Orchard Valley Grooms

by Debbie Macomber

  “As kisses go, it was very nice,” she agreed in an offhand manner. Was she overdoing it? she wondered. “Yours had a gentleness, and that was unusual. Most men aren’t like that, you know? When they kiss a woman it’s hot and sweaty. They leave a girl breathless.”

  “I see,” Charles said, raising one eyebrow.

  She placed her hands on her hips, fashion-model style, and tilted back her head, letting her long brown hair swing lightly. “I’m not the same person I was three years ago. You’re right about that. I’m all grown-up now.”

  “So it seems.”

  “I appreciate the ride home,” she said, walking out of the kitchen. She hoped Charles would follow her because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain this performance.

  “Is there anything else these…hot, sweaty men taught you?” he asked in a dispassionate voice. He reached for his iced tea, apparently disinclined to leave quite so soon.

  She turned around and smiled serenely. “You’d be surprised.” Deciding to give him the answer he deserved, she rashly went on. “As you might imagine, I met men of all nationalities—students from all over Europe—and I sampled my fair share of kisses.” Mostly chaste kisses of greeting or farewell, but he didn’t have to know that. And then there were Mario’s exuberant hugs…. Mario was only four years old, but Charles didn’t have to know that, either.

  Charles scowled, and set his glass down on the counter hard enough to slosh liquid over the edges. He stalked past her. “Goodbye, Steffie,” he said coldly, throwing the words over his shoulder.

  It wasn’t until he’d slammed the front door that she understood his words had been meant as an insult. He was telling her he’d changed his mind, reconsidered. He’d seen through her little dramatization and decided he’d been wrong: she wasn’t an adult. She remained a silly, immature girl.

  Steffie wandered between two rows of budding apple trees, contemplating her latest disaster with Charles. The setting sun cast a rosy splendor over the orchard. All her life, Steffie had come out here when she needed to think. This was where she found peace, and a tranquillity that eased her burdens. Since her last meeting with Charles, there’d been plenty of those. And regrets. She hadn’t seen him in several days and that helped. But it also hurt. There were so many unanswered questions between them, so many unspoken words.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, Steffie turned to see Norah walking toward her.

  “You’ve got to do something!” Norah moaned.

  “About what?” she asked when Norah moved three agitated paces ahead of her.

  “You’ve got to help Valerie. You can give her advice. You’ve had more experience with men.”

  Steffie suppressed the urge to laugh at the irony of this statement, considering her ludicrous performance in front of Charles. She reached up to run her fingers along the smooth bark of a branch. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s making the biggest mistake of her life,” Norah said dramatically. It wasn’t often that her sister sounded so distraught. Unfortunately Steffie was hardly the ideal person to advise Valerie on romance.

  “I told you before that Valerie and Dr. Winston are in love,” Norah continued. “Everyone around them can see it. And whenever Valerie and Colby are together, they can’t keep their eyes off each other.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “They aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re avoiding each other. I don’t think they’ve talked in days.”

  Norah’s words struck a chord in Steffie. She knew exactly what Valerie was doing, because she was guilty of the same thing herself. She hadn’t seen Charles since the day he’d driven her home from the hospital. They were obviously taking pains to avoid each other—just like Valerie and Dr. Winston.

  “I don’t see what I can do,” Steffie muttered.

  “Talk to Val,” Norah argued. “She might listen to you.”

  “What am I supposed to say?”

  Norah hesitated, frowning. “I don’t know, but you’ll think of something. I’ve given it my best shot and I just wasn’t getting through to her. Maybe you can.”

  “I’m glad you have so much faith in my abilities,” Steffie said lightly.

  “I do have faith in you,” Norah said, her blue eyes serious. “You’re different now than before you left.”

  “Three years in Italy will do that to a girl.” As she had with Charles, Steffie strived to seem flippant and worldly.

  “I don’t mean that. You’re more thoughtful. More—I don’t know—mature, I guess. Before you left Orchard Valley you acted like you had to prove yourself to the world, but it isn’t like that now. I can’t see you doing some of the crazy things you used to do.”

  Just as well that Norah didn’t know about some of her “mature” behavior these past few days. And thank heaven no one in the family had any idea of the embarrassing stunts she’d pulled trying to attract Charles’s attention three years ago.

  “I remember the time you stood on Princess bareback and rode around the yard. You were lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  Steffie remembered the incident well. It had been shortly before their mother died. She’d been grieving so terribly, and doing something utterly dangerous had helped vent some of her pain and grief. But Norah was completely right. She shouldn’t have done it.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Valerie,” Steffie promised, “but I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”

  Steffie tried. But the conversation with her sister hadn’t gone as planned. One look at Valerie told her how much her sister was suffering. Valerie tried to hide it, but Steffie knew the signs from her own limited experience with love.

  They’d become involved in a lengthy discussion about love, then decided neither one of them was qualified to advise the other. They’d thought of bringing Norah in on the conversation but that suggestion had resulted in a bout of unexpected giggles. They couldn’t ask Norah about falling in love because she was too busy dating.

