Bill met his gaze. “The world needs heroes, Jeff. Your story would give boys like Travis and Davey someone to believe in besides spoiled athletes and bored and reckless movie stars.”
“Then you should talk to Father Chabot. I had the courage to keep going once I was out of there. But he had the courage to go from day to day when it looked as though nothing would ever change, as though we’d be there forever. And he’d been in a few months longer than I had.”
“Jeff.” Whittier put a hand on his arm, apparently to claim his full attention. “I’m talking about big money. Big money.”
Jeff understood him completely. Big money was the man’s job, his purpose in life. And while Jeff could appreciate financial gain as a goal, it had never really been his objective.
He appreciated the comfortable life a reasonable income gave him, but he thrived on the bigness of a project, the distant spaces it brought together—both sides of a river, two sides of a city that couldn’t be connected through it because of a warren of dusty little streets and narrow alleyways. He got a thrill out of bringing water to thirsty people.
So he built bridges and freeways and water systems. And there had been times, he thought whimsically, remembering a thirsty little village in Chad, when the people’s gratitude had made him feel like Santa Claus.
“I’d rather hold out,” he said, “for a big job. I’ve hardly been able to move for the last three months, and now that I’m free, I have serious cabin fever. So I’m going to travel for a few weeks thanks to a bank account I left in Boston, then find work.”
“But you accepted my invitation to do this show.”
Jeff was careful not to look in Liza’s direction, afraid someone would read in his eyes why he’d done it.
“As I recall, I accepted an invitation to spend Christmas with Liza De Lane. It was only after I accepted that you told me there was a television show involved.”
Whittier was incredulous. “What’ll I tell Larry King and ‘Sixty Minutes’?”
“Tell them to call Father Chabot,” he replied. “The doctor said he’s going to be fine. And I’m sure he’d like to make big bucks for his community of priests and their work with the poor.”
Whittier apparently chose to try one more time. “Jeff. You have to think of this from a reporter’s point of view—from the perspective of an audience hungry for information. You carried Father Chabot to safety, you kept him alive for six days when he’d been shot, you stole food and fed him before you ate.”
Jeff nodded, also choosing to try one more time. “What you’re not getting, Mr. Whittier, is that…he’s the one who got me to the point where I could do that. He taught me to pray and to believe when there was nothing to hold on to. He’s the hero.”
Jeff looked into Whittier’s eyes, hoping for under standing, but saw only the same mystified expression he’d worn before. This, Jeff accepted, was a distance he couldn’t bridge with steel and good engineering.
“But we don’t have to worry about that for a couple of days, do we?” he asked.
“That’s right,” Bill said. “You’re here to enjoy Christmas with us, so let’s not worry about the past or the future. This moment is too important.”
As everyone stood and Jeff helped the boys collect dishes, he caught the exchange of a glance between Sherrie and Bill. It was difficult to define, and it was over in an instant, but for Jeff it caused a small disturbing ripple on the surface of the evening.’
They moved to the living room and watched several Christmas specials, which Whittier critiqued and made notes on while Liza and Sherrie stuffed everyone with samples of more holiday treats.
When everyone pleaded for mercy, Liza sat on the sofa beside Bill, his arm casually around her, and the children sprawled around them, Davey falling asleep with his head in Liza’s lap.
Sherrie sat apart from everyone in a chair near the fire, looking through a cookbook and taking notes.
Jeff, in the other chair, leaned toward her and asked quietly, “Are you getting background for the show?”
She looked up at him, her expression disgruntled, then she smiled, as though she’d had to force it. “Yes. I’m looking up the history of Mandelbrot for Liza, since everyone seemed to enjoy it so much. She’ll…probably want to include it in the show.”
“Do you help with the column, too?”
“No!” Her reply was quick and emphatic, then she smiled again and closed the book. “No. I helped her with a small cable show last year, but this year…I mean, this one’s national and I’m doing most of her research, so I’m a little…edgy.”
She was. He’d noticed that she’d grown more quiet and more remote as the evening wore on. Except for that look she’d exchanged with Bill.
Jeff refused to even consider what that could mean. And it wasn’t his business, anyway.
“I’m nervous, too,” he said conversationally. “It’s my first time on television—cable or national.” Then he remembered a bridge he’d worked on in Malaysia. “No, I take that back. There was one time when the local TV station came out for the ribbon-cutting of a bridge I worked on in Sarawak. I was on the evening news in a hard hat and a poncho because it was pouring. You couldn’t even tell it was me. Talk about a small window of opportunity.”
She laughed and put the book aside, the disgruntled look fading. “I admire your unwillingness to make money your bottom line. I’d like to be that noble.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I have only myself to support. What do you do when you’re not helping your sister with a television show?”
“I’m the chef at the Rockbury Inn in town.”
“Do you have a family? Bill told me you’re dating someone.”
She looked distracted for a moment. “Sort of,” she said.
When he raised an eyebrow at that, she laughed again. “Um…I mean that I…borrow Liza’s family a lot. And the man I’m—er—seeing…it’s not serious. Actually, I’m waiting for Tom Selleck.”
