"Am I?"
"Yeah, the baseball season's over - at least for the Cubs - otherwise he'd have you out at Wrigley Field every day. You do know that about him, don't you? He's a baseball fanatic."
"He seems to come by it honestly, since your father loves the game so much."
Judi looked at her a little strangely. "Yeah, Dad likes baseball, too, but . . ." Bette saw the moment Judi decided to trust her. "But I think Walter Mulholland hating it might have more to do with Paul's feelings."
"Walter Mulholland? Your grandfather?"
How strange, and how cold-sounding to refer to your grandfather that way. Paul had done the same thing that night at Mama Artemis's.
"Yeah. Mom's father. Hard to believe they were related. He didn't pay much attention to me, since I was just a kid - I was only ten when he died - and a girl on top of it. But he and Paul . . ." She grimaced. "I can remember them going round and round. Walter Mulholland storming and laying down the law, and Paul standing there, not saying much except an occasional no."
She shifted position as though the counter had grown harder.
"I remember sitting on the steps, listening to Walter shouting at Paul that he would do what he was supposed to or he would no longer be a member of the family. I must have been about six, and I thought he really could make it so Paul wasn't my brother. I was sitting there crying when Paul found me. He took me up and tucked me into bed, and he told me that nothing could make him not be my brother anymore - unless I broke another of his clipper ship models."
Judi's chuckle sounded as if it had slipped past a lump in her throat. "He said Walter wanted to plot out his life, and he wasn't going to let that happen. He said he'd be damned if he'd go to Walter Mulholland's Ivy League alma mater. And if the old man wanted to disinherit him for that, fine."
"But your parents . . ." The sentence trailed off because Bette didn't know how to finish it. She ached for the young Paul, yet her relationship with her own grandfather had been so warm and loving, how could she understand this?
"They pretty much stayed out of it. They stood their ground sometimes - like refusing to send Paul to military school - but Dad especially never understood why Paul said no to all those things. Ivy League schools and law school, joining the firm, making lots of money and buying a big house. He still doesn't understand. He was awfully poor growing up, and I guess that's the life he'd dreamed of, so he thought for sure Paul would want it, too. Does that make sense?"
Bette wasn't sure.
"Hey, are you ready?" Paul's voice, a bit muffled, came from the living room.
When they came out of the kitchen, they saw the cause: a stack of clothing that loaded his arms down to below waist level and reached as high as his nose.
Bette met Judi's sparkling eyes and they both broke up, perhaps partly as a release from the serious turn of their conversation. If they'd started to form a bond during the talk in the kitchen, the shared laughter now strengthened it.
"All right, you two, quit giggling and somebody open the door. Before I drop this stuff." He raised his eyebrows over the top of the stack in a way that brought on renewed laughter from the two women. "You know, Judi, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back with some dinner."
Judi promptly opened the door with exaggerated solicitude, declaring solemnly, "Never let it be said I was immune to bribery."
All the way down the stairs, they could hear the echo of her chuckles. When a small sound escaped Bette, Paul muttered, "Traitor" and glared over the top of the pile. But she wasn't fooled, and the clothing didn't muffle all of his laughter.
* * *
"HEY, I LIKE this one," Paul said as he pulled up to the curb in front of a Dutch Colonial. The front lawn sported an open-house sign decorated with yellow balloons. "Looks like we saved the best for last."
"Mmm."
He grinned to himself at the small sound Bette made as they headed up the front walk.
Earlier, when she'd talked about having a house-searching schedule, he'd persuaded her to spend the afternoon looking in suburbs strung north along the lake.
Thoughts of why it was important for her to consider living nearer him were pushed away, just as he'd done with last night's questions about what he'd gotten himself into. Instead, he focused on overcoming her arguments about this not being her target area. When he finally resorted to asking what harm it could do and she gave in, he'd wondered if he'd gone crazy to actually instigate spending his Saturday looking at houses.
The surprise came when he enjoyed himself.
With no intentions of ever buying, he'd never considered what he would want in a house. But this afternoon he discovered opinions he'd had no idea he harbored.
Also, he found pleasure in watching Bette at each house, analyzing and weighing. It wasn't his way. But on her it looked good.
As they wandered through the Dutch Colonial's rooms, he felt something expanding in his chest until, standing in the otherwise deserted basement watching Bette frown at the monster-shaped furnace, he pulled her into his arms.
"Paul!" Her small squawk of protest sounded breathless enough to be encouraging.
He lowered his mouth to hers and felt a sunburst of pleasure when she immediately parted her lips in welcome. Backing her up, a slow, kissing step at a time, he pressed her against the smooth surface of the washing machine. She was gripping him, letting him know she wanted more closeness, too. God, how could anything feel so good? Rubbing against her, he marveled how her softness hardened him.
"Paul!" This gasp held enough true urgency that he lifted his head from where he'd been following the open collar of her shirt. "Somebody's coming!"
At her words, the world beyond the two of them returned, and he heard footsteps on the basement stairs. Together they shifted their clothes into order before the people coming down the stairs reached the bottom. Another matter, however, required more time to adjust.
