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She stared at his face—the lean lines, defined cheekbones, straight nose and green, green eyes. Everything was the same…except for the tiny lines around his eyes and mouth and the gray in his blond hair. Jean was right; he was fine-looking, even more so than she’d recalled. And he was now a man instead of the boy she had given herself to.
Seeing that he was waiting for an answer, she collected herself. “Of course I remember you.”
I’ll never forget you.
“Earlier you acted as if we’d never met, never…”
He let the unfinished sentence hang between them, and to stop the nervousness in her stomach she slowly took the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it on her desk. She chose her next words carefully. “I didn’t think my colleagues would be interested in my girlish infatuation.”
“Infatuation?” He raised a dark blond eyebrow. “Wasn’t it more than that?”
To me, it was.
But the words that came out of her mouth were “No, I don’t think so. You left and never came back and I got on with my life.” She hated that she couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice.
He knew she was lying and trying to hide it. He remembered that about her. She had a hard time lying, especially to her mother. He used to tease her about it. But through the nervousness, he could hear the hurt in her voice. He should’ve gone back. He’d never wanted to hurt her, but he’d gotten so caught up in his own turmoil that he could only think about himself. Looking at her, he regretted that.
He couldn’t help asking, “Did you wait for me?”
Every minute, every hour of every day.
“Of course not,” she denied emphatically.
She was lying again. He could tell by the way she ran her hand along the edge of the desk. He was making her nervous. Why? He just wanted to talk.
The terse chitchat was disconcerting her. She felt as if her emotions were in a blender and someone had pushed the high button and any minute she was going to explode all over the room.
“I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly, reaching for her purse. “I’m expected at the hospital.”
Jackson was taken aback by her sudden departure and he was thinking of ways to keep her talking a little longer. He saw a picture on her desk. He walked over and picked it up. It was a family portrait of her parents, herself and another young woman. Her mother had been pregnant all those years ago, and this had to be the baby. Emily had so many problems with her mother’s pregnancy, but judging by their smiling faces everything had obviously worked out.
“This must be your sister,” he said.
“Yes, that’s Rebecca. We call her Becca,” she replied, and swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
Why didn’t he leave? She didn’t want to talk to him.
“She looks like you when you were seventeen.”
“Yes, everyone says that,” she found herself saying. “But her hair is lighter and our personalities are completely different. Becca’s very outspoken and direct. She’s always talking and laughing and getting involved in things that my parents disapprove of. She’s constantly arguing with my mother and—”
She stopped, unable to believe she was telling him all this. For a moment, it seemed like old times when she used to pour her heart out to him.
“Sounds as if she’s a lot like you,” he said, and carefully placed the picture back on her desk.
“In ways I guess we are,” she admitted, knowing that Becca was stronger than she ever hoped to be. Her mother would never be able to force Becca to do anything against her will. Becca was strong-willed and stubborn, and she had her own views on everything. Emily had never been that opinionated or unyielding. She was weak…weak and…
Don’t think about the baby. Don’t think about her now.
“I’ve got to run,” she said in a detached voice. “Is there something you wanted to see me about?”
Again he was thrown by her coolness. She clearly had no interest in talking to him. Had his callous behavior almost two decades ago destroyed any chance of their having a normal conversation?
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I wanted to talk about old times. Maybe take you to dinner.”
A paralyzing fear gripped her, and she fought to maintain her composure, her control. Jackson Talbert wasn’t getting to her again. Talk? Dinner? Absolutely not! She had to escape from him as quickly as possible.
“I’m sorry, I’m too busy, but it was nice seeing you again,” she lied, moving resolutely toward the door.
“Emily?”
Against her will, she halted. It was the way he said her name—soft and persuasive with a deep, husky nuance. It was the same way he always used to say it on the beach, before his lips claimed hers…before he’d kiss her into oblivion…kiss her into forgetting everything but him. How could a voice, a sound, obliterate years of pain, years of hating Jackson Talbert? She didn’t know, but just like that, she felt herself being pulled toward him.
“Aren’t you curious about why I never came back?”
Those words held her spellbound and suddenly she desperately wanted an answer. She turned slowly around.
