Marriage By Necessity

“Your blood sugar’s probably low. I’ll make you some tea and toast. Then you can get some rest.”

“Please, don’t bother. I’m fine. I ate everything on my tray before we left the hospital.” And the food, bland as it was, was still sitting like lead in her queasy stomach.

Unheeding of her words, he moved into the small kitchen. Nate was a good cook, she remembered. All the men in his family were—it was a competition of sorts between them at holidays and parties. “While you’re resting I’ll go down to the barn and check the answering machine before I head over to Tessa’s and bring Matty home.”

Bring Matty home. Another of the phrases that sounded so right but was so wrong.

“We need to talk—” she repeated stubbornly.

“I’ve put you two in the bigger bedroom.” He spoke over his shoulder. “There’s more room for your things. Matty helped me move your stuff.”

“We can’t force you out of your bedroom.”

“I’m fine in the small room. I think I’ll have a cup of coffee before I go to the barn. Are you sure you don’t want something? Tea? Cocoa? I make great cocoa.”

“So Becca told me.” She wished her head didn’t feel like the block of wood Nate had described, but it did. She’d gotten little sleep in the busy teaching hospital the past three nights. She was so tired that she couldn’t keep a clear line of thought in her head. The pain-killers she’d taken before she checked out of the hospital weren’t helping her concentration, either. But the truth was she needed them, at least for the time being.

“You know, cocoa sounds good now that I think of it. I’ll make us both a cup.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk and filled a saucepan on the stove with the deliberate, efficient movements and total concentration on the task at hand that Sarah remembered from their time together. That way of working, of moving, had been drilled into him in the military. When you dealt with explosives, impatience and carelessness were two traits guaranteed to get you, or someone else, killed. He’d told her that early in their relationship when they’d had no trouble talking about what was important to them.

He reached one long arm across the narrow counter and took a tin of cocoa and sugar from a top cupboard shelf in one smooth, unhurried motion. He made love the same way, deliberately and thoroughly. Sarah pushed herself out of the big chair and walked slowly to the banquette. She sat down then removed the neck brace and placed it on the seat beside her. She only needed to wear it when she was riding in the car or walking outside, where her weakened leg muscles might trip her up. She gingerly touched the back of her neck where the row of metal staples held the edges of the long incision together. In ten days they would be removed, and the small amount of her hair that had been shaved away would grow back almost as quickly, Dr. Jamison had assured her. After that it would be therapy twice a week for six weeks at Lakeview Care Manor across the lake, and then a follow-up visit to Dr. Jamison. If everything looked good she would be allowed to drive and go back to work in time for the holiday rush.

She would start apartment hunting then, and she and Matty could be in their own place by Christmas. Except she would still be married to Nate. She rested her head in her hands. It was all so complicated now. The financial arrangements she’d made were predicated on her death, not her living. She had very little ready cash. On top of everything else he had done for her, would she end up having to ask Nate for a loan to divorce him again?

Lord, what a mess. Her head was pounding; the incision ached. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, yet she was too restless to sleep. Nate set a cup of cocoa in front of her. It smelled so delicious she opened her eyes and picked up the mug, savoring the warmth of the china, grateful for her renewed ability to correctly judge the degree of heat against her skin.

“Eat,” Nate urged.

Obediently she ate a triangle of toast, then another. Before she knew it the plate was empty. She said the first thing that came to her mind. “Toast and cocoa. Your mother’s remedy for whatever ails you.”

“Looks like it hasn’t lost its effectiveness. Want some more?”

“No, thank you. That was enough.”

“Then I’ll turn down the bed for you.”

“No.” The word came out louder than she’d planned.

“If you feel that strongly about it you can turn down the bed yourself.” He leaned back against the counter smiling slightly, indulgently.

“I don’t need a nap. We have to talk. Now.” She wasn’t going to let him steamroller over her the way he sometimes had before.

“All right, we’ll talk if that’s what you want. Go ahead.” Frowning, he folded his arms over his chest.

“We need to figure how to get ourselves out of this mess I’ve gotten us into.”

“We don’t need to do that right this minute.”

“Yes, we do.” Sarah stopped and took a deep breath. “Please, sit down. It hurts when I have to look up at you.”

He did as she asked, resting his arms on the tabletop. His forearms were dusted with dark hairs, his wrists and hands were strong, the muscles and tendons taut beneath his skin. “Go on, say what’s on your mind.”

“Our marriage is what’s on my mind. It will all have to be undone. We’ll have to contact the lawyer again, explain the situation. He’s probably waiting to hear from you so he can read my will.”

