Necessary Secrets Page 12

  “Then why was she so brutal to the radio?”

  “Figure out what the radio means to her and you’ve got your reason why she smashed it.” Lawrence patted Jon’s back encouragingly. “I’m supposed to go into town with her tomorrow. Just for some groceries and look into those come-alongs. Why don’t you go instead? Take her out to supper. We’ll hold down the fort and it’ll give you a chance to talk to her. Maybe you can get her to tell her doctor about her symptoms.”

  Jon couldn’t imagine Sylvie meekly obeying him, but he doubted she’d listen to anyone else, either, even Lawrence. He nodded slowly. Perhaps a bit of time away from the ranch might get her to open up about Rick.

  Damn. He’d told himself to bide his time. Let her start that conversation. He wouldn’t force her.

  Not like he’d forced the two of them around, while helping himself to the sweet skin of her neck and shoulders.

  Lawrence gave him one last pat and sauntered back toward the bunkhouse. Jon glanced over at the office window, finding Sylvie still at her desk, her shoulders hunched a bit too tightly. She needed him to push her into getting help, whether she admitted it or not.

  And with his steamroller style, he could do it.

  Jon didn’t bother to knock at the door. If she could display herself in just her nightgown to the whole front yard, she wouldn’t mind him walking in on her.

  She looked up when the door swung open. Fatigue hung from her expression, and yet the shoulders straightened sharply when she saw who entered.

  “Working late?” he asked, keeping his voice bland.

  “Just finishing up some bill paying. I’m going to bed shortly.” Her mouth pursed to a firm slash across her face.

  Had he not seen her through the window, he would have believed her. She stood up briskly, and aligned her invoices into a businesslike stack before returning them to the filing cabinet, a ridiculous action considering her attire. And her damn shaking hands. He could see how Lawrence, way out in the front yard, hadn’t believed there was a problem. She hid it well.

  “Is there something you need?” she asked him. Even her voice sounded brisk and professional. Yeah, of course she was, dressed in a silk nightgown meant more for the privacy of a bedroom. One that had a wide, king-size bed. And decent curtains to shut out the world.

  “I just stopped by to tell you that I’ll be taking you into town tomorrow.”

  “Lawrence is, thanks.”

  He ignored the dismissal. “No. I am. We switched duties. We need to talk.”

  She slammed the filing cabinet closed. “We’ve already been through this, Jon—”

  “It’s not about Rick. It’s about you.”

  “Me?” She gaped at him. Well, finally he’d caught her off guard.

  “Why don’t we have a bite to eat while we’re in town? We can go to some old place you haven’t been for a while.”

  “What’s all this about?” Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t want a date, Jon, thank you all the same.”

  “You need to see your doctor for more than just the baby, Sylvie. You haven’t been sleeping or eating right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He gritted his teeth. The Mitchell stubbornness. Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned about it. His voice low and soft, he called upon all the patience he’d acquired as a police officer. “I’m only thinking of what’s best for you, Sylvie.”

  She stopped fussing with some files on top of the cabinet. Immediately, she brushed back a loose line of blond hair. He spotted her lips parting.

  Had he said her name any differently? She seemed to soften when it had slid from his mouth.

  And when she glanced at him, her eyes, no longer the cold gemstones they’d been a moment before, melted into a fluid, translucent blue green. The color of a deep, dark ravine filled with rushing water, freshly melted from some mountain snowpack.

  She took a step toward him, and her nightgown danced around her body. He tore his gaze from the swells and dips of the silky material and found, to his amazement, desperation in her eyes.

  Desperation? He couldn’t move.

  “Is that what you really want, Jon? To talk at the local diner about my sleeping habits? Or are you here to finish off what you started out by the line shack?”

  Gone was the tight mouth, the ramrod-straight posture and the hard look. They’d dissolved like the sugar in his hot morning coffee, leaving him both cautious and curious as he watched a soft pout form on her parted lips. Her shoulders dipped as she reached for the low collar of her nightgown.

