Carlie collapsed on the couch. Ben had thought she’d been pregnant with Kevin’s child and then had aborted the baby? She let her head fall into her hands and the tears she’d held at bay ran from her eyes. How could he have believed that she could have been that heartless? Shuddering, she drew an old afghan to her neck. God, what a mess! She wished she could stop the cold that settled deep in her soul. She’d loved Ben, believed he’d loved her and yet he could be swayed by such vicious lies. And he didn’t even know the truth. She supposed that he never would.
So why would he believe such horrid lies?
Because his brother died and he felt guilty. But he didn’t have the right to believe the distortions of Kevin’s letters. The least he could have done was face her.
Closing her eyes, she remembered all the guilt, all the pain that had seared through her soul. She’d felt somehow responsible for Kevin’s death because she hadn’t loved him, because she’d never felt for him what he’d sworn he felt for her, because she’d fallen in love with his younger brother.
Though Kevin had left no suicide note, the general consensus in town was that Kevin had killed himself. He’d been unhappy and troubled for years. Some final straw had caused him to drive into the dilapidated garage of his tiny house, close the door and leave the Corvette running.
Carlie had gone to the funeral hoping to speak with Ben, but the Powells had kept their distance from the rest of the mourners and the icy glares she received from Ben’s parents kept her from approaching the grieving family. Donna had returned from the Midwest to bury her son, and George, looking pale and wan, had made his wishes clear: no one was to bother the family. Especially not Carlie Surrett.
Carlie hadn’t wanted to intrude; she’d just wanted to talk to Ben. She’d seen him in the funeral parlor and again at the grave site but he’d never so much as glanced her way. Standing still and straight, like the soldier he would soon become, he’d stared at a point far in the distant hills while Reverend Osgood had given a final blessing over the coffin.
The entire town had been stunned by Kevin’s unfortunate death. Gold Creek was a small community and the loss of one of its young citizens was a shock. Friends, family and acquaintances had come out in droves, paying their respects and grieving. For weeks after Kevin was buried people had spoken of the Powells’ “tragic loss” while shaking their heads.
Carlie had tried to see Ben, before and after the funeral, but he’d refused her calls, and sent back her letters, unopened. Desperate, she’d even plotted to go to the Powells’ home on the outskirts of town where Ben was rumored to be staying with his father and demand that he see her.
Rachelle had tried to talk her out of it. Brenda had advised her to let time go by. Her parents had told her that the Powells deserved their privacy in their time of loss.
So Carlie had waited, working up her nerve, planning what she would say to Ben. By the time she’d found her courage and was ready to tell him that they were going to be parents, Ben had already
taken off. She heard through the grapevine that he’d left town for the army. “That’s what Patty Osgood says,” her friend, Brenda, had told her three weeks after the funeral. They’d been seated at the counter in the drugstore and sipping lemonade. Brenda had swirled her ice cubes with her straw. “I usually take what Patty says as gospel, if you know what I mean. She hears all the gossip in town in church, y’know. If I were you, I’d forget him.”
But he’s the father of my child, Carlie had wanted to scream and had held a protective hand over her abdomen.
The rumor that Ben had joined up had proved true and Carlie had been left trying to mend her broken heart, hoping that Ben would call or write.
She’d started cramping the day after she found out that he was gone. The bleeding, just a few drops at first, followed. She’d lost the baby that one night and her romantic dreams of Ben had turned out to be the foolish wishes of a girl caught in a one-sided love affair: she’d never heard from him again.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, refusing to shed any more tears for a past that could never be changed. “Stop it, Carlie! Get a grip, would you?” Angry with her runaway emotions, she shoved herself upright and walked to the kitchen where she found a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass of Chablis.
“Not a good sign,” she told herself as she took an experimental sip and felt the cool wine slide down her throat. “Not a good sign at all. Drinking alone.” But she didn’t care, not tonight, and she wasn’t going to sit here in the dark crying over Ben Powell or his ridiculous accusations. Let him think what he wanted. It didn’t matter.
So why couldn’t she convince herself?
Her stomach rumbled though it was barely five o’clock and she remembered that she’d missed lunch. The photography shop had been busy and during the noon hour, she’d driven to the hospital and visited her father. Later, there hadn’t been any time to grab anything to eat.
Still, food wasn’t appealing. Without a lot of enthusiasm she fixed herself a small dinner of crackers, cheese and apple slices. Sipping her wine, she ate the less-than-exciting meal and didn’t taste anything, not realizing how the time was passing as she wasted the evening thinking about Ben, the man who had sworn he’d never wanted her. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
* * *
WRONG? HE’D BEEN wrong about Carlie? For long over a decade? Ben drove through the rain-washed streets and swore under his breath. He couldn’t trust her, of course. She was probably lying again, but the anguish in her clear blue eyes had nearly convinced him. She might be lying but she believed her lies!
“Damn,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing against the rain drizzling down his windshield. Could he have been so stupid not to realize that Carlie had given him her virginity that night so long ago? Had he been deluding himself, wasting time hating her for a decade? Not that he’d had all that much experience himself and he’d been so caught up in his own passion that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. She hadn’t said anything and he hadn’t asked.
Later, upon finding the letters in Kevin’s house and reading between the lines, thus learning of Carlie’s pregnancy, Ben had felt as if a hot knife of betrayal had been twisted in his heart. The thought that she’d made love to Kevin had burned like acid in his gut and he’d thrown up. What had been so special between them suddenly seemed dirty and incestuous and ugly. His blossoming love for her had withered quickly into hatred, a hatred his family had helped nurture.
So why was he half believing her and second-guessing himself? Because he wanted her. Even though he professed to hate her, he couldn’t help remembering the feel of her body against his, the way her lips rounded when she moaned, the curve of her neck when he held her close. His fingers clenched hard over the steering wheel and he nearly missed stopping for a red light. At the last minute he slammed on his brakes. A furious horn blasted from behind him.
“Damn,” he said under his breath.
Another impatient honk warned him that the light had changed yet again, and he tromped on the accelerator, the back wheels spinning on the wet pavement. At the next corner, he wheeled into the parking lot of a gas station and cut the engine.
He climbed out of the cab and waved to the attendant, Joe Knapp, a man who’d gone to school with him years before. Joe had been captain of the football team way back when and after school, when he’d had his leg crushed while working in the woods for Fitzpatrick Logging, Joe’s dreams of a career in football had been destroyed, as well. Kind of like Kevin. Only Joe had survived, married a hometown girl, Mary Beth Carter, and seemed happy enough with his wife and kids.
Scowling to himself, Ben shoved the nozzle of the pump into the gas tank and listened as the liquid poured into his truck.
He couldn’t trust Carlie. Couldn’t! Oh, but a part of him would love to. That same rebellious part that still wanted to kiss her senseless and make love to her forever.