by Dara Girard
The most disappointing of all was the fact that the freestanding armoire in the master bedroom was simply an excellent replica of old English woodwork and the hardware was not “old” anything, but rather recent salvaged parts.
She stopped him before he could continue anymore. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“I don’t understand. My mother’s family had these antiques appraised and insured them.”
“Then someone must have sold the real ones and replaced them with reproductions. They’re excellent replicas.”
She sank against the wall. “So I don’t have anything of value?”
“You could still do a sale, but you won’t get as much as you’d hoped.”
Suzanne covered her eyes. “I don’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry. I could look around some more.”
“Maybe another time,” Suzanne said, feeling tired. “I’ll call you.”
She led the dealer to the door and sat on the porch swing, staring at the lawn. Her father was a bigger bastard than she’d thought and she was in deeper financial trouble than she’d imagined. She didn’t know how long she sat there. She saw the bright red wings of a cardinal as he darted through the sky, a gray squirrel scurry through the lawn and dash up a tree, and soon she saw Rick’s black BMW drive up. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She’d eat lunch with him then come home and bury herself under the covers.
He stopped at the foot of the porch steps and stared up at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, surprised by his question. She looked at the bag in his hand. “Is that lunch?”
He nodded.
“Good, it’s a nice day. Why don’t we have a picnic? I’ll get a blanket and dishes.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She didn’t want to be inside the house of lies with him any longer than she had to. When she reemerged he was still standing in the same spot. He sent her an odd look, but didn’t say anything.
“How about near the magnolia tree over there?” she said and started to walk down the stairs.
He stepped in front of her. “No.”
She halted, startled. “What?”
“What’s going on?”
“I told you it’s nothing.”
“You’re lying to me,” he said in a low voice that made her take a step back.
She turned to the door. “If you’d prefer to eat inside—”
“You had that same look on your face that night.” He rested his hands on her shoulder and slowly turned her around. “You trusted me before, why won’t you trust me now?” He took the plates and blanket from her and set them on the porch swing then cradled her face. “Wasn’t I there for you?”
Suzanne squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself weaken under his touch. His hands were as she remembered and their tenderness made her tremble. She couldn’t deny how vulnerable his touch made her feel, how the sensation of his hands went through her.
“Yes,” she said in an anguished whisper. She took his wrists and removed his hands from her face. “But you walked away.”
“You wanted me to.”
Because I couldn’t make you stay. “I don’t want to talk about the past.”
“Are you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”
“To have lunch.”
“You don’t suspect that there’s another reason?”
Suddenly everything about him became clear. He wasn’t the man in the suit, or the one in the work clothes. He wasn’t just a handyman or a millionaire. He was something different and he was no longer a stranger. She knew him. She knew that he liked black licorice and listening to bluegrass. That he hated the sight of lightning but loved the sound of thunder. All those dormant feelings came rushing back like an avalanche and again there was no father to stop her.
Just as she had done that night all those years ago, she threw away her inhibitions and surrendered to her feelings. “I do,” she said, placing her lips on his.
Chapter 8
She tasted even better the second time, Rick thought as Suzanne’s soft lips welcomed his onslaught. His plan had been to wait until after the picnic for this moment, but he always seized an opportunity that presented itself. But something was different with this kiss from that one in the attic. This one was too close to the first kiss they’d had. The one that had changed everything for him and he would never let that happen again. He was the master seducer, but he had to make sure he wasn’t the one being seduced.
He went still then drew away from her. It took all his effort to do so because at that moment his body was tense and hot and he wanted nothing more than to seek release between her thighs, but he wasn’t going to be used again. He wasn’t going to relinquish his control. When she was in his arms again it would be because she wanted him. Not just because he was handy and useful. He wasn’t going to repeat the past. One day Suzanne would be his completely, but today wasn’t that day. He spun away from her and gripped the porch railing.
“What’s wrong?” Suzanne asked. He could hear the worry in her voice. He was glad she was worried, she needed to be.
He took a deep steadying breath to compose himself before meeting her eyes. “That’s what I asked you.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth. “And don’t waste your time lying to me.”
Suzanne smiled and leaned forward, giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. “I didn’t realize you were that interested in my problems.”
He forced himself not to notice the invitation as a bead of sweat slid down his back. “So you admit that you have some?”
Her smile dimmed and this time worry entered her eyes instead of her voice. Her weakness was his advantage and he regained control. “Do I need to ask you again?”
“Let’s eat first.” She scooped up the blanket, plates and utensils and went inside. He grabbed the bag and followed. He sat at the table and watched her spread things out—each movement deliberate and swift. She wasn’t upset or angry. She was furious and that made him only want her more. Her anger made her more human. He loved seeing the fire flow through those ice veins of hers. However, she was back on her pedestal, but he wouldn’t let that last long. He knew that one day she’d be knocked off that high perch and would fall into the gutter where she thought he belonged. Now they were equals and one day she’d have to admit it. Suzanne finally sat down at the table and fixed her plate. She ate as though she were dining at a high-priced restaurant in downtown Durham. Rick watched her for a few minutes. “So why did you come back here?”
