Maybe there are no accidents in life. Part of me feared Rafe would agree with Charlie. That part had taken over my brain and acted stupid. Blood roared through my ears.
Would I eat Christmas pizza after all? Visions of pepperoni snowmen dancing on a field of gooey mozzarella cheese bounded by a lake of Christmas green tomato sauce and thick ropes of red dough flitted through my head. My empty stomach rumbled.
Rafe laughed heartily, tucked his hand under my arm and steered me down the gravel driveway toward his fire-engine red convertible. His lips nuzzled my ear, sending feverish chills down my spine. “Red, you can control me in the bedroom anytime you like.”
I grinned. If Rafe thought I was hell-on-wheels in the bedroom, who was I to correct him? “Count on it. But it’ll cost you a candlelight dinner.”
His powerful car growled beneath me as we drove up the mountain. The smell of oiled leather and virile man filled my senses. Anticipation pulsed through my veins. I could get used to this. Oh yeah, very used to this.
As I sailed into the Boar’s Head on Rafe’s arm, I felt like a million dollars. But on the way to our table, I spotted Evan and Eleanor Hodges, and my heart went out to them.
Years of Mama drilling manners in my head wouldn’t allow me to pass them without a brief word. I inclined my head towards the siblings. “Hello, Evan. Eleanor. Have you met Rafe Golden?”
“I’ve seen you out at the club,” Rafe said easily to Evan, shaking his hand. Rafe smiled brightly at Eleanor. “How do you do, ma’am?”
Jealousy screeched in my head as bright flags of red appeared on Eleanor’s pale cheeks. She wasn’t lushly sensual, but she looked attractive in her ice-blue suit and stylishly coiffed short blond hair. Her innate royal bearing was no doubt due to the pure, undiluted blue blood flowing through her veins. I couldn’t compete with Eleanor academically, socially, or even superficially.
I’m sure her brain ticked off my failings in crisp text bullets like a lecturing professor’s overhead slide. Poor lineage. Unpolished appearance. Inferior brain. Sure enough, Eleanor dismissed me in a single glance.
On the other hand, Rafe held her undivided attention. Her gaze widened as she gave him the same analytical assessment she had given me. Her thoughts about him probably ran along the lines of excellent conformation, well dressed, and well spoken.
I cleared my throat delicately. “You have my deepest sympathy.”
Eleanor’s gaze shuttered. “Mother’s death will be deeply felt throughout the community. She was tireless in her devotion to Hogan’s Glen.”
She said the words to Rafe, as if this was their private conversation. Enough of that. I stepped between them. “How long will you be in town, Eleanor?”
Annoyance flashed through her perfect blue eyes as I blocked her view. “As long as it takes to settle Mother’s affairs.”
Those unpaid bills at the beauty shop came to my mind. Eleanor could be stuck here longer than she realized. “What about your practice? Won’t your patients need you?”
“Due to the circumstances, I transferred my immediate surgeries to a colleague.”
“Eleanor founded Crandall Brain Clinic,” I explained to Rafe. “She’s a brain surgeon down in D.C.”
“Not just any brain surgeon,” Evan piped in, his voice full of brotherly pride. “Eleanor won the prestigious LeClair Award for three years running. She’s the best there is.”
Eleanor glowed under his praise.
My hands curled into tight fists.
I had accomplishments, too.
Two healthy children.
My accounting business.
Friends.
I’d bet Eleanor didn’t have a single friend. And since she was pushing forty, her window of opportunity for having children had probably passed.
So there. I didn’t have to feel inferior next to Eleanor Hodges. I had kids. She didn’t.
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need brain surgery,” Rafe said, applying gentle pressure to my lower back with his hand.
“If you’ll follow me,” the hostess said mercifully.
I’d forgotten about the hostess and everyone else in the restaurant who was listening to our conversation. Good thing I’d kept my reproductive bragging to myself. “Sure.”
Rafe ordered a bottle of wine when were seated in a private alcove. Classical music flowed softly around our little island. Once the wine had been opened, tasted, and we were alone again, he asked, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“What?” I sipped my wine slowly, savoring the excellent vintage.
