A Child Of His Own, page 14
It began with a loud creaking sound as the gears met and set the big machine in motion. Ben felt the floor move beneath his feet and grabbed onto the nearest horse. Dory came up behind him, laughing.
“Does it bring back any memories?”
“You bet it does. When I was a kid my buddies and I used to take the train to Coney Island. The Steeplechase had the greatest carousel I ever saw. Until I saw this one. I’ve got to hand it to you, Dory, it’s a beauty.”
The middle row of horses moved up and down in rhythm to the calliope music that streamed on currents of midnight air.
Ben reached for Dory’s hand and led her down the aisle, weaving between the rows of horses, until they came to an armored carousel horse whose headstall was topped with a magnificent carved plume and whose gold-edged raiment bore the crest of some noble knight.
“My lady, if I may.”
His hands encircled her waist and lifted her up onto the charger’s back.
Unbidden, he jumped up behind her, his hands going around her to grasp the pole as if it were reins.
The gesture stunned Dory into speechlessness. At first, her whole body tensed at the feel of his chest, hard and firm, at her back. But the sweetly scented midnight air was like a tonic. The rhythmic prance of her beloved painted ponies in time to the gay calliope music filled her with warm memories. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes, her head falling back against his shoulder as the tension washed away and she yielded to the safety of his protective embrace.
She took refuge in what he had told her, that she could make tonight disappear with the dawn. Wants, needs, feelings, they were all that mattered when the moon was high and the night breeze rustled her hair, when the heat of his naked chest pressed against her back chased away the chill in the air, and when his strong arms were around her, not letting her fall.
Chapter 12
Dory awakened the next morning feeling something she hadn’t felt in a very long time—happy.
It was a happiness seemingly without rhyme or reason, one that erased the fears that haunted her, and which went against the grain of her own logic. It made her feel giddy and not at all like herself.
Ben had told her that whatever happened between them last night could disappear with the morning’s light if she wanted it to. But the sun was peeking over the treetops and slanting into her bedroom window on this brand-new day, and her skin was still flushed all over and her lips still felt raw and bruised from his kisses, and her cheek was still chafed from the rub of his stubbly chin against it.
She told herself that it had been late, that she’d been struggling with memories and hadn’t known what she was doing. That she was out of her mind for opening herself up to him the way she had.
He should have known that she wasn’t herself last night. How could he have used her vulnerability against her the way he had? Worse, how could she have let him?
In the state she’d been in last night, she could have believed almost anything, even that maybe he cared for her, that the pleasure he derived from her went deeper than the mere physical. She thought she had felt it in his touch, heard it in the rasp of his whisper at her ear, sensed it in the desperate way he had clung to her. Lost in the tumult of passion, she could almost have believed that he loved her, and that she loved him, and that together they could both love and share Jason.
She had even dared to wonder what it would be like to be his wife, to make him breakfast every morning and lie in his arms each night.
Yet morning shed a different light on the subject. Perhaps she had only imagined that he cared for her. After all, he had never told her he loved her. Maybe it was for the best if she just tried to pretend that nothing happened between them. The last thing she needed was to get involved again, least of all with Ben Stone.
Still, if she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never forget the tender way he had put his arm around her shoulders and held her close, and how he had not complained about the salty tears that wet his naked chest as she wept against him. There was an inherent kindness about him that touched her deeply, and she wanted him to know how much she appreciated it when she had needed it the most.
As she lay in bed during those first few minutes of awakening, she wanted to do something special for him, the way he had done something special for her last night. It would be her way of acknowledging last night without having to actually put it into words that she was still too afraid to utter. A special dinner seemed less risky, particularly since Martin and Jason would be there.
Dory got out of bed and went to the window. Raising it, she leaned out with her elbows resting on the sill, and breathed the morning air into her lungs. The sky was still hazy with the dawn. To the east lay a forest dense with oaks and sugar maples. To the west the green-carpeted Catskills gently rolled off into the horizon.
She came to this window every morning to gaze upon the scenery. Over the years she had watched the mountains perform their magic, changing from the red and burnt orange of autumn, to the white sugar frosting of winter, to the way they were now in springtime, verdant and lush and bursting with the promise of summer.
She remembered the summers of her youth, swimming in the clean, cold Neversink River, hiking through the wilderness with her father and grandfather, the chilly winter mornings when her mother would shake her awake to go to school, the crisp autumn afternoons filled with the scent of burning leaves.
She smiled, remembering the county fairs when she would sleep in the hay at night so that she could be close to Minnie, her grandfather’s prize Holstein.
And through every season of her youth, there were the mountains. Year after year they were there, reassuring her with their beauty and their presence. Like her beloved carousel horses, they were her friends.
She asked herself if Ben could ever come to love this place as much as she did. Could he ever settle down in this, her little corner of the world?
Deep in her heart, in that place where her most secret fantasies dwelled, she imagined them all living together, her, Ben, Jason and Martin, with her and Ben running the Dutch Mill and raising Jason together.
