From This Day Forward

chapter Sixteen



Jason's shoulder throbbed from swinging the ax. He'd been at it since sunrise today, as he had every day for the last four weeks, working frantically beside his men to build a fire break between the good trees and those overrun by fungus. But at least physical strain blocked the mental anguish of seeing his dreams destroyed.

Every day more infected coffee trees, sometimes whole groves, were discovered and had to be isolated and then destroyed. He'd have to sacrifice at least two hundred acres of trees in order to save the rest, and even then there was no way to be sure his efforts would stop the fungus from spreading.

Fungus needed two things in order to grow—a damp, warm environment and plant life to use as a host. It couldn't spread across charred earth, unless, of course, it did so through the air.

Then there was the chance that other trees had already been infected but hadn't been discovered yet, in which case his efforts might well be for naught. The only thing he knew with any certainty was that if he did nothing, he would lose his entire fazenda—everything.

Damn! If only he'd returned from Manaus when he should have. He'd been so preoccupied with Caroline and her treachery that he neglected the fazenda, something he could never afford to do with the jungle lying in wait to regain anything it could of its lost territory.

Wiping his brow with his bare arm, Jason choked on the smoke that filled his lungs. It added to the misery of the sweltering afternoon. A brief shower earlier had done nothing to lessen the oppressive heat. Instead, it had intensified it by adding even more moisture to the already sodden jungle. Three of his men had succumbed to the heat, and he'd taken them to the house to be treated by Caroline.

His mood suddenly grim at the thought of his wife, he attacked his task with renewed vigor. Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the bitterness boiling inside him with a supreme effort. In less charitable moments, he blamed Caroline for his own folly. If not for her, he never would have gone to Manaus in the first place, much less stayed there for two months. But it wasn't her fault, not really. He should have known better than to allow anyone into his life. If he'd learned nothing else, he should have learned that lesson well.

"We need to talk," she'd said that morning.

"Not now, Caroline, I don't have time," he'd told her harshly before fleeing back to the orchards.

After nearly four weeks of allowing him to hide, she was suddenly eager to talk. What had been going through that devious, intelligent brain of hers? Caroline with something on her mind was a daunting prospect.

"Patrao." Ignacio's voice penetrated Jason's thoughts. "What are you doing?"

Jason looked down at the sapling he'd hacked into mulch. Blood roared through his veins, and his chest heaved with suppressed anger.

"It's time to rest. The men are already taking the siesta."

"I suppose you're right." He'd been so preoccupied he hadn't noticed when the men left the orchard to return to their homes for the noon rest.

He waited for Ignacio to walk away, now that he'd delivered his message, but the other man didn't move. He stood nervously by, and Jason sensed that there was more.

"Out with it, Ignacio," he said gruffly.

"The Senhora is here to see you," Ignacio announced.

"Here?" Jason asked in total disbelief. "Where?"

"At the beneficio. I told her to wait there."

"Damn! You should have told her to go back to the house!" Jason groaned, realizing how irrational it was to blame Ignacio for his wife's impetuousness. But if he'd wanted to see her, damn it, he would have gone to the house. How dare she invade his domain.

With a violent curse, Jason hurled the ax, embedding it into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Without a word, he stalked away in the direction of the beneficio where the one person in the world he didn't want to face waited for him. He hadn't set foot inside the house in four weeks, partly because of the frenzy of activity in the orchards, but also because he didn't want to face her and the inevitable recriminations.

He tried to close his mind against the memory of their lovemaking, but it was no use. He thought of it—of her—day and night, especially when he wasn't so exhausted that he fell into an immediate, deep sleep. And when he did manage to drive himself to exhaustion, she invaded his dreams with her eager sensuality.

It had meant nothing, their lovemaking, at least that was what he'd been trying to tell himself since that night. She'd been so soft, so alluring, so willing, beguiling him with her ardor. Her need had matched his that night. He had needed her; she had wanted him. Purely physical.

His heart thundering in his chest, he stepped into the open near the beneficio. His blood turned thick, pounding with involuntary gladness at sight of her. Vincente helped her step out of that damned two- wheeled cart his men had built for her while he was in town. The two-seater was low enough to the ground that she could easily get into and out of the contraption despite the awkwardness of her ever- expanding belly.

The short, narrowly spaced wheels made it easy to steer the vehicle through the jungle. And the fringed cover kept the blistering sun off her head when she wasn't protected by the jungle cover.

He had to admire her ingenuity, while he cursed her independence and his men for bringing her design to reality so eagerly—anything for a Senhora.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned and retrieved a large basket from the rear compartment.