“Ah.” He laughed. “He’s getting a little mature for you, isn’t he?”
She grinned wickedly. “That’s what I like about him. I married youth and charm once. This time I want maturity. And the fact that he’s gorgeous—with or without the mustache—doesn’t hurt.”
“Isn’t he married to a dancer?”
She waved a hand airily. “Oh, he’ll get tired of beauty and a tight little body. When he comes looking for the best pot roast he’s ever had, I’ll be here.”
“Good plan.”
She grew serious suddenly. “What are you looking for?”
He didn’t have to think about that. She was sitting on the sofa in another man’s arms. But from a guest in her home, that would be a poor answer. He pretended to consider.
“A cheerful nature,” he replied finally. “Someone willing to travel with me. To have children.”
She frowned. “Travel and children don’t go together very well. Children need a predictable routine.”
“Couldn’t they have a predictable routine in a foreign place?”
“I don’t know. My…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “My nephews…were very upset with the move.”
“What move?”
“Ah…here. To Rockbury. They hated leaving their schools.”
“So the boys aren’t Bill’s?” he asked.
She looked startled. “Why?”
“Because he told me he’s been at Rockbury Hospital for eight years. Travis would have been two and not in school, and Davey wasn’t even born yet.”
“No.” Her eyes went across the room to where Liza and Bill and the boys sat together, to Whittier in the recliner, toward the kitchen, then back to him. “They summered here when they were first married, then decided to move here, but it…it took a while. Bill commuted.”
“Until after the boys started school? That must have been an ordeal.”
“It was only from Hartford.” She stood abruptly, her hands moving nervously up and down her arms. “If you’ll
excuse me, I have some things to get ready for tomorrow. Can I bring you a brandy before bed, or anything?”
“No, thanks.” He stood also. “I think I’ll head up now.”
“See you in the morning.”
Jeff turned to say good-night to his hosts and encountered Bill’s distrustful gaze. Liza was talking to Travis, who leaned sleepily against her, and Whittier remained glued to the television.
Jeff refocused on Bill’s face, trying to analyze what it meant. He didn’t like the only answer he could think of to explain the man’s behavior.
Both times Jeff had met that look he’d been talking to Sherrie. And he recalled the glance Bill and Sherrie had exchanged when everyone else had been clearing the table. It hadn’t been loving, but it had had an edge of urgency that developed between people who cared deeply for each other.
He didn’t even want to form the thought into words, but his brain did it anyway. Did Liza’s husband and her sister have something going?
Bill’s expression changed to one of hospitable amiability. “You going up, Jeff?”
“Yes,” he said, trying, as Bill apparently was, to pretend they hadn’t just looked daggers at each other. “Thank you again for a wonderful dinner and for your hospitality. I’m usually an early riser, so if you wake up and find me gone, don’t worry.”
“We’re planning breakfast for eight,” Liza said, looking up from her son. She looked flushed and sleepy and he had to force himself not to stare. “But if you’re having a good time exploring, we’ll leave your plate in the oven.”
“Thank you.”
As Jeff turned to the stairs, Bill said to Liza, “Why don’t you go up with him, sweetheart, and make sure he has enough towels, and can find extra blankets.”
Liza met Jeff’s eyes, then turned to Travis, who’d fallen asleep against her shoulder. “You do it, Bill,” she argued gently. “I have to get the boys to bed.”
“I’ll do that in a minute,” he insisted. “You see Jeff upstairs.”
It was clear that she didn’t want to. Jeff couldn’t believe Bill couldn’t see that. It was possible he was encouraging her so that he could have a private moment in the kitchen with Sherrie.
Jeff realized that was all conjecture on his part, and he pushed the thought away so that Liza couldn’t read it in him. She had a way of looking into his eyes that told him she read his mind and, what was worse, his heart.
Bill reached around her to support Travis so that Liza could stand, then he pulled the boy toward him and he was asleep again before his head hit Bill’s shoulder.
Jeff waited at the bottom of the stairs and stood aside to let Liza go up ahead of him. He kept a safe distance behind her, then followed her into the room.
She flipped on the light and went to the armoire, pulling open the bottom drawer.
He let his eyes slip over her delicious curves, then wiped the desire from his face when she straightened with a plaid wool blanket in her arms.
“They’re promising snow for tomorrow,” she said, kicking the drawer closed with her foot, “so it’ll be cold tonight. This should be enough with the comforter.”
He agreed with a nod and watched her shake the blanket out atop his bed. “I’d put it under your comforter,” she said without looking at him, “but it’s pretty prickly. It’ll still keep you warm this way.”
She would keep him warmer, he thought, but that was out of the question.
Her task completed, she took a step toward him, expecting, he supposed, that he would move out of her way. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have her for a lifetime, but he was damn well going to enjoy looking at her for the few minutes allowed him.
“I’m very grateful you invited me,” he said, holding his position. “I’m so glad to be back in the States, but I hadn’t really felt as though I’d come home until I walked into your house.”