“Yes, I am,” she said, and she wondered if that low, aching voice was hers.
He smiled and her stomach tied into a painful knot of pure need—something she’d never experienced with any other man. What was she doing? she asked herself. Walk out that door and don’t look back.
Go. Go. Go.
But her feet didn’t move.
Something stronger than herself kept her rooted to the spot. All these years she’d believed that he’d simply used her for a good time, a vacation fling—but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d had a reason for not returning to her, for not calling. She needed to find out—for her own sanity. She needed to justify what had happened back then. If she could do that, maybe the dreams would stop…. Maybe she could let the memory of her daughter go.
“Good. There’s this little Italian restaurant I go to when I’m in town,” he was saying. “It’s not far from the medical center.” He checked his watch. “We could be there in less than twenty minutes.”
She gripped her purse strap, knowing she was about to take a step that could change so many things. Was she ready? She swallowed. “I really have to go to the hospital first,” she told him. “I can meet you there in two hours.” To her surprise, she made the decision quickly and easily.
“Two hours?” He frowned. “That long?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I don’t rush my patients. I try to be attentive to their needs.”
“The dedicated doctor.” He smiled again.
She didn’t respond.
He reached for a pen and pad from her desk. He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “That’s the address and my cell phone. Just in case you get tied up.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll see you at the restaurant,” he said, and walked through the door.
She stared at the paper and began to question her decision. She didn’t need two hours at the hospital. Seeing Mrs. Williams wouldn’t take that long. She wanted to go home and shower and change into something more feminine, more… She was having dinner with Jackson Talbert, Emily reminded herself with a sense of panic. The father of her child. She couldn’t help wondering how he’d say her name if she told him that. She shuddered. It was her secret, and after tonight she’d never see Jackson again.
She’d only accepted his invitation because she had to hear his version of the past, his explanation for disappearing from her life. Then she could put Jackson out of her heart forever. As long as she remembered that, she’d be fine.
SHE SPENT LONGER at the hospital than she’d planned, and barely had enough time to shower and change. She went through her closet repeatedly before she decided what to wear. For someone who was seeing Jackson only once and only to hear about the past, she was a little too excited, too eager. She tried to curb those feelings, without success. She felt seventeen again and she knew that tonight was a bad decision, but it was too late to do anything about it. Or was it? She could just not show up and let him get a taste of what it was like to wait for someone who was never coming. Oh, yeah, that would be sweet revenge. She chewed on her lip and had to admit she wasn’t out for revenge. She’d gotten beyond that, thank God. Now she just needed answers…about the past.
She gazed at herself in the mirror. She had on a pale pink vest with turned-up collar and a long maroon skirt that whispered around her ankles. Her dark hair hung loose to her shoulders and her makeup was simple—some mascara and liner, a slick of lip gloss. With her olive complexion she didn’t wear much, but in the evenings a little helped. At least it eased the tiredness in her eyes.
Noticing the clock, she realized she had to hurry. She slipped on a pair of sling-back heels and headed for the door. Traffic was a nightmare, as always, but she made it on time. Jackson was already there and she was shown to his table. The restaurant, which was unfamiliar to her, was small, but had a warm, pleasant atmosphere with its linen tablecloths, candlelight and soft music. Wine bottles and glasses seemed to be everywhere, and green plants adorned the nooks and crannies.
Jackson stood as she reached the table. She saw that he too, had changed. He now had on a dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt that emphasized his lean good looks.
He smiled, taking in her new appearance. For a moment he was speechless. He had known the young, enticing Emily, and today he’d met the professional Emily, but now he was staring at Emily, the woman. Wow was all he could think. She was dressed to perfection; even her makeup was flawless. He remembered she’d rarely worn it back then. With her coloring she didn’t need adornment, but tonight it was perfect, setting off her beautiful face and dark eyes.
Those glorious eyes—he never tired of gazing into them. They used to be tantalizing and bright, but now they held shadows, shadows he knew nothing about. Maybe her life hadn’t been all that rosy. His certainly hadn’t. A lot of things had happened in the intervening years…. But none of them would be discussed tonight. They—
He pulled himself up short. He was reacting as if he and Emily had a future. After tonight they’d probably never see each other again. Somehow he didn’t feel good about that.
