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What in the hell did that mean? He waited for the older man to expound. And wasn’t sure what to do when, instead, the man turned and walked to an older blue pickup parked opposite the house, climbed in, gunned the engine and drove off.
Without another glance at Duane.
As though Duane didn’t matter at all.
SHE’D MEANT TO DRIVE slowly, to use the hour between Phoenix and Shelter Valley as a calming time, a reconnection with personal peace and the self she’d come to know and love over the past eight years.
Instead of keeping her mind on the things she’d intended, all she could think about was getting home by seven. To be there when Duane arrived.
To feel his arms around her.
It had been a long two weeks.
Too long.
She’d missed him horribly.
And knew their days were numbered.
They couldn’t keep pretending that what they had was working.
Dressed in one of her nicer pairs of jeans, black suede boots and a black sweater that was a favorite of Duane’s, Sophie pushed her Ford Explorer Sport Trac as much past the speed limit as she dared without risking a ticket. She thought about stopping for Chinese takeout rather than going to a restaurant near Tucson as they’d planned. She didn’t want to share him with waitresses and other patrons tonight.
In isolation they were perfect together.
And reality was intruding. Making her ill.
Because reality was not a part of life she could avoid, because she knew her fantasy life with Duane had come to an end, Sophie drove straight home, watching for his car as she pulled off the highway, through town and toward the secluded street of custom homes not far from Matt and Phyllis’s place. Hers was the smallest house on the block, but it was all hers. She’d contracted it, chosen the floor plan and every single color and fixture inside. She’d spent evenings and weekends on-site, checking the progress, and even some days, watching the men work.
And right now, with Duane’s silver Mercedes parked out front, the small, stuccoed structure with its vibrantly colored landscaping had never looked better.
Even with things falling apart around them, she was glad he was here.
It was better to see him than to not see him. For the moment.
Sophie waited while the garage door rose, then pulled in. She’d never had anyone to come home to before. Never had anyone waiting.
“And don’t make too much of it, girl,” she mumbled aloud as she grabbed her purse and climbed out. Her luggage could wait.
Duane’s presence was a one-time thing—an occasional thing at most. She lived alone.
And when one lived alone, one came home to an empty house.
That’s just the way it was.
The way she wanted it to be. Most of the time. The way she needed it to be. Anything else made life messy.
And messy made her sick.
But that didn’t mean she had to ruin this moment, she reminded herself as she opened the door into the house.
Something smelled wonderful.
And not at all like the Chinese dinner she’d envisioned picking up on the way home.
The door hadn’t fully closed behind her before Duane appeared at the end of the hall, holding two glasses of champagne.
“Welcome home, babe.”
With knees gone uncharacteristically weak, Sophie managed the two steps to reach him, steadying herself, and him, with her hands atop his on the glasses, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Long.
And again.
Her mouth opened, her tongue met his, and she didn’t want to let go, to break away and face reality.
Time, society, ages, past mistakes and bulimia all faded away when Duane’s tongue was in her mouth.
“I missed you,” she said, finally pulling back far enough to reconnect with those deep chocolate eyes that could look at her with such warmth.
They weren’t letting her in. Not completely.
But then, it had been two weeks. And times were hard. Their struggles were not a secret.
“Here.” Duane held out her glass, the smile on his lips completely genuine. “Here’s to you coming home to me.” The softness in his voice made up for the slight distance in his gaze.
Their glasses clinked. Looking at each other, they sipped.
“Mmm, this is the good stuff.”
“Only the best for this…for you.”
Duane turned away, saying something about steaks as he set his glass on the counter and rummaged in the refrigerator. Chattering about marinade, he made his way out to the grill on the back patio.
Something was underfoot. The champagne. An apparently very nice dinner prepared. The beautiful rose-filled centerpiece on the table. And…her companion. The completely self-assured, argue-with-God-in-court-and-win Duane Koch was nervous.
And that made her nervous.
Sophie’s stomach clenched and there was no time for happy thoughts. For prevention. She barely made it to the bathroom before the champagne came back up on her.
LUCKILY, IT DIDN’T TAKE Sophie as long to tend to her illness as it did Duane to cook steaks. With too many years of practice she’d largely learned to hide her little forays into the darkness. Only Phyllis, Matt and Annie had ever caught her in the act.
And, on the side of preserving a moment, once she’d regurgitated, she always had an appetite.
Sitting with Duane at her kitchen table, her senses consumed with him, Sophie ate, took a few more sips of champagne. Laughed in the right places. Shared the highlights of this latest performance with him. Told him about meeting up with an old college friend—taking great care to stress that the friend was female.
And she caught up on the past two weeks of Duane’s life.
He’d won his party’s nomination for the senate seat.
Now she understood the celebration. And, most likely, the distance in his eyes, as well.
Her place in his life and his bid for office did not coincide. And the dichotomy was a symbol of all the other struggles their differences created. The ticking of their clock was growing louder.