  One interesting detail that emerged from their talk was something Valerie mentioned almost casually. While Steffie was struggling to find a way home, Charles had seemed very concerned about her. He’d even pulled a few strings in an effort to help when she didn’t arrive on schedule.

  Although they’d never openly discussed her relationship with Charles, Valerie seemed to know how Steffie felt. It wasn’t that Steffie had tried to conceal it; with one breath, she admitted she’d made a fool of herself over the newspaper article and with the next, she’d asked her sister about falling in love. Valerie was certainly astute enough to figure out Steffie’s feelings for Charles.

  David Bloomfield was now recuperating at home and doing well. Steffie still hadn’t seen Charles. She’d thought maybe he’d be stopping by the house to visit her father, whose release from the hospital had been a festive event.

  Steffie was pleased to see that Valerie and Colby were able to steal a few moments alone that afternoon, but she didn’t think their time together had gone well. They’d gone for a walk in the orchard; Valerie had looked pale and sad when they returned, and Colby had remained silent throughout the celebration dinner that followed.

  Knowing it was inevitable that she’d see Charles again, Steffie tried to mentally brace herself for their next meeting.

  She couldn’t have guessed it would be at the local gas station.

  “Why, Steffie Bloomfield,” Del of Del’s Gas-and-Go greeted her when she went inside to pay for her fill-up and buy a bottle of soda. “I swear you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She laughed. Del was pot-bellied and at least sixty, but he had to be the biggest flirt in town. “It’s good to see you again, too. What do I owe you for the gas?”

  “If I were a rich man, I’d say the gas was free. Looking at your pretty face is payment enough. Right, Charles?”

  It always happened when she was least prepared, when seeing him was the last thing she e
xpected.

  “Yeah, right,” Charles answered from behind her with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  “Hello, Charles,” she said, turning around to greet him, trying to sound casual and slightly aloof. She pasted a smile on her face, determined not to let him fluster her as he had every single time they’d encountered each other.

  “Stephanie.”

  “I don’t know if you heard, but Dad’s home now.”

  “I got word of that the other day.” Charles took his wallet out of his hip pocket and paid for his gas.

  Steffie twisted the top off her soda and took a deep swallow. It tasted cool and sweet, bringing welcome relief to her suddenly parched throat. “I was thinking you might stop by and visit.” Hoping more aptly described her thoughts, but she couldn’t admit that.

  He didn’t answer as he followed her outside. The service-station attendant was washing her windshield and Steffie lingered, wanting to say something, anything, to make a fresh start with Charles.

  “As I recall, you wrote one of your first columns about Del’s, didn’t you?”

  “You’ve got a good memory,” Charles said, his words a bit less stiff.

  The boy had finished with her windows and there was no further excuse to dawdle. Reluctantly she opened her car door. “It was good seeing you. Oh, by the way, Valerie told me you made several efforts to find me when I was trying to get home from Italy. I appreciate all the help you gave my family.”

  He shrugged. She set one foot inside the car, then paused and glanced back at Charles. She had to speak up—now. “Charles.” He turned around again, a surprised expression on his face. “There’s something you should know.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m very grateful for your friendship to my family—and to me.” With that she ducked inside her car, heart racing, and drove off without looking back.

  Unfortunately dinner that evening was a strained affair. Norah had come to Steffie an hour before with the news that Colby had dated another nurse, a friend of Norah’s, three nights running. Norah didn’t know whether to tell Valerie, and had asked Steffie’s advice.

  Steffie thought it best not to say anything to their sister until Norah had slept on the matter.

  But Steffie suspected that Valerie was already aware of it, suspected that Valerie knew it in her heart. Although her sister hadn’t said anything to the family, Steffie believed she’d quietly made arrangements to return to Texas and her job as vice president of CHIPS, a software company based in Houston.

  Everyone could feel something was wrong, but no one said a word during dinner. Everyone was terribly polite—as though the others were strangers—which only heightened the tension.

  Their father had made his excuses, claiming to be especially tired, and with Norah’s help retired to his room almost immediately after dinner.

  Apparently Valerie wasn’t in the mood for company either, because she excused herself and retreated to her bedroom, leaving Steffie and Norah to their own devices.

  After they’d finished clearing up after dinner, Norah left to attend a wedding shower for a friend.

  Feeling at loose ends, Steffie inspected the kitchen. On impulse, she decided to make the spaghetti sauce she’d promised her father. She dragged out the largest pot she could find and began to assemble ingredients. Fresh tomatoes, onions, tomato paste, garlic. No fresh herbs, so dried would have to do. Oh, good, a bottle of nice California red…

  Humming to herself, she put on a CD of Verdi’s Aida and turned up the volume until the music echoed against the kitchen walls. The emotional intensity and dramatic characterizations of the Italian composer suited her mood.

  She found an old white apron her father had used years before whenever he barbecued. Wrapping it around her waist, she drew the long strings around to the front and tied them.

  Half an hour later, she was stirring the last of the tomato paste into the pot. She added a generous amount of red wine, all the while singing at the top of her lungs. The sound of someone pounding at the back door jolted her back to reality.

