What Mattered Most Page 23

“No, Lanie. This isn’t everything.”

  “John, don’t go like this.” She hated the pleading note in her voice, almost hated him because he made her feel she was letting him down in some way she didn’t understand.

  “Don’t you see?” He shook his head and walked by her to the door. “I can’t stay like this. Let me know when you figure out what’s missing.”

  Missing? They had Sonny Buck, and they had each other. They were closer than they’d been before. What did he mean, missing? Filled with disbelief and a desperate anger, she watched him walk out of the room. She didn’t follow.

  The quiet click of the front door closing carried up the stairs, and the anger twisted through her like a striking snake. Damn him, anyway, for telling her she could trust him, then walking out when things didn’t go his way. She closed her eyes against a massive wave of pain and anger.

  “I don’t need you,” she whispered into the emptiness. She didn’t. This was why she’d never let herself begin to need him too much, because sooner or later, she’d known it would be over.

  All he’d done by walking out that door was prove her right.

  John slammed his desk drawer shut. Tucked in the drawer, the blue velvet box mocked him every time he needed a paper clip. What the hell had he been thinking, buying her a damn engagement ring?

  He glanced at the phone, fighting the urge to call her, to give in and take her on any terms she wanted. He reached for the phone and pulled his hand back. They deserved more. He wasn’t going to settle this time.

  You don’t have to marry her to be committed. It’s a ring, a piece of paper.

  No. There was more to it than that. The memory of standing outside the surgical unit, being told he couldn’t see her because he wasn’t family, rose in his mind. Another memory assaulted him—Caitlin making the medical decisions because he had no rights. Having to fear losing his son because he and Lanie weren’t married.

  He wanted more than the ring and the piece of paper—he wanted the vows and the rights that went with being her husband. He wanted to give her the same rights. He wanted to make those vows to her, to promise to always be there. He wanted everything—the good and the bad.

  And Lanie wanted… What? Hell, he didn’t even know.

  Guilt clenched his gut, and he dropped his head into his hands with a muffled groan. Here he sat, bitching and moaning to himself about her not wanting to commit to him, and what reason had he given her? Again, it was all about what he wanted—he wanted her, he wanted them together, he wanted her to marry him.

  Not once had he really stopped and thought about what she wanted. Hadn’t asked her what she wanted, what she needed from him.

  And when she balked, he walked out. No, he wasn’t her father, but he’d abandoned her all the same when things didn’t go his way. Some way to prove himself.

  This time he didn’t stop himself from reaching for the phone. Her answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. “Lanie, it’s John. Honey, we need to talk. If you’re there, pick up.”

  Silence greeted him.

  He sighed. “Okay, I’ll try again later. And, Lanie? I love you.”

  An hour and three identical calls later, his nerves sang with tension. He wondered if she was by the phone, listening to his voice, refusing to pick up, refusing to talk to him. Worry shifted over his skin. What if something was wrong?

  The chair emitted a loud squeak as he pushed up from the desk. “Joyce, I’m leaving for the day.”

  Arms crossed over her sagging chest, she pinned him with a look. “Is it an emergency?”

  “Yeah. You could call it an emergency.”

  Lanie’s vow not to need John lasted until early afternoon. Memories of John’s hurt expression and the slump of his shoulders cropped up, no matter what she did to try to forget. With the phone’s ringer off, she threw herself into cleaning while the baby napped. Family photos lined the mantel, and she pulled each one down and smoothed a soft cloth over the glass and wood.

  She traced a finger over the smile on Caitlin’s face in one picture and glanced up at the images on the shelf. In the largest photo, her grandparents sat surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Her grandmother had been in the final stages of chemotherapy, and the treatment’s ravaging was apparent in her drawn face and smooth head. She gave the camera a weak smile, but Vincenzo Falconetti’s gaze lingered on her, an expression of love and utter devotion suffusing his face.

  That’s what a marriage should be.

  Not the mix of need and resentment her parents had shared. Or the wild attraction she and John had once shared.

  Lanie shook her head. An example of what marriage should be. Taking the bad with the good.

  Love.

  Sacrifice.

  Devotion.

  Basically, everything John had proved during the last two months. Not with words. With actions.

  Taking care of their son when she couldn’t.

  Absorbing her hatred and barbs without comment.

  Comforting her when the memories became too strong.

  Giving up the job he loved so Sonny Buck would have the security of an available father.

  Shame chilled her. I’m not your father. No, he wasn’t, but she’d judged him that way, simply because of his lingering feelings for Beth.

  Fingers pressed against her lips to suppress a tiny moan, Lanie closed her eyes. He’d chosen her. He loved her. He’d become everything she wanted him to be.

  And she’d clung to her blind judgment, refusing to see that what mattered wasn’t the past—her parents’, or even theirs. What mattered was the future, the future John had offered her with a dazzling ring and a lopsided grin, which she had so quickly spurned.

  Oh, Lord, what had she done?

  The driveway was empty, but John went to the door anyway and knocked. The house stood silent. He sighed and stared at the spot in the driveway where Lanie’s car should be. She could be anywhere. The store. A doctor’s appointment, although he knew Sonny Buck didn’t have one scheduled for another two months. She could be having lunch with one of her friends.