“You know why,” she replied with cool politeness.
Rick shook his head. “At first I thought your kitchen was bare because you didn’t plan to stay long, but then I began to wonder why you came back at all.”
“I’m taking care of things. You know that.”
“You could have had someone else sell the house for you. Isn’t that what your family always did? It’s what you’re used to. Why didn’t you hire someone to mow or keep the garden up? Tell me the truth.”
Suzanne gripped her fork before slowly setting it down and clasping her hands together. “I think you already know the truth.”
“I just want to make sure.”
“You mean you want me to admit it.”
“Yes.”
Suzanne pushed herself from the table and folded her arms, staring at Rick like they were adversaries at war. “Oh, I see. Your moment of triumph has arrived. This is what you wanted. You weren’t just after the house or even me,” she said with a bitter laugh. “You wanted to hear me admit my ruin.”
Something cold touched his heart as if something fragile but beautiful between them had died. It wasn’t her words that caused regret to assail him, it was her face. Her expression, that devastating look of betrayal and helplessness. She could mask it from others with her tightly schooled features, but he’d always been able to see it in her eyes. He’d seen it before, but had never been the cause of it. “No that’s not—”
She shoved herself from the table. “Don’t disappoint me, Rick. You promised not to lie to me. I’m used to men lying remember? I thought you were different.” She lifted her glass and took a delicate sip. “So what would you like me to admit first?”
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
She took another sip. “My father left me a whole lot of debt, which is why I had to sell the house. Now why didn’t I just hire someone to sell it for me? Because I’m broke. I lost my money to bad investments and my agent ran off with the rest. I haven’t written anything in three years because I’ve already proven to be a failure and don’t want to be again. Does that confession suit you? Are you ready to gloat?” She lifted her glass. “Let’s make a toast to the fall of the mighty Rands.”
“Suzanne, I—”
“I don’t need your pity. I’m just telling you the truth. I know you hated my father and never cared much for me.” She laughed with cruel irony. “You didn’t even want pity sex, that says a lot.”
Rick leaned forward, desperate for her to understand. “That’s not why I stopped kiss—”
She ignored him and slammed the glass down on the table. “You’re going to love this. I’d hoped the sale of the house would have fixed all my problems, but now I have to sell the furniture, too. But guess what?” She waited. “Don’t you want to guess?”
“No, I—”
“Everything is basically worthless. Dad sold all the genuine pieces so there goes my chance of an auction.”
“I can buy the furniture.”
“I’m sure you can buy a lot of things.”
“I’m offering to help you.”
She shook her head. “It won’t be enough.”
“Tell me how much you need.”
“No.”
“You don’t want to be in my debt?”
“No, I don’t want to make you pay antique prices for cheap reproductions. I may not have money, but I still have my pride and integrity.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference.”
She frowned. “Between pride and integrity?”
“No, the fakes from the originals.”
“I would. But thanks for your charitable offer, Mr. Gordon.”
He frowned at her use of his name. “Don’t start that.”
“I’m giving you respect, Mr. Gordon. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you’re paying for?”
Rick came around the table and seized her shoulders. “Suzanne, stop it.”
“I thought you liked stories.”
He tightened his grip. “I said stop it.”
“Stop what?” she shot back. “Stop telling you the truth? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” He reached to touch her face, but she jerked away from him and he let his hand fall. “I didn’t come here to—” He swore when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number before swearing again. “I have to take this, just give me a second. Sit down and eat something.”
“I’m not—”
“Sit down anyway,” he snapped and answered his phone. “Hi, honey,” he said then left the room.
Suzanne didn’t move. Not because she couldn’t but because she was ashamed. She’d noticed the change in Rick’s tone when he’d responded to the voice on the phone and watched as he gripped his hands into fists. Of course he’d have to stop their conversation for a woman. He was never without one. And she’d nearly made herself another bauble on his long chain—again. How dumb could she be? The last kiss in the attic had been on his terms just the way he liked it—swift, hot and simple. He’d done it to prove a point. This time she’d gotten the message—she didn’t matter. She was glad she’d told him everything. At least she didn’t have to pretend anymore.
Rick returned, looking grim. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” she said in a hollow tone. “Thank you for lunch.”
“If I had more time—”
“But you don’t so goodbye.”
He hesitated. “Do you mind if I bring someone by tomorrow? I want them to see the house.”
Suzanne stood and began clearing the table. “It’s your house, Mr. Gordon. You don’t have to ask permission.”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what? I’m giving you the respect you deserve. What you’ve always craved. You’ve gotten all that you’ve wanted and you came back to town because you’re rich and I’m poor. You’re a success and I’m a failure. I don’t care if you pity me, but don’t pretend to care.”