Just looking at her made him feel things he'd vowed never to feel—tenderness, possessiveness, and a passion that went far beyond pure lust. She wore a brown cotton garment that Ines had constructed for her—a sort of shift with a white apron over it, wide enough around the middle to accommodate her widening waistline.

A wide straw hat shielded her face from the glaring noon-day sun and concealed her dark hair, but soft tendrils had come loose to frame her face in a way that made his throat catch as he walked slowly toward her. Her skin glowed with healthy color, and the rounded shape of her middle added to the alluring picture because he knew that his child grew inside her.

The emotions that assaulted him took him by surprise. He wanted to hold them fast, his wife and child, to protect them, but perhaps the best way he could protect them was to stay away from them, though the thought left him empty and desolate. If only he were a normal man who could give his family the loving devotion they deserved.

And then her gaze found him, and he thought he saw her face brighten before she blushed and glanced away, waiting for him to come to her. Her small, pink tongue flicked over her lips, and a jolt of desire surged through him, surprising him with its intensity.

Caroline noticed the darkly sexual expression that moved across his features for an instant, and her pulse raced in reaction. Perhaps she had only imagined it. How could he desire her when she looked like a cow that had been fattened all winter for the slaughter?

He looked tired, tired and angry and filthy from working in the orchards all day. He wore no shirt, and she found it difficult, if not impossible, to keep her gaze on his face, to keep herself from remembering the feel of that chest beneath her hand, against her breasts.

Of course, she knew the crisis in the orchards occupied most of his time and his attention at present. The smell of coffee burning permeated everything in her world. Smoke veiled the house in a constant gloom that suited her mood.

Never had she been so hot, so miserable, physically and emotionally.

Constantly close to tears and easily wounded, she felt the sting of his rejection more strongly than ever. She needed him to want her and the baby. They should be making plans, deciding on names. Next week she would enter her seventh month, and Jason still hadn't faced the issue of her pregnancy. She could understand his rejection of her, but how could he completely shut his child out of his life?

For four weeks, she'd been trying to reach him, to corner him so that she could talk to him. But he defeated her at every turn. She'd even thought of waiting for him in the hut where he slept, but she wasn't quite desperate enough yet to compromise Ines. Instead, she decided to come to the one place where he was sure to be—the orchards.

He stopped close before her, and Caroline had to fight her uneasiness in order to look into his eyes. She attempted a smile, but she knew it must look as artificial as it felt.

"I brought you something for lunch," she said, trying to sound casual, when all she could think about was their lovemaking—the power in his body, the gentleness in his hands, the concern he'd shown when he thought he'd hurt her.

"You shouldn't be here," he said gruffly, breaking the spell of desire that had consumed her. "Go back to the house."

"No." She would not be dismissed without a fight.

He had already started to walk away when her single word halted him. Turning, he glared at her as if she were some alien species he'd never seen before.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to deflect the incredulous anger in his expression. "Ines says you never eat lunch and—"

"Ines should mind her own business. It's hot and smoky here. You know my men are collapsing in this heat. You have no business here in your condition."

The baby chose that instant to change positions, and a sensation like tiny fingers poking at her stomach from the inside surprised a gasp from her lips.

Jason lurched forward, shock and fear contorting his face. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"

In the fraction of a second it took him to reach her and take the basket from her hand, Caroline made a decision. Sighing, she acted as if she might sink to her knees at any moment from whatever malady Jason imagined she might be suffering. She wasn't proud of herself, playing on his concern and fear, but desperate situations demanded desperate measures.

"I do feel a little weak," she murmured, holding her hand to her forehead.

"I told you to go back to the house." Now he was angry.

"If I could just... sit down for a minute."

In the blink of an eye, he swept her into his arms. Quickly Caroline recovered from the initial shock and twined an arm around his neck, smiling inwardly at the warmth of his masculine body and the security of his strong arms.

He didn't look at her, his expression intent on his task. Carrying her to the one empty patio of the beneficio, he settled her gently into a worn wicker chair she'd had placed there while he was in Manaus so she could sit here in the shade of the beneficio and oversee the harvest.

Glancing up, she found Jason watching her closely and feigned a wan smile. "I feel much better now."

"You look pale," Jason told her crossly. "I'm sending you back to the house right now. You shouldn't be running all over the countryside in that contraption. Where is Vincente?"

