Here Comes the Groom (11 page)

“That's unfair.”

It was unfair but Jo was past caring. She'd put so much hard work into resisting him…and now they were back to square one. No, dammit, this was his fault. “You know I'm vulnerable!”

“Yeah, okay…maybe I…it wasn't planned but I…” His voice trailed off. Raking a hand through his hair, Dan stared at her. “I've been kidding myself,” he rasped. “I've been kidding myself this whole time.”

She felt a heady rush of relief. “Hallelujah, he's come to his senses.”

“I'm in love with you.”

Jo froze. The words seemed to hang in the chill air. She pushed them away. “No, you're not.”

He wasn't listening. “Was I always? Maybe…I mean…. Who the hell cares?” His attention came back to her, his expression awed and intense. He held out a hand and said huskily, “I love you, Jo.” Once she'd
dreamed a man would look at her like this. But not this man.

And it didn't matter that this was part of some transference thing Dan had going with his grieving process. It didn't matter that he couldn't possibly appreciate how much he was hurting her right now because she'd never told him why all the things she'd wanted were out of her reach.

She'd come to the end of her emotional reserves and she would say anything to protect herself.

“The only thing you've done since you've come home is make my life harder. And I'm so
tired
of it, Dan.” He paled, dropped his hand. “I don't
care
how much you think you need this to make sense of Lee and Steve's deaths, I don't love you beyond friendship, and I never will. Do you hear me!”

“I hear you.” Under the porch light his face was expressionless. And in that vacuum, Jo heard her own heart. Oh, God, no. No! She took an involuntary step back.

She couldn't look at Dan and see the guy she should have had kids with…couldn't care about this stuff again.

Spinning on her heel, Jo half ran to her car. Dan didn't follow, didn't even call out. Her hands trembled so much she could barely wrench open the driver's door. The keys were in the ignition.

She started the engine and switched on the headlights, then remembered…her handbag was still inside. Jo clenched the steering wheel. She couldn't go back for it.

There was a tap on her window. Dan stood there
holding her bag, the feminine accessory incongruous against his muscled torso. He still hadn't done up his shirt.

Averting her face, Jo opened the door, fumbled for the handbag, then shut the door. Neither of them had said a word. Her car jolted down the rough track toward the main road. By the time she'd reached home she'd shut down thought, feeling, emotion.

J
O WOKE THE NEXT
morning desperate to salvage something out of last night's slash and burn. But first she needed to breakfast with Nan and catch up on her workload at the
Chronicle.
That included scheduling a final meeting with CommLink. Even that couldn't cheer her up. She jumped every time her office phone rang but it was never the call she wanted and Dan didn't return the messages she left him.

By the time she finally pulled up at the farmhouse it was close to five and her nerves were shot. Dan was a distant silhouette, working on the west ridge. He would have seen her car arriving so Jo waited. Five minutes passed, ten and he made no move to come down.

Well, what did she expect?

Swapping her shoes for the smallest pair of gum boots on the porch, Jo started climbing in as direct a line as the electric fences allowed. A mob of glossy black bulls with massive shoulders, skinny rumps and surly expressions tracked her progress.

“He'll forgive me,” she told them.
He has to.

The weather had been moody all day, trying on all four seasons like a teenage girl who couldn't decide what to wear. As she climbed the wind picked up, chilling as the sun began to dip behind the horizon. Belatedly Jo remembered she'd left her jacket in the car, but her heels
were already starting to burn in the oversized boots so she pushed on.

Dan was bent over a concrete water trough, his arms immersed to the elbow. Splashes of mud and water stained his old gray T-shirt and jeans. When she was within a hundred yards, he straighened. Putting down the dripping pliers, he dried his arms on a rag from the toolbox on the back of the ATV and waited, arms folded. Jo swallowed. He had his soldier face on. Granite. Impassive. Suddenly the bulls didn't look as menacing.

Her heel was burning like a live coal but Jo refused to limp. She wasn't going for the pity vote. Still, she was pathetically grateful when the dogs came running to welcome her, all hot breath and wagging tails. Pausing to pat them, she called casually, “You're putting in long hours.”

“There's a lot to do.”

Jo noticed her hands were trembling and stuck them into the pocket of her trousers. “Well, you're more than capable.”

He stared at her, incredulous, before returning to his work.

Taking a deep breath Jo closed the last few yards. Cattle had churned the overflow around the trough into thick mud; Dan's gum boots were caked with it. She stopped on dry ground. “I guess you know why I'm here.”

“Yeah.” Reaching into the trough with one hand he pulled out a circular valve and inspected it. “You've come to apologize for telling the truth.”

“And to confess to a lie,” she said.

He glanced up.

“I denied feeling a sexual attraction because I wanted to reinforce my argument that we shouldn't get married.”

