Carolina Mist Page 29
“I missed you,” he said between kisses that sent her world spinning. “If the jury had come back earlier, I’d have been here last night.”
She pulled him into the house, and he dropped his bag at his feet and used both hands to lift her onto the counter, where he set her down and kissed her senseless. So senseless that she did not hear Belle’s footfall on the steps until he had set her back on her feet, with her wondering why he had stopped.
“I want to tell Gran I’m here”—he kissed the tip of her nose—“so she doesn’t get a start when she comes in.” Abby leaned hard on the counter, trying to regulate her breathing and convince her legs that they could, in fact, hold her up. She would make coffee, that’s what she would do. And tea, of course, for Belle…
He swung the door open hard, and it crashed sharply into the wall behind. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a business card, and his face held a fury so dark that she involuntarily backed away from its intensity.
“Thank you… for the most wonderful… night… of… my… life?” he read with caustic incredulity, deliberate emphasis on each word.
“Alex, that’s from Drew.” She dismissed the importance of the note with a wave of her hand.
“I’d say you’ve been a very busy girl this week.” His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Alex, that’s the card that came with flowers that Drew sent to me because…”
“Oh, I think I can figure out why he sent them.” His snort of disbelief shot through her.
“Alex, you can’t think for a minute…” She laughed.
He slammed past her, out the door, and into the yard to his car.
“If this isn’t the stupidest thing…” Abby muttered, then followed him down the driveway. “Alex, where are you going?”
He glowered from behind dangerously dark eyes but did not break stride.
“Alex, this is ridiculous… where are you going?”
“Fishing!” he fairly shouted.
“Alex, don’t you want to know…?”
“I know what constitutes a wonderful night,” he growled, “and I do not want to know if his wonderful night”—he opened the door of the Saab—“was more wonderful”—he slid into the front seat—“than mine!”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Alex.” Abby’s hands flew to her hips. “This is the most absurd…”
He had not heard a word. The Saab peeled back down the drive and halfway up Cove Road before she could finish her sentence.
She stood staring at the empty driveway, unable to believe that he had left. The shaft of pain that welled inside her touched every bit of her, every muscle and every nerve. She had no idea how long she stood there before she realized she was crying. She walked to the dock and plunked herself down loudly, where she could wail and not be heard by anyone other than the occasional passing duck or curious magpie. She cried until she choked, stopped long enough to catch her breath, then cried some more. After all these years of wanting him, all these years of waiting for the miracle that would bring the only man she had ever loved back into her life, to lose him so quickly and so foolishly was more than she could bear.
She had the hiccups and knew that a long, tall glass of water was the only cure. Reluctantly—she hadn’t quite finished feeling sorry for herself—she wiped her face on her shirt and returned to the house.
“Where did Alexander go?” Belle asked as Abby passed through the back door.
“He said he was going fishing.” Abby turned her face, hoping that Belle had not noticed that her eyes were puffy almost to the point of being narrow slits in her face and that her face was blotchy and streaked. It was, she knew, too much to ask.
Belle pondered Abby’s response, then nodded as if she understood completely, before tottering off to watch her Saturday morning movie.
“The Mad Miss Manton,” Belle explained as she hurried to the morning room. Meri P., who had paused for a quick drink from her water bowl, scurried to catch up. “Barbara Stanwyck. Henry Fonda. Two of my favorites. Leila’s, too, as I recall.”
Abby sighed, a long, loud sigh of woe. Tapping her fingers on the counter, she debated her options for the rest of the day. She could (A) wallow in misery and spend the day bemoaning her fate, or (B) find something constructive to do. Common sense won out, and she went upstairs to paint. No reason why she couldn’t be heartbroken and constructive at the same time.
After an hour, during which time she had painted one wall yellow in a room in which she had, only earlier in the week, painted the other three walls blue, Abby gave up. She heard Sunny and Lilly come in from Naomi’s, but, not wanting any company, she went to her bedroom, where she hid by snuggling into her quilt and curling up in a ball. She slept until Sunny sent Lilly to get her for dinner, which was a relatively quiet affair. Abby turned in around nine and tucked herself into bed with a romance novel she’d borrowed from Naomi. As least someone would be living happily after, she thought as she settled in to read.
At ten-thirty, she put the book facedown on the bed beside her. The heroine’s efforts at winning back the man she loved were proving to be more than Abby could take. The last seduction scene had been hotter than anything Abby had ever seen in print. Though not hotter, she recalled, than the scene in the carriage house on Monday night. How, Abby wondered, could Alex walk away from her after the hours they had spent loving each other so completely?
He hadn't walked, she reminded herself, he had run.
More exactly, he had peeled out of the driveway in a jealous snit. Naomi had been right.
