Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) Read online

  “I’m a therapist.” She placed her palm across her breast in an identifying action. “I’ve worked on tons of cases like yours. Patients always fall in love with their therapists. It’s common knowledge that it happens all the time.”

  “In other words, I’m one of the scores who have fallen for you.”

  She avoided the question. “What you feel isn’t a true emotion, but one prompted by appreciation for what I’ve done.”

  Sloan took in a deep, angry breath. “In this case, I think you outdid yourself,” he returned flatly.

  “Your parents’ bonus check was very generous.” Her heart was crying with the agony she was causing them both.

  His handsome face twisted with something she couldn’t read.

  “You’re wrong,” he argued. “I know what I feel. I’m not a young boy suffering from my first case of puppy love.” His voice was low and rough with frustration, almost angry.

  “The thing is, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve worked hard; I’ve seen you at your best and your worst. You’ve shared a part of yourself with me that probably few others have ever seen. It’s only natural that you would come to think you love me. Believe me when I say sincerely that I’ve never been more honored.”

  “Don’t say that. I want to share my life with you. I want you to be the mother of my children and stand by my side in the years ahead. When I wake up at night, I want to feel your softness at my side. Tell me you want this, too.”

  “Sloan.” Tears blurred her eyes as she lifted her gaze. She loved him desperately and at the same time hated him for what he was forcing her to do. Perhaps now he wanted these things. But later that would change. His gratefulness would diminish and he’d realize what a terrible mistake he’d made.

  “Say it, Joy. Tell me you want me.” His hands, warm and possessive, cupped her shoulders.

  “You’re being unfair.” Her throat felt raw, and it throbbed.

  “I’m being more than fair. All I ask is a simple, straightforward answer. I love you; I want to marry you. Yes or no?”

  She stood, unable to formulate the word, not when every part of her was crying out for her to go to him. A huge lump had a stranglehold on her voice.

  “Joy?” he prompted. “Just say yes.” His voice was a caressing whisper. His fingers pressed lightly into her shoulders, as if that would encourage her.

  Tightly, she closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at him. A tear squeezed through her lashes and ran down her cheek.

  With infinite tenderness, Sloan kissed the moisture away.

  “No.” Somehow the word managed to slip out.

  Joy felt his shock.

  “I see.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders. She blinked through a curtain of tears.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry.” She felt raw and vulnerable.

  “Not to worry.” The grim voice was cutting. “I appreciate the honesty.” He turned abruptly and moved out of the kitchen.

  Dazed, hurt, dying, Joy watched him leave as the tears slid down her face. He didn’t hesitate.

  Chapter Ten

  Mutely, Joy walked to the screen door to catch one last glimpse of Sloan as he strolled out of her life. His limp was more pronounced now, his shoulders hunched. Joy bit viciously into her bottom lip, and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Never had anything been more difficult; never had anything been more right.

  Someday the hurt would go away and she would be stronger for it. At least that was what Joy told herself repeatedly in the long, dark days that followed. She had no energy. Listlessly, she lay around the house. Food held no appeal, and she began skipping meals. Her weight began to drop. She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. The decision had been made; she had done the right thing. It would be useless to cry over it now.

  Five days after Sloan’s visit, there was no doubt that summer had arrived in Southern California. Heat and humidity filled the tiny apartment, and Joy turned on a fan in hopes the small appliance would stir the heavy heat.

  The thin cotton blouse stuck to her skin, and she unfastened the second button. Perspiration rolled down the hollow between her breasts.

  Impatiently, she walked into the kitchen and took a soft drink out of the refrigerator. Empty calories for an empty life, she mused, as she ripped the pull tab from the can.

  Her cell rang, and she felt like plugging her ears. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to. Not her mother. Not her brother. Not even Danielle. No one. The whole attitude was so unlike her that Joy knew it was important to shed this dark apathy as quickly as possible.

  “Hello.” Her voice held little welcome.

  “Hi, Joy. This is Paul. How you doing?”

  “Paul,” she spoke into the mouthpiece, surprise raising her tone. “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Great. Listen, I know this is sudden and all, but how about dinner? We could meet at Mobey Jake’s.”

  “I … I don’t know.” She hesitated. Why torture herself? Paul was sure to mention Sloan.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “No. It’s too hot to eat.”

  “Come on,” Paul encouraged. “It’s the least you can do, since I didn’t get so much as a good-bye when you left. That still rankles.” He was playful and teasing.

  Joy laughed, and the sound surprised her. It’d been weeks since she’d found anything amusing. “All right,” she agreed, “but give me an hour.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up, or can you meet me?”

  “I’ll meet you.”

  Mobey Jake’s held fond memories. The flashing neon whale, round tables with faded umbrellas, and some of the best fried fish on the California coast. The first barrier she had hurdled in her relationship with Sloan had been the night she had brought him an order of fish from Mobey Jake’s. Even L.J. had liked this fish the best. And who could blame him?