  The empty house and missing car didn’t mean she’d gotten scared and run. Didn’t mean he’d pushed too hard and pushed her away. The signs didn’t have to mean that, but John would be willing to bet money they did.

  He pulled the key from his pocket, shrugging off the tiny stab of guilt. She’d given him the key to use in an emergency. As he saw it, finding her right now constituted an emergency.

  Inside, an eerie silence permeated the house. The refrigerator hummed, and the mantel clock ticked off seconds. The portable playpen was missing from the living room. His heart thudding against his ribs, John jogged up the stairs. Her overnight bag wasn’t in the closet, and the bathroom counter had been cleared of her toiletries.

  He didn’t even have to look in the nursery.

  Fear and anger churned in his gut. She was gone, and he had no clue where to look. Reason tried to assert itself. She didn’t mean to stay gone forever.

  She had to come to it in her own time.

  He’d pushed, and she’d run.

  Well, this time, he’d just wait her out.

  Sonny Buck grumbled and stretched out his body as Lanie eased him into the car seat. His duck-embroidered hat fell over his eyes, and he fussed harder. With a laugh, she pushed it back. “C’mon, Sonny Buck. Cooperate with Mom. We’ve got to find your dad. I need to tell him what an idiot I’ve been.”

  The drive to Houston took forever. She couldn’t find a legal parking spot outside the precinct that housed the records division, and she parked in a slot marked Official Use Only. Lifting Sonny Buck to her shoulder, she nuzzled his cheek. “Hopefully, we’ll only be a minute. Want to go see Daddy?”

  He chortled, and Lanie hugged his small, warm body as she climbed the marble steps to the precinct house. Nerves clenched in her stomach. What if she was too late? What if he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?

  Holding on
to the memory of his hopeful gaze the night before, she pushed the doubts down. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.

  She eased through the crowded hallway, dodging uniformed officers escorting plaintive suspects and world-weary detectives shooting the bull over coffee. Pushing open the door to the records division, she swallowed and took a deep, calming breath.

  The middle-aged woman with brassy red hair and deep frown lines grimaced at her, an expression Lanie supposed was meant to be a smile. “Can I help you?”

  Shifting Sonny Buck in her embrace, Lanie glanced around the room. A younger woman sat at one of three desk, entering data into a computer. John wasn’t in sight. “I’m looking for Sergeant O’Reilly.”

  The woman harrumphed. “He’s out.”

  The hope Lanie had tried to hold on to settled into a cold lump in her stomach. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  One hand on her hip, the woman pinned Lanie with a long-suffering look. “All I know is he said he had an emergency and not to expect him back today.”

  An emergency? Lanie swallowed and backed toward the door. “Thank you.”

  She traveled the way she’d come, her mind clicking through possibilities. Could his emergency have to do with her? “What now?” she whispered against Sonny Buck’s forehead. “Where should we look, kid?”

  Stepping outside, she pulled her keys from her pocket. A horrified moan slipped past her lips when she glanced where her car should have been. The spot stood empty. Glancing up and down the street, she saw the taillights flare on a departing tow truck, her car hitched to the back.

  With a muttered curse, she held her baby tighter. Could the day get any worse?

  Hours later, Lanie turned onto her street. The baby slept in his car seat, and the setting sun cast long shadows on the sidewalk and lawns. It had taken her two hours and over a hundred dollars to retrieve her car, and her spirits had taken a dive during that time. John’s emergency could be anything. She had no reason to think he was looking for her.

  She’d given him no reason to do so.

  Preparing to turn into her driveway, she braked too hard and stared. His car sat in its customary spot, and sitting on her front steps was John O’Reilly, reading the newspaper, a soft drink can next to his feet.

  Joy leapt into her throat, and she forced it down. His being here could mean anything. She pulled into the drive, her hands shaking on the wheel.

  He didn’t move from the steps, but Lanie could feel his gaze on her while she removed the sleeping baby from the car. He continued to watch her as she walked toward the steps. With deliberate motions, he folded the newspaper and set it aside. Hands linked between his parted knees, he looked at her, not smiling. “Where’ve you been?”

  She wished he would smile. The seriousness made her more nervous, if that were possible. Stalling, she set the car seat on the step next to him and fussed with Sonny Buck’s blanket. Finally, she glanced up to find him still watching her with that somber expression.

  She looked away, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans. Tell him, a little voice whispered. Tell him you figured out what’s missing. She met his gaze again. “I was looking for you. I went to Houston, to your precinct, but you weren’t there.”

  He nodded. “I was here.”

  “My car got towed, and it took forever to get it back.” She closed her mouth, aware she was rambling, but so nervous her palms were damp, her mouth dry. More than anything, she wished he would reach out, touch her, tell her he loved her.

  “Why did you go to the precinct?” For the first time, he dropped his gaze. Uncertainty and hope lingered in his words, and Lanie wondered if he was waiting for her to reach out, touch him, tell him she loved him.