Abby swung her legs over the side of the bed and dangled her toes just inches over the carpet, trying to digest this fact. On the one hand, she thought, it meant that he did, in fact, care for her, enough that he did not want her to be with anyone else—not that she had been, of course. But, on the other hand, there was still Melissa, and apparently that was okay as far as he was concerned. He could spend four days in a distant city with another woman, but she, Abby, could not have a friendship with another man. And that simply wouldn’t do. As much as Abby loved him, there were certain things she could not accept. Playing by the old double standard was one of them.
Tomorrow, she would go to Hampton and ring his doorbell and tell him exactly how she felt. She would tell him…
The sound of tires crunching in the driveway made her sit straight up in bed. Without looking, she knew it was Alex. On tiptoes, she crept into the darkened hall and down the dark steps in her nightshirt. After unlocking the back door, she flew into the yard. At the corner of the house, she caught herself and forced herself to slow down. Remembering the cool attitude of the heroine in the book when she had to face down the hero, Abby smoothed back her hair and cleared her throat.
She picked her way carefully along the path—damn, when would she learn to put something on her feet?—to the car, where he still sat behind the wheel. Abby opened the driver’s-side door.
“I guess you came back to apologize to me,” she said.
He scowled and tried to grab the door handle to shut her out, but she leaned against the door to prevent him from doing so.
“You want to say you’re sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“Ha!”
“And for assuming that something was going on between Drew and me. And you didn’t like it, even though you have something going on with someone else. But that’s okay. It’s the old double standard. Well, it’s not okay. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you think it’s okay for a man to have something going on with two women at the same time, but boy, oh boy, if you even suspect that a woman has something going with two men, well, then, that’s a whole ’nother ball game…”
“Abby.”
“A horse of a different color…”
“Abby.”
“The pot calling the kettle black…”
“Abby, shut up.”
She did.
“I see.”
“Good. I need to know that you understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“Well?” He seemed to be waiting for her to tell him something.
“Well what? I understand. I understand that you are telling me that she was in your life before I came back and that…”
“Abby, who are you talking about?”
“Melissa, of course.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because she’s your… your…”
“She’s my coworker.”
“Your coworker?” Abby stared at him dumbly.
“Abby, you knew that.”
“But I thought that you… that she…”
“Abby, as far as I’m concerned, Melissa is a friend. I have absolutely no interest in her in any other way.”
“But she… I mean, it’s obvious that she…”
“She knows how I feel.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I told her.”
“When?”
“Last Saturday night. After the wedding.”
“Saturday night? That was before… before we…” She gestured lamely toward the carriage house.
“Yes.”
“I see.” Abby cleared her throat.
“I’m glad that you do. So you can understand how I feel about you and Drew.”
“Alex, there is no ‘me and Drew.’ He’s my friend, maybe more like a long-lost cousin, or maybe almost like the brother I never had.”
“What about the ‘best night of his life’?”
“Wednesday was his birthday. I had a birthday dinner for him. And I baked a birthday cake. It’s something he never had. He had a terrible childhood, Alex. I was just trying to maybe help make up for some unhappy times in his life.”
“And you really think that Drew looks on you as a sister?”
“I know he does. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”
“Because I cannot understand how any man could know you and not be hopelessly in love with you. Like I am. Like I have always been.”
His confession was so unexpected that his words all but struck her dumb.
“Abby.”
“What?”
“What are you wearing under that…” He motioned to her nightshirt.
“Nothing.” Her eyes widened innocently.
“Nothing at all?” He swallowed hard.
“Nope.” She leaned back against the car door. “Nary a stitch.”
“I see.” He nodded almost grimly.
“The bed’s made up in your room,” she told him.
“I like that room,” he said without looking at her. “I like that bed.”
“It has a real feather mattress, did you know that?” she asked nonchalantly.
“No. I wasn’t aware of that.” He swung his legs out of the car, and she took a step back away from the door.
Alex closed the car door behind him and locked it. In the dark, Abby smiled as she backed toward the house slowly, knowing he would follow her.
As she turned to open the back door, she felt his hands on her waist, and she turned with her mouth half opened to him, no longer able to play the game. She was both devoured and devouring, and she thought her heart had beaten itself into such a frenzy that it would just spin out of her chest. Alex was all at once in her and through her and around her. She felt his hands under her nightshirt, caressing her bare skin, and then she felt the clapboard of the house on her bare back and knew they would be in serious trouble if they didn’t get into the house soon. Very soon.
He lifted her with one hand and opened the back door with the other. When they had crossed the threshold into the kitchen, he said, “Isn’t it your turn to carry me?”
“If you are waiting for me to carry you up the steps, it will be a very long night.” She laughed and took his hand and led him to the stairwell. “You could, of course, follow me.”
“Or you could follow me.”
“Someone wrote a song like that…”
“Phil Collins. ‘Follow Me, Follow You.’ ”
“I thought it was ‘Follow You, Follow Me.’” She pondered.
“Whichever.” He dismissed its importance as they did, in fact, follow each other up the long staircase, circling each other on the steps like cats, then tiptoeing like ghosts down the hallway.
