Marry Me (34 page)

"Of course, it's not. But you can't predict what might happen in the future. I want it to be special so we have great memories."

She loosened the belt on her robe, tugging open the lapels for him, but he couldn't proceed. Her remark about this being the
last
time was weighing heavily, leaving him sentimental in a way he never was.

Why was she being so difficult? Why couldn't he pop in whenever he was in Colorado? They were friends, and she made him happy. Why did there have to be something more to it than that?

Noting his maudlin condition, she shifted them so he was on the bottom. She undressed him, marveling over his torso, kissing, tasting, and nibbling each spot as it was bared.

By the time she finished, he was a complete and total emotional wreck.

She straddled him, his cock in her hand as she eased herself down.

She rocked them, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, her silky hair curled around her neck and shoulders. He found the energy to pull off her robe, then he rolled them so that he was on top. He thrust into her over and over, watching as she received him, reveling in how she arched her back, how she grinned and sighed with each penetration. When he was with her, he felt cherished, as if he mattered, as if she'd never be the same once he was gone.

They reached the end as one, spiraling up, then down. They lingered, touching, kissing, then he slid to the side, and she turned so they were nose to nose, body to body.

"I'm visiting you," he declared, "next time I'm in Colorado. I don't care what you say."

"I don't want you to."

"Amy…"

"The twins and I have some issues with people who leave us."

"Oh, I hadn't thought about that."

"We need stability in our relationships—especially now, when Pam is here."

"I understand."

"You couldn't possibly. We have to love people who love us back, people who like us enough to stick around." She studied him, her probing gaze piercing and astute. "Do you like us enough to stick around, Dustin?"

"You know I can't," he murmured. "I have a whole life in LA, and I have to get home to it."

"Are you happy there?"

"Of course, I'm happy."

"Then I'm glad for you."

Was he happy? He didn't think so. His wealth allowed him entrée into movie circles, where he could surround himself with the famous and infamous. But it was all a chimera, fueled by greed and conceit and the pursuit of money and celebrity.

He could live there or anywhere. Why not pick up and move to Colorado? What was stopping him?

The pathetic fact was that he couldn't commit himself to her.

She was so extraordinary, and her past had been so difficult. She deserved someone better than him, someone who would love her madly, who would remain with her through thick and thin.

He wasn't that guy. He was fickle and undependable and disloyal, ceaselessly hoping that a more auspicious opportunity would present itself. When it did, he seized it. Though he might promise fidelity, he would never keep that promise.

He'd never treat her that way. He liked her too much.

"You're supposed to stroke my ego and beg me not to go," he said.

"You wish."

"Since you refuse to plead with me, I'm not sure how to act."

"Act how you always do. Sneak out in the middle of the night."

As that was his typical behavior, he couldn't protest that she was painting him in a bad light. He tried a different argument.

"You're making this too hard."

"No, I'm not. I'm making it easy for you to leave, and I'm protecting myself in the process."

"Protecting yourself from what?"

"From you. I'm a wimp. I can't imagine seeing you a few times a year, waiting by the phone and constantly checking my emails. You'd drive me insane, and they'd have to haul me off to an asylum before the first month was out."

"I might surprise you," he was compelled to say.

"I doubt it."

"I might turn out to be exactly the man you need."

"Wouldn't it be pretty to think so?"

She was staring at him—as if she'd uncovered all his secrets, as if she could peer to the center of his cold, black heart—and he couldn't stand her thorough assessment.

He snuggled her to his chest, a lazy hand massaging her back.

There were a thousand emotions careening through him, and he was struggling to delve to the root of the worst of them.

He was very sad and feeling as if he was on the wrong road, but too stubborn to take the correct exit. But why would he rue and lament?

He didn't want to move to Colorado. He didn't want to ever marry or settle down. He most particularly didn't want to hook up with a woman who had two kids, even if they were kids he really enjoyed.

"I wish you'd let me help you," he said.

"How?"

"I don't know. You won't accept any money from me."

"Keep the paper open so I have a job. That's the best gift you can give me."

"Okay."

"And don't sell my town to Chad. Don't let him carve up this beautiful old house anymore than it already has been. I can't bear to envision some yuppie from Denver living in here."

"Neither can I, but Chad and I have started negotiations. It's not that simple to renege."

"Yes, it is. You just screw Chad. Back out of the sale, and do something else. You're rich, so you have lots of choices, but you don't use any of them in ways that you should."

At her vehemence, he chuckled. This was the Amy he would always remember. The one who was so vibrant and alive. The one who felt that things mattered, that she could change the world.

"It's not a crime if I make bad decisions," he told her. "I'm not a saint."

"I never said you were, but you don't have to be such a jerk, either."

"If you keep complimenting me like that, I'll get a big head."

"Too late," she murmured. She draped a leg over his thigh, holding him close. "Promise me that you'll back out of the deal. I'll help you devise a different plan. I've thought about this. We can work on a solution together, one that will benefit everybody."

He was drifting off, a vivid dream flitting by. They were on a hot, sandy beach, and she was beseeching him. He so desperately wanted to make her happy.

"I'll do anything for you," he mumbled. "Anything, at all."

"Promise?" she urged again.

"Absolutely."

"You'd better mean it. I'll kill you if you don't."

"I mean it," he muttered, falling away. "I swear."