Her eyes widened and softened, and he thought for a moment she might come toward him. But she took hold of the foot post on the bed and held tightly.
“We’re happy to have you,” she said in a quiet voice. “Despite all your denials, you’re a hero and we’re…we’re honored that you agreed to be our guest.”
He grinned at her. “Whittier bullied you into inviting me, didn’t he?”
“No. He didn’t.” Her denial was quiet but emphatic. “I…we…wanted to meet you.”
He read between the words. I…we. She’d wanted to meet him, but she couldn’t admit that. He wondered if she suspected that something was going on between her sister and her husband. Or if she knew for certain and considered planning her own diversion.
“I can’t believe your fiancée let you come to Connecticut for Christmas,” she said. “I’d have moved heaven and earth…”
There was that telltale pause again. She would have moved heaven and earth. Did she mean for Bill, or for him?
He decided to test the waters. He’d never try to lure a woman away from another man, but if she was being treated unfairly and wanted to leave, that was another story.
He leaned an elbow on the dresser. “Actually, Sylvia and I parted company just before I left for Lebanon. She’s married someone else.”
“Really?” He wasn’t sure if she smiled or if he just wanted to see a smile on her face at that news and imagined it there. In any case, if it had been there, it hadn’t lasted more than an instant. She now studied him soberly. “I’m sorry. That must have been very painful for you.”
He made a so-so gesture with his hand. “I knew it had been falling apart, but I didn’t understand why. So I didn’t do anything about it.” He looked into her eyes. “It’s a policy with me not to act until I have all the facts in a situation.”
She stared back at him. He knew she knew what he was telling her. But she dropped her hands from the post and took a step back. He understood that she was putting distance between them. So that was that.
“Good for you,” she said with a wry smile. “I always jump in with both feet, fueled by perpetual enthusiasm and the unshakable belief that it’ll all turn out well in the end.”
“How often have you been wrong?”
“So far I’m fifty-fifty.” She came toward him. In truth, he knew her purpose was only to try to leave the room, and he stood in front of the only exit.
He didn’t move. “I like better odds than that,” he said.
This time she looked into his eyes—and held them. “That must be why you left a building filled with armed men, without a weapon of your own, halfcarrying an old man.”
Distracted by the indecipherable message in her dark eyes, he let her pass him.
“Good night, Jeff,” she called from the hallway.
He stepped out in it as she turned at the head of the stairs and disappeared. He stood there in the dim light, remembering her velvet eyes boring into his with a message he couldn’t quite interpret. She knew he took chances? She wanted him to take a chance on her? But she hadn’t touched him, and certainly she would have if that had been her point.
Great. For a man who didn’t make a move without full understanding of all the details, this was not a good position.
Unless he changed his style.
Chapter Five
Liza sat in the middle of the stairs, trembling with frustration and exasperation. Her elbows resting on her knees, her face buried in her hands, she remembered Jeff’s strong, supple body blocking her exit from his bedroom.
He knew she was interested in him. And she was sure he was interested in her. If this situation wasn’t handled carefully, it could explode in so many directions that the air she breathed would be poisoned for generations.
She couldn’t tell him she wasn’t married, but if she failed to make it clear to him that they could have a relationship when this show was over, he could be off on his two-week odyssey, take a job halfway across the world and she’d never see him again.
So she had to somehow hold his interest without looking like a bored matron prowling for an affair.
Liza made her way to the kitchen, mentally and physically exhausted. But Sherrie had been working like a slave all day, and she was going to clean up for her so she could go to bed.
Unfortunately, Bill and Whittier sat at the table sipping brandies while Sherrie whipped up something in a bowl.
“But while you were putting the boys to bed,” Whittier was saying to Bill, “Sherrie told me that you and Liza met at a church dance in Hartford.”
Sherrie’s whisk paused in its frantic movements, then picked up speed again and continued.
Liza caught Bill’s eye worriedly over Whittier’s head.
“We did,” Bill insisted, taking another sip.
Whittier folded his arms on the table. “But you just said it was a blind date.”
“It was a blind date at a church dance,” Liza said after a moment’s consideration. It seemed almost too simple a solution to the trip-up in stories. Hoping to appear casual, she opened the dishwasher, but found that Sherrie had already emptied it. Liza closed it again. “His friend was dating Sherrie, and she brought me for Bill.”
She took the jug of milk off the counter and carried it to the refrigerator, waiting for the story to explode on her. But it didn’t.
Whittier accepted that explanation with a roll of his eyes. “My blind dates never turned out looking like Liza. My friends fixed me up with women who looked like longshoremen or prison matrons. Well…” He tipped his balloon glass back, downed the last drop of brandy and got to his feet.
“Thank you all for a delightful evening. What time’s breakfast?”
Sherrie was still whipping madly.
“Eight o’clock,” Liza replied.
“Great. I’ll be down for it. I presume since Sherrie’s whipping up batter, we’re going to be treated to your famous flapjacks?”
Right. Her famous flapjacks. She’d mentioned several times in her column how she flipped them for her children and caught them in the pan. “But of course.”
Christmas In The Country Page 6
