What the Waves Bring Read online

  Heath’s expression was unfathomable, as a mask slid to ensure his impartiality. “That’s for sure.”

  “There, you see!” Jane promptly chose her own interpretation of his words. “You’ve probably had your fill of this isolation. Once you’re back in familiar surroundings, I’m sure you’ll be better. Don’t you agree?” She forced a softness into her voice as she closed in on Heath.

  But it was April who responded, feeling suddenly nauseated. “To the contrary,” she argued knowingly. “You can’t just take a man who remembers nothing and throw him into the middle of things. That could cause tremendous stress.”

  “Ah, the counsellor speaking.” Jane taunted her from a point of false security at Heath’s elbow. “Well, this is the fiancee speaking—”

  “No!” In the maelstrom of emotion, April knew only that she wouldn’t let Heath leave with this woman. “You may have been engaged to Evan but … Heath and I have … our own plans.” Without quite saying it, the implication of a corresponding involvement was there. Now April wondered how Heath would react and she turned her gaze more hesitantly toward him.

  He was one man standing tall, lean, and self-composed with his hair blown across his forehead and his eyes glued to the floor, yet he totally dominated the scene in the small living room. In that instant April knew the facts Jane had offered regarding his background and profession to be true. He had the makings of a diplomat, quiet and stately, and he now showed his political skill to perfection.

  “I believe, ladies, that we all need time to think. Jane”—he looked evenly at her—“perhaps you can find a place to sleep in town. April is not equipped for guests—” “You’re here,” Jane sulked unbecomingly, then shook her head with disdain. “Honestly, Evan, this is ridicu—” “Whatever it may be,” he said summarily, “it is my problem. Now”—he paused to take a deep breath—“you can either go back into town … or return to Washington. I need time. You can tell whomever may have worried that I am alive and well. Beyond that, I make no promises.”

  In April’s eye was the image of the man who had fought his way through the tempest and survived. Even from a position of disadvantage, still unsure of his future, he possessed more strength than many another man. Admiration for him surging, she moved unobtrusively back as Heath firmly guided Jane to the door, then turned her attention completely away as he showed his colleague out.

  Deep in the hearth lay the ashes of the fire, warming so sweetly once, now dead and cold. Trepidation added to the chill that seized her; approaching footsteps sharpened her senses. It was the moment of truth. Back to the room, face to the cold hearth, she waited for him to speak. His presence was a vibrant fact, close behind her now, his aura of command unimpeachable. For agonizing moments the silence held. Finally, with quiet announcement, he spoke.

  “That was quite a show.” The hands she ached to feel warm on her shoulders stayed entrenched in his pockets. “Why did you say what you did?” There were no “darlin’s,” no “sweet Aprils,” simply a question, voiced evenly, nearly void of emotion.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered softly.

  “You’re not a woman not to know.” His chiding hit its mark, pricking her conscience.

  Lowering her head, she shrugged. “I had to.”

  “Why?” When no answer was forthcoming, he turned her to face him. His fingers held the tension she felt throughout her body. “Why, April?” A strong thumb lifted her chin.

  The old, dark mystery lurked in his gaze, demanding her response as she reluctantly met it. In an instant, shame washed over her. “I guess … I … just can’t … believe her …”

  “That makes no sense! Do you think she made the whole thing up?”

  She winced at his sudden impatience. “No! No, I’m sure you are Harley Evan Addison … and that you work with her where she said. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know to look for you. Paul hasn’t even called back yet.”

  “Then what don’t you believe?” he prodded more firmly, his eyes scrutinizing her intently. She wished she could run but his hands held her securely, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders.

  Defensively, her gaze dropped, clinging to the point where his shirt opened to reveal the fine tufts of hair on his chest. Memories of last night’s passion made her tremble, yet gave her an unexpected source of strength. Tilting her chin in defiance, she burst out vehemently, “I can’t believe that you are engaged to her. Not to that woman!”

  “Didn’t like her, huh?” This time, she saw his amusement and loudly countered it.

  “No, I didn’t! Not from the minute I opened that door and saw her standing there so arrogantly. She may be bright and beautiful, but there’s something devious about her. She seemed hard and insensitive. She’s not right for you!”

  “And you are?” All humor vanished, taking with it his softness. In its place was an unfathomable intensity, from which April turned quickly, putting a buffer of distance between them.

  She spoke with soft regret. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But did you intend it?”

  Unwilling to answer him directly, she waffled. “I only meant what I told you. You and Jane seem totally unsuited for one another.”

  “Is that a professional analysis or … a personal one?”

  “Both,” she murmured truthfully, gazing out at the fog-shrouded moors. There was a mystery out there, too. How strange, she mused, to find this puzzling mist after the storm. Surely, now that she knew herself cleared of adultery, there should be peace, happiness. But despite the fact that she was here, alone once more with Heath, there was Jane. If he and Jane had really been in love back in Washington, she was wrong to stand between them now. For this reason alone, her own words of love must go unspoken.

