Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

“If you find the deed, then we’ll sit down together, maybe with a lawyer if we have to, and try to work something out. But if you don’t find it, and if your aunt isn’t coming back, I’m sure as hell not going to let someone else have this place.”

  Meg couldn’t imagine strangers living in Ashford House, especially now that she no longer considered Wade a stranger. He was right. He’d entered into a contract that made the house his, and she wanted him living in it if she couldn’t. And he was trying to be just. She took a deep breath, tried to smile. “So, I’ve got until the weekend to find that stupid deed,” she said.

  “Something like that.”

  She ran her hands down the length of her jeans and started to rise. “Then I guess I’d better go back and keep looking.”

  He placed his palm on her thigh. “No. Don’t go. I want you to stay.” He stopped her with the pressure of his hand, and she sat down again, her shoulder touching his.

  “I wish this house didn’t stand between us,” he said. “I wish I didn’t care so much about how this will all end up. When I bought Ashford House, I thought I was buying it from a little old lady who couldn’t keep it up any longer. Hell, Meg, I even told myself I was doing her a favor. But now…someone is going to get hurt, and that’s not what I wanted.”

  He lifted her hand and held it in both of his. “You’ve changed everything, Meg. And frankly, I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “You’ve managed to throw a curve into my future, too, Wade. But you’ll do what you have to do, what’s best for you and your family.”

  “But that’s not what’s best for you.”

  “No. But I’ll go home to Orlando and pick up where I left off.” Again she tried to smile, but it was no use. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  He clasped her hand to his chest over a firm, strong heartbeat. “You told me once that you’d never been able to count on the men in your life. And now I’m just one more in a line of men that let you down.”

  If he only knew, despite his claim to her house, he was becoming the one man she could depend on. Struggling to keep her voice even, she said, “Wade, you can’t let me down because you don’t owe me anything. My brother does, perhaps. My husband definitely did. And Uncle Stewie, well, he obviously lived his life the way he wanted to, and though I’m learning that he wasn’t who I thought he was, I can’t blame him for that. But you don’t owe me, Wade. The only person who deserves your best is Jenny. And you’re a good father.”

  He acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Maybe I just want to make things right with you, Meg.” He bit his bottom lip, looked away from her for a moment and then returned a steady gaze. “I’ve got these feelings for you. I never expected to have them. Hell, I never expected to have them for any woman again.”

  Meg could see his deep emotional connection to his wife in the veil that suddenly clouded his eyes. She worried that he was transferring his guilt over Brenda’s death to his guilt over owning Ashford House. It didn’t make sense of course, but Wade Murdock was an honorable man, and honorable men carried guilt on their consciences until the burdens nearly broke them.

  “Maybe you just want to make up for what you see as past mistakes,” she said. “But you can’t do it, Wade. What happened in one chapter of a lifetime is history. It can’t be changed or amended by what we do in this one.”

  He released her hand, stared out over the water, and spoke his wife’s name for the first time. “Brenda was my life,” he said. “We began dating when we were juniors in high school. Once I started going with her, there was never anyone else. And she died so suddenly, so violently, I never had the chance to say goodbye. I probably hadn’t even told her I loved her in days, maybe weeks.”

  She placed her hand on his thigh and let it rest there. “She knew, Wade.”

  “You’re the only woman besides Brenda that I’ve kissed in more than twenty years. And I’m liking all these feelings again. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I am.”

  She understood exactly what he was experiencing.

  “In fact,” he continued with a little smile, “I’m thinking about kissing you so much that you’ve become a major roadblock in my dream of home ownership.”

  She gave his leg a playful slap. “Then I think we should stop the kissing so you can go back to stealing my house with a clear conscience.”

  He laughed, a rich and throaty exhalation of relief. Then he placed his hands on each side of her face. “That’s not going to happen, Meggie, not if I have my way.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, a mere whisper of a kiss, then sat back so he could see into her eyes. “You’ve made me come alive. You’ve made me think about things that were buried so deep I never thought I’d experience them again. I want to be with you, talk to you, argue with you. I want to touch you like this and make love to you.”

