a man on fire trying to douse the flames.
But the conflagration of anger and surprise and guilt wasn’t so easily put out. The hell of it was, he was overdue to have his meek wife stand up to him. Though she’d used softly polite, tactful words, she’d nonetheless given him a sound thrashing and called him to account.
Leah Gray Waverly had turned out to be the perfect mother, calm and competent, as loving as she was gently patient and wise with the boy. She made certain Bobby saw him in the morning before he left the house, she timed the baby’s schedule to his to maximize their time together, and she arranged nightly for him to spend time alone with his son.
She’d also been the ideal wife. After his housekeeper had retired just after their sudden marriage, Leah had cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and single-handedly kept his large, six-bedroom house virtually dust free in the middle of a ranch headquarters where dust hung in the air around the clock. In between all that, she ran his errands, took his phone calls when he was out, and generally made his home life an aggravation-free island of pleasantness and serenity.
But whatever he’d thought about Leah’s quiet temperament, what she’d done just now reminded him that the lady had a backbone. Tonight she’d shown a steely pride that was no less formidable than his own.
As Reece poured himself another drink, he did so more thoughtfully this time. He hadn’t meant to be so indifferent to her, he hadn’t meant to take everything she’d done for him and give her nothing personal in return.
He’d given her his son, the most precious person in his life, but what woman who thought anything of herself would have been content to love and help raise her best friend’s child and put up with being an unpaid servant to a husband who, as far as she’d be able to tell, hadn’t appreciated any of it?
For weeks his conscience had been dogged by the things he’d neglected with Leah. He’d put her name on his bank accounts, but she’d never spent so much as a dollar of his money on herself. He had yet to take her out to a nice restaurant or a social function. The only time he’d attended church with her had been on the Sunday she’d had Bobby dedicated. Hell, he hadn’t even remembered her birthday until four months after it had passed.
After being married to a near hermit for the past eleven months, it was no wonder she’d informed him that she meant to go to the barbecue, with or without him.
Rachel had told him things about Leah that he hadn’t thought about for years. About her nomadic childhood, the many abandonments by both her father and mother, her eventual ordeal in a series of foster homes. According to Rachel, Leah’s biggest dream had been to someday have a family and a home.
She had a legal son in Bobby and she lived in one of the finest homes in the area. But his preoccupation with Rachel’s loss had cheated her out of the complete family she must have wanted and had probably left her feeling like a slave instead of a marriage partner. Hence her solemn little bombshell tonight.
Yet he felt nothing for her aside from gratitude—gratitude and guilt. The turmoil of that had nettled him for weeks, but he couldn’t seem to help that gratitude and guilt were the only things Leah stirred in him.
Losing Rachel had left him empty. Any woman who wasn’t her was merely female. No one to wonder about, and certainly no one to get excited about. His hormones had come back to life, his lust still fired over the usual sights and thoughts, he still had powerful male urges that craved satisfaction, but the mysterious allure of tenderness and sweet feelings were gone as completely as Rachel.
In his mind and heart, love and sex were associated exclusively with luxurious red hair, freckle-flecked satin skin and exotic emerald eyes that sparkled with passion and a zest for life.
Suddenly the memories were white hot, and he relived the phantom feeling of Rachel’s lush body pressed against his. His palms ached to slide over her soft skin to tenderly cup and caress, and his fingers tingled with the unforgettable sensation of what it had felt like to lavish pleasure on her.
Pain and bitterness welled up at the torment, and Reece forced the powerful memories to stop. He determinedly fixed his thoughts on the living woman—the wife—he was obligated to crave.
But desire didn’t rise very high over long sable hair that was usually pinned up or worn in a French braid; it didn’t crave the touch and warm feel of lightly tanned almost dusky skin. Eyes that were a deep, quiet blue didn’t suggest anything more enticing or arousing for him than somber mysteries and unhappiness, and his heart was already weighted down by those.
Try as he might, he couldn’t picture Leah’s pretty eyes going slumberous with lust, and he couldn’t imagine her losing her very rigid self-control to clutch at him in the high heat of sexual intimacy. It was as unthinkable of Leah as it would have been of an elderly maiden aunt.
The harsh bite of guilt he felt for the unfair comparison made him finish the second Scotch in another punishing rush.
He didn’t want Bobby to be hurt, and divorce would do a masterful job of hurting the boy. Surely his lack of sexual interest in Leah was a remnant of Rachel’s loss. That and the fact that he’d barely paid attention to her as a potential lover, and he’d never been curious enough to find out what she might really be like when she wasn’t being a mommy or teaching Sunday School.
Rachel and Leah had been closer than sisters. So close that he knew Rachel wouldn’t think much of him for cheating Leah out of a loving home. Particularly when Leah had given up her chance of finding a man whose heart could be all hers so she could come to the aid of her best friend’s husband and infant son.
Feeling gut sick over what Leah had sacrificed and how poorly he’d repaid her, Reece set the tumbler down with a soft thud then made himself walk over to his desk. He picked up the silver-framed photo of Rachel and turned it to study her face.
The flatness of the image impacted him. He tilted the frame slightly, as if to get a better look at the thickness of it, but the photo paper behind the glass suddenly looked as thin and unsubstantial as any other photograph.
For the first time Reece felt detached from the color image, and his heart grabbed futilely to recapture the sense of connection. It was as if he’d known this achingly beautiful woman a long time ago, too long ago, and something in him flinched with surprise at the feeling of distance. It had only been fifteen months since the wreck, and yet it suddenly felt like another lifetime, one that had belonged to some other Reece Waverly.
In the space of mere moments, the memory of Rachel had gone from white hot and all but tangible to something more like a dimly remembered dream.
Which reminded him of the worst part of these past weeks. Rachel had been fading from his mind. A little here, a little there, he was starting to forget the things he’d been convinced were burned on his heart forever. Except for the soul rocking flashes of sudden memory, the everyday details of how Rachel had moved, how she’d smiled—even how she’d touched and taken care of their son that handful of days—had begin to cloud over until he could only rarely summon them at will.
Would her memory fade completely away? Was he man enough to face the bleakness of that second loss if she did? The loneliness he already felt was brutal.
Reece stood there for several minutes more, wondering if he was drunk, wondering whether these strange feelings and impressions meant anything, but eventually realizing how weary he was. What he did next wasn’t so much a decision as it was a necessity.
He didn’t want to ever look at a picture of Rachel and feel this disconnected