  Her hands still shook, though.

  Slowly she slipped each tiny button free, and then, in one languid movement, she shrugged her shoulders. Her delicate nightgown slid like warm water to the floor.

  Chapter 9

  Jon swallowed, unable to move. She wore only the slimmest of panties, a plain white pair cut high and sweeping low below her slightly burgeoning belly.

  She was ripening fast before his eyes. The mere glimpses he’d had earlier today didn’t do her body justice. Her heavy breasts rose and fell rhythmically, and below them was the same softly rounded belly he’d cupped today. The one that cradled his brother’s child.

  He shook off the dangerous desire and stormed past her to the windows. Yanking shut the thin curtains, he growled, “If you don’t mind, I think this sort of thing doesn’t need to be exhibited to all the world.”

  He spun back around in time to catch her slight frown and lush lips biting together. She bent down and pulled the voluminous nightgown up past her knees, her hips, her full, lavish breasts. “I guess you’ve answered my question.”

  He’d expected her tone to be petulant, but it was hurt that rang clearly through the room. He cringed inwardly.

  “Sylvie,” he said, coming up in front of her and gently doing up the tiny buttons, his uncooperative hands fumbling with the silk, as if they didn’t want any part of his sudden prudish behavior. His hands had no idea how little self-control he had. Or perhaps they did. “Would you have done this kind of thing a year ago?”

  Her eyebrows flew up in shock. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m betting you wouldn’t have. But look at you, Sylvie. You can’t sleep. You can’t eat. And you have nightmares, don’t you?”

  Surprise struck filled her features. “How did you know?”

  His hands settled on her shoulders and he revisited the urge to pull her close. “What happened to you in Bosnia was traumatic. You lost someone you cared about. You watched him die—”

  She pushed him back. Spinning around, she finished the task he’d abandoned. Jon could see her hands shaking as his had. “I can’t talk about it. So please don’t say any more.”

  He caught her and turned her, firming up his grip on her shoulders so she couldn’t escape. “I’m not forcing you to tell me anything, Sylvie!” Immediately he calmed and, seeing she’d shut her eyes, he ordered, “Sylvie? Sylvie, open your eyes!”

  When she obeyed him, he went on. “Listen, I don’t want you to relive that night over and over again. Don’t tell me anything, if you don’t want to. But listen! You’re suffering from emotional shock. Maybe post-traumatic stress disorder. You went from a traumatic situation straight into a totally different life-style, without any transition. And pregnant at the same time. Life has just beat up on you, and you have to tell your doctor about it. Understand?”

  She didn’t move or speak or even blink. In him rose an indignant fury at the military, who would counsel soldiers returning from dangerous theaters of operation like Afghanistan but who’d allowed Sylvie to slip through their system’s cracks. “You have to tell your doctor. Understand?” he repeated.

  He watched as the hollow pain blurred her eyes. She remained rigid, staring at him with hurt and quiet begging until the truth slammed hard into him.

  He could never again ask her about Rick. Never.

  He bit back the full extent of his decision. In two months the summer would be ov
er and he’d return to Toronto. To the job he loved and at which he’d been determined to excel, to fight back against the crime that had killed his father.

  To his lonely little house in a small town outside of the city.

  The house filled with Rick’s untouched effects.

  Despite the military’s promises of a full report, he knew he’d never learn what really happened. He couldn’t fight back against the crime that had killed his brother. And it would be wrong to force the truth from Sylvie.

  Wrong? He gave himself a mental smack. It was more than wrong. It would devastate her, and who knew how the pain would affect her baby, his brother’s child?

  The futility drifted between them like a cold draft, and he dragged her close to him to squeeze it away. Even as he clung to her, an overwhelming part of him ignored his fragmented good sense. Hormones surged into action, sloshing around inside him like scalding coffee in a paper cup during a high-speed car chase.

  He should leave now. What good would it do either of them if he stuck around? She needed a doctor, not a cop with the courage to battle street crime in their country’s biggest city but not enough guts to open his dead brother’s barrack box.

