Read Online Dorothy Garlock by More Than Memory - Free Book Online
Authors: More Than Memory
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up behind her and, reaching around her again, set the bottle on the counter.
“I’ve never had but one wife.”
Nelda didn’t expect the whispered words or the tenderness in his voice. She swallowed hard and tried to control the trembling that traveled from her knees up to her chin.
Was he saying that he wasn’t married?
She couldn’t turn and face him. She was incapable of moving.
“But . . . the ring—” she whispered.
“I’ve worn it for almost nine years. I can’t get it off now. I sat in my truck, not ten minutes after
we were pronounced man and wife and put the ring on my finger. It’s not been off since. I had brought one for you, too, but I never had a chance to give it to you.”
A dam seemed to burst inside her. She could no more hold back the cry that tore from her throat than she could have stopped a steamroller. She bent over the counter, her face in her arms, her body convulsing as she began to sob. All the harrowing tension of the day—Kelly’s accident, Lute’s unnerving presence, and now the knowledge that he didn’t belong to another woman after all—broke through all the barriers she’d been trying to erect.
A torrent of tears came roaring from deep within her, and she cried like a newborn, every vestige of self-control gone with the first sob.
Nelda knew that Lute’s eyes were on her back as sobs wrenched her body. His arms reached for her, turned her around, and pulled her up against him. Cradling her head with one large hand, he wrapped his arms around her. She nestled against him, her wet face pressed into the curve of his neck. The haven of his arms was a wonderful, safe cocoon, and minutes passed while he held her.
“Shhhh . . . shhhh—” he crooned softly. “Don’t cry, honey. Kelly will be all right.” He pushed his fingers through the riotous curls on the back of her head.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply the scent of her shampoo. He stroked her body from shoulder to behind, feeling each vertebra along her spine. She inhaled the male scent of him and tasted
the salt of her own tears. It had been so long . . . so damned long.
Her sobs subsided, reason returned, and she tried to pull away, but his arms held her tightly. Embarrassment and shame at her loss of control almost started the tears again. She tried to turn her head so that he couldn’t see her blotchy, wet face, but it wasn’t to be. He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him.
“Please don’t look at me. I’m so ashamed.” She felt a tear escape over her lower lid and roll down her cheek.
“Is it Kelly? Gary said he’d be all right.” Lute’s face was as concerned as his voice.
“I don’t know what got into me. It was just . . . a lot of things coming all at once. I . . . was taking my clothes off the line . . . and then . . . Kelly—” Her throat hurt with the effort to control her voice.
“Is that all?” Lute laughed. She felt the movement of his chest against her breast. His voice was deep, humoring her.
His face was close, so terribly close that it was difficult to think of something to say. His blue eyes, half-shut, were within inches of her own, and his mouth, that firm-lipped mouth, was so near hers she could feel his breath on her lips.
Oh, Lord, I wish he’d kiss me . . . just once
. The thought raced repeatedly through her mind. His lips open, he seemed to hesitate, then he smiled.
“Go wash your face. You’d scare even Kelly if he woke up.” There was a huskiness to his tone, and he dropped his arms and gave her a gentle push
toward the bathroom. “When did you eat last?” His voice trailed her to the lavatory through the open door.
“This morning, I think.” She was hurrying to wash her face, irrationally afraid he might vanish if she was gone too long.
“You think?” He was filling the glasses with soda when she came out of the bathroom. Her eyes clung to the ring on his finger . . . her ring. He handed
“I’ve never had but one wife.”
Nelda didn’t expect the whispered words or the tenderness in his voice. She swallowed hard and tried to control the trembling that traveled from her knees up to her chin.
Was he saying that he wasn’t married?
She couldn’t turn and face him. She was incapable of moving.
“But . . . the ring—” she whispered.
“I’ve worn it for almost nine years. I can’t get it off now. I sat in my truck, not ten minutes after
we were pronounced man and wife and put the ring on my finger. It’s not been off since. I had brought one for you, too, but I never had a chance to give it to you.”
A dam seemed to burst inside her. She could no more hold back the cry that tore from her throat than she could have stopped a steamroller. She bent over the counter, her face in her arms, her body convulsing as she began to sob. All the harrowing tension of the day—Kelly’s accident, Lute’s unnerving presence, and now the knowledge that he didn’t belong to another woman after all—broke through all the barriers she’d been trying to erect.
A torrent of tears came roaring from deep within her, and she cried like a newborn, every vestige of self-control gone with the first sob.
Nelda knew that Lute’s eyes were on her back as sobs wrenched her body. His arms reached for her, turned her around, and pulled her up against him. Cradling her head with one large hand, he wrapped his arms around her. She nestled against him, her wet face pressed into the curve of his neck. The haven of his arms was a wonderful, safe cocoon, and minutes passed while he held her.
“Shhhh . . . shhhh—” he crooned softly. “Don’t cry, honey. Kelly will be all right.” He pushed his fingers through the riotous curls on the back of her head.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply the scent of her shampoo. He stroked her body from shoulder to behind, feeling each vertebra along her spine. She inhaled the male scent of him and tasted
the salt of her own tears. It had been so long . . . so damned long.
Her sobs subsided, reason returned, and she tried to pull away, but his arms held her tightly. Embarrassment and shame at her loss of control almost started the tears again. She tried to turn her head so that he couldn’t see her blotchy, wet face, but it wasn’t to be. He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him.
“Please don’t look at me. I’m so ashamed.” She felt a tear escape over her lower lid and roll down her cheek.
“Is it Kelly? Gary said he’d be all right.” Lute’s face was as concerned as his voice.
“I don’t know what got into me. It was just . . . a lot of things coming all at once. I . . . was taking my clothes off the line . . . and then . . . Kelly—” Her throat hurt with the effort to control her voice.
“Is that all?” Lute laughed. She felt the movement of his chest against her breast. His voice was deep, humoring her.
His face was close, so terribly close that it was difficult to think of something to say. His blue eyes, half-shut, were within inches of her own, and his mouth, that firm-lipped mouth, was so near hers she could feel his breath on her lips.
Oh, Lord, I wish he’d kiss me . . . just once
. The thought raced repeatedly through her mind. His lips open, he seemed to hesitate, then he smiled.
“Go wash your face. You’d scare even Kelly if he woke up.” There was a huskiness to his tone, and he dropped his arms and gave her a gentle push
toward the bathroom. “When did you eat last?” His voice trailed her to the lavatory through the open door.
“This morning, I think.” She was hurrying to wash her face, irrationally afraid he might vanish if she was gone too long.
“You think?” He was filling the glasses with soda when she came out of the bathroom. Her eyes clung to the ring on his finger . . . her ring. He handed
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