The newcomers nodded a greeting, casting them doubtful looks as they started their survey of the basement. Keeping his back to the room, Paul pretended great interest in the washer and dryer. Hoping it would help, he changed position as if to see behind the appliances.
"I don't know about this venting system," he told Bette, trying to sound knowledgeable.
"Maybe," she started, with a chuckle underlying her words, "it's the coupling that's causing the problem."
He tried to glare, but couldn't hold in the laughter. The other house hunters stayed strictly on the opposite side of the basement before leaving hurriedly.
"C'mon, you troublemaker, let's go upstairs before you get me in real trouble," Paul ordered.
They accomplished the rest of the tour in companionable silence, thanking the real estate agent as they headed out.
"The hardwood floors are great, aren't they?" he said as they reached the car.
"They need refinishing."
"It has a terrific yard."
"The taxes are high and they're scheduled to go up next year in this neighborhood."
"Look at all the big old trees."
"The furnace is awfully old."
"And that screened porch is wonderful. You could put up a hammock in the corner and -"
"I think the roof would need replacing in a couple years."
"You could practically live out there all summer."
"The kitchen is crying out for updating, and the second bathroom shows sign of moisture damage."
"So you didn't like it?" He felt oddly deflated. It wasn't as if he had a stake in this. It wasn't as if it affected him what kind of house she bought. He turned the engine on and pulled away.
"Of course I liked it. It's a charming, warm home. But it's much bigger than I'd need living alone. And looking ahead, there would be a lot of expenses keeping that kind of place up, Paul. Besides, I can't afford a house like that. I couldn't even afford a garage in these neighborhoods. Nobody can."
"Well, somebody's buying in these neighborhoods, because the houses are getting sold.
"
"Yes, but to two-income families. I'm buying on my own. And with one income, I need to look farther out, and in very specific neighborhoods."
Why did she keep emphasizing that she was buying the house on her own, going to be living in it alone? Wasn't he supposed to show any interest? Was she trying to remind him it was none of his business?
He accelerated from a stop sign with more force than necessary. He just wasn't wild about her moving farther out. It was a long enough trip as it was from his place to hers.
Not that he had any expectation one way or the other about still seeing each other by the time she found a place and moved. But she'd certainly be farther from her work, and chances were she'd be farther from whomever she might be dating by then.
He ignored the gnaw of acid in his stomach that came with that thought. Hungry, that was all. He was hungry.
"So what do you want to get my ravenous sister for dinner?"
"What?" Bette blinked at him as if her mind had been very far away. "Oh, dinner. I don't know. What does Judi like?"
"Everything," he said with feeling.
She laughed, and he felt his mood lightening.
"Surely she demonstrated that while the two of you were in the kitchen."
"Well, she did nibble on a thing or two."
He snorted in disbelief. "Nibble? She eats with as much abandon as she talks - which reminds me, what were you two talking about so earnestly in the kitchen?"
"Oh, girl stuff."
"Like?" he pursued.
"Dating. Clothes. Uh, men. Baseball. Families."
"An interesting collection."
Suddenly serious, she turned to face him. "She told me about your arguing with your grandfather about where you were going to school."
He slanted a look at her, surprised at her intensity. "Does that bother you?"
"It seems so sad. I loved my grandfather. He was a wonderful man. He had such dreams for me, for the whole family. He was always telling me how we would do wonderful things in this country, building our lives, our successes. I learned so much from him. He could see the family's success unfolding, step by step."
If the steering wheel hadn't required both his hands right then, he might have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her.
Yeah, she'd learned a lot from her grandfather, all right. She'd learned to sacrifice happiness today in hopes of success tomorrow.
"I guess you could say the same thing for Walter Mulholland, Only I didn't fall for the indoctrination."
"Indoctrination? It wasn't like that with my -"
"As far as rebellions go," he cut off her protest, "it wasn't much, but the episode Judi told you about was my formal declaration of independence."
She seemed to forget her earlier objection in concern for him. That shouldn't have warmed him so.
"What happened, Paul?" she asked.
"Not much, really. He had it all mapped out. Where I'd go to school. What I'd study. Where I'd get my law degree. How I'd fit into the firm. When and where I'd buy a house in the right neighborhood and memberships to the proper clubs. Who I'd marry - at least that she'd be 'our kind.' Hell, he probably had a schedule for our sex lives so he'd have a great-grandchild produced on order."
Without looking at her, he could feel her eyes on him.
Strange, he could also feel understanding in them.
"I refused to go along. My senior year in high school, I turned down admission to his Ivy League choice and signed up to enroll at Northwestern instead. Not exactly a felony. But you would have thought so to hear Walter Mulholland. The old fool actually threatened to disinherit me, as if I gave a damn about his money." His laugh died abruptly. "I found Judi huddled on the stairs, crying her eyes out. She was just a baby, all skinny arms and skinned knees, and she thought he was kicking me out of the family or something."