  And he didn’t need to torture himself with Sylvie, who exuded a ripening lust he should in no way sample. He’d discounted sibling rivalry weeks ago, but, hey, maybe sibling rivalry was the root of this insane attraction. After all, Rick, as young as he was, had caught her eye.

  Jon bristled. He’d never wanted for women, even when some roving female eye had seen his wedding band. During his marriage, he hadn’t fooled around, but the women had still offered. Sylvie, however, had been nothing but cool to him. Until out by the line shack. And here, tonight. Had he wanted her only because she hadn’t offered herself? And when she had, did the allure lose its appeal?

  Maybe there was something about wanting what didn’t belong to him and never could. Something that made him ache with need.

  Sylvie wasn’t his. Period. And he’d better get used to it.

  So why couldn’t he let go of her?

  “I’m taking you in to see your doctor, Sylvie. Tomorrow.”

  Snuggled against his shirt, inhaling the scent of Jon’s fresh shower and hot skin, she nodded. “All right.”

  She found it easier to stay buried in his arms than to face him. The torrent of desperation that had hit her a few minutes ago slowly drained to a narrow trickle. Since leaving Bosnia, she’d waited for emotion, any emotion to fill her again, but there had been nothing. One pale day after another. Then Jon’s kisses this afternoon had unlocked a door inside of her, and instead of all the welcoming life returning, only desperation flooded in.

  All she’d wanted was to feel. Something, anything, and with Jon here, she’d wanted to feel so badly, she’d peeled away her nightgown to seek fulfillment on an instinctive, animal level. Pure, raw sex she’d heard so much about but never experienced.

  Abruptly Jon pulled back, and cool air flowed in between them. Breaking the embrace completely, she walked over and lifted a tissue from the neat pile on the filing cabinet. She dabbed her eyes. Then, finding the action too frivolous, she gave them both a harsh swipe. “You’re right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “I would never have behaved like this a year ago. I knew something was wrong. First I chalked it up to hormones, then to just making the transition to civilian life.” She drew in her breath and, feeling a bit restored, she straightened. “Today, as I watched you lead Stampede back to the paddock, I knew something had to be wrong with me. And just now…”

  She couldn’t mention her outrageous behavior of a moment ago. And the look on his pity-filled face was answer enough to the question she’d silently posed to him. Whatever scrap of lust he’d had back there at the line shack had dissipated. Especially now he’d seen her ugly, distorted body, all swollen and due to swell more. She must look awful in the harsh fluorescent light, breasts huge and belly threatening to hide her feet from her view.

  He was only interested in the health of his nephew or niece. That much was clear. There could never be anything more between them.

  “Well,” she said, slipping into the most private booth in the town’s best—and only—diner. “The doctor said he couldn’t give me anything like a prescription for antidepressants, but he had some pamphlets and suggested I take a few natural remedies.” She pulled out a prescription paper. “Evening primrose oil and some extra vitamins.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She smiled at Jon as he waited for her to continue. “More importantly, he did agree that it was post-traumatic stress disorder. He says I have all the classic symptoms.” She gave a shaky laugh, trying to sound upbeat. “You know, funny thing is, I feel better. Haven’t taken anything for it, yet, but I feel so…relieved.”

  He returned her smile. He’d been quiet all morning, but she chalked it up to the tension of her going to the doctor. And of him dealing with her behavior last night when a crazy part of her had begged for him to…to show her how to feel again.

  Or was he just plain embarrassed because she’d stripped down naked in front of him? Would their relationship ever get past “uncomfortable”?

  She cringed inwardly.

  When the waitress came, they ordered a couple of sandwiches, Jon’s with a beer and hers with a large milk. Even food seemed to have more appeal all of a sudden. She actually looked forward to it.

  “One thing the doctor had said I should do more often is smile. Seems studies have revealed that it helps to release some chemicals in the brain. And if we don’t feel like smiling, we should anyway. And avoid depressing people, too.”