  Memories of the hurt she had suffered at Shane Michaels’s infidelity struck her anew. No wonder this woman had resented her presence; was April not the “other woman”? But had it merely been resentment? Her innermost instinct told her differently. There was something else, though she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Heath’s deliberate calm rescued her from her quandary, only to submerge her more deeply in another. “You spoke of … plans. Our plans. What had you in mind?”

  With her back still to him, her face would not betray her. Willing purpose to her voice, she rationalized her claim. “I only said that to put her at a distance. She wanted you out now. I … I thought I was acting in your best interest.”

  “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle my affairs.”

  “I know that! That’s not what I meant …”

  “The martyr, eh?” His tone chilled her.

  “Not exactly. There’s no sacrifice on my part …” No sacrifice at all to have him with her just a little while longer …

  Lacking the courage to face him, she withdrew into herself. From within her cowering cocoon, she was unaware of his approach until his voice, suddenly softer, that of the man she loved, drew her out.

  “Your qualifications hold their own, do they?” He brought her words back to haunt her with gentle teasing. There was no doubt as to which qualifications he referred.

  His arms slid around her waist, and she hadn’t the strength, much less the desire, to resist. He had taken command and there was sweet satisfaction in yielding to him. Heath was indeed a man of stature. She would have him no other way.

  “It was nice … last night, wasn’t it?” he crooned, fitting the lean lines of his body to her back, her bottom, her thighs.

  “It was,” she whispered soulfully, suddenly desperate to be held, not for passion’s sake but for comfort from her fears. Twirling with a force she hadn’t known she possessed, she buried her face against his shirt, her arms seeking the solidness of his back. He was something to cling to, the eye of her storm. In her heart, April knew it would always be that way.

  Words were unwelcome in the communion of the moment. There were no caresses, no gestures. If Heath shared her need for the brief respite from the
world and its mysteries, she had no way of knowing, save from the strength of the arms that held her to him.

  Then slowly their pressure eased and he set her back. The mask of darkness had fallen over his features, rendering them more harsh and brooding. “I’m going out to the beach,” he said quietly, an invitation to join him noticeably absent. “I do need time to think.”

  April watched his tall form disappear with cold fear in her heart. If only she knew what he was thinking. If only she knew what he felt for her. Was the attraction purely physical on his part? Could he ever love her as she loved him? Or would the past—a past he could not begin to remember—always haunt them?

  Helplessness marred her sights as she showered and dressed, gradually calming herself to a point of reason. Whereas in the past an outfit of jeans and a shirt or sweater had been sufficient in this most remote of homes, now she carefully chose a pair of cranberry wool slacks and a creamy cowl-neck sweater, shunning sneakers in favor of midheeled loafers. Brushing her hair to a fresh-washed sheen, she lightly blushed her cheeks and put a faint coat of pink gloss on her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing and why, though the justification for it continued to elude her.

  Helping herself to the coffee Heath must have brewed earlier, she managed to down a slice of toast, then returned to the bedroom to make the bed, and finally settled down in the living room. The first order of business was to call Paul Watson and she hurried to do so before changing her mind. Dutifully, she passed on what she had learned that morning, swearing her old friend to secrecy as she bade him research both Harley Evan Addison and Jane Miller.

  That done, she squared her shoulders and phoned her mother with grand assurances that she—and her house—had survived the storm intact. There was no mention of the emotional storm that had hit simultaneously, an emotional storm that still swirled, unabated, about her. Guilt at the omission came only after the phone connection had been severed, and then it was mercifully too late. As she had done for most of her adult life, she would weather this storm alone.

  Lofty intent found her seated, moments later, before her Apple, transmitting several days’ worth of her column to the receiver in New York. Taking advantage of her industrious mood, she leafed through the letters that had come the day before, diligently reading those she had missed at first run-through. There was a letter from a man suffering through sudden retirement, a note from a woman whose understanding of her teen-aged daughter had reached an all-time low, and a word about job discrimination from an ambitious woman lawyer. Finally, there was a wife’s poignant plea.

  “Dear Dr. Wilde. I am all for women’s liberation, but not when the liberated woman is my husband’s young secretary and the object of her liberation is my husband. Some women speak of sexual harassment on the job. What of the reverse, when a woman takes the opportunity of a man’s daily presence to beat down his resistance to her eager charms? Where is the justice in that?” It was signed, “Remember-Me.”

  Taking pencil in hand, April roughed out her response. “Dear ‘Remember-Me.’ Your point is well taken. But what you face has little to do with women’s liberation, a very noble ideal, and everything to do with an age-old dilemma. Perhaps you should look closely at your marriage. Is it strong? Has it kept pace with you and your husband as you’ve grown? Most importantly, are there open avenues of communication between your husband and yourself? If you can answer safely in the affirmative, you have no cause to worry. Discuss the matter with your husband. Your fears may be totally unfounded. Be patient and understanding. Perhaps your husband is going through a crisis of his own, one in which your closeness and support can even further cement your relationship. While that young secretary’s behavior is abhorrent, your best line of attack is to withdraw her power from beneath her pretty high-heeled feet. If your husband is unreceptive to her, she will be liberated to seek greener pastures. There is strength in us all. You and yours may find that to pool your resources is the greatest strength of all.”

