50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [74]
“I ended it.”
Bruce set down his water and studied her. “This is news. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You didn’t write this guy a Dear John letter for no reason. That’s not like you.”
“I e-mailed him.”
“Okay, a Dear John e-mail. Tell me what’s going on.”
Bruce was right; she hadn’t done this lightly. She’d thought about the situation for almost two weeks and concluded that it couldn’t work. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss it.”
“All right.”
Rachel’s appetite was gone, and she pushed her food around while Bruce finished his. He moved his empty plate aside. “This is bothering you, isn’t it?”
Bruce was stating the obvious, a typical male trait in her experience. Because she found it impossible to conceal her emotions, she simply nodded.
They left, and he followed her back to her rental house, parking at the curb. She unlocked the front door and let him inside. The first thing she noticed in the dark foyer was the red light flashing on her answering machine. Instead of listening to her messages, she turned on the house lights and drew the living room drapes, then brought out the DVD they’d selected.
While he put the disk in the slot, she poured them each a glass of wine. He liked the reds, especially merlot, and so did she. Tucking her legs under her, Rachel sat on the sofa. Bruce sat next to her.
The previews had just started when the phone rang. Unfolding her legs and setting her wineglass on the coffee table with a sigh, she hurried into the hallway to answer it. She wasn’t expecting any calls, but there was always the possibility that Jolene might be trying to get in touch with her father.
Using the remote, Bruce sped ahead to the movie portion and hit the pause button.
“Hello,” she said, slightly out of breath.
“Rachel, it’s Nate.”
“Nate?”
Bruce’s eyes flew to hers and she whirled around, unable to look at him while talking to another man. She instantly felt guilty, although she told herself there wasn’t a single reason she should.
“Thank heaven you’re home. I’ve been trying for the last half hour. Where were you? Damn, I wish you’d turn on your cell phone.”
“Did you call to yell at me?”
“No, no. I just want to know what the hell is going on.” His words were followed by a slight echo. “Why won’t you answer my e-mails?”
“I’ve already said everything I feel is necessary. I think we should end this right now.”
“Fine, whatever, but the least you can do is tell me why.”
Rachel didn’t want to talk about this now, especially with Bruce listening to every word.
“Is there someone else? It’s that Bruce guy, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Did I do anything?”
“No.” She twisted the cord around her elbow.
“Do I have to play a guessing game with you?”
“No…I found out you’re Congressman Olsen’s son.”
Her announcement was met with a brief hesitation. “That’s a problem?”
“Yes!” she cried. “It’s a very big problem.” He needed to understand what that information had done to her. And if it wasn’t a problem, why hadn’t he told her himself, instead of leaving her to discover it on her own?
“Does this change who I am?”
“No,” she acknowledged reluctantly.
“Then I don’t see why it’s a problem.”
“I do,” she said. “You’re a congressman’s son and I work in a salon doing nails and hair.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If you don’t know, then I can’t explain it.”
“I’m Nate Olsen, a Warrant Officer in the United States Navy. Why can’t you accept that and that alone?”
“Because.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Why did you enlist?” she demanded.
Her question seemed to take him off guard. “I had something to prove.”
“It’s the same with me, isn’t it? You’re using me in the same way.”
“No.”
“I’m just one more stone to throw at your father. I can just imagine what he’d think if he learned about me.”
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”
“Well, I do,” she said forcefully.
“Then you aren’t the woman I thought you were.”
She braced herself against the wall. “No, I guess I’m not.”
He didn’t have anything more to add, it seemed. She heard a soft goodbye, followed by a click. He’d disconnected.