  He massaged her temples with the pads of his thumbs as his lips came down to claim hers with insistent nips and nibbles. When he drew away, she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to relinquish the feelings swelling inside her. His hands felt so strong, so sure cradling her face. His voice teased her as his warm breath caressed her skin. “But maybe we ought to have a date first.”

  He curled his leg between her thighs so his knee pressed against that part of her where warmth was beginning to flow to every cell. She opened her eyes, tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched, only half filling her lungs. “Isn’t this a date?” she whispered. “You invited me here and I came. And somewhere back at Ashford House a father is probably waiting with a porch light on.”

  He coiled his fingers into her hair and drew her closer. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “This qualifies.” This time his kiss was a thorough invasion of her mouth and her senses. When he finished, she felt herself go limp in his arms. He pressed his lips to her jaw, her cheeks, her eyelids. So gentle, so complete, he left no part of her face untouched. Her hands clenched his shoulders as she arched her neck, giving him license to continue his delicious exploration.

  It was as if every moment of the last two years had been leading to this one night. All the sacrificing, all the denial of her desires had been for this meeting with this man.

  His hand flattened on her chest over the garnet heart, then covered one breast. He released the buttons on her blouse and drew the fabric down both shoulders. His knuckles grazed her flesh with the rough yet silken touch of a working man’s hand. Her nipple grew taut, aching. She took a deep, trembling breath and thrust her breast upward to fill his palm.

  And then the night and the river called her back. Cool air fanned her face and the exposed skin of her chest and cleared her mind of the reckless passion flowing through her. The sound of the water at their feet quieted the hum of desire in her head and reminded her that this was a little bit crazy. It was dangerous. And potentially more devastating than the loss of a house. He’d just been telling her about his wife, the woman who had been his life, the woman he’d lost.

  She shook her head. He stilled his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She stammered, sought the right words. “This, what we’re doing here. We shouldn’t.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  Yes. No! “Yes.”

  “All right.” His voice was low, husky. He turned away from her and stared into the inky darkness. “I’m sorry, Meg. It was too fast.”

  And wrong. All at once Meg saw clearly what was happening. Wade was reaching for her because in two years he’d never let himself reach for anyone else. For so long he’d been a man trapped by his guilt and his anguish. She was the first woman who’d helped him break down the walls of his emotional isolation. He was heady with the freedom, the sensations of coming up for air. He was grateful. That’s all it was. Meg was his liberator, the woman who would satisfy his passion, dull his pain and then move on as she’d sworn to. And maybe at last Wade would be free of the past. Free to choose someone else.

  The only problem was, she was falling in love with him.

&nbs
p; CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN she’s stopped eating?” Meg’s question was addressed to the nurse monitoring Amelia’s vital signs. But her attention was focused on her aunt’s pale face. “What’s happening? She’s so still.”

  The nurse put a comforting hand on Meg’s shoulder. “She hasn’t eaten a bite in two days, Meg.”

  “Two days? You’ve brought her food, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. She’s had trays delivered for every meal. And each time they’ve been picked up without the food being touched. Today I tried to coax Miz Ashford into taking a little. But it was no use.”

  The tone of the nurse’s voice was one of resignation. Meg couldn’t believe that a medical professional could be so callous. “If my aunt doesn’t eat, she’ll die. Of course there’s use.”

  “Honey, Miz Ashford doesn’t want to eat, and she doesn’t want us to force feed her.”

  Meg reached for an IV tube which had been inserted in her aunt’s vein some time in the last twenty-four hours. “What about this? You can put nutrients in here until she gets better.”

  “You don’t understand, Meg,” the nurse said patiently. “Your aunt has a living will. Her wishes are clearly stated with regard to her care.”

  “A living will? I didn’t know that. Does the will say that this slow starvation is what my aunt wants?”