It sounded foolish spoken out loud after all these years. But the feelings were still raw and powerful. The anger. The determination. The triumph. Walking out as the old man ranted futilely.
Then finding Judi, and knowing he was fighting for more than himself. He had to break free, so he could prevent her from being caught in Walter Mulholland's straitjacket.
A staccato horn reminded him he'd been sitting at a stop sign too long for the patience of the driver behind them.
He drove. And waited, wary of what Bette would say next. He didn't want questions. He wouldn't be able to take sympathy. He couldn't abide platitudes.
The touch on his arm was light, fleeting. Perfect. He glanced at her and saw the smile she tried to produce. He felt a closeness to her that went beyond the physical.
"You know, she still has skinny arms," Bette said.
"What?"
"Judi. She still has skinny arms. We should be thinking about what to feed her tonight."
He slid the car into a parking spot amid Evanston shops and restaurants. Turning off the ignition, he twisted to face her, his knee touching hers. He wanted to kiss her. To take her face between his palms and let his tongue sink into the warmth and sweetness of her mouth. But he knew that would be only the start of what he wanted - and couldn't have, here on this downtown street.
He contented himself with brushing the side of his thumb along the slant of her cheekbone, the tilt of her upper lip, the rounded point of her chin.
"Okay, what shall we feed my ravenous sister?"
They decided on pizza, after a survey of the neighborhood where he'd parked. Just before they got out of the car in front of his apartment, he pulled her close for a quick, hungry kiss.
"One thing, let's agree now that we'll go back to your place tonight," he told her. "That way we don't have to worry about getting Judi out of the way."
She gave him a quizzical look, as if he'd said something surprising, and he wondered if he'd presumed too much.
He sure as hell knew he wanted to be with her, but maybe she didn't feel the same. Maybe she wanted time away from him. Maybe -
"Okay."
The word had never sounded so good.
It carried him through a dinner surrounded by laughter, easy conversation and the certainty that Judi and Bette had hit it off. He was oddly touched by that. Especially when Judi admitted to feeling she'd never gotten over the tomboy stage. He'd known his sister wasn't sure yet of her attractiveness as a woman, but he'd never heard her refer as openly to it as she did to Bette. She clearly felt her vulnerability would be safe with this woman.
Bette tentatively suggested she and Judi could go shopping together sometime.
Judi pounced on the offer. "Really? When?"
"Uh, I don't know. Any time, I guess."
"Really? Like maybe this week? Maybe Thursday? I have early classes, so I could take the El downtown and look around first, then get your opinion. Do you think?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess so."
"Are you sure? That wouldn't be an imposition?"
Bette hesitated and Paul wondered if she would plead the demands of her schedule. She might have wondered, too, because her smile held some surprise. "I'm sure. It would not be an imposition."
"Great! There's this holiday formal coming up, and I want the absolutely perfect dress. I just know you've got great taste and you won't try to make me buy something that makes me look fourteen, like Mom always does." Judi smiled glowingly at both Bette and Paul. "You might be good for something after all, Paul," she added.
He grinned, but grumbled, "Yeah? I was good enough to teach you how to sail, and to play basketball and tennis."
"Yes, but there are other things in the world, you know. I've always wanted a sister, and maybe you're finally going to get around to providing me with one."
Paul felt as if a cell door were being slammed in his face. The only way he could give Judi a sister was by marriage. Even the word conjured up prison bar images. And the man closing the door on him was his mother's father.
The "right" marriage was one of those links Walter Mulholland had planned to chain his grandson to th
e "right" life. He would have approved of Bette Wharton as a hostess, as a helpmate, as a mother to his great-grandchildren. The old man would have seen Bette's business sense, her ambition, her dedication and her dignity as business assets.
Paul didn't give a damn about that. But the idea that he might be moving in a direction Walter Mulholland would have ordered, even for different reasons, left an uneasy feeling.
The odd thing was that neither the uneasiness nor the reflexive 180-degree change of subject could dilute a warm feeling that had settled somewhere deep in his chest. Very odd.
* * *
HE'D LOOKED AS if he'd just been informed he owed ten years' back taxes and the IRS was at the door. Or, worse, that baseball historians had discovered a grave error and they were taking away the Cubs' last World Series championship, even if it was back in 1908.
She'd read too much into the smallest things, things like his planning ahead how they would spend the night together at her place. Then his sister had skirted too close to the "m-word" and Bette had seen that look on his face.
Horrified. Numbed. Panicked.
Over the next two weeks, as Paul Monroe wove himself deeper and deeper into her life, Bette reminded herself of that look.
It was as much a part of him as the way he loved to tease her, as the way he liked her home, as the way he appreciated her warmth to his sister, as the way he held her and made her crazy. She had to remember that.
When he took her to dinner most nights, when he drove her home every night and sometimes to work the next morning, she reminded herself of that look.
When his voice turned mellow as he confided in her, when his hands turned sultry even as he made her laugh, when his eyes turned soft as he smiled at her, she reminded herself of that look.
But it kept getting harder.
Chapter Ten
Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) Page 15