A powerful emotion came and went quickly as Dory realized just how much she wanted it to all come true.
She showered and dressed and made the bed, and was downstairs before anyone else was up, even before Martin, who was by nature an early riser. She ate a quick breakfast and hurried outside to work on the carousel. She didn’t want to see Ben just yet. She needed time to think, to sort out her emotions where he was concerned.
A short while later, when the truck from the lumberyard arrived, Dory saw Ben come out of the house. While he was busy with the driver, she slipped back into the house to get Jason ready for preschool. With a kiss goodbye, she sent him off with Martin.
She should have gone back outside to work on the carousel, but she hesitated, knowing that Ben was out there. She chose instead to do some chores around the house to keep her hands busy while her mind continued to forge full steam ahead.
Should she cook a special dinner tonight, or shouldn’t she? She battled with herself over it for an hour or so, until the very thought of it filled her with the same giddiness with which she had awakened.
Reaching up on tiptoe, she pulled down from the top shelf her mother’s old French cookbook, still not certain that she wanted to go through with it. What if Ben misinterpreted it as something more than just her way of saying thank-you? Then again, what if it actually was something more?
“Was that the carousel I heard last night?”
The sound of her grandfather’s voice startled Dory out of her thoughts. She kept her face averted toward the cookbook that was open on the kitchen counter so that he wouldn’t see the deep blush that rose to her cheeks at the mention of last night.
Her pulse was still racing from her encounter with Ben, yet summoning a casual tone, she told him, “I was just showing Ben how it worked.”
“It was kinda late to be out there, wasn’t it?”
“You know me. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping, so I go out there to work on the horses.”
“Was Ben having trouble sleeping, too?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. All I know is, he came out there, we talked for a while, and then he asked for a ride.” Neither her voice nor her manner betrayed the events that had occurred between the time he came out to the carousel and when he had asked for a ride.
Unsuspecting of what she left unsaid, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m planning dinner for tonight.”
He came to stand behind her, and peering over her shoulder, exclaimed, “Coq au vin? When did we turn French?”
“I thought I’d try something a little different for tonight. Where’s your sense of discovery?”
“I gave it up for meat and potatoes.”
“Oh, come on, you’ll love it.”
“Sure, but will Jason?”
“I’ll cook a frankfurter for Jason.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll ask the boy if he wants to trade.”
“Never mind that,” she said in a scolding tone. “If you really don’t want this, I can cook a frankfurter for you, too.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t I take Jason out to eat tonight?”
It was then that she looked up from the recipe, alarm shooting through her at the prospect of dinner tonight alone with Ben. “But what about this delicious dinner I’m planning?”
“You and Ben have it. Jason and I will have burgers and fries.”
The sly old fox. She knew what he was up to. It was his way of getting her and Ben together. What would he think if he knew just how together they had been last night? Blushing even harder, she turned away, and said, “Have it your way. But you’re welcome to stay.”
“Where is Ben this morning, anyway?”
“The lumber arrived earlier, so my guess is he’s probably at the carousel, repairing the roof.”
“I think I’ll go out there and keep him company.” He headed for the door. “Let me know when you have a list ready, and I’ll drive into town.”
When he was gone, Dory expelled the breath that had been trapped in her lungs. That was a close call. There was no need for Martin to know about her intimacy with Ben, at least not until she herself knew where it fit into the scheme of things and was able to come to terms with it.
That was precisely what she had been trying to do when Martin had come into the room. If he had seen her face, he would have known that she wasn’t even looking at the page that had randomly fallen open to a chicken in wine recipe. If he could read her thoughts, he would have known that they had been far, far away from the room itself.
Dory glanced down haphazardly at the cookbook, and sighed. She didn’t get much opportunity to cook gourmet meals. Jason was a finicky eater, preferring frankfurters, hamburgers and pizza. Martin was strictly a meat-and-potatoes man. She had no doubt that he was out there right now telling Ben about the coq au vin he was going to have that evening. She supposed she had no choice now but to go through with it.
A check of the cupboard and the refrigerator revealed that she didn’t have all the ingredients the recipe called for. She quickly jotted down the missing ingredients on a piece of paper—pearl onions, mushrooms, brandy, a bottle of red wine. She brought the end of the pen to her lips and nibbled on it as she contemplated what else was needed.
Sometimes, for dessert, they had the apple pie or the peach cobbler that Mrs. Norton sent home with Jason, or the linzer tarts from the local bakery that were Martin’s personal favorite.
Dory flipped through the pages of the dessert section, studying the possibilities. Then she remembered one night when she had placed some chocolate kisses on the table and Ben had devoured nearly all of them. Grinning like a schoolboy over their teasing, he had admitted to having an obsession for chocolate. Opting for a delicious-sounding chocolate mousse, she scribbled down the rest of the ingredients she needed, and then jotted down a few everyday items, hoping they would divert Martin’s suspicions, yet knowing all the while that nothing ever escaped his notice.