  The nurse pulled up a chair and sat beside Meg. “We are doing exactly what Miz Ashford requested. Most of our patients have living wills just like your aunt’s,” she explained. “Most of them state that if there is no medical probability of recovery, then the patient should be allowed to die naturally, and life-prolonging procedures should be withheld. These patients have chosen not to prolong the process of dying.”

  Though she understood the principles behind a living will, now that she was faced with the near certainty of losing Amelia, Meg didn’t want to accept the concept of a medical facility withholding life-saving methods. “Why wouldn’t anyone want to forestall death?” she asked.

  “It’s Miz Ashford’s time, honey,” the nurse said. “This is the way she wants it.”

  Meg stroked Amelia’s hand. It felt cool and dry. “Is she in any pain?”

  “No, of course not. That’s what the IV is for. We’re administering all her usual medications, plus ones that will make her comfortable.”

  The raspy words that came from Meg’s mouth next sounded as if they’d come from another person, one who’d gone without water for days. “How long…?”

  “It’s hard to say. She still drifts in and out of consciousness, though her alert stages are fewer and of shorter duration.” The nurse stood up, walked toward the exit. “Probably a few days.” At the door she gave Meg one last smile of encouragement. “You press the buzzer if you need me.”

  Meg nodded. “I’m going to stay for a little while.”

  The room was eerily quiet. There was no hum of conversation from the Game Show Network. Family pictures still sat on Amelia’s bedside table, but her gentle voice didn’t murmur loving words to the faces. Only the persistent bleep of machines broke the stillness of the antiseptic air.

  “What a stupid expression,” Meg said aloud to combat the hysteria lingering at the edge of her mind. “A living will. As if it had anything to do with living at all.” She brushed hair from her aunt’s forehead. “Living is what I associate with you,” she whispered. “Not dying.”

  Her aunt made a little sound. It almost seemed like a sigh of contentment, acceptance. Meg smiled down at her. “You’re right, dear. Enough talk about sad things. Let me tell you what’s been happening at Ashford House.

  “Gloria is coming tomorrow,” she said. “Isn’t that a lovely surprise? She’ll insist on coming to see you, of course. And Wade has started painting the parlor. It’s a pale shade of yellow. Spencer is helping him, but I think he makes more of a mess than anything else. But Wade is so patient. And Jenny has her own telephone, and she and Spence are tolerating each other a little more every day.”

  She stopped, reflecting on what she’d said. It felt good to talk to someone, to sort out her feelings, even if that person couldn’t hear or didn’t understand. Maybe it was enough for Meg to know that the person lying in the bed would care deeply about what she was saying, as she always had. “And Wade,” she began again. “I can see why you sold Ashford House to him, although it left me in something of a pickle. But he’s a good man. I have these terribly confused feelings about him….

  “And then there’s that Quit Claim Deed you told me you made out, the one giving the house to me. I haven’t found it yet, and I’m running out of places to look.” Amelia’s hand lay on her chest and Meg covered it with her own. “That brings me to the auction. Interest in the sale is growing every day. People in town seem to think Uncle Stewie hid money somewhere in the house. Isn’t that silly? Of course he didn’t. You would have known.”

  One slim finger flexed under Meg’s palm. Thinking it was only her imagination, Meg nevertheless gave the hand a squeeze. The same finger curled, pressing a small, brittle knuckle into Meg’s skin. Meg looked at her aunt’s face. Her lips curved slightly and then moved.

  “Aunt Amelia?” Meg leaned over the bed. “Are you trying to say something?”

  A sound like a whisper came from Amelia’s mouth. When Meg placed her ear next to her aunt’s lips, a warm breath tickled her skin.

  “Margaret, dear…”

  Meg held her breath, remained perfectly still, desperate to hear and understand. “I’m here.”

  “That money…where there’s smoke…”

  Five words that seemed to have come from somewhere deep in the recesses of Amelia’s mind. Meg waited for more, but felt only the shallow, soft exhalations of her aunt’s breathing.

