Page 137 of Confessions

“Nerd!”

“Baby!”

“At least I didn’t kiss Katie Osgood!” Bobby said, tossing Nadine a superior glance.

“You kissed—”

“Aw, Mom, she kissed me!” John said, his face mottling red.

“So much for peace and quiet,” Nadine said, reaching for Bobby as he tried to race out of the room. She captured him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He giggled loudly. “That’s what you get, mister, for not even saying ‘hi’ to your mom.”

He smiled and

nuzzled her cheek. “Hi.”

“And you—” She turned to John but he was backpedaling out of the room.

“I’m too old for that sissy stuff,” he said, disappearing into the hall.

“Yeah, that’s because you got enough kissing for the day,” Bobby crowed.

“Not me. I haven’t had nearly enough sissy stuff!” Hayden leaned over and kissed his wife’s crown. “The older I get the more of the ‘sissy stuff’ I want.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re irresistible.” He kissed her again, then glanced up at Ben. “Hi—I suppose you came with the blueprints,” he said, obviously hopeful to see how the plans for Nadine’s cabin were progressing.

“Nope, he just brought the blues,” Nadine quipped. “But I think I can twist his arm and convince him to stay for dinner.”

“With your wild bunch? No way.”

“Come on—”

“Not tonight,” Ben said, draining his can and shoving his chair away from the table.

“Got a lot to think about?” she asked, shooting him a knowing look.

“Too much,” he admitted as he walked out the back door and cut through the breezeway to his pickup. He climbed in and fired up the old truck.

Somehow he had to figure out the truth. Had he been so naive, so insensitive that he hadn’t realized that he was making love to a virgin? Had he just assumed that she’d been experienced and then ignored the signs of her own naiveté?

He felt like a fool. He remembered their night of lovemaking in the rain. He still felt a wonder at the thrill of it.

Never had he felt so alive and never, with the women he’d been with since that fateful night, had he ever felt so completely undone. The joining of his body and Carlie’s had been unique and earth-shattering and passionate. Even Kevin’s death hadn’t turned that spectacular memory bitter.

He’d blamed Kevin’s death for his inability to feel the same exhilaration with a woman, but now he knew differently. The reason sex had never been the same was that he’d never again allowed himself to become so emotionally attached to his partner.

Fool! he told himself as he drove home through the misting rain.

He hadn’t even realized that she’d been a virgin. He’d been so caught up in his own pleasure that he hadn’t noticed any sign of her discomfort, or any breakage of tissue or any pain.

“Damn it all.” He felt like a complete idiot. An idiot who had falsely blamed a woman for too many years. “Hell, Powell, who did you think you were?”

Never had he considered Carlie’s feelings. After Kevin’s death, he’d turned her phone calls and letters callously away, never once explaining, refusing to listen to her side of the story. He’d just blamed her for Kevin’s death and condemned her to his family and friends. And when he’d joined the army, he’d run as fast and as far away from her as possible.

The truck bounced along the rutted drive to his little rental house, a house he’d hoped to share with a woman someday.

He wondered if Carlie would ever be that woman and snorted at the thought. She’d be out of her mind to trust him again.