aloof. I chased him shamelessly. When my father died, he was there, waiting to step in and take over. I thought he was so strong. It was only after two years of marriage and his squandering of not only his own money but mine as well that I began to see things—to see him as he really was. So, now you know as much about me as I do about you."

"The difference is you knew who you were talking to," he said obstinately, turning and walking away once again.

"All right! I'm sorry!" Caroline cried, trembling with rage. "How many times do I have to apologize? You're not angry because I read your letters, Jason. You're angry because of what was in them, because I know—"

"Know? What the bloody hell do you know, Caroline?" he thundered.

Caroline looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his glare, yet unwilling to back down. They were very much alone here, she realized thankfully. The workers had abandoned the orchards for the siesta. The fires kept the animals and insects at bay, so the only sound that reached them was the relentless lapping of smoldering fires. A strong breeze swept through the
beneficio,
bringing the promise of rain with it. Far overhead a soaring condor cawed loudly, breaking the unnatural silence.

"I know about your father—what your relationship with him was like. I know that he beat you and you hated him. Of course you did, he brutalized you and your family."

Jason laughed, the bitterest sound Caroline had ever heard. "You said the worst thing that ever happened to you was your father's death. The day my father died was like a liberation for me. That was the day my life began."

"I'm sorry," she choked out. She wanted with all her heart to touch him, to comfort him, but she knew he would only push her away.

"Just so you know what kind of man you've married, Caroline, I have a terrible rage inside me, a gift from my father. It boils up now and then and I lash out at whatever or whoever's closest to me." He studied his hands, turning them over in front of his eyes. "These hands have already killed."