Abby quietly opened the door to the room she had prepared for him in the front of the house. The moonlight spilled across the antique bed with the high head and foot boards and the puffy feather mattress. As quietly as it had been opened, the door closed behind them. Abby tugged at the buttons of his shirt impatiently. Alex grabbed her hands to still them.
“Not until you say the magic words,” he told her solemnly.
“Please?” She frowned. “You want me to say ‘please’? Now, there’s a real mood breaker for you…”
“No.” He laughed. “I want you to tell me.”
“Tell you?” She eased her fingers from his grasp and continued to unbutton his shirt, this time without his interference. “Tell you that I love you? That you are the only dream that I’ve ever had? That all I ever wanted was…”
Whatever it had been that was all Abby had ever wanted would have to wait, because he could not. And by the time the moon had passed the rising sun on its way to the dawn, even Abby wasn’t certain of what she had been about to say. Not that it mattered. By that time, every dream she had ever had had become her reality, and every promise that could be made had been pledged. By the time Sunday dawned over Primrose, there was nothing left to wish for. Everything that mattered was hers.
It was late when Abby awoke, almost eight a.m. according to the clock on the bedroom mantel. Certain that Belle would be wondering where she was, Abby tried to ease herself out of bed without waking Alex. Just as she was about to lift herself off the side of the mattress, a hand wrapped like a steel band around her wrist.
“And where do you think you are going?” Alex whispered.
“Downstairs.” She leaned back across the bed to kiss his chin. “To make breakfast.”
“That’s my job,” he reminded her with mock indignation. “I am the Sunday morning breakfast guy around here.”
“Then you had better get yourself up, dressed, and into the kitchen.” She pulled the nightshirt she had discarded the night before over her head. “And take care of business.”
“What’s the big hurry?” He yawned and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gran’s probably already had her tea…”
“And Sunny has already made the coffee. But we—that is, Sunny and I—invited Drew to come to the town fair with us today, and he will be here in an hour.”
Alex groaned.
“Don’t you dare.” She looked over her shoulder. “You are going to make every effort to be his friend, Alex.”
“Fine. I’ll make a few extra waffles.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” She blew him a kiss from the doorway, but that being a totally unsatisfactory beginning to what she felt would be a glorious day, she plunked herself on his side of the bed and cuddled up to him just long enough to kiss him soundly and tell him, “You will like Drew, I promise you will. But you have to give him a chance.”
“Okay. I will be his friend. I will be his best friend. I will be like a brother to him, if it makes you happy.” Alex sighed. “Now, get back to your room and dress yourself properly, or no one will have waffles this morning.”
35
“This was a stroke of genius,” Alex acknowledged as they removed the wheelchair from the trunk of Drew’s car.
“Well, I sure hope that Miz Matthews thinks so.” Drew sighed.
“I hope she’s not insulted. But she had mentioned that she hadn’t been to a town fair in so many years, and she sounded sort of wistful about it, you know?”
“I think it’s perfect,” Alex told him. “There is no way that my grandmother could walk all the way into town and walk around all afternoon. This way, she’ll be able to go and see everything and everyone and not have to worry about getting tired or tripping over someone else’s big feet.”
“I hope she sees it that way.” Drew grimaced as he carried the chair to the foot of the porch steps and placed it on the grass. “I’m almost afraid to tell her.”
“You stay right there.” Alex bounded up the front steps. “I’ll go get her and bring her out.”
Halfway through the door, Alex paused and turned back to Drew. “Thanks, Drew. This was very thoughtful.”
Drew nodded. He seemed to be holding his breath until Alex returned with Belle, who at first appeared taken aback that anyone would think she would need such assistance. But Alex sweet-talked her into sitting in it and letting him take her for a ride. In the end, it hadn’t taken much to convince Belle that the wheelchair was the only way she’d be getting into Primrose proper that day, cars being banned from the center of town for the fair.
“Thank you, Alexander.” She reached for her grandson to lean down so that she could kiss his cheek. “How very kind. How very thoughtful.”
“Thank Drew, Gran,” Alex told her. “He brought it for you.”
“Did he, now?” Belle exclaimed, and she turned to look up at Drew from where she sat in her rented conveyance.
Drew sat on the bottom step and watched the old woman as she turned the wheels to spin the chair slowly in his direction.
“Thank you, young man,” she said softly. “I appreciate your kindness.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miz Matthews,” he told her. “Didn’t seem right to go off to celebrate Primrose and leave you behind.”
“Would you mind pushing me for a block or so, Drew?”
“My privilege.” He nodded.
“Now, where is Abigail?” Belle gestured to Alex. “Could you please tell her and Sunny to come along? I can’t wait to get to the fair, now that I know I am going. Oh, yes, indeed.” Her eyes shone as she looked up at the two young men who stood by her chair. “This will be a very fine day.”