"Jason, I feel much better. Really. Besides, the cart was built for me. Vincente is far too tall to fit comfortably. And I think the wagon ride would make me sick right now." She gestured toward the basket hooked over his arm with a nod of her head. "You might as well eat while I recover."

Jason studied her, his expression revealing nothing. He was weighing his options—trying to decide between two evils.

Reaching for the basket, she placed it on what was left of her lap and withdrew a clean linen napkin, holding it out to him. Smiling crookedly, he took the cloth and wiped as much grime as possible from his hands.

"The fish is still a little warm," she told him, waiting expectantly for him to react. What choice did he have? His invalid wife couldn't be moved at present, and the food must smell delicious to a man who hadn't eaten since morning.

Finally, he dropped the soiled cloth to the floor beside her chair and took the plate, helping himself to the fish.

"I hate for you to eat standing up," she said. "Maybe you could find another chair or—"

"This is fine." His blunt voice cut her off.

"It's been nearly four weeks," Caroline said, referring to the last time they'd made love or even spoken more than a few polite, meaningless words to each other. "Are you ever going to talk to me again?"

"I have nothing to say," he said, brushing his arm across his mouth. "As you can see, I've been busy."

"What about the baby?" she asked, determined to force some kind of response from him and succeeding. She could feel the tremor that coursed through him as he handed the plate back to her and turned away.

"You seem to be better," he said over his shoulder. "Wait here until you feel like moving, then go back to the house. I've got work to do."

He didn't want to hear what she had to say, she knew, didn't want to face the truth. "It won't go away!" she called after him, placing the plate in the basket and the basket on the ground.

Paralyzed with apprehension, Caroline waited. He stood at the edge of the patio, his back rigid, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I'm going to have a baby soon—your baby, Jason!"

"Go back to the house," he said, his stance unbending.

In desperation, Caroline went to him, grasping him by the arm so that he stopped and turned to face her. Taking his hand, she placed it on her belly. Instantly, he recoiled, jerking away and putting a safe distance between them.

"Leave me alone!" His voice shook with suppressed emotion. In his eyes she saw fear and fury.

He was like a rain cloud about to burst. Pressure built inside him so that an explosion seemed unavoidable. And as much as she wanted to be anywhere else when he finally erupted, she couldn't let him go, not like this. He wanted the baby; she knew he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. So why did he deny it? Why couldn't he be glad?

"It's our child, Jason," she told him, tears clouding her eyes and causing her voice to tremble. "Isn't that what you wanted? A child? I read your letters. If I could undo it, I would. Can't we get past that?"

"I don't think so." He walked away from her, and again her words halted him.

"I know your sister killed herself!" she cried, knowing she might regret bringing into the light something he'd tried so desperately to keep in the shadows.

"No!" he shouted, turning and stalking toward her with such vehemence that it was all she could do not to back away. He stopped an arm's length from her, the fury inside him causing his body to tremble with suppressed violence. "You see, I don't want to discuss this with you. With Derek, maybe, but not with you. It never happened. Or it happened to someone else a long time ago. It has nothing to do with me, with now. I came all the way to Brazil to start over."

"It has everything to do with you," Caroline argued, though the urge to flee from the anger and anguish in his eyes resounded inside her. "Can't you see how it's tearing you up inside? You and I can't have a future until you deal with your past."

"I don't need or want you telling me that. I don't need you trying to fix me, the great healer, Mother Earth personified! You're like a whirlwind, you know? You whirl around and suck up everyone and everything in your path. If you don't like the way something is, you just tear it down and rebuild it to suit you. You and I are stuck with each other, but I don't have to like it."

His words pierced her soul like arrows. She tried to remind herself that it was his anger talking, but it did little good. He was trapped inside a prison of guilt and regret, and she didn't know if she had the strength or the courage to release him, to cross that moat of cold fury and free the man inside.

"I am your wife," she reminded him, struggling in vain to keep her voice from quivering. "Why won't you talk about it? Tell me about your past."

Jason laughed without humor. "You read my letters. Why don't you tell me about my past? You know, this is exactly why I asked for a young, inexperienced wife. I didn't want to have to be answering a lot of questions about my past, and I didn't want to always be wondering about my wife's past."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know," Caroline said, though she knew he was trying to change the subject.

"Did you love him?" he asked with an uncompromising glare.

The unexpected question hit her like a blow. She could only stare at him in openmouthed amazement. Finally, she shook her head wearily. "We've been over this before, Jason. Why is it so important to you?"

His lips twisted in a smug half smile. "Anything, you said. It's a simple question requiring a yes or no answer. Did you love him or not?"