Dan swished the valve clean.

Jo persevered. “So when I found myself climbing all over you when we're very close to getting our old relationship back. Well, I overreacted and I'm sorry.” She caught the float, cupping it like a crystal ball. The underside of the black plastic sphere was covered in algae, soft like silk. The icy water numbed her fingers. “Then when you said you…” Her throat closed on the words. She tried again. “You don't, you know… Love me.” She managed a laugh. “Heck, after my behavior last night you've probably already realized that. Lucky escape, right?”

He stuck his hand in the water. The round float on the surface bobbed on the ripples. “Can you hand me that pair of multigrips?”

Jo wiped her hands on her suit pants, her fingers so cold they ached, then squelched through the mud to get them. “I mean, c'mon,” she joked. “We both know I've always been a nut job when it comes to romance.”

Dan accepted the pliers, thrust both hands in the trough and seemed to be tightening something. “Are you done?”

“Done?” she said nervously.

He took the float and refastened it to the valve with twine. “Is it my turn?”

She dug her hands in her pockets. “Sure.”

Straightening, he folded his arms. “First off, don't tell me how I feel. This isn't some knee-jerk grief reaction to Lee and Steve's death.” His eyes blazed. “Secondly,
don't patronize me, or, worse, try and save my ego by blaming your kooky history. We've been friends too long to start bullshitting each other now. If nothing else we've got honesty.”

Jo bit her lip. “Okay.”

“I love you,” he said. “Deal with it. Last night you said you could never feel the same way. Is that still true?”

Jo dropped her gaze to the muddy gum boots. “I'm sorry,” she said because that wasn't a lie. There was a moment's silence.

“I'll cancel the wedding,” said Dan.

She looked up but his expression was unreadable.

The wind cut through her business shirt and Jo shivered. “I'd hate to lose your friendship over this.”

“You won't.” Picking up the tools, he carried them over to the ATV. “I'll give you a ride back if you don't mind sharing with Blue. The younger dogs can run.”

She wanted to say something, anything to dissolve the tension, but her mind was a miserable blank.

“Here, put this on.” Dan untied his bush jacket from around his waist and tossed it to her.

“Aren't you cold?”

“I'm used to it.” While he cleared room for her in the ATV's tray, she pulled the green-and-black checked Swanndri over her head. It was still warm and the thick-weave wool smelled of earth and rain, of diesel and Dan. Tears pricked her eyes. Blue jumped up beside her, and she put an arm around him. Straddling the farm bike, Dan started the engine. Now there wasn't an opportunity for conversation, even if she could think of something to say.

Halfway down the track, he stopped and idled the engine. “Mind opening the gate?”

She scrambled off, ignoring her blister, eager to assist him. Dan drove through and glanced back, catching her anxious expression as Jo closed the gate. He smiled, the same smile parents used after they'd told their kids that mommy and daddy are getting a divorce but nothing will change. Promise.

The rest of the journey passed torturously slow. Jo watched the sunset leach color from the surrounding landscape and splash the clouds in increasingly violent shades of pink and red, purple and orange and told herself they'd get past this. In a few weeks, a few months at the outside Dan would get over her and they'd go back to the way things were.

He stopped the ATV beside her car. “Here you go.”

Releasing Blue, Jo climbed down reluctantly, then took off Dan's Swanndri and handed it to him. “I need my shoes.”

“I'll get them.” He gave her another forced smile and her misery increased. Who was she kidding? Nothing would ever be the same.

She watched as he walked to the porch. The motion-detector light triggered, revealing Dan's features as he picked up her shoes. Her throat ached.
Please don't hurt this much. I'm trying to protect you.

Returning, he held out the shoes. “It was never my intention to make your life harder, Jo.”

She stared at them.
If nothing else, we've got honesty.
“I had cancer,” she said in a choked voice.

Dan froze. “What?”

“It wasn't a shoulder injury that had me in the hospital
when you visited—I'd had a mastectomy.” His shocked gaze dropped to her breasts and she resisted the urge to cross her arms. “The left. I'm wearing a prosthesis.”

Dan opened his mouth, closed it.

“My prognosis looks good.” Her tone brisk, Jo kicked off the oversized gum boots. Facts, not feelings. “The lymph nodes weren't affected and they caught it early but I'm still twelve and a half months away from the first watershed, let alone the magical five-year mark.”

“This is why you pushed me away last night?” His voice was hoarse

Jo inspected her left heel, saw blood and slipped on her shoes anyway. “In a substantial percentage, breast cancer recurs up to twelve years later, even in low-risk patients like me.”

“Is that why you've given up on marriage and kids?”

Picking up the gum boots, she held them out. “One study I read said even with adjuvant therapy—chemo or radiation—for more than twenty percent of node-negative patients, their disease recurred within fifteen years after diagnosis.”