“You can’t fool me, Cleo. I saw the claws come out. What is it with you and that woman?”
Years of slights and insults simmered beneath my surface. Every female of my generation had stood in Eleanor’s long shadow. I didn’t know how everyone else felt, but her achievements had always stuck in my craw. I thought I’d gotten over it.
I was wrong.
I would be irritated with perfect Eleanor until my dying day. “You can’t fully appreciate the problem of Eleanor Hodges if you didn’t grow up here.”
Rafe leaned back in his chair. “Try me.”
I knew better, but ancient wrongs tumbled out of my mouth. “Eleanor was the Virgin Mary in the church Christmas pageant four years in a row.”
“So?”
“Mary was a highly coveted role. I wanted to be Mary, so did the other girls at Trinity Episcopal, but none of us radiated serenity and distinction like Eleanor did. She hogged the limelight.”
Rafe arched an eyebrow. “This happened how many years ago?”
I downed a gulp of wine. “It’s not something you forget.” More stuff from the past percolated up and I let it out. “Eleanor never missed a day of school or Sunday school. Perfect attendance for twelve years. Who does that? No one. She even got a special commendation from the governor.”
“I can see how that might be annoying.”
“No kidding.” I leaned forward in my chair. “Those straight teeth of hers? A product of her flawless bloodlines. I wore braces and so did most the kids in this town. Not Eleanor. And she was never sick. Not once. Can you believe that?”
Rafe grinned.
“Where was I? Perfect attendance. Perfect health.” I ticked the accolades off on my fingers. “Perfect grades.” I rolled my eyes. “Every teacher I ever had rhapsodized about Eleanor the Wonder Student. I can’t tell you how annoying that was.”
I went to take another sip of my wine and realized the glass was empty. Rafe moved to refill my glass, but I stilled his hand and drank water instead. Eleanor’s supremacy wouldn’t ruin my evening.
I buttered a slice of warm sourdough bread and munched on that. “I’m sure you noticed how pretty she is. That flawless complexion. Not one zit, ever. How fair is that?”
“Not fair at all.” Rafe reached for the warm bread. “Your complaints against this woman are that she’s pretty, smart, and healthy?”
“And she hogged the Virgin Mary role for years.”
Rafe’s eyes twinkled again. “How could I forget that? She’s pretty, smart, healthy, and saintly?”
I sighed. “It sounds small-minded when you put it that way. God knows I’ve tried to rise above the smallness of it all, but Eleanor isn’t easy to like. She looked down her nose at the rest of us mere mortals for years. Seeing her tonight brought those buried memories to the surface.”
“You hate her?”
Classical music swelled through the candlelight room. I had a belly full of wine and bread. And my date was hanging on my every word. Life was good. “I don’t hate her. I don’t hate anybody. I’m much more comfortable being far out of Eleanor’s orbit.”
I felt so good about all this honesty that I went one step further. “And for the record, I didn’t like the way she was sizing you up.”
“Ah.” Rafe stroked his chin. Without warning, he stretched, his long legs invading the space on my side of the table, his feet tangling with mine. “For the record, I
like my women to have fire in them. I’m not the Ice Maiden type.”
Warmth flooded my face. I didn’t much like being one of his women. I wanted to be the only woman in his life. But there was a silver lining here. He didn’t want Eleanor. I leaned forward conspiratorially. “You think she’s frigid?”
Rafe’s eyes sparkled in the low light. “Definitely.”
“Interesting. I would have thought she’d be perfect in that way, too.”
“Not hardly.”
“How do you know?”
Rafe shrugged. “A man knows these things.”
Our salads arrived, and the waiter refilled our wine glasses. This wasn’t turning out to be the romantic dinner I had envisioned. Time to get my seduction back on track. I raised my glass to the center of the table. “To us.”
Rafe clinked his glass against mine. His dark eyes held enough stored heat to charbroil the entire room. “To us.”
