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The reason was simple. Marriage to him would be grossly unfair to Lesley. If he died in the confrontation with Schuyler—and he fully anticipated that with his physical limitations he would—then Lesley would be left to rear their child alone. True, he’d leave her a wealthy widow, but she’d been the first one to point out that financial security wasn’t everything.
If he did manage to survive, she’d be saddled with an ugly beast of a husband. With his leg in as bad a shape as it was, he would always be crippled. No amount of cosmetic surgery would make him the husband she deserved.
Lesley left soon after they docked the sailboat, promising that she would have an answer for him within the next couple of days.
Zane watched her drive away. He had two minds in the matter. He wanted her, more now that when he’d originally come up with the idea. At the same time, he realized he was being completely selfish.
So what else was new.
* * *
First thing the following morning, Candy phoned in sick to the feed store. But it wasn’t a flu bug that afflicted her. No, her malady was one of the heart. Every time she thought about the scandalous way she’d behaved with Carl Saks, her cheeks burned with mortification. Her first inclination had been to blame Carl for what happened. But her conscience refused to let her forget that she’d been a willing participant in the exchange.
A thick lump formed in her throat and the emotion that thickened her throat made it nearly impossible to breathe. She dressed in an old pair of threadbare jeans and an ugly T-shirt that was ready for the rag bin. Her choice of wardrobe was a good indication of her state of mind.
She had to stop thinking about what had happened and get on with her life. With a determined effort, she made herself a cup of tea and popped a piece of bread into the toaster. As she waited for the tea bag to steep, she realized that was what she’d been doing all night: steeping her mind with regrets.
How could she have been so stupid as to let her relationship with Carl dissolve to this level? She found it difficult to answer her own question. She didn’t know how she would ever be able to look the man in the face again. Carl nothing—she found she couldn’t look at herself in a mirror and not experience a sick kind of dread.
That matter of seeing Carl again was simply solved. She wouldn’t. She would sever him from her life as quickly and as cleanly as she could.
The tea and toast helped revive her physically, and she felt a little better. Well enough to consider stopping off and checking on the store. She was about to do just that when the doorbell chimed. Her mistake was answering the door without first checking to see who was on the other side.
Carl.
Candy attempted to slam the door closed, but his foot prevented her from doing so.
“What’s the matter, Candy?” he asked, and his mouth formed a dark, sardonic twist. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t pleased to see me.”
“Leave me alone,” she cried, and pressed the full weight of her body against the door in an effort to escape him. She should have known better. Her valiant struggle did nothing.
“We need to sort this out,” Carl insisted.
“I have nothing more to say to you.” The bravado she’d managed with him earlier was gone. She glared at him, but was mortified when all she could muster was a humiliating bout of tears. Her eyes filled with moisture and his figure blurred. “Leave me alone, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities.”
To embarrass her further, Carl chuckled and called her bluff. “No you won’t, and we both know why.”
She squared her shoulders, but kept her eyes trained away from his face. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Invite me in.”
The man had nerve—she’d say that for him. “Not on your life.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want. I’ll stand out here on your front porch and half the neighborhood will hear how we were so hot for each other, we practically burned down Zane’s guest house.”
Mortified, Candy reached for Carl’s elbow and jerked him inside her living room. “All right,” she cried in frustration. “Say whatever it is you have to say and then get out.”
“Aren’t you going to do the polite thing and ask me if I want any coffee first?”
She ground her teeth. “No.”
He looked around at the compact living room and glanced toward the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Carl, please, don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.” She hated the soft desperation she heard in her voice and bit her lower lip.
Without waiting for her to suggest he make himself comfortable, Carl sat down on her sofa. He reclined, making himself at home, and propped his ankle on his knee as though he had all the time in the world.
Reluctantly, Candy claimed a seat across from him, sitting so close to the end of the cushion, she was in danger of falling butt first onto the carpet.