She found him at the carousel, talking to Ben who was standing atop the ladder, hammering a piece of lumber into place.
The sound of her approach was lost in the noise of the hammering, giving Dory a few moments to observe them.
Martin was leaning back against one of the horses, merrily chatting away.
Ben wasn’t saying a word. Stripped of his shirt, his upper body glistened in the rays of light that streamed in through the hole in the roof. He looked so beautiful, his muscles bursting with power, the way she remembered them from last night. His head was tilted upwards, sunlight sparkling like diamonds off the dark hair that spilled past his face.
The sight of him took Dory’s breath away. But what did she expect? Since the moment she had met him, he’d had that effect on her. But it was more than his physical beauty that rendered her speechless. Last night she had discovered the kind and gentle soul beneath the masculine brawn. With a shuddering start, Dory realized that she loved him.
She swallowed hard and stepped up onto the carousel to announce her presence.
Martin came forward to greet her. “Dory,” he exclaimed, gesturing around them, “I had no idea you’d accomplished so much. Fine work, my girl.”
She had to raise her voice to be heard over the hammering. “I have a list for you.”
He took the slip of paper from her hand and scanned it. “Hmm. Semisweet chocolate. Well, if they don’t have it at Bill’s Grocery, I’ll just get the regular kind.”
“No!” The swiftness of her response startled them both. She gave a little laugh to cover her embarrassment at having spoken so emphatically. “What I mean is, it has to be semisweet. The recipe calls for it.”
With a sardonic twinkle in his eye, he asked, “What recipe is that?”
Grudgingly, she answered, “Chocolate mousse.”
“More French stuff. Hmm.”
“Stop sounding so suspicious.”
But the smile on his weathered face as he ambled off told her that he knew she was up to something. She watched him go, thinking, if only he knew.
Caught up in her banter with Martin, Dory wasn’t aware that the hammering had ceased until she turned around and saw Ben standing at the foot of the ladder.
There was a strange, unreadable look on his face and a steeliness in his eyes that rooted her to her spot. Was he displeased over her plans for dinner? Had she assumed too much?
Dory shrank inwardly at the deep, dark gaze that was focused intently upon her face. She turned to look over her shoulder, hoping to call Martin back, but with a spray of pebbles beneath its tires the car peeled off down the dirt road, and she knew it was impossible. Sucking in her breath, she turned back to Ben.
“I should have asked you if you like French food, but I—”
“I love it.” He spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact monotone.
Dory felt her heart sink. Was he just being polite?
“If you would rather go with my grandfather and Jason into town, I understand.”
“Damn it, Dory, why are you being so solicitous?”
She was stunned by his reaction. Perhaps he had followed his own advice and made last night disappear with the dawn. Feeling suddenly foolish for her effort, she stammered, “I just thought...I wanted you to know...that I appreciate...that is...”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said, turning away with a disgusted look on his face.
He was visibly angry, but as she stood there feeling foolish, Dory was confused as to whom he was angry with, her or himself.
Sensing an explosive air all about him, she approached him cautiously, careful to maintain a safe distance between them. In a softly inquisitive voice she asked, “Ben, are you angry with me?”
Ben closed his eyes in anguish. He could never be angry with her, not when she had filled the hole inside of him last night that he had needed so desperately to be filled.
He had lain awake the rest of the night, thinking about their encounter at the carousel and the terrible need it aroused in him. He had tried to tell himself that he wanted her because she was there. Icing on the cake, so to speak. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want her? It wasn’t his lust for her that scared him, though. What scared him most was that even as his mouth had been on hers, his hands closing around that firm, female flesh, he had known it came down to more than mere physical desire.
Lots of women had smooth skin and soft lips, and after all, arousal came easily to a man who had spent three years in only the company of other men. But what he felt for this particular woman went beyond the basic instinct to couple. It was more than just her beautiful face and alluring smile. There was an essence about her, a special kind of magic that came from her being simply who she was, and that essence somehow quelled his fears. What he felt for her was want and need combined until he could not tell where one emotion began and the other ended. It was her he wanted, with her sea-green eyes sparkling with intelligence, her smile giving him hope, her body offering him forgiveness for the sins of his past.
He had lain awake in bed all night, trying to sort it all out. Dory, Jason, his feelings for them both, and where, if anywhere at all, he fit in. It was the same thing he had asked himself countless times before. Only last night had been different. With the coming of dawn, something had changed. The old feelings of pain and bitterness were still there. The physical need he had for Dory was as strong and overwhelming as ever.
He craved the feel of her, the scent of her, the way her hands drove him wild with anticipation. He admired her beauty and her intelligence. But most of all, he admired her courage. She could not have felt any less afraid and vulnerable last night when she told him about Eddie and the fire than he did right now. In the face of that quiet courage, how could he offer her any less?
He turned to look into her frightened eyes. Softly, he said, “No, Dory, I’m not angry with you. It’s myself I’m angry at.”
