Tears of the Renegade Read online

  “She had to love you, to risk all that she did,” Susan said painfully.

  “Yes, she loved me. She just wasn’t strong enough not to have any regrets, not to let the hurt eat away at her. She came down with pneumonia, and she didn’t want to fight it. She gave up, let go. And do you want to know the hell of it?” he ground out. “I didn’t love her. I couldn’t love her. She’d changed, and she wasn’t anything like the woman I’d loved, but I stayed with her because she’d given up so much for me. Damn it, she deserved more than that! I did my best to make sure she never knew, and I hope she died thinking that I still loved her, but the feeling was long gone by then. I’m guilty, too, in what happened to Judith. As guilty as hell!”

  His eyes were dry, burning like wildfire, and Susan realized that though he wasn’t able to weep for his dead wife, he was about to fly apart before her. She forcibly tugged her hands away from his death grip and cupped his face in her palms, her cool, tender hands lying along his hot flesh like a benediction. His soft beard tickled her palms, and she stroked it gently. His eyes closed at her touch.

  “She was a grown woman, and she made her choice when she decided to have an affair with you,” she pointed out softly. “The stress was too much for her, but I can’t see that it’s any more your fault than it was hers.” She wanted to ease his pain, do anything to take that look of suffering off his face. My God, he’d been little more than a boy, to bear so much!

  He put his hands over hers and turned his face to nuzzle his lips into her left palm, then rubbed his cheek against her hand. His pent-up breath gusted out of him on a long, soft sigh, and his eyes opened.

  “You’re a dangerous woman,” he murmured sleepily. “I didn’t intend to tell you all of that.”

  Looking at him, Susan saw that the whiskey was hitting him hard and fast. Cautiously, she eased him back over to the couch, and he dropped heavily onto it, sighing as he relaxed. For a moment she stood indecisively, then made up her mind; he was in no condition to drive, so he would have to spend the night there. She knelt down and began removing his shoes.

  “What’re you doing?” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping even more.

  “Taking off your shoes. I think you’d better stay here tonight, rather than risk driving home.”

  A faint smile quirked his lips. “What will people say?” he mocked; then his eyes closed and he sighed again, a peculiarly peaceful sound.

  Susan shrugged at his question; what people would say if anyone knew he’d spent the night here was almost beyond her imagination, yet she really couldn’t see that she had a choice. He was mentally and emotionally exhausted, as well as drunk, and if anyone chose to gossip about that, she couldn’t stop them. She wouldn’t risk his life for that. She completed her task and set his shoes neatly to one side, then swung his long legs up on the couch.

  He grunted and adjusted his length to the supporting cushions, dangling one leg off the side and swinging the other one over the back of the couch. Sprawled in that boneless position, he went to sleep as quietly and easily as a child.

  Susan shook her head, unable to repress a smile. He’d told her that he was a mean drunk. Looking at him as he slept so peacefully made her doubt that. She went upstairs to get a pillow and blanket, returning to drape the blanket over him and place the pillow under his head. He didn’t rouse at all, even when she lifted his head.

  Lying alone in her own bed, she was aware of a deep feeling of contentment at just knowing he was under the same roof. The warm aching of her body told her that she wanted more from him than just his presence; she wanted the completion of his lovemaking. She wanted to be everything to him, every dream he’d ever had, every wish he’d ever made. She wanted to ease him and comfort him, and make him forget his black past. Knowing that he stood too much alone to allow anyone to mean that much to him didn’t lessen the way she felt. How odd it was that, when she loved again, she loved someone so different from herself!

  Yet Vance had been different. Unlike Cord, Vance had conformed, at least on the surface, but she had always known that Vance could have been a hard, dangerous man if anything or anyone had threatened those he loved. Circumstances had been different for Vance than they had for Cord, and that part of his personality had never developed, but the potential had been there. With Vance she had felt utterly protected, utterly loved, because she had sensed that he would have put himself between her and anything that threatened her, without counting the cost to himself.

  The way I love Cord! she thought, shocked, her eyes wide in the darkness. It stunned her to think that she could be stirred to violence, but when she thought of the anger that had surged through her that night, she knew that she’d have done anything she could have to keep Grant Keller from punching Cord. She didn’t fear for Cord; he was far too capable of taking care of himself. It was simply that she couldn’t bear the idea of him suffering the least hurt. She would gladly have taken a punch on the jaw herself rather than let it land on Cord.

  She fell asleep quickly and woke before her alarm clock went off. The sun coming in her window, bright and warm, told her that it was going to be another gorgeous spring day. Humming, she took a shower and put on fresh lacy underwear and chose a bright summer dress that reflected her rise in spirits. The pure white fabric, with its fragile lace trim and scattering of brightly colored spring flowers, made her feel as fresh as the new day, as full of hope. Still humming, she went downstairs and peeked into the den, where Cord still lay sprawled on the couch, sleeping heavily. He’d rolled over on his stomach, and his head was turned to the back of the couch, revealing only his tousled dark hair. Quietly she closed the door and went to the kitchen.

  Emily was already there, quietly and efficiently making breakfast. When Susan entered, the older woman looked up with a smile. “Who’s your guest?”

  “Cord Blackstone,” Susan replied, returning the smile and pouring herself a cup of fresh coffee. While the coffee cooled, she got the plates and silverware for setting the table.

  “Cord Blackstone,” Emily mused, her eyes softening. “My, my, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that boy. He even spent a few nights under my roof, when he was younger.”

  “He was drunk last night,” Susan explained as she arranged the plates on the table, absently placing the napkins and silverware just so, moving them around by fractions of an inch until she was satisfied.

  “I don’t remember him as being much of a drinker, though of course that was a long time ago. I’m not saying that he couldn’t put it away, but it just never seemed to affect him. My boy would be passed out, and Cord would be as steady on his feet as ever.”

  After pouring another cup of coffee, Susan carried it into the den and carefully placed it on the coffee table, then knelt in front of the couch. She put her hand on his blanket-covered shoulder, feeling the warmth of his flesh even through the fabric. “Cord, wake up.”

  She didn’t have to shake him. At her touch, her voice, he rolled over, tangling himself in the blanket, and his eyelids lifted to reveal pale, glittering irises. He smiled, then yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she replied, watching him with veiled concern. “Do you feel like having a cup of coffee?”

  “H’mmmm,” he said in a rumbling, early-morning voice, a noise that could have meant anything. He heaved himself into a sitting position, raking his fingers through his hair. He yawned again, then reached around her for the coffee, holding the cup to his mouth and cautiously sipping the steaming liquid. He closed his eyes as the caffeine seared its way to his stomach. “God, that’s good! Do I smell bacon cooking?”

  “If you think you can eat—”

  He grinned, opening his eyes. “I told you, I don’t have hangovers.”

  Susan couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out. “Yes, but you also told me that you’re a mean drunk, and you weren’t anything but a big pussycat! A big, sleepy pussycat!”

  He reached out and caught her