“Please. We should talk,” she said. “There’s so much I need to tell you. To explain.”
“Talk? What for?” said Bobby, reaching beneath her to try to unhook her bra. His own thought processes at that moment were rather simpler and more focused: He was about to have sex with the one girl he’d always wanted. Talking could most definitely wait.
“Bobbeeee!” Wriggling free, Milly got up and walked over to the window. The bedroom was right above the veranda, and she could see the tops of the heads of various members of the wedding party huddled in conversation below. But her eyes were drawn to the hills beyond. The afternoon light was already fading, but she could make out the craggy northern slopes where Bobby had taken her on her first cattle drive the day she’d arrived.
“Beautiful,” said Bobby, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Highwood?” said Milly dreamily. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“I didn’t mean Highwood,” he said, pressing himself against her so she could feel his hard-on in the small of her back.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “I’m sorry about Comarco, I’m sorry about Todd, I’m sorry about the whole Playboy thing.”
“Oh, God,” Bobby groaned, putting his hand over her mouth to shut her up. “Can we please not talk about that? Ever?”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Tara walked in and, seeing them together, grinned broadly.
“Reeeeally sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but Dyl wants to start the speeches. We need you.”
She looked apologetically at Bobby, who turned back to Milly. Stroking her face with a tenderness she’d thought she’d never feel from him, he said gently, “We’ve waited this long. I guess another half hour won’t kill us.”
A few minutes later, Milly floated downstairs in a delirium of happiness. For a moment she thought she actually was delirious—because wasn’t that Sean O’Flannagan, locked in a passionate clinch with Summer McDonald?
Opening one eye, Sean saw her and gave her a triumphant thumbs-up behind Summer’s back. Milly returned it with a grin. Evidently it was to be a day of hatchet burying all around.
Bobby, meanwhile, was alone in the pantry, trying to calm his breathing and willing his blood supply to make the trip back from his penis to his brain so he had a chance of making it through his best man’s speech.
“There you are!” Dylan walked in looking harassed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s almost time for the speeches, dude. You can’t disappear on me now.”
“Sorry,” said Bobby. “I just, er . . . I just ran into Milly.”
Dylan frowned. “You didn’t have another fight with her, did you?” he said anxiously. “I told Amy there wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“No, no,” said Bobby. “Nothing like that. I was, er . . . I was very polite.”
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to tell Dylan, or anyone, about their reunion just yet. Having waited so long to win her heart, he wanted to keep Milly all for himself, at least for a little while longer. Besides, he still wasn’t sure how things would play out between them. She was, he assumed, booked on a flight back to London tomorrow. Would she take it? Would he take it? Would she stay for a while?
These were all things they needed to talk about, alone. Just as soon as he’d gotten her into bed. And finished his speech, of course.
“Good,” said Dylan brightly. “I’m glad you worked it out. Amy was talking to her last night. Says she seems so much happier back in England. Especially with this new boyfriend. The lawyer guy.”
Bobby felt his fists clenching and his breathing quicken.
“She has a boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” said Dylan, unaware of his distress. “Sounds like it’s quite serious too. I’m pleased for her though, you know? After all that shit with Todd, she deserves some security and some happiness.”
“Yes.” Bobby nodded like a zombie. “Yes, she does.”
Somehow he got through the speech. Afterward, he couldn’t remember a word of what he’d said, but people seemed to laugh and applaud politely at all the right places.
How could she do this to him? Is that why she’d come here, as some sort of sick joke? To get him to make a fool of himself over her, then throw it in his face that she was hooked up with some guy back home?
It was cruel. It wasn’t the Milly he remembered. But then maybe he was right the first time. Maybe the Milly he remembered, the sweet horse-mad girl of old, had gone for good. Maybe Todd Cranborn had destroyed her, the way he destroyed everything else he touched?
Once or twice he looked up during the speech to see her smiling at him from the audience. But he managed to look away, holding it together just long enough to make it to the toast before bolting out the door and into the night.
Milly watched him go, perplexed. Why had he shot off like that without coming to get her first? She tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Maybe he just wanted to sneak away with as little fuss as possible and expected her to meet him outside? Yes, that was probably it.
She set off after him but was waylaid by an ecstatic-looking Amy.
“Hey.” Milly smiled, trying not to look impatient. “Are you having fun? It must be a relief in a way, now that the ceremony’s over.”
“It is,” said Amy. “I can’t quite believe I’m Mrs. Dylan McDonald though. Can you?”
“It’s what you were born to be,” said Milly proudly. “I’m so happy for you, honey. For both of you. Dylan looks like the cat that got the cream.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Amy beamed. “And we’re happy for you, too. About Zac, I mean. Dyl’s just been telling Bobby all about it. We all think it’s about time your love life turned around.”
Milly’s head started to spin.
“What?” She trembled. “Dylan said something to Bobby? About Zac?”
“Sure,” said Amy, looking troubled. She hoped she hadn’t put her foot in it. “Why? Is something wrong?”
Blindly, Milly stumbled through the throng of guests out into the hallway. Opening the front door, she ran down the steps.