  Joy was sitting at a table that overlooked the seashore far below when Paul arrived. He came from the direction of the beach home, which answered Joy’s first uncertainty. Paul was still with Sloan. She had to wonder if Sloan had sent him to talk to her. As soon as the question formed, she knew the answer. Sloan did his own talking.

  Paul parked the older-model convertible and waved. Joy returned the gesture. He looked fit, tan, and muscular.

  Tucking the car keys into his jeans pocket, he smiled as he strolled toward her. “You look good.” The hesitation was slight enough for her to notice.

  “I don’t, either.”

  “Lost weight?”

  “A few pounds.” Her fingers curled around a tall foam cup. “I’m ready to order.” She changed the subject abruptly, not wanting to be the topic of their conversation.

  She waited while Paul stood in line at the window and placed the order for their meal. He returned a few minutes later with their standard. Joy looked at the large double order of fish, knowing there wasn’t an L.J. to eat the leftovers. The memory of her little friend tightened her stomach.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen L.J.?” She looked up at Paul.

  “That darn bird of yours? No, I haven’t.”

  “I wonder whatever became of him.”

  Paul shrugged and slipped a large piece of fish into his mouth. Avoiding her gaze, he looked out over the scenery. “Don’t you wonder about anyone else?”

  Deliberately obtuse, Joy returned, “Of course I do. How’s Clara?”

  “Ready to quit.”

  “Clara? I don’t believe it. She’s been with the Whittakers for years.”

  “Neither one of us can take much more of what’s been going on lately.”

  Joy nearly choked on a french fry. “Oh?”

  “Aren’t you interested?”

  “I don’t know.” Joy managed to sound offhand and unconcerned, when she was terrified Paul would even mention Sloan’s name.

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” he began, “and whatever’s between you and Sloan is none of my business, but something’s got to be
done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Paul took a swig of beer, and with deliberate casualness placed it back on the table. “I shouldn’t trouble you with this. After all, you were the smart one to get out when you did.”

  “Paul!” For the first time, Joy wanted to shake the younger man. “Obviously, there’s something you want me to know. Now, either get it over with or shut up.”

  “It’s Whittaker.” Paul sounded uncertain now.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, who else would be causing you any problems?” Joy was quickly losing her patience.

  Paul avoided her gaze, fingering the fish. “He’s in a bad way.”

  “How do you mean? Did he fall and hurt himself? Why didn’t anyone let me know? Paul, does he need me?” All her concerns rushed out in one giant breath.

  “He needs you, all right, but not because of any fall.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I knew. Listen, I don’t know what happened last week, but Whittaker hasn’t been the same since he came back from seeing you.”

  Joy hadn’t been the same, either. “How’s that?”

  “For nearly three weeks he practically killed himself—and me,” Paul added sheepishly, “so that he could walk with the cane. His goal was to come to you. He never said as much, mind you, but it was understood. I don’t know what you said, or what he said, for that matter, but Sloan’s been locked up in his room ever since.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. Ask Clara. He shouts and throws things at anyone who comes near him. If you think he was an angry beast when you first came, you should see him now. I think he’s drinking, too.”

  “Oh no.” Joy’s shoulders sagged. “Oh Paul, no.”

  Joy hardly slept that night. Everything Paul told her seemed to press against her as she tossed and turned fitfully.

  Before the sun came up the next morning, she was dressed in the same outfit she wore while working with Sloan. The ride down the highway was accomplished in short order, and she pulled into the long driveway that led to the beach house. Pausing, she looked apprehensively at the closed draperies and prayed that she was doing the right thing.

  Clara answered her timid knock and gave a cry of welcome when she saw it was Joy.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come.” She hugged Joy briefly and hurried on to explain. “I just didn’t know what to do for Mr. Whittaker anymore. He doesn’t want to see any one. He hardly eats and keeps himself locked up in that room. Not even his father, but he’ll see you, Joy. It’s you Mr. Whittaker needs.”

  Joy’s returning hug lacked confidence. “If he thinks I went through months of work so he can lock himself away and sulk, then I’ll tell him differently.”

  “That a girl.” Clara patted her across her back. “I’ll be in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Mr. Whittaker will eat now that you’re here.”

  “You do that.”

  “I’ll fix my best blueberry waffles. I’ll cook some up for you, too.”

  Food was the last thing that occupied her thoughts, but Joy gave the old woman an encouraging nod.

  Hands knotted at her sides, Joy squared her shoulders and marched down the hall to Sloan’s room. Boldly, she knocked long and hard against his door.

  “I said leave me alone.”

  After getting the key to Sloan’s room from Clara, Joy unlocked the door and was immediately assaulted with the stale and unpleasant odor of beer. Wrinkling her nose, she proceeded into the room. Dirty clothes littered the floor, the bed was unmade, and the sheets hung off the edges.

  In the dim interior, Joy didn’t see Sloan at first. When he spoke, her attention was drawn across the room to the far corner. He sat in the wheelchair, the cane laying on the floor at his side. Two or more days’ growth of beard darkened his face. His normally neatly styled hair was tangled and unruly. Paul hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Sloan was in a bad way.