  How simple it sounded when advised to others. How straightforward and clear. Yet when April tried to analyze her own situation with as much directness, she was stymied. Brooding, she mentally sketched out the letter.

  “Dear Dr. Wilde,” she began, “I’m totally confused. I have this man living in my house and I can’t figure out who he is. Is he Evan? Is he Heath? Or someone else entirely? And then there’s Jane—beautiful blond-haired Jane. Is she the rightful companion? Am I? Or is there somewhere in the world a whole other familial body to which this marvelous man belongs? Where is the eye of the storm now? I can’t see anything clearly!”

  It was some time before she realized that her eyes were filled with tears. The letters beneath her hand blurred, then the sofa, the rug, the room. But the tall form, striding purposefully to stand its lean and muscled height before her, was no illusion. Fear shook her at the emotion she couldn’t hide. Heart on her sleeve, she blotted the moisture from the tips of her long brown lashes and steeled herself against the storm.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Her lapse could not be hidden from Heath’s dark and penetrating gaze. By all accounts, he seemed angry. With one large hand splayed across a narrow denim-clad hip, he glowered at her, then raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, shifting them in turn to the side wall, the floor, and finally back to pierce her once more.

  “Don’t do that!” he growled, his tone held in a tight control reinforced by the sharp angularity of his jaw.

  April forced her gaze to clear. “I-I’m fine. We all have our weak moments, I guess. But I’m all right now.”

  “Weak moments—you?” Where his words might easily have carried sarcasm, there was none. Nor, with his anger having spent itself on his sole outburst, was there hint of another of the varied emotions that may have lurked within his towering frame.

  “Yes, Heath, even me.” She laughed sadly as she lowered her eyes. “I can’t think of you as anyone but ‘Heath.’ I’m sorry. The name ‘Evan’ feels foreign.” When her soft, brown-eyed gaze sought his for reassurance, he smiled politely.

  “Heath is fine. As a matter of fact, I have trouble thinking of myself any other way, too. It’ll take time, I guess.”

  “You still remember nothing? Often the memory returns in vague clumps. Does anything of what Jane mentioned sound familiar?”

  “No.” Anger surged anew, directed at himself or at some other force, but, mercifully, not at her. “It’s all meaningless. I pull a total blank.” Turning, he stalked to the window, where he stood, head down, back straight, feet planted firmly apart.

  An old, familiar tugging, from somewhere deep within her, drew April toward him. Her hand on his shoulder was a heartfelt offer of solace. “It’ll come back. At some point, it’s got to. There are doctors … new techniques and treatments … and time.”

  “Time! That would solve everything! But I don’t have time!” he seethed. “If I do have those responsibilities at the university, I can’t very well hide away here indefinitely. Then there is this family—father, sister, brother. Who knows what responsibilities I have toward them! And there’s Jane … and you …”

  As his voice died away, it softened, along with the expression he showered on April as he turned to face her. “It’s not fair to you, April.” He didn’t touch her; her own hand had fallen away as he turned. She felt the barrier between them, one that was invisible but very, very tangible, and its presence punished her. “Jane was right; I can’t continue to disrupt your life this way.”

  “You’re not—”

  “You can’t really believe that, can you, April? You’re a thinking and feeling woman. My presence has to affect you.” He was looking into her, searching for something. April couldn’t hold out much longer.

  “Oh, Heath,” she whispered helplessly, “of course it has affected me. I wouldn’t be honest if I denied that. But there has been nothing negative about it.”

  He laughed skeptically. “I thought you came out here to get away from everything.”
>
  “I did—”

  “Well, now you’ve gotten yourself right back into the middle of a mess.” His dark gaze held her in rigid suspense. “You were hurt by Michaels, back in New York; now you’re apt to be hurt as badly by me.”

  “No!” Her eyes flashed determination. “No. I know you, Heath. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Not knowingly, April. Certainly not willingly. But what if things … change … when my memory does return. Or, even without that, what if I find that my life in Washington is incompatible with this one? What then? If I turned and walked out of this house now, right now, can you say that you would not be hurt?”

  She couldn’t answer. Her tongue simply would not function, dry and thick as it felt in her mouth. The thought of never seeing Heath again was agonizing. Closing her eyes against the possibility, she turned and tried to flee, only to be caught by the arm and whirled about.

  “Damn it, April.” He hauled her against his chest and held her firmly. “I shouldn’t have let this happen. It was wrong of me to have encouraged you from the start. You’re a very special person, one who doesn’t deserve this.”

  Whether it was the nearness of him, or his calling her a “very special person” that snapped her control and resolve, she would never know. But when she wedged a small space between them to allow her view of his face her eyes were moist again.

  “Don’t take all the credit, Heath,” she cried, her body trembling. “As I recall, you were dead to the world when I first brought you here. And I’m far from being helpless or a child. I’ve had my eyes open through all of this. I don’t need your pity or your sympathy. If you want to leave”—she pulled herself totally free of his arms—“you can go right ahead and leave.” Her finger shook as it pointed to the door. “I won’t have you staying here for my sake alone!”