I took a small sip of wine and put the glass down. Awkwardly I cast around for a topic. We always seemed to talk about me and my problems. I didn’t want to talk about Erica’s murder or Mama’s smushed headlight. There must be another, less controversial, topic.
Both of us were attracted to each other, but talking about sex was tacky. Besides, who wanted to talk about sex? Better just to do it.
“Tell me about your family.” There. A new conversational gambit. I was polished and suave. I smiled encouragingly.
Rafe’s wary expression alarmed me. He put down his fork and sat up straight. His voice iced. “What do you want to know about them?”
Mental quicksand edged up around my neck; I didn’t have long before it would suck me under. “We never talk about your family. If you want to keep it that way, that’s okay.”
“I keep my family separate from my day-to-day activities.”
That was weird.
I couldn’t imagine relegating Mama offstage. She wouldn’t hover on the outskirts of my life for any reason. Front and center, that was Mama. I frowned. That was me, too. I couldn’t imagine my girls keeping me at arm’s length.
I had a sudden inspiration and went with it. “Separate worlds. Like George on the Seinfeld TV show. He didn’t want his sets of friends to meet because worlds would collide. I get it.”
Rafe looked like he’d eaten a lemon slice instead of an elegant plate of mixed greens lightly brushed with raspberry vinaigrette. “I am not a television character. I am a real person.”
Dang. Every time I opened my mouth I offended him. “Gotcha.” I smiled with false radiance.
He muttered something unintelligible. “You don’t give a man much wiggle room, do you?”
He’d turned the topic back to me. At least this was a subject we were both familiar with. “With good reason. Once burned, twice shy.”
Color climbed up his neck. “I am not your ex-husband.”
“Thank God for that.”
“How am I supposed to take that?”
“Like a real person?”
Rafe glared at me.
I was saved from his reply by the arrival of dinner. I had ordered the stuffed pork chops, Rafe the prime rib. Neither of us wanted to continue this scary conversation. How could I convey my longing for a person to share my life with to Rafe if we couldn’t get through the salad course without quarreling? Not a good sign for the long haul.
Dinner melted in my mouth. The succulent pork chops and the rosemary-seasoned stuffing were the best things I had ever eaten. I plowed through half my meal before I ventured into conversation again. “You never told me how you got interested in golf,” I said between bites.
Rafe signaled the waiter to refill our water goblets. “Golf has been a passion for as long as I can remember.”
At last. Something we were both interested in. “My dad used to take me golfing with him. That’s how I learned the game. Is that way you started?”
He took his time answering. “My mother golfed, and our family belonged to a golf club. Once I realized my aptitude for the sport, I spent more and more time golfing.”
“Your parents must be so proud of you. My dad was absolutely thrilled when I got my CPA and went to work with him. He bragged about me to his friends.”
Rafe slathered butter on the heel of bread in precise strokes. As much as I wanted to discover what made this man tick, I realized my mistake. I’d blundered again into forbidden family territory.
My lips compressed. Brick walls irritate me. I’m a big fan of windows and open doors. My life is an open book. Open is good.
He ate the heel of bread, one small bite at a time. I put down my fork and waited. If he didn’t reply, our relationship was doomed to be superficial and shallow. The whole focus of the evening narrowed down to this one critical moment.
I couldn’t live with a man who was a brick wall. I needed a man who would trust me with his secrets. His gaze met mine. I was surprised at how flat and expressionless his eyes were. Not his usual hot-enough-to-melt-chocolate gaze. Not by a long shot. His pain tore at me.
“My family doesn’t approve of my career choice,” he said.
With those words, my emotions veered sharply. I couldn’t believe his relatives could be so blind. Poor Rafe. No wonder he was sensitive about his family.
Golf came to him as naturally as breathing, but he had to go against his family to do it? I couldn’t imagine my parents being unsupportive of any career choice I made. If I’d wanted to be an astronaut or a ditch digger, it wouldn’t have mattered as long as I was happy and I could pay my bills.
