One Bride Delivered

by Jeanne Allan

  He was frowning at a busboy across the room, The maître d’ glanced at Thomas, then sailed across the ocean of lush red carpeting to the busboy’s side.

  “Took you long enough,” Thomas muttered.

  “You frown and the maître d’ races across the room. What’s that about?”

  “It’s difficult for me to eat here without monitoring things.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “We should have eaten elsewhere.”

  “Did the busboy do something wrong?”

  “When he put on the tablecloth, he allowed the table top to show. We don’t allow that kind of sloppiness here.”

  “What difference does it make? The cloth is on, the table looks lovely. Who’s going to notice how it went on?”

  “I noticed.”

  “Because you own the place.”

  “Because I used to bus tables here.”

  She knew that. She knew he and his brother had worked almost every job in the hotel. “Good experience,” his grandmother had been quoted as saying. Cheyenne had talked to a great many people this afternoon. “Edward’s very sweet.”

  “Edward’s a Tartar. We all tremble in our boots when he frowns.”

  “I don’t believe—”

  “Thomas. Why didn’t you tell me you were returning?”

  His face expressing surprise, Thomas looked past Cheyenne, then stood. “Mother? What are you doing here? What happened to your cruise of the Greek islands?”

  An elegant older woman kissed the air next to Thomas’s cheek. “We had to fly home. I don’t know why your father booked us on one of the sailing ship cruises instead of on a liner with stabilizers. He knows I suffer from motion illness. It was agonizing. I knew Paris would be a better choice, but you can’t tell your father anything.”

  “If I’d known you’d returned, I would have brought Davy back.”

  “Your father insisted I rest up. He doesn’t think I can manage a rambunctious child, as ill as I’ve been. I told him I’m fine, and of course, I miss my grandson terribly, but you know how your father worries. We’d cancel our plans for tonight, but we’re going to the Murrays and she’d be devastated and you and your friend don’t want to spend a quiet evening with your parents.” She patted his cheek. “Edward told me you were in here. I’ll tell your father you said hello. And, Thomas, next time, it would be nice if you let us know what you’re doing. How does it look when I tell people you’re in Aspen and you’re running around New York?” One last pat and she left.

  Her heavy, expensive fragrance hung over the table.

  “That was my mother,” Thomas said unnecessarily. “I would have introduced you, but she was in a hurry.”

  “She didn’t ask about Davy. What does she think you’ve done with him?”

  “She trusts me to leave him with someone responsible.”

  Cheyenne was sure of a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them. It had taken her less than a minute to determine Thomas’s mother was the most self-centered person she’d ever met. The hotel employees she’d spoken with today had implied Mrs. Steele scored pretty low in grandmothering skills, but Cheyenne wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen Mrs. Steele in action. Mary Lassiter would have thrown herself on Thomas, hugging and kissing him until he couldn’t breathe, and she would have demanded every detail of Davy’s stay in Aspen.

  They’d discussed the hotel dining room, the food, the wine, the decor in the lobby, the honking on the streets, the flowers by Rockefeller Center and the Gothic-style old G.E. Building, now known as Tower 570. They’d discussed the Park Avenue hotel purchase, they’d discussed the severance package which had caused the hitch necessitating Thomas’s return, and they’d discussed his belief that a company’s current, knowledgeable employees constituted an integral part of any purchase. They’d discussed Cheyenne’s stint as a teacher, including her discovery that one of her students was being abused by his stepfather. They’d discussed her tour agency.

  Beyond Cheyenne’s one comment and his brief response, they had not discussed his mother.

  Thomas had had no trouble reading Cheyenne’s mind. He’d felt the disapproval humming through her.

  The differences between his mother and hers would fill the Grand Canyon.

  He’d been on the right track when he’d invited Cheyenne to New York. Not because she wouldn’t fit into his world. Because she’d see he didn’t belong in hers. Cheyenne had a knack for fitting in wherever she went. She’d won Edward’s seal of approval, a feat not easily accomplished. Thomas had no trouble visualizing her conscientiously delivering all Davy’s messages. She’d never trivialize a child’s request. He sensed the abused child still weighed on her conscience, giving him insight into what had sent her speeding to the St. Christopher Hotel as soon as she’d read Davy’s advertisement.

  He should have asked Davy if he could do anything for him in New York. The thought had never occurred to Thomas. The thought never would occur to him. He wasn’t cut out to be a family man.

  He would tell Cheyenne the truth. She’d met his mother. She’d understand.

  She’d pity him.

  She’d quit trying to meld him and Davy into a family unit.

  She’d entertain Davy, but she’d keep as far away from Thomas as she possibly could.

  Out of sight, out of mind. Without her presence to remind him, he’d be able to put thoughts of her out of his head. She’d no longer disturb his nights.

  He’d tell her tonight. At his place. That’s why he’d told Edward he needed Johnny and the car, explaining he wanted to show Cheyenne a little of the city at night. He’d already pointed out the lit-up Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. They’d moved slowly through the crowds in Times Square and read the gaudy electric signs. They’d passed Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall, the Waldorf Astoria, Grand Central Station, St. Patrick’s Cathedral with its giant rose windows glowing from within, and the United Nations building. He’d run out of reasons to procrastinate.