When he woke, it was dead night. The moon was shining down on the town. The new snow glimmered.

To his eternal chagrin, he was as unreliable and callous as she accused him of being. He didn't know how to be more gallant or humane, and he had no desire to alter his behavior.

Very quietly, very carefully, he slid from her arms. He pulled up the blankets, tucking her in.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

In the kitchen, he slipped into his clothes. Earlier, when she'd been in the shower, he'd packed his duffle bag, so it was simple to grab it, his jacket, and keys.

He walked to the door, then tiptoed down the stairs and out into the crisp, bracing air. With a heavy heart, he began the slow drive out of the mountains to Denver, then on to Los Angeles and all that was waiting, waiting, waiting for him in the great beyond.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Where are your mittens?"

"Oh."

Jennifer ran to the bedroom to frantically search for them, while Amy zipped Jessica into her snowsuit. Her backpack was on the kitchen table, and Amy made a quick check to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything.

The twins were off to a birthday party that began with an afternoon of sledding and ended with a sleepover. Amy didn't have a car, so Marge was driving them to the sledding hill, and Amy had a lonely afternoon and evening in front of her.

She supposed she'd slink down to Marge's for supper, but once they finished eating, she'd have to come back to her quiet apartment, and she was depressed over the notion of so much solitude.

Ever since Dustin had left, she'd been grouchy and unhappy.

He was a jerk and a lout and every other derogatory word she could name. He didn't know how to behave any differently and he never would behave any differently, so why be sad? Why mourn his absence?

Her world just seemed so empty without him in it.

Jen returned, mittens on her hands, as someone knocked.

It would be Marge, urging them to hurry, but still, Amy's pulse raced as she wondered if it might be Dustin. It wouldn't be, but she couldn't stop hoping.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!
she scolded herself.

She was nearest the door, and she opened it, expecting Marge and frowning when she saw Pamela.

Her mother had been in Gold Creek for months, but she hadn't dared to visit Amy. Amy didn't know if it was because Pam was too lazy to climb the stairs, or if she was too cowardly to face the twins, or if she was simply as cold-blooded as she always insisted she was.

Whenever she waltzed into their lives, it caused incalculable emotional turmoil for the twins. For weeks afterward, they would act out, would pout and fight and sass, and Amy couldn't bear the upheaval that would now ensue. Not when they were still grieving over Dustin's departure.

Pamela was dressed like a million dollars, as if she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine:  black wool coat, stylish black boots. Her hair had been newly highlighted and straightened, her make-up perfectly applied.  

She never denied being Amy's mother, but Amy didn't understand how they could be related. She had to have all of her father's traits and none of her mother's. She had to have been switched at birth.

"Hello, everybody," she beamed, and she actually held out her arms as if Jess and Jen might rush into them and hug her.

But they didn't move. They stared as if she was an exotic animal, as if she was a specimen in a glass jar at a sideshow.

"What are you doing here?" Amy asked.

"I came to see you guys." She hustled in as if anticipating—correctly—that Amy might slam the door on her. She noticed that the twins were wearing their snow gear.

"Are you going out?" She smiled with forced cheer.

"Sledding," Amy answered for them, "then to a birthday party."

"How fun. Whose party is it?"

Amy studied her mother, speculating over the reason for her appearance. Amy wasn't about to provide details of the twins' friends or social lives.

Did she need money? Was she in some sort of trouble? What would Amy have to do to make her leave?

Jessica peered up at Amy. "Shouldn't we be going, Amy?"

"We're late already," Jen added.

"Yes, you are." Amy urged them out. "Get down to Marge's so she doesn't have to search for you."

"'Bye, Pam," they murmured in unison, looking upset and beleaguered. They were confused by her arrival and not sure where they fit into it.

They grabbed their backpacks and trudged out. Jen took a final peek over her shoulder, then they kept on, their heads pressed close as they furiously whispered.

Amy and Pamela listened to them descend, then Amy went to the kitchen table and sat down. Pamela paused to assess Amy's furniture, then she walked over and sat, too.

She shrugged out of her expensive coat, flicked her hair over her shoulder. It was a practiced gesture, meant to be flirtatious and pretty, and Amy had no idea why she'd display it in Amy's kitchen.

"What do you want?" Amy asked.

"Can't a woman stop by to visit her children without having an ulterior motive?"

"Don't pretend," Amy admonished. "It aggravates me."

"I'm not pretending. I wanted to see the twins. Why did you let them run off before I could talk to them?"

"They have a life, Pam, and it doesn't include you. That's the way you've always wanted it, so don't act as if we've hurt your feelings."

"You're right, of course. They're busy; I don't know what I was thinking."

She glanced away and stared out the window. Amy thought she looked her age all of a sudden. There were tiny lines around her eyes and mouth that Amy hadn't previously noticed.

"If you need money," Amy said, "I don't have any."

"No, I don't need money. I get a quarterly payment from my trust fund—as you are well aware."

Husband #3 had died and left her a life insurance policy, and she received a regular income from it. The amount wasn't a lot, but she was never destitute. Thank goodness. She never came begging, so Amy never had to decide whether to bail her out or not. It was a small boon for which Amy was perpetually grateful.

"If you're not here to hit me up for some cash, why are you here?"

"I've been feeling…
low,
I guess. I was alone over Thanksgiving, and—"