  She sat up and stroked her hand down the side of Amelia’s face. Then she turned off the overhead light and left the room.

  “WELL, WILL YOU LOOK at this place! I’d forgotten how rambling this old house is!” Gloria dropped her suitcase in the middle of the foyer and scanned the room from the decorative punched ceiling to the wide staircase which disappeared into the second floor. Then she administered a quick hug to Meg.

  “And look at you,” she said. “You haven’t changed in ten years.” She tugged a strand of Meg’s hair. “Though I expected to see you still in pigtails.”

  Meg couldn’t say the same about Gloria. Careful not to let her jaw drop in shock, she purposely avoided staring at the burgundy highlights streaking Gloria’s cropped blond hair. But then she realized she was gaping at a pair of bright floral ankle-length pants and pink patent-leather sandals.

  “I guess the years have changed me,” Gloria said, forcing her amply-gelled locks into little spikes. “Contrasting highlights are the rage in Chicago these days. I have to keep up with the styles because of my position in the shop.”

  “It’s nice,” Meg offered, deciding that grazing for meals must also be the rage. Once a pudgy, pink-cheeked teenager, Gloria was now porcelain-pale and rail-thin with that can’t-pinch-an-inch-of-fat toning that only comes from a personal trainer.

  Gloria strode into the parlor, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She wandered the room, stopping at tables Meg had set up to hold items for the auction. Pausing at a stack of old board games, she said, “Doesn’t this bring back memories? I always beat you at Scrabble, Meg.”

  “Hey, Mom, whose car is that outside?” Spencer skidded to a stop inside the doorway.

  Gloria went over to him and clasped his chin in her hand. “This is Spencer?”

  He tried to nod despite the tight hold.

  “This is your cousin Gloria,” Meg said. “I told you she was coming for a visit.”

  “I haven’t seen you since you were a year old,” Gloria said. She turned his face to the side. “You look just like your handsome father. Doesn’t he look like David, Meg?”

  “Not at all,” Meg snapped, resenting the reference to her jerk of an ex-husband. “He looks like my
side of the family.”

  Gloria released Spencer and grudgingly admitted there was something of a resemblance to Meg’s father. “So which room should I take?”

  Meg gave directions to the only empty bedroom in Ashford House with the apology that Gloria wouldn’t be able to put her clothes in the bureau. “I’ve cleaned out all the drawers in preparation for the auction,” she explained. “Most of the furniture will be sold, and we’re just using a few pieces to get by.”

  “No problem,” Gloria said. “I don’t mind living out of my suitcase for a few days. It just means more money for…us, right, Meggie?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  When she returned to the foyer to retrieve her bag, Wade came through the front door. He was in his uniform and had his hat tucked under one arm. He saw Gloria and gave her a quick once-over glance. It was nothing like the thorough perusal Gloria gave back.

  “Gloria, this is Wade Murdock,” Meg said. “He’s living here for a while. Wade, this is my cousin, the one who called the other day.”

  Gloria’s lips curled up in a blatantly sensual grin. “So you’re the fella I talked to on Sunday? I wondered why a man answered.” She darted a look at Meg. “You didn’t tell me you were under house arrest, Meggie. Whatever did you do?”

  Meg bristled. “We had a little problem here,” she said. “Wade’s staying to help us out.”

  “Whatever the problem, it’s a wonderful solution,” Gloria said, her eyes simmering with sexual interest.

  “Yes, it is,” Meg quickly agreed. “He’s staying here and so are his father and his thirteen-year-old daughter.”

  Unfazed, Gloria picked up her suitcase and headed for the stairs. She stopped on the first rise and looked back at Wade. “I’ll look forward to getting to know you, Sheriff,” she said.

  “It’s Deputy, but thanks for the promotion.”

  “You won’t have any trouble recognizing your room,” Meg said. “It’s the one with the safari decorations. You’ll notice the zebra-striped satin comforter and chimpanzee footstool. Aunt Amelia just recently purchased them.”