“Suzanne,” he said, his voice a plea. “That’s not—” He stopped and swore when his phone rang again.
“Must be nice to be so popular.” She set the dishes in the sink.
He looked at the number then put the phone away. “We’ll talk about the furniture later.”
She turned the faucet on full blast. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
He turned the faucet off. “I’ll see you tomorrow around eleven.”
“Whatever suits you, Mr. Gordon.”
He stared at her as though he wanted to say more and she boldly stared back, daring him to. He pounded his fist against the counter and left.
Suzanne stood and waited for the front door to close and the moment it did, she sank into a chair, rested her head in her arms and began to sob.
Chapter 9
That night Suzanne slept in the attic. She moved aside some of her old things stored there and pulled out an old futon. The attic was the one place that didn’t remind her of her father’s influence. As she looked around the small space she thought about the apartment she’d rented right after her divorce. It was the first time she’d lived alone and she’d felt inadequate. At that time she didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, pay bills or cook. She’d depended on Wallace and their chef for so much. Growing up she’d watched her housekeeper, Neena, in the kitchen, but had never participated in preparing a meal. Years later she’d been forced to learn how.
Suzanne sat on the futon fighting a returning feeling of inadequacy. She’d been down before but she was eager to rally again. She’d written one book. She could write another. And if it failed she didn’t care. At least she would have tried. It was better than living with the constant fear that had haunted her these past years, a fear that her first book had been a fluke. A lucky break. She feared she wasn’t good enough. All the men in her life thought she wasn’t good enough, but she was determined that Rick would be the last man to make her feel that way. She’d prove to him—to all of them—that she was strong and worthy. That she could not be broken. That she wasn’t the simpering belle her mother used to be or the society maven her aunt Bertha tried to make her. Then she remembered a statement her aunt always repeated: “You can either be a weeping willow or a magnolia.” Suzanne thought of the strength and beauty of a magnolia tree and made a decision. She would be just as majestic and sturdy.
Soon the first line of a story came to mind. She grabbed her laptop and began to write in a hot creative rush. She based the story on another character from her fictional town of Waverly. One who needed redemption and in her book she would offer it to him. Time blurred into nothingness as she filled the computer screen with words, using language to paint pictures and sketch scenes. Suzanne didn’t notice that the sun had set until she decided to take a minibreak to stretch her back and fingers. She yawned then looked at her watch—it was two o’clock in the morning.
She had to get some sleep before her visitors arrived. Suzanne drifted off to sleep with a sense of renewal. Although she was financially poor, she was still a Rand and proud to be one. Rick may be rich now, but she was Suzanne Rand bestselling author and she felt she was on the verge of another blockbuster.
The loud “teakettle-teakettle” call of a Carolina wren greeting the morning woke her from her brief sleep. She showered and changed into an old shirt and jeans. She didn’t see the point in dressing up for her guests. There was nothing to prove anymore. No facade to ma
intain. She didn’t look like the frump she’d become after marrying Wallace, but no one would recognize her as Suzanne Rand the successful novelist and she didn’t care. She didn’t mind fading into the background, the house was all that mattered.
She ate a light breakfast of toast with scrambled eggs and orange juice, and went into her father’s study to continue working on her story. She was busy drafting a major scene when she heard Rick’s car pull into the driveway. She reluctantly set her laptop aside and went to greet them.
When she opened the door the first thing she noticed was Rick’s expression. He didn’t smile, however the woman next to him did—broadly. “Sorry, we’re late,” she said.
“No, you’re right on time,” Suzanne said, trying to mask her surprise. The woman wasn’t anything she’d expected. She was lovely, in a wholesome way, from her outmoded dress to her overly pressed hair. Suzanne could feel Rick’s gaze on her, but fought to combat any effect he had on her. He would not make her melt or tingle or feel uneasy. He wouldn’t make her feel anything. She was numb and she would not let him penetrate her shield again.
“I’m Mandy and this is Luke,” the woman said, glancing down.
Suzanne followed her gaze and noticed a little toffee-colored boy of about five wearing a large baseball cap with a picture of a frog on it. She gaped at him. Rick was with a woman who had a son? She quickly recovered herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she stammered.
“You, too,” Mandy said, and then she nudged the boy.
He slowly raised his head and said in a soft voice, “A pleasure, ma’am,” as though he’d practiced it many times.
Suzanne stared at him, frozen with astonishment. He looked exactly like Rick. He had a perfectly shaped head, with finely cropped black-brown hair, large dark eyes surrounded by sweeping lashes that any woman would envy; he also had a small, perfectly shaped nose and rosebud lips, the color of pink taffy. He was beautiful and soon the image before her became clear. This wasn’t just some woman with a child. This was his child.