Glancing away from the blue intensity of his eyes, Caroline murmured, "It's not that simple...."

"Admit it, Caroline, you loved him. Why is it so hard for you to say it? You never would have married him if you hadn't cared for him. I know you well enough to know that."

"I was infatuated with him," she conceded, searching her heart and mind for some link with that part of her life. She couldn't conjure any emotion for Wade. It was as if he'd never been a part of her life. She honestly couldn't say whether she'd loved him or not.

"Infatuated?" he asked sharply. "He charmed you, is that it? You found him attractive and he courted you patiently. Did you think of him when you weren't with him? What did you talk about, the two of you? Did you cry out when you made love?"

"Stop it!" Her face flushed at the memory of Jason's lovemaking. No, she'd never cried out with Wade, but she wasn't sure she should admit it. It would only give him an opening to steer the conversation down a road she didn't want to travel and away from himself. Angry and yet somehow thrilled that he cared enough to interrogate her, she asked, "Why are you doing this? Wade is dead! Dead! What does it matter whether I loved him or not?"

"My past is dead. Why is it that you think you have the right to dig up the corpses of my past but I shouldn't even be curious about yours?"

"Because it's irrelevant here. I've buried my corpses. You dug yours up and brought them here with you."

His jaw tightened, the only sign of reaction in his otherwise stoic expression. "I disagree," he said tautly, "I think your past is very relevant. What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?"

"My father's death," she replied without hesitation. She didn't have to think about it. Her father's death was the single most devastating event in her life.

"Your—your father's death?" he asked as if stunned by her unexpected response. "Not your husband's?"

"By then I didn't love him, if I ever did." In her mind, she relived the disillusionment she'd experienced so long ago, when she'd learned that Wade had lost all the money her father had left them and with it their future. "I can't answer your question because I don't know. I don't know if I loved him. I was so young, so..."

"So what?"

"So vulnerable." She felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. "He was handsome and witty and so aloof. I chased him shamelessly. When my father died, he was there, waiting to step in and take over. I thought he was so strong. It was only after two years of marriage and his squandering of not only his own money but mine as well that I began to see things—to see him as he really was. So, now you know as much about me as I do about you."

"The difference is you knew who you were talking to," he said obstinately, turning and walking away once again.

"All right! I'm sorry!" Caroline cried, trembling with rage. "How many times do I have to apologize? You're not angry because I read your letters, Jason. You're angry because of what was in them, because I know—"

"Know? What the bloody hell do you know, Caroline?" he thundered.

Caroline looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his glare, yet unwilling to back down. They were very much alone here, she realized thankfully. The workers had abandoned the orchards for the siesta. The fires kept the animals and insects at bay, so the only sound that reached them was the relentless lapping of smoldering fires. A strong breeze swept through the beneficio, bringing the promise of rain with it. Far overhead a soaring condor cawed loudly, breaking the unnatural silence.

"I know about your father—what your relationship with him was like. I know that he beat you and you hated him. Of course you did, he brutalized you and your family."

Jason laughed, the bitterest sound Caroline had ever heard. "You said the worst thing that ever happened to you was your father's death. The day my father died was like a liberation for me. That was the day my life began."

"I'm sorry," she choked out. She wanted with all her heart to touch him, to comfort him, but she knew he would only push her away.

"Just so you know what kind of man you've married, Caroline, I have a terrible rage inside me, a gift from my father. It boils up now and then and I lash out at whatever or whoever's closest to me." He studied his hands, turning them over in front of his eyes. "These hands have already killed."

"What are you talking about?" The blood seemed to drain from her body, and she waited in breathless silence.

"Yeah, now you're afraid. Maybe you're smarter than I gave you credit for."

"Who... who did you kill?"

"He was always bigger than me," Jason murmured, his gaze distant as if he'd left her and traveled back through time to his boyhood, "even to the last. I was a tall kid, but I was very skinny. It didn't matter. He was drunk. I pushed him. He fell and hit his head on the edge of an ax I'd been using earlier in the day. For a long time, I kept searching my memory, wondering if somehow subconsciously I'd put that ax there on purpose. I killed my own father."

"It was an accident," she said, her voice trembling.

"It doesn't matter. He's no less dead than he would have been had I killed him intentionally. My rage got control of me. That's why I came here, don't you understand? So I couldn't hurt anyone else!"

"No!" Caroline cried sharply. "You can lie to yourself, Jason, but not to me. You've hidden yourself away in this jungle to escape a world you don't understand. It's not hurting someone else that frightens you so much, it's being hurt."