So, tonight, this celebration was for Duane.
Tomorrow she was going straight to Phyllis.
The counselor, not the friend.
Chapter Five
THERE WERE SO MANY THINGS Duane had to say. And none of them were getting out beyond the inane, superficial conversation he and Sophie had fallen into—largely, he suspected, caused by him.
He reached for his napkin, and his knuckles scraped against that thin piece of metal resting against his thigh, and he took another sip of champagne.
The box was in the car because he’d wanted to surprise her, wasn’t it?
And not so that he could change his mind without her being any the wiser?
“My friend, the one I saw in Chicago, has a show in Phoenix later this spring at the Orpheum. I want you to meet her.”
Sophie’s sweet green eyes met his, an unusual pleading in their depths that had absolutely nothing to do with her friend, and Duane’s appetite receded.
“I’d like that,” he said. “Very much.” Sophie was an incredible woman. He wanted to know everything about her. Wanted to know everyone she knew, to have a chance to care about everyone she cared about. Yet his life had nothing in common with hers.
Her hand, so slim and delicate considering the ropes she wielded, the heavy travelers she pulled open and closed, the scrims and cycs she lowered, rested on the table next to her plate. Duane laid his palm over it.
“I…We need to talk,” he started, then issued a silent curse when he heard the ominous way that had come out—as though he had bad news. “I mean—”
“It’s okay.” Her smile was more sad than anything. She shifted her hand and reversed their positions. “I’ll make this easy for you.”
She knew? How could she have guessed? He hadn’t known himself, for sure, until today, when he’d actually picked up the ring. And he still wasn’t sure. How could she possibly make this easy?
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m going to get this right,” he said, focusing on what he knew. On the man he knew himself to be. Once he committed to doing something, he was in one hundred percent.
Get down, man. On your knee. You know the drill.
“I love you.” That seemed to say everything he was trying to get out.
Which didn’t explain the moisture in Sophie’s eyes. She wasn’t a crier.
“And I love you,” she said. “But that’s not going to be enough, is it?” Her whispered words were lost on him at first, caught up as he was in the haze of panic the moment wrought.
He wasn’t ready to lose her. But as much as he loved being here with her, he wasn’t sure he wanted her in Phoenix, too. Wasn’t sure he could trust himself to risk the life he’d built there.
He was forty-six years old. Reaching goals he’d spent his entire life seeking. Forty-six, not twenty-six. He didn’t have a lifetime stretching ahead to make something of himself.
Those years were streaming behind him. A path to where he was now. To what he might have to give up.
But that’s not going to be enough, is it? Her words finally reached him.
“What does that mean? It’s not enough?”
“We can be in love all we want, but love can’t change the facts. When we’re here, alone, you don’t have to worry about other men looking at me. About me talking with other men. And I don’t have to worry about how I appear to the people who matter in your life. Love isn’t going to make you look any less like those fifty-year-old guys who drive convertibles with the tops down in forty-degree weather when you’re with me. You’d lose credibility.”
Duane didn’t want to hear her.
“No one said it’s going to be easy,” he told her, “or that there wouldn’t be problems.”
He waited for her to help him out—mostly because he had no idea what to do here. She sat watching him, apparently waiting for more.
He wanted—needed—to give her more. But his mind seemed to be frozen. He’d come to propose. He had unresolved issues with proposing.
He cared about her a great deal.
“I know us being together won’t be easy.” He had to say something. They were both waiting on him. “But I can’t walk away from you, Soph. That’s it for me. My bottom line. I can’t walk away.”
Seconds passed. And then some more. God, he wished she’d say something. Anything. Give him some clue to what she was thinking behind that half frown and those tear-glazed eyes. But he made himself wait.
Made himself give her time.
Maybe the struggle wasn’t worth it to her. She was young. Had her whole life ahead of her. Didn’t need to settle for all the problems being with him brought her. Didn’t—
“I…guess I’m not ready to walk away, either,” she said.
Duane tried to tamp down the relief flooding through him. She was letting him off the hook. Again. But he had to be smart here. Responsible. Make sound decisions. “You don’t seem too happy about that.”
Sophie’s shrug said so much. He only wished he could decipher what.
They were at a standstill. Staring at each other. Waiting for something to happen.
Duane dropped to one knee.
“Sophie Curtis, will you marry me?” The words came out exactly as he’d said them every other time he’d asked.
But he’d never had a ring in his pocket.
“Duane, get up.” Sophie tugged on his hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
But their world was quickly crumbling. He had to do something.
“You’re twenty-eight, Soph. You’re going to be wanting kids. And if I don’t start having them soon, I’m going to be too old to play with them. Or even make it to their graduation.”
“You’re forty-six,” she said. “You’ve got a good forty years left in you. At least. I hardly think we have to worry about wheeling your chair to any graduation.”
She was splitting hairs. And so was he.