All those thoughts flashed lightning quick through my head. I sensed an undercurrent of tension in the brittle silence. My response mattered to him.
I wanted honesty from him. He should expect it from me. I covered his hand with mine. “That must be rough. I’m sorry I reminded you of a painful situation.”
His face remained impassive, but he rotated his hand to hold mine. Warmth flowed between us, not just the comfortable friends kind of warmth. A deeper current that pulled at the underpinnings of my heart.
I had misjudged his brick wall. I understood blocking off a painful area of your life. God knows, I would have built a brick wall between myself and Charlie two years ago if I could.
He drew my hand toward his face, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “Thanks for understanding.”
He needed me.
Lord, I needed him too. I needed his physical strength, his radiant vitality, his exquisite gentleness, and his driving passion. Heat flooded my body, filling me with an intense urgency for things yet to come. Soon. We’d be alone soon.
I had a feeling tonight would be the best yet between us. When he looked at me like this, rakish and tender, I felt young again. Attractive and desirable. Alive.
A faint ringing sound penetrated my sensual haze. Bells? Was I hearing bells? Not wedding bells, surely?
“Your phone is ringing,” Rafe said, releasing my hand.
I fumbled for my purse. “Right. My phone.”
If this wasn’t an emergency, I would kill whomever was on the other end of the call. “Hello.”
“Mom?”
At the sound of that tiny, tremulous voice, my desire-fogged brain cleared. Dread stilled my lungs. The soft classical music receded in the distance. Every ounce of my attention went to the voice in my ear. “Charla, honey. What’s wrong?”
“The most awful thing happened. The police have Grammy. They just took her. Right off the street. And they towed her car. This is so horrible, I can hardly think straight. Grammy turned white as a ghost. Then she started cussing and telling Detective Radcliffe he was a damned fool. He stuffed her in a police car like she was a criminal. Mom, what are we going to do?”
Charla’s rendition of events stole my breath away. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of failure. I hadn’t protected Mama or my children.
An icy claw of fear gripped my heart and wouldn’t let go.
I hovered in that breathless void of agony.
Why
did I leave them alone tonight?
Chapter 8
Despair filled the void in my lungs. Thoughts burned through my skull, a boiling torrent of misgivings. My girls were in trouble. Mama was in trouble. I was miles from home. For an awful moment, I poised on the brink of meltdown. But I wasn’t a Sampson for nothing.
I shuddered in a shaky breath and opened my eyes to the shadowed alcove in the Boar’s Head. I couldn’t fall apart now, even if my blood was icy hot and brain combustion was likely. Immediate, decisive action was needed. “Charla, where are you?”
“At the police station. I don’t like it here, Mom. The people are sketchy. No one will tell us a thing.”
“I’m on my way. Is Lexy with you?”
“Yes, but she’s no help because the dog is freaking out. Madonna keeps trying to hide behind Lexy because she’s scared, too.”
There was so much noise on Charla’s end of the phone that I covered my other ear and jammed the phone against my ear to hear. Adrenaline surged through my blood like a blazing comet.
I had enough energy to run the twenty miles to the police station without once touching the ground. “I’m coming, sweetheart. Stay with your sister. One quick question. Did Mama call Bud Flook?”
“Who knows? We haven’t seen her since they took her. She went all pale like she does when she needs her heart medicine. I’m scared, Mom.”
“Stay together. I’m on my way.” I clicked off the phone and stood up. “I have to go.”
Rafe stood with me, concern ringing his eyes. “What happened?”
The urgent messages boiling through my brain found their way out. “Family emergency. I have to go. Right now.”
“Then we’ll go.” Rafe tossed a couple of large bills on the table and signaled the waiter.
We hurtled down the winding mountain road, my seat belt cinching on the turns. Pork chops and stuffing sloshed in my tummy. White knuckles bulged from my hand as I gripped the leather arm rest. “Slow down. You’re going to kill us both.”
“Don’t worry. This car handles like a dream. You want to tell me where we’re going once we get down the mountain?”
2 On the Nickel Page 10