Dan automatically accepted the gum boots. “Why didn't you tell me when you were diagnosed…or at the bar? I'm your best friend, dammit!”

“I was still hoping for the best. The next time I saw you was ten days after surgery when you returned for the funerals. You didn't need any more bad news.”

The porch light flicked off; impatiently he activated it again, his brain putting all the pieces together. The immobile arm that stopped her from hugging him when he'd visited her in hospital—not the result of shoulder
surgery. The bar… Jo only got drunk when she was in trouble. Her desperation when she'd made a pass.

“The night in Auckland when you were trying to pick up guys?”

“Surgery had been scheduled the next day and I wanted a last fling in case…” Jo shrugged and checked her shoe again. “Except the med-student bartender was right. I couldn't have surgery with alcohol in my system. Between work and Nan it was five weeks before I went under the knife.”

He was still processing her first sentence. “You wanted a last fling in case you lost a breast.” With sickening force it hit him that he'd scared away her last prospect then rejected her. “Does Nan know?”

She shook her head. “No one knows except Polly. She was my nurse at Auckland Hospital, semi-retired and looking for a change of scene after her divorce. Initially, I hired her for postoperative care and to help out part-time while I was having chemo. We told Nan she was a housekeeper. And then as my condition improved and Nan's deteriorated, she simply swapped patients.”

“What about work?”

“I went to Auckland for chemo last thing Friday, recovered over the weekend and was back at work in Beacon Bay on Monday. When the side effects kicked in, I either worked from home or I delegated. Everyone assumed my absence had something to do with Nan's worsening dementia.”

Dan realized he was still holding the gum boots and dropped them. “You kept this to yourself, dealt with it all by yourself? Why?”

“Because I didn't want people looking at me the way
you are now,” she said sharply. “I needed things to stay normal. It was hard enough dealing with cancer myself without…” Again, she stopped.

“Without seeing your fear reflected in other people's eyes?” He closed his own, suddenly understanding her rationale for not telling him the truth. Dan wanted to shake her; he wanted to hold her. He wanted to cry for everything she'd suffered alone.

He stripped his expression, grateful for the discipline of years of training. “So you're denying yourself a chance to love because of a twenty percent chance of recurrence.” Later he'd deal with his own fears of that; right now he had a future to fight for.

“That's after five years, remember. And it's not just about recurrence.” Jo swallowed. “Chemo may have affected my fertility and I know you eventually want kids.”

He took a step toward her. “I want you more.”

She backed away. “Even if I could conceive, I don't know if I want to have children with this hanging over me…. It wouldn't be fair.”

“Fair. Since when is life fair?” The porch light went off. He pulled off one work boot and threw it at the motion sensor. The light flicked back on. “Don't you know I'm here for you no matter what?”

But she was already shaking her head. “I won't let you make that sacrifice.”

“It's not a sacrifice, it's a choice and I've made it.” Again Dan closed the gap. “I choose you.”

“Stop and think about this, Dan,” she challenged him. “You really want to marry a woman who might die? You've already lost Steve and Lee this year. You
think I don't see how much you're suffering? It's eating you up.”

“All the more reason to make every day count.”

“No.” Turning, Jo strode back to her vehicle. “I'm not dragging you into my waiting game.”

Wearing one work boot, Dan followed her. “What you're really saying is that I don't have the cojones to marry a woman living with cancer.”

That stopped her. Their eyes locked. In the near dark he couldn't make out her expression. “Nice try,” she said and opened the car door.

“I didn't get the chance to fight alongside them,” he said quietly. “Don't deny me the chance to fight alongside you.”

Jo leaned her forehead on the edge of the open door. Dan waited. The interior car light illuminated her face as she turned, using the door as a barrier. “I'll accept your support, but only as a friend.”

Dan remembered her expression last night when he'd told her he loved her. He would never let her shut him out again.

Pulling the door out of her hands, he backed her against the car, holding her there with his body. “I love you,” he said. “That's nonnegotiable. How do you feel about me?”

“Under the circumstances, having a relationship would be selfish and irrespon—”

He kissed her. With so much yearning, so much need and persuasion that she had no choice but to kiss him back. With a groan, Jo wrenched her mouth away.

“The fear's always going to be there,” she warned.

“In the SAS they teach you that it's how you dance with it that makes the difference.”

She closed her eyes.

Sliding one hand behind her nape, Dan nuzzled her neck. “Dance with me,” he murmured against her skin, felt her responsive shiver. “I don't—”

He kissed her again, taking his time, doing it right. “Yes,” he insisted. “You do.” He saw with satisfaction that, cheeks flushed and heavy-lidded, she wasn't thinking very clearly anymore.