“Bobby!” Desperately, she tried to make out his form, any form, in the gathering darkness. “Bobby, where are you?”
Just then she saw a figure on horseback about twenty feet away. He turned at the sound of her voice and for a moment just stared at her standing there. Then, without warning, he gave the horse a violent kick in the ribs, sending it off at a gallop through the yard gates and into the open country beyond.
“Bobby!” She wanted to cry but the sob caught in her throat as she ran hopelessly after him into the blackness. “Come back! Please. It’s not what you think.”
But it was too late. He was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jasper watched Milly as she rode Radar back and forth along the gallops at Dewhurst and blew on his gloved fingertips against the cold.
The local livery stables, run by an old mate of Cecil’s, was now home to four of the old Newells stallions and the place where Milly spent the bulk of her days. It was, she continued to insist, only a temporary home, although the prospect of buying back Newells was looking as distant as ever. It was hard to see how she was going to do it in her own lifetime, never mind Radar’s. But she had to keep her hope alive.
Today was Valentine’s Day, and it came slap bang in the middle of the bleakest, most bitter February that anyone in Cambridgeshire could remember. An icy Siberian wind had been blowing in off the fens all day, whipping her face till it was red and raw with cold. She looked frozen, tired, and altogether miserable.
Seeing Jasper waving, she cantered over toward him.
“Fucking hell,” she moaned, executing a perfect flying dismount and rubbing her gloved hands together feverishly. “It’s like the motherfucking Arctic out there. The ground’s sheet ice. One slip and this poor boy’s leg’ll shatter like a jigsaw puzzle.”
Jasper winced at her bad language
and gave her a po-faced look. Part of his “new spiritual outlook” involved a total ban on swearing, which always struck Milly as a trifle unfair; especially given that another part of it seemed to involve wearing a series of ghastly grandpa sweaters that positively begged for an expletive from anyone who laid eyes on them. He was wearing one of the horrors now, a shaggy green monstrosity with Mr. Rogers buttons and patches on the elbows. It was almost enough to make her wish for the old, vain Jasper back.
“Zac called,” he said. “Asked me to remind you about dinner at Chez Pierre tonight. I take it that means things are all rosy again with you two?”
“Course they are,” said Milly, not 100 percent convincingly. It was already six o’clock. She should be in the shower by now, washing her hair for their date, not running around up here like an Eskimo with a death wish. But subconsciously she kept putting it off.
The fact that even Jasper had noticed something amiss with her and Zac was some indication of how obvious their problems had become. Ever since she came back from California, something indefinable had begun happening in their relationship, and it wasn’t good.
She hadn’t told Zac about Bobby. At the end of the day there was nothing really to tell, except a kiss that would never be repeated and would only hurt him if he knew about it. There’d been no big fight, no angry confrontation. Nothing.
But as much as she still cared for Zac, and as much as she desperately wanted the comfortable peace of their relationship back, the peace that had so calmed and sustained her before Amy’s wedding—it was gone. Something had changed. And she couldn’t change it back.
“Do you have any Valentine’s plans?” she asked, deftly changing the subject as she led Radar back down the hill for a rubdown. Even the new Jasper was unable to resist any turn in conversation that brought the subject around to himself.
“Me?” he said, pouting. “No. My Valentine’s date is a baked potato and watching the rugby on Sky,” he added, so plaintively she actually felt sorry for him.
“You’re welcome to join Zac and me if you’d like,” she heard herself saying.
“On Valentine’s Day?” Jasper laughed tactlessly. “No offense, Mill. But I’m not that desperate.”
Back home in her room, after a long, hot shower to soothe her aching muscles and chase the deep-seated chill out of her bones, Milly appraised her naked self in the mirror. Critically, she cupped and lifted each breast in turn. Despite the return of her healthier figure they were still smaller than she would have liked.
Zac was always telling her she was beautiful. That he loved her body just the way it was. She wished, wished more than anything, that she could turn the clock back and take comfort from his love and devotion like she used to. Like she had before Amy’s wedding. Before Bobby. Before the kiss.
But when Bobby rode away from her that night, it was as though someone had slowly sawed through her heartstrings one by one.
He had every right to be angry with her. She should have told him about Zac, straightaway. But in the heat of the moment, abandoning herself into his arms at last, it hadn’t seemed important. That was the God’s honest truth. In comparison to her love for Bobby, to their history together, Zac felt like little more than a footnote.
It was awful, but it was true. Zac hadn’t crossed her mind. Which only made her feel more guilty now.
She’d hung around at Highwood till after three A.M., waiting for Bobby to come back. But he didn’t, and in the end she’d gone back to Ballard to collect her things and try to snatch a few fitful hours of sleep before her flight at noon. All her calls to Bobby’s cell the next day had gone unanswered. In the end she left a brief message of apology, asking him to call her back so she could explain, and got on the plane, more miserable than she could ever remember being in her life.
He never called, not then, nor when she got back to England. And, heartbroken as she was, Milly was too proud to beg. There was nothing for it but to try to throw herself back into her old routine. Put the whole thing behind her.