He wanted to tell her why he hadn’t come back and she wanted to listen. He was aware that she had ambivalent feelings about him and, if nothing else, he had to set the record straight. She still might not understand, but at least she’d know the truth.
“I ordered wine,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure,” she answered as the waiter handed her a menu.
She inhaled deeply, trying to gather enough strength to get through this.
Jackson approved the wine, and the waiter poured it into glasses that sparkled in the candlelight. “Are you ready to order, Mr. Talbert?”
Jackson put down his menu. “House salad and linguine for me, Carlo, as always, but the lady might need a moment.”
“No, no,” she said promptly. “I’ll have the green salad—vinaigrette on the side. Roasted garlic chicken breast with pasta—no sauce.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter responded, then took their menus and walked away.
Jackson stared at her. “You eat healthy, don’t you?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I try.”
He leaned back in his chair. “A doctor, Emily. You made that dream come true. I bet your parents are proud.”
She took a sip of wine. “Yes, my mother loves telling people about her daughter, the doctor.”
“Having met your mother, I can imagine that.”
She tilted the glass to her lips once again. She’d talked endlessly about her mother to Jackson. She’d confided her innermost secrets, her struggle with her mother’s pregnancy, her strict morals and unreasonable discipline. Jackson knew all about her problems with Rose, but he didn’t know the worst part.
“Evidently you didn’t go into your father’s hardware business,” she said, deftly changing the subject.
“No,” he murmured, “I didn’t. That’s what I—”
Before he could tell her anything, their salads arrived and conversation was interrupted.
Sprinkling vinaigrette over hers, Emily asked, “Do you come to Houston often?”
“Maybe once a month. We have a lot of customers here. Our new program cuts down on work, and on the expenditure of time and money. It’s been very successful and it keeps me traveling.”
“Everyone at the office is raving about the program you installed for us.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You haven’t tried it?”
She glanced up. “No, but I will. I just hate taking time away from my patients to learn technical things.”
He leaned toward her, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It’ll make your life so much easier. Simply by hitting a key, you can pull up a patient’s history, his drug chart, his last visit, your recommendations and diagnoses. Then you speak into a headphone to update any chart. The computer will recognize your voice. This will save tremendously on paperwork. The hardest part is getting all the information into the computer and keeping it current, but I’m sure you have people to do that.”
She was mesmerized by the glow in his eyes, which clearly revealed how much he loved his work.
The waiter removed their salads and their food was brought out.
They ate in silence for a while, then Jackson asked, “How’s your chicken?”
“Fine,” she replied, swallowing a bite. The food was delicious and she was hungry. Having skipped lunch, she was very conscious of that.
“Next time you should try the linguine. It’s the best I’ve ever eaten,” he said.
Next time. There would be no next time. At least not with Jackson.
He asked if she wanted dessert and she refused, but asked for another glass of wine. She felt she needed it.
Jackson twisted his wineglass, watching her, and his thoughts drifted. He was seeing Emily on the beach with nothing but the moonlight on her soft, smooth skin. So many things about her surfaced—things he’d thought he’d forgotten. Her uninhibited smile, her sharp intelligence and the incredible beauty she was so unaware of.
His gaze heated her senses and she rushed into speech. “You were going to tell me why you didn’t come back.”
Engrossed in his memories, he was startled for a second. He took a deep breath and tried to find the words. “When I left Rockport that winter, I was unsure about my life,” he began slowly. “My parents were pressuring me to come into the hardware business, while I wanted to go out on my own and start a computer company. I had a friend who was interested in the same thing.”
“You told me that years ago,” she reminded him.
His eyes caught hers. “Yes, I told you a lot of things about myself.”
She looked away and carefully placed her napkin on the table. “We both did that.”
“Two kids eager to become adults,” he sighed.
“You were an adult,” she said. “I was the kid.”
“I guess you were,” he admitted, feeling guilty because he’d taken advantage of her young spirit. “But you were so delightful, so—”
She cut in. “Why didn’t you go into your father’s hardware business?”
He studied her for a moment, then answered, “The decision was made for me.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. “By whom?”
“My parents.”