  “What do you want?” The anger was unable to disguise his shock.

  Joy didn’t answer him; instead, she walked across the room and pulled open the draperies. Brilliant sunlight chased away the shadows and filled the room with its golden rays.

  “Get out of here, Joy.”

  “No.” Hands on hips, she whirled around. “What’s the matter with you?”

  He didn’t bother to answer. He stood, limped across the room, and closed the draperies. “Wasn’t it you who said if I wanted to keep the draperies closed I’d have to do it myself? I just did. Now get out.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she flared, and jerked the draperies open a second time. Not an inch separated them.

  Sloan squinted with the light. “Who the hell let you in here, anyway? They’ll pay with their job when I find out.”

  “What’s that doing sitting in here?” She pointed to the wheelchair. “When I left, it was because you would never need that thing again.” Now she was angry, just as angry as Sloan.

  “Is that what it takes to bring you back in my life? A wheelchair?”

  “No,” she cried. “But I didn’t spend long, hard weeks working with you so that you could sit in the dark.”

  “I thought I told you to get out of here. This is my life, and I’ll live it as I please,” he shouted back harshly.

  “Not when I’ve invested my time in it, you won’t.”

  “I need a beer.” A hand against the side of his head, he looked around the room, carelessly throwing clothes and anything else that impeded the search.

  “Alcohol is the last thing you need.”

  “Go home, little girl. I don’t want you.”

  “Sloan, for heaven’s sake, look at what you’re doing to yourself. This is ridiculous.”

  “No more crazy than your coming here. I don’t need your devotion or your pity.”

  “Pity?” she nearly choked on the word. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest anything like that.”

  “You’ve made your feelings crystal clear,” he told her roughly. “If it isn’t sympathy, what is it?”

  Joy pressed her lips together.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I … I don’t know why,” she lied, and stalked across the room, arms hugging her waist. He shouted at her again, and she grimaced, not even hearing the words. “All right,” she cried, “you want to know why? I’ll tell you. I didn’t go through the agony of giving you back to the Chantelles of the world so you could waste your life.”

  “Have you gone crazy?”

  “Yes, I’m nuts, and another week like last one and I’ll be carted off to a mental hospital.” She knew she was being irrational, but she had lost the power to reason. She didn’t know what she’d planned to say when she walked into his room. But nothing was going right, and everything looked so hopeless.

  “Joy.” An incredulous note entered his voice. “Do you love me?”

  Joy opened her mouth to deny herself again, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she snapped.

  “You idiot. You crazy idiot,” he muttered, and pulled her into his arms, his hold strong and sure. He expelled a rush of air and relaxed against her.

  Somehow Joy had never heard anything more beautiful.

  “Why did you send me away?” His breath stirred the hair at the crown of her head.

  She slid her arms around his neck, reveling in the feel of his body close to hers. “I couldn’t let you waste yourself on me because you’re grateful.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Grateful.” He spat the word out. “I’ve come to almost hate that word. What does it take to convince you that what I feel is love?”

  “Thirty years?” she breathed, and laid her head against his muscular chest.

  “That’s not near long enough,” he told her huskily, his hand weaving in the short curls, pressing her to him.

  “But, Sloan, how can you love me? I’m not pretty or rich or—”

  “Stop,” he interrupte
d her, almost angry again. “I love you, and I won’t have you saying those things about yourself. When you first came, for all intents and purposes I was crippled. Then I was walking again, and you left. Everything should have been perfect, but I was more of a cripple without you.”

  “But I don’t fit in—”

  “The only thing that’s going to stop you from arguing with me is kissing you.”

  She laughed and nuzzled his neck. “That might work,” she said shakily, and raised her head to meet his descending mouth. Her lips parted under his, and the blood rushed through her veins. No longer did she question if Sloan’s feelings were interwoven with a deep sense of appreciation. He loved her; she knew that now, as intuitively as she had recognized her own feelings.

  Possessively, his hands slid over the womanly curves of her rib cage to cup the swelling fullness of her breasts. He shuddered and buried his face in her neck. “You’ll marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

  “Yes,” she breathed in happily. “Yes.”

  “Children?”

  “As many as you want.”

  “My, my, you’re agreeable.”

  “All right, no more than ten.”

  He rubbed his chin along the top of her head. “You won’t go away if I take a shower and change clothes, will you?”

  Her arms curved around the broad expanse of his chest. “Are you kidding? You’ve given me enough reason to hang around for a lifetime.”

  Chuckling, he kissed the top of her nose. “Are you always going to be this stubborn?”

  “You’ll find out,” she teased.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  An hour later, their arms looped around each other’s waists, they slowly sauntered down the flawless beach. Their bare feet made deep indentations in the sand, their footsteps punctuated by Sloan’s cane.

  A brisk breeze whipped a curl across Joy’s face. Sloan tucked it around her ear and kissed her hard and deep.