"I don't have to listen to this!" He moved to leave again.

"Then run away again, Jason, it's what you do best!" He continued to walk away from her as if her words had no effect on him. Driven by desperation, she shouted, "You're a coward, Jason Sinclair! You're afraid to care about anyone because you could be hurt."

"What do you know, really know, about me?" he asked, turning to glare at her. "Do you know what it's like to be hated by someone who's supposed to love and protect you? Do you know what it's like when even the place you live isn't safe? He'd come home drunk and fly into a rage about nothing—something I'd done or hadn't done or the way I looked at him. I never knew what would set him off. He'd beat me until I nearly blacked out. Sometimes I was afraid he'd never stop. If I tried to defend myself, it only made him madder."

She tried to touch him, but he shrugged her away.

-"He hired me out to work in a sugar factory when I was eleven so I could supply him with money to buy whiskey and women. I didn't go to school. I'd work in that boiler room for fourteen hours a day, stoking the fires under the kettles or turning the handle so the sugar wouldn't stick and burn. If I got home later than he thought I should, he'd beat me. If I didn't bring home enough money, he'd beat me."

The beginnings of tears burned behind Caroline's eyes at the image his words evoked. "Jason, I wish I could take away your pain."

"Well, you can't," he said with a great sigh that seemed torn from his very soul. "You never could. It's my own hell."

"What did your mother do?"

"Do?" he asked with a laugh. "She hid and hoped he wouldn't get tired of beating me and turn on her."

"She didn't try to stop him?"

"Like I said, you don't understand. My father was a very big man, big and mean. No one messed with Cullen Sinclair. What could my mother have done to stop him?"

"I don't know, Jason," she said, absently caressing her swollen stomach. "I only know that if anyone did that to my child, I'd have to try and stop them."

Without warning, Jason grabbed her by the shoulders, his hands biting painfully into her flesh, his eyes glowing with fury.

"Don't you dare judge my mother! You don't know what it's like to be terrorized night and day. I tried to fight back once when I was thirteen and he broke my nose. Look at this," he said, releasing her and pulling his shirt sleeve back to reveal a small circular scar on his wrist. "See, my father smoked a cigar, and one night he got really mad and...."

Caroline felt as if she might faint or be physically ill. Her head reeled and nausea rose in her throat. "Stop, please."

"Damn it!" he growled between clenched teeth, shaking her roughly. "That's not the worst he did, Caroline. Should I describe the scars he put on my mother or what he did to my sister?"

Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks as she tried to pull away, tried to flee from the bitter hurt in his voice and his uncompromising words. Finally he released her and she fell away, sobbing brokenly.

"You feel guilty because your sister killed herself and you couldn't stop her."

"Shut up," he snarled, but Caroline couldn't stop herself.

"You blame yourself," she went on, despite the mounting fury so plain in his features. "You couldn't even stop your father from hurting you."

"Shut up!"

"You hate yourself because you knew what was going on, and you were too afraid to try and stop him."

"Shut up!"

With a guttural growl, Jason slammed his fist into the wall beside her. The wall shuddered under the blow, and so did Caroline. For a stunned second, she stared at him, knowing something had shifted between them in that instant. She saw it on his expression. There was a flash of regret, but also a stubborn determination to keep the wall between them intact. She struggled for something to say, but there was nothing left to say.

Without a word, she hurried as best she could toward her waiting cart, fighting and losing the battle against the tears that welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Once settled into the cart, she shook out the reins and the horse bolted forward, jarring her, and the baby protested vehemently. A sob tore from her throat as she thought of what had just happened, and for the first time she truly believed Jason might be beyond redemption. She knew he loved her, or she thought so anyway, but just how much was he capable of loving?

The pain Jason had carried in his heart all these years opened to her and she understood. And she also knew that she could not stay and live with a man who would always hold her at arm's length, who would always protect the secret wounds he'd nursed all these years. She could not stay and she would not!

Something had changed between them, something irrevocable. He would never open up to her. He would never love her as she wanted to be loved or allow her to love him as she longed to do.

Rounding a curve in the path, Caroline drew back on the reins, slowing the horse to a walk. She was out of sight of the beneficio, and Jason hadn't come after her. Her body ached from the bouncing, jolting ride she'd just experienced, and she knew she couldn't keep it up all the way back to the house. For the sake of the baby, if not her own, she had to take her time. Besides, there were things to think about, decisions to be made. Whatever else happened, no matter how badly it hurt, she had to get away from this place.