Of course, she should have come clean with Zac right away and ended it between them the moment she got home. In her heart, she knew that. But a combination of not wanting to hurt him, her own loneliness, and a dread of any more confrontation and pain held her back. Somehow it was never quite the right time to tell him.
Instead, she tried to carry on as though nothing had happened. As though by willing things to get back to normal, they would. But it was no use. Every time Zac touched her, she thought of Bobby.
It was horrible, unforgivable, the worst sort of betrayal. But she couldn’t help herself.
“Come on.” Zac looked anxiously at his watch. “Where the blazes are you, woman?”
It had cost him a small bloody fortune to secure the prestigious corner table at Chez Pierre on Valentine’s night and they had it only till nine thirty. He’d wanted to pick up Milly at home and make a real date of it. But she’d insisted on meeting him at the restaurant.
Perhaps she wanted to make an entrance? Christ, he hoped that was it, and she didn’t have some other, more sinister reason for arriving under her own steam. It wasn’t in his nature to be paranoid. But she’d been so off with him recently, it was hard not to take it just a little bit personally.
Ever the lawyer, Zac had tried to probe her several times about the wedding and what exactly had happened at Highwood. But Milly was a slippery witness, and none of her answers were remotely satisfactory. On the surface she sounded reassuring: Nothing had happened. He was imagining things.
It was the sort of response that drove him crazy because it was completely un-cross-examinable and yet, at the same time, utterly emotionally unconvincing. He had no choice but to take her word for it. And yet he knew, he just knew, that he wasn’t being told the whole truth.
He tried to silence the nagging, doubting voice in his head when, at last, she walked into the restaurant and, smiling, walked over to join him.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, kissing him perfunctorily on the cheek. She wasn’t dressed up—in fact, in jeans and a tight navy sweater, she was easily the most casually dressed woman there. But in his eyes, she’d never looked sexier.
“You’re forgiven. But only because you’re so beautiful,” he said, taking her hand in his. “And because I’ve already had a glass of wine which was almost as good as it should have been for the extortionate price they charged me. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Thanks,” she said nervously. “And to you.”
And to you? Jesus. She hated hearing herself sounding so cold and formal. He deserved better than that. But she really did not know how to begin.
In the end, as usual, Zac did the hard part and broke the ice for her.
“What’s wrong?” he said, shooing away the hovering waiter.
“Nothing,” Milly said, cursing herself for her cowardice. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Wearily, he pushed his chair back and closed his eyes. “Because I’m not.”
She had the good sense to stay silent, waiting for him to continue.
“When you walked in just now,” he sighed, “every head turned. No matter who they were with, or how beautiful their wives or girlfriends were, every man in here turned around to look at you.”
“I’m sure they didn’t,” Milly mumbled awkwardly.
“Trust me,” said Zac. “They did.”
“Well . . . is that such a bad thing?” she said, after a pause so long that one of them had to fill it. “I mean, you’re the one I’m with, not them.”
“Ah, but are you with me though, Milly? Are you really?”
He picked up his wineglass and stared at the purple-red claret as he swirled it around and around. He hadn’t intended to confront her tonight. He hadn’t wanted to. But there was only so much anxiety and fear that one man could repress.
“What do you mean?” Milly was surprised to find herself trembling as she spoke. Part of her longed for this to be over. But another part wished she could burrow
against his chest and hide there, safely, forever and ever.
“Are you in love with Bobby Cameron?”
She looked down at her lap but said nothing.
“Are you?”
“Bobby’s not a part of my life anymore,” she said, picking her words carefully. “You know he’s not.”
“That’s not what I asked,” said Zac. “Please look at me.”
Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes up to meet his.
“Do I have your heart, Milly? That’s really what I’m asking. I don’t care about Bobby. But I need to know. I think, after all we’ve meant to each other, you owe me that much at least. Don’t you?”
Slowly, one solitary, fat tear began rolling down Milly’s cheek.
“Oh, lovely one,” he said, reaching out for her hand across the table. He never could bear to see her cry. “It’s all right. You can’t help the way you feel. No one can.”
“I wish I could,” she said, sobbing. “I tried. I really tried.” She shook her head miserably. “But I can’t change it. I can’t make the love go away.”
“I know,” he said, entwining his fingers with hers. “Believe me, I wish I could change the way I feel about you. But it doesn’t work like that.”
“He doesn’t love me back, if that makes you feel any better,” Milly blurted out.
“It doesn’t,” said Zac truthfully. “And he’s a bloody idiot.”
He signaled to the waiter, mumbling something about being happy to pay a cover charge for the table, and paid the bill, which appeared mercifully swiftly.
They agreed they would talk again, tomorrow probably and in the coming weeks. They were too good friends just to walk away from one another forever. But right now they both needed to be alone and the sooner the better.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right driving?” Zac asked, helping Milly into her coat at the front desk and then across the car park to her little red Mazda.
“I’m fine,” she said, sniffing bravely. “I’m so sorry, Zac. I really am.”