“You have a point. We should call his office and tell him you came through the surgery with flying colors. The rest of it can wait until you’re back on your feet.”

The next words were harder to say. “I—I’ll probably have to ask you for a loan to pay my share. And for a security deposit on an apartment. I’ll borrow against my life insurance policy as soon as I can make the arrangements, but I canceled my credit card so I can’t get an advance that way—”

He held up his hand. There was no longer any hint of a smile on his face or in his words. “Not so fast. Dr. Jamison said she’d let you return to work in six to eight weeks. That’s if everything is okay. You’re not going to be able to care for Matty by yourself for most of that time. How the hell do you think you’re going to manage alone until then?”

“I’ll find day care—”

He leaned back, once more folding his arms across his chest. “Good day care’s expensive. But more importantly your son’s been moved from pillar to post and back again over the past couple of months. He’s just getting used to my family. And me. There’s no need to uproot him again. Not for the time being.”

“I can’t stay here, Nate.”

Nate’s gray eyes never left hers but they allowed her no access to his thoughts. “If you want I’ll move in with Granddad for a couple of weeks so you two can have your own space. But not right away, not until you’re up on your feet again. Matty’s too much for you to handle alone.”

He had a point there, one she could scarcely argue with. She wasn’t allowed to lift anything over five pounds. Matty was a rambunctious three-year-old but he was still her baby. He needed help in and out of the bathtub, on and off the toilet. He wanted to be held and cuddled. She couldn’t do any of those things for him, at least not without help.

Nate’s help.

“I don’t want to be taken care of, Nate. Not anymore.” She had wanted exactly that once upon a time, and she had let herself slide too far into the fairy tale. Then when she tried to assert herself by insisting on a baby when he was afraid to give her one, the conflict had shattered their make-believe world, and their marriage.

His face darkened. He stood and picked up her plate and cup, turning his back as he set the dirty dishes in the sink. “I know that, Sarah. You pretty much burned it into my brain when we divorced. But the long and short of it is right now you do need someone to take care of you. And that someone is me.”

What a mess she’d made of things. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she whispered. Her hands trembled and fatigue washed over her in a black wave. She fought to keep her concentration focused on their discussion, but all she really wanted to do was go to sleep.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. We got a miracle handed to us. We can’t complain because it’s got strings attached.” He turned to look at her again, leaning his hip against the sink. The darkness was gone from his face, if not from his gray eyes. “I admit we’ve got a boatload of problems to work out, but outside of calling the lawyer with the good news none of them have to be dealt with today. You’ve only been out of the hospital for two hours. Go rest. I’ll get Matty from Tessa’s and wake you when I bring him back. We’ll form a plan of attack tomorrow.”

“You make it sound as if you’re staging a war game.”

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Yeah, I guess I do. Old habits die hard.”

That wasn’t all, Sarah thought as she curled herself around the oversize pillow that Dr. Jamison had recommended she use so that she didn’t lie on her back and put pressure on the incision. Old dreams died hard, too.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATE STARED at his reflection in the rechromed headlight of the Indian as he wiped a smudged fingerprint off the shiny surface. He looked like hell. He hoped it was only from the distortion of the metal and not evidence of another week of sleepless nights. He’d always prided himself on being able to sleep through anything, including mortar attacks, and the midnight shift change in a busy military hospital. But he was wrong. He’d found something that could keep him awake for hours, even though it was no louder than the sound of someone breathing. Sarah’s breathing, soft and even, in the room just down the hall.

He’d probably get more sleep if he bunked down out here on the lumpy old futon Joann had foisted on him after her last garage sale.

Hell, why was he thinking of bedtime? The sun wasn’t even down yet.

He looked at his watch. “Damn.” He was supposed to pick Matty up half an hour ago, but he’d been so focused on the restoration he’d lost track of time. Some kind of father he was turning out to be. He grabbed a jacket and headed out the door just as his sisters and their assorted offspring tumbled out of Tessa’s van.

Or to be more precise, the kids tumbled out of the van. Ty, Joann’s almost-nine-year-old, turned back to help unfasten Becca from her car seat while Matty, already released from his safety seat, raced across the parking lot only a step or two behind seven-year-old Jack. Joann strolled along in the kids’ wake while Tessa and her impressive belly brought up the rear. Both of his sisters were tall women with round, pretty features. Joann was blond and built along the same generous lines as their mother while Tessa, when she wasn’t pregnant, had the thinner build and red-gold hair that came from the Fowler side of the family.

“Hi, Nate.” Jack and Matty came skidding to a halt in front of him. “Can we see the bike? Is it done? Can I ride it yet?”