  She touched his knee and felt him flinch. “To tell you I want everything. To tell you I love you and I want to wear that ring and I want to marry you. To beg you for one more chance. To tell you that I—”

  He didn’t give her the chance to finish. His hands shot out and jerked her between his knees, his mouth covering hers. Lanie twined her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. She opened her mouth, swallowing his groan. After a long time, she pulled away, smoothing her fingers along his jaw. She smiled, gazing into navy eyes dark with desire. “To tell you I know what matters most. You. Sonny Buck. Us. Our future. That’s all. Nothing else.”

  His lashes dipped, and he caught her to him again. “God, I love you.” His arms around her waist, his head against her chest, he sighed. “You don’t have to wear the ring yet, Lanie. I’ll wait for you. I was an ass last night—”

  Her fingers gentle on his jaw, she tilted his face up. “I want to wear your ring, John. I love you, and I want to be your wife. I want you to be my husband, and I want us to have everything.”

  Doubt lingered in his eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Very.” She smiled at him, stroking her fingers over his temple. “Let’s go to Vegas and find a wedding chapel. I’ll make an honest man out of you, O’Reilly.”

  His eyes flared. “Don’t tempt me, Falconetti.”

  She feathered her lips over his. “I’m already packed.”

  “You don’t want the big wedding with all the trimmings?”

  “I want you.”

  Laughing, he set her back a step and stood. “Let’s go.”

  Lanie wrapped her arms around him, holding on to everything that mattered. “I love you, O’Reilly.”

  About the Author

  How does an English teacher end up plotting murders? She becomes a writer of romantic suspense! To learn more about Linda Winfree, please visit http://lindawinfree.blogspot.com. Send an email to Linda at linda_winfree@yahoo.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Linda! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/linda_winfree.

  Look for these titles by Linda Winfree

  Coming Soon:

  Truth and Consequences

  His Ordinary Life

  Hold On To Me

  A Formal Feeling

  An old-fashioned undertaker who asks for lessons in what turns a woman on…what more could any teacher ask for?

  Mortified Matchmaker

  © 2007 Alexis Fleming

  When circumstances force kindergarten teacher Melissa Morgan to take her twin sister’s place as proprietor of a dating agency, the last thing she expects is to meet a funeral director in desperate need of lessons in what a woman wants. Despite his quirky behavior and antiquated ideas, Matthew Campbell pushes every one of Melissa’s buttons and it’s not long before the lessons become more important than finding Matthew a mate.

  But how will Melissa react when she finds out Matthew is an undercover federal agent in pursuit of a blackmailer and she’s the prime suspect?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mortified Matchmaker:

  “Make yourself comfortable, Matthew, and I’ll put the first of the tapes on.”

  Wobbling slightly as the unfamiliar high heels caught in the thick pile of the carpet, she moved to the far end of the room, slid the video into the machine and turned on the television. Remote control in hand, she joined Matthew on the sofa and started the tape.

  “This first lady’s name is Martha Frazer. She’s perhaps a little older than you specified on your application form, but she sounds very much a homebody. Anyway, I’ll let you view the tape and you can tell me what you think.”

  As Matthew watched the screen, Melissa tried to find a comfortable position on the sofa. With it being so wide, she couldn’t lean back against the cushions. If she did, she’d have to sit with her legs extended out in front of her like a child. Not very professional.

  Neither was the flash of garters high on her thighs as she tried to perch on the extreme edge of the sofa. She tugged at the hemline of her skirt, only to have it ride up again as soon as she released it. Hell, at this rate, she’d be forced to sit with both hands on the bottom of her skirt to keep it in place.

  As the video ended, she turned to Matthew, an enquirin
g look on her face. “So what do you think?”

  Matt tried not to grin as her skirt slid up to expose the top of her nylons and gave him a quick glimpse of naked thigh. He’d seen her efforts to tweak it down. If she didn’t want her legs on show, why wear such short skirts?

  The character Joshua Cribbs had created for him foremost in his mind, Matt clasped his hands together and lowered his chin to tap at his pursed lips with pointed index fingers. “Hmm, she sounds a very nice lady,” he said.

  “But?”

  “I’m not certain she’s suitable. Very unfashionable and a lot older than I wanted. Probably set in her ways. Not malleable at all. I don’t think I’d be able to mold her into what I perceive as the perfect partner.”

  He knew his words sounded chauvinistic, but it suited his undercover identity. With his Italian heritage, he was used to a culture where women were revered, feted and looked after. Although that in itself sounded chauvinistic, the women in his family were strong and independent, equal partners in any relationship.

  Still, he had a part to play and somehow he had to get Mel Morgan to take him personally under her wing, not fob him off on one of her clients. If he took these women on a date and screwed it up, maybe they’d report back to Melissa. Then he could suggest she teach him how to romance a woman. He couldn’t think of any other way to get close enough to Miss Morgan to find out what he needed to know.

  “You know, perhaps I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I think I need someone more glamorous. I’d like to lift the profile of my business, and as I’d want any prospective partner to work with me, at least until the children come, perhaps I should have someone a bit more…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “I guess sophisticated is the word I’m looking for.”

  “Let’s try the next one then, shall we? This woman’s name is Janice Betonie. She certainly looks more the part.”