  Running barefoot across the kitchen, she pulled open the door and saw Charles standing there, holding a pot of purple azaleas.

  “Charles! What are you doing here?”

  “No one answered the front door,” he remarked dryly.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She walked to the counter to turn off her CD player. “Come in.” The silence was nearly deafening.

  “I thought you said your father was home from the hospital?” As though self-conscious about holding a flowerpot, he handed it to Steffie.

  “He is,” she said, setting the plant aside. “How thoughtful. I’m sure Dad will love this.”

  “It isn’t for David.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, I was…we just got a full-page ad from How Green Is My Thumb Nursery and I felt it might be a gesture of good faith to buy something. I thought you’d appreciate an azalea more than your father would.”

  Steffie wasn’t quite sure what to say other than a soft “Thank you.”

  He shrugged, apparently eager to leave. He stepped toward the door and she desperately tried to think of something to keep him there, with her.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked quickly, even though the sauce was only just starting to simmer and wouldn’t be properly ready until the following day.

  “What makes you ask?”

  “I was just putting together a pot of spaghetti sauce for tomorrow. Dad asked me to cook him an Italian meal and…well, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit, I’ll be happy to fix you a plate. It really needs to simmer longer, but I know from experience that it’s perfectly edible after an hour.” She sounded breathless by the time she’d finished.

  “I’ve already had dinner, but thanks, anyway,” Charles told her. “I could do with a cup of coffee, though.” He nodded toward the half-full pot sitting beside the stove.

  “Sure…great. Me, too. I’d get Dad but he’s sleeping,” she explained as she poured him a cup, then one for herself.

  “Through that?” Charles motioned toward the CD player.

  “Sure. He loves listening to the same music I do. Besides, he’s way over on the other side of the house. I doubt he could even hear it.” She didn’t mention that a tragic love story might suit Valerie’s mood, however. And since her sister’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen she was the one most likely to have been serenaded.

  Charles held the mug in both hands and walked over to examine her efforts. “So you learned to cook while you were away?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you were the domestic type.” He stirred the sauce with a wooden spoon, lifted it out of the pot and tasted it, using one finger. His brows rose. “This is good.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “There must’ve been some Italian man you were hoping to impress.”

  The only man she’d ever wanted to impress was the one standing in the kitchen at that very moment.

  “I was too busy with my studies to date much,” she said, dumping the empty tomato-paste cans in the recycling bin.

  “That isn’t the impression you gave me the other day.”

  She hesitated, her back to him. “I know. I certainly seem to make a habit of playing the fool when I’m with you.”

  Charles’s voice was rueful. “I’ve occasionally suffered from the same problem.”

  The unexpectedness of his admission caught her off balance, and she twisted around to face him. For a long, unguarded moment she soaked in the sight of him.

  “There wasn’t anyone I dated very often,” she told him in a raw whisper.

  “Surely there was someone?”

  She shook her head. They gazed silently into each other’s eyes, and Steffie seemed to lose all sense of time.

  Charles was the one who broke the trance. “Uh, your pot seems to be boiling.”

  “Oh, darn, I forgot to turn down the burner.” She raced a
cross the kitchen, flipped the knob on the stove and stirred the sauce briskly, praying it hadn’t burned.

  While she stood at the stove, Steffie basked in a glow of unfamiliar contentment. It felt so wonderful to be with Charles—not fighting or defensive, not acting like a love-struck adolescent. For the first time, she was truly comfortable with him.

  “I’m sure the sauce will be fine,” she murmured, picking up her coffee mug.

  He pulled out a chair and sat.

  As she was getting cream, sugar and teaspoons, she thought she heard some noise from upstairs. Glancing at the ceiling, she frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Steffie joined him at the table, adding only cream to her own coffee and pushing the sugar bowl toward Charles. “I’m worried about Valerie,” she said frankly. “So is Norah. Everyone is, except Dad, which is for the best—I mean, he’s got enough on his mind healing from the surgery. He shouldn’t be worrying about any of us.”

  Charles added a level teaspoon of sugar to his coffee, then paused, the spoon held above his cup. “How’d you know I take sugar?”

  Her gaze skirted away from his. “We had coffee together once before, remember?”

  “No” came his automatic response.

  Steffie preferred not to dredge up the unhappy memory again, especially since he didn’t even seem to recall it. She stared down at the table. “It was the first time you asked me to—you know, leave you alone.”

  He scowled. “The first time,” he repeated, then shook his head in apparent confusion. Just as well, Steffie thought to herself, astounded that he had absolutely no recollection of an incident she remembered in such complete and painful detail.

  She decided to change the subject. “Norah baked cookies the other day, if you’d like some.”

  Charles declined. “Tell me what’s going on with your sister.” His eyes darted to the ceiling.

  Steffie wondered how much of Valerie’s dilemma she should confide in him, but then remembered Norah’s telling her that Charles had been with them the night of her father’s surgery. More than likely he knew how Colby and Valerie felt about each other.