  Jon gave her a wry grin. “Stay away from Lawrence, then. Last night, after I left you, I had to listen to another hour of the dangers of postpartum depression.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Makes me long for the days when all we talked about were itchy bellies and stretch marks.”

  She burst out laughing. Lord, it felt so good. “I should have joined in on that conversation, being the only one on the ranch with actual experience with stretch marks. Even Andrea hasn’t had them.”

  They fell silent and after a moment he asked, “When do you expect your father to return?”

  “Two more weeks, but they’re going back out again. He called after you left last night.” Even now his call confused her. Dad hadn’t been there for her for so long. Yet, she couldn’t define how she felt about it now he seemed to be reaching out to her.

  “What did he want?”

  “I don’t really know.” She peered at Jon as the waitress delivered the drinks. “I think he just wanted to talk. So we talked about the line shack and such. Then he asked me how the doctor appointments were, if I took vitamins, and made sure I hadn’t been riding.” She paused. “Do you think Andrea prompted him?”

  “I’ve never met her, so how would I know?”

  She pursed her lips. “Perhaps she did, but there was something in his voice. Like he used to talk to me before my mother died.” She pushed away the dismal images with a bright smile. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts.

  She took a sip from her milk. “Thank you, Jon.”

  He tipped his beer to her, his handsome face slightly cocky. “Anytime.”

  Deciding she liked the way he lifted his right eyebrow, she leaned forward and looked hard at his beautiful, relaxed features. But she couldn’t fathom what he might be thinking and for that moment she didn’t care. “I know we’re supposed to go check out the come-alongs and the jacks we’ll have to rent, but I want to go somewhere else. Someplace that’s special to me. Want to see it?”

  A light flashed in his eyes. “Sure.” When his smile returned, the slow easy movement of his lips stirred warmth deep within her.

  Lust. Sex. Something left over from last night. A part of her that still hadn’t realized that Jon would never fill the void inside of her. Not when he’d soon return to his police officer life in Ontario.

  Of course, if any
thing—she held her breath a moment—were to come of the time they spend together…well, she wouldn’t stop it.

  Chapter 10

  The ridge stood higher than she remembered, but then again, back in her youth she hadn’t been carrying anything more than a light backpack with a can of soda pop and a chocolate bar. Now she carried twenty more pounds of fat and baby. She allowed Jon to pull her up the last five feet.

  “This used to be my favorite place in the whole world,” she said between pants. “But after today I have serious doubts.”

  Jon smiled as he scanned the wide eastern horizon. “I wish I’d had a place like this when I was growing up. Look at the view!”

  Their outing had taken a heart-straining hour, but Jon was right. This ridge was special. The air, freshened by the evergreens and glaciers on its trip down the mountains, had a tang of its own. Sylvie stood straight and tall, drawing in the wonderful scent. In front of her the stretch of prairie shimmered in green and gold strips below the vast, clear sky.

  Squinting down to her right, she spied the town of Trail. She turned her head slightly, and found the line shack. Beyond, the tiny buildings of the ranch looked like angular dashes of white. “Can you find the ranch?”

  Jon shielded his eyes. “There. We took that back road. I dare say you’ve skirted the ranch on more than one occasion in your youth.”

  She laughed. “Feels deliciously wicked playing hookey, doesn’t it? Once when I was thirteen, three of us girls skipped school. We’d forged notes from our parents to let us off for the day.” She stopped a moment, savoring a small smile as it lingered after her words. “Me, Lucy and Denise. We’d been friends all our lives. All thirteen years. And we’d decided that day to form a special club.”

  The smile drifted away. “We’d thought we were the most unfortunate kids in the whole province. Maybe we were. I’d lost my mother. Lucy’s father had been killed in some robbery at his garage and her best friend before me had died in this nasty car accident that killed the whole family the same day as her father had died. And Denise, well, she was always the loneliest. She always wanted children and the happily-ever-after stuff. She hasn’t found it yet. I should call her.”