Love, Come to Me(29)

“That’s a husband’s right, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

The conventional answer would be a simple yes. Lucy was silent for several seconds. Her lips parted and closed several times as she sought a suitable reply. She couldn’t think of one.

“Things change after people are married,” she finally said, talking more to herself than to him. “People change.”

“Not usually for the better.”

“How would you know? Are you an authority on marriage . . . or on me, for that matter? You act just like Daniel, as if you know what’s best for me. Well, maybe I should start deciding what I want!”

His eyes gleamed like a cat’s. “Maybe you should. What do you want?”

She wanted Daniel. But she wanted Daniel to be different. “That’s none of your concern.”

“But it is. I’m afraid I’ve already invested a lot in you.”

“Invested what? A lot of what?”

“A lot of worry and vexation.” His casual tone of voice belied his words. “About the fact that he’s bent on changing you. He’s not good for you.”

“Stop it. I’m not listening.”

“He’s trying to change you into the kind of obedient woman he wants, and all that’s going to wind up doing is making you miserable. And it’s not because he means to—he’s just made that way, the opposite of everything you are.”

“Opposite! That’s laughable. That’s ridiculous. I’ve never met anyone more like me than Daniel. He and I are the same kind of person.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” he demanded, and suddenly there was a scowl riding between his eyes. “The kind of woman who’ll be happy with a husband who wants to make her into a reflection of himself? Do you really believe . . .” He stopped and looked at her, and the spark left his eyes as he wiped the expression off of his face, leaving it smooth and unreadable. “Stubborn little hardnose. With every word I say, you dig your heels in deeper, don’t you? Well, I won’t let you use me to whip up your determination. If you want him, you decide on your own. I’m not going to waste another word on it.”

“But . . . but we aren’t done with the conversation. I want to know what you were going to say.”

“I’d rather talk about something else.”

“But, Heath, won’t you just tell me—”

“No.”

The word rang with finality. Flat-out, no. She discovered that it irritated her to no end, as if he had just closed a door in her face. “Why not?” she asked, her voice subdued and, though she wouldn’t have liked to admit it, rather sullen.

“Because you’re spoiling for an argument and I’m not. And you should be having this discussion with Daniel. You should have given him an argument five minutes ago instead of waiting for me to show up.”

“I wasn’t waiting for . . . oh, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You make me feel like—”

“Like what?” he prompted in a swift pounce.

“Like when I was little, and I would do something that made Father mad . . . before I could explain anything, he’d already made up his mind about why I had done it. There’s no way to fight that, and it’s not fair!”

Heath laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “No, it’s not. But with a daughter like you it’s no wonder your father had to resort to such tactics. Most of the time you have him wrapped around your finger, and he and everyone else knows it.”

“He’s a good man. He’s straightforward and he knows exactly what he wants—”

“Yes. You must favor your mother.”

She smiled reluctantly at the gentle taunt. “I don’t really know. I was too young to remember much about her. But I know that she was very beautiful.”

“I’m certain she was,” he said, giving one of the curls clustered at the back of her head a playful tug. The gesture was much too familiar, but she was too intent on her own thoughts to reprove him for it.

“Father never says a word about her. But Mrs. Morgan—one of the women who used to belong to some of the same groups and clubs—told me that my mother liked to make speeches at all the ladies’ charity clubs and social meetings. One time she burst into one of those town council sessions and made a fifteen-minute speech about letting girls go on through higher grades at the town school. They make them leave, you see, whenever there’s not enough room for all the boys. I think that Father had a hard time keeping her quiet.”

“That I can believe.”

“Were there women like that in Virginia when you were growing up?”

“Making speeches? Not exactly.”

“Is your mother—”

“No. She passed away when I was a boy.”

Surprised and fascinated by the revelation, Lucy suddenly wanted to know other things about him.

“What about your father? Does he—”

“He died during the war.” Heath’s indulgent mood seemed to drain away like water from a tub. Apparently he didn’t like to answer personal questions.

“Any family at all?”

“A half sister, a half brother . . . and a stepmother. Who fulfills all of the clichés about stepmothers that you’ve ever heard.”