  Leaning forward Thomas tapped Johnny on his shoulder, then settled back against the leather seat. Much too soon they turned down the short street where he lived.

  Cheyenne gave Thomas a surprised look as Johnny stopped the car, but she went agreeably into his building, smiling at the doorman who greeted them. Her high-heeled shoes rapped across the black and white marble floor of the lobby. She was the first woman he’d met who could keep up with him without running. She walked with a loose, easy stride. Maybe all Western women walked like that. Strides to fit the countryside.

  He shut the door to his apartment and pointed to the undraped windows. “There’s a good view of the East River.”

  She dutifully walked over and gazed out a window.

  Thomas switched on the old floor lamp.

  She turned her back to the windows and looked around. “I guess you didn’t ask me up here to see your etchings.”

  No pictures hung on the walls. The glass-topped coffee table held nothing but organized stacks of business and industry magazines. Charcoal-colored wool covered sturdy overstuffed furniture from the fifties. His room wouldn’t tell her much. Or maybe it would.

  “I thought we could talk,” Thomas said.

  One corner of her mouth turned up. “You mean without everyone in the hotel perking up his or her ears?”

  “They wouldn’t eavesdrop.”

  “It wouldn’t be eavesdropping. They’re interested in what you’re doing. You’re the big boss.”

  He failed to see the distinction, but he had more important issues to address. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Some cognac?”

  “No, thanks, I’m stuffed. I should have skipped the crème brûlée.”

  He poured cognac for himself Stalling. Out of character for a man who could stare down anyone across his desk or at the negotiating table.

  Those people didn’t look at him out of muddy blue eyes which expected the best from him. A best he couldn’t give.

  He carried his cognac fr
om the kitchen alcove into the living room. She stood at the windows looking out into the night. “Not much traffic on the river,” she said.

  Polite, meaningless chitchat. Not asking what he wanted to talk about. She must know she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. He’d let her enjoy the view for a few minutes before he said it. After she heard him out, she’d agree with him. Putting his glass on the table, he sat on the sofa. “I talked to Davy earlier. He insisted you had to see the ‘car building’ tonight because he likes it all lit up.”

  Cheyenne moved to stand behind the wooden rocking chair in the corner. She rested her hands on its back. “He was in the bathtub when I called, but Mom said they’re having a great time. She said he gave you all the details.”

  She didn’t sound surprised he’d called. He’d surprised himself. “He rode horses with Allie, rode on the tractor with Greeley, helped your mom bake cookies, but best of all, according to Davy, Worth let him help shovel out the barn.” His gut clenched as Cheyenne laughed. He’d miss her uninhibited laughter. Only because he’d always wonder how she’d be in bed.

  “Leave it to Worth. One time he suckered Allie and I into sweeping out the barn loft by convincing us he’d read sweeping was a great bust-building exercise.”

  “You believed him?”

  “We were only ten and eleven,” she said indignantly. “Grandpa had Worth’s liver for lunch when he found out. In addition to his other chores, Worth had to weed Mom’s garden the rest of the summer.” She made a comic face. “We felt so bad, we helped him with the weeding. Even Greeley helped him.”

  “Suckering you again.”

  “He told us we didn’t have to, but Worth had pulled us out of so many jams and covered for us so often, we owed him. He makes us so mad sometimes, but he’s always there for us.” Cheyenne slowly rocked the chair. “You were a big brother, you know how it is.”

  He ignored her last words. She was guessing. “You’re lucky to have a close-knit family.”

  “I don’t know what’s so lucky about having three people who know intimately your every flaw and who have absolutely no qualms about pointing them out ad nauseum,” Cheyenne said darkly.

  “Wish you were an only child?”

  “Never!” She gave a sheepish grin. “Don’t you dare tell any of them I admitted that. I’d never live it down.”

  He could put it off no longer. “What’s more important to you? Family or your ranch?”

  “Is this some kind of test?” she asked lightly. “Because it’s ridiculously easy. Family, of course.”

  “If you asked me the same question, hotels or family, I’d say the hotels were more important.”

  “You could say it was high noon outside right now, but that wouldn’t make it true.”

  Thomas should have known she’d be difficult. “You’re the one who pointed out my mother didn’t bother to ask about her only grandchild. Family means little to her. One of her sisters is married to a wealthy retired senator, so Mother maintains close ties to her. Mother’s other sister married a sergeant in the air force. Mother sends them a cheap Christmas card. Other things in her life count for more than family.” He looked fixedly at his cognac on the table. “I’m the same.”

  “No, you’re not. Was this your Grandmother Steele’s?”

  Thomas’s gaze flew to her. She was running her palm along the top of the rocker. “Are you listening to me?” he asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

  “Yes. You have a selfish, thoughtless mother. I wonder why she’s the way she is. What were her parents like?”

  She was determined to control the conversation. Fine. Drag it where she would, she couldn’t control the ending. Or the truth. “As youngsters, David and I went with Mother to visit her mother. Grandmother would say she was happy to see us, then tell us to go outside and play. We weren’t allowed to touch anything and never offered anything to drink or eat for fear we’d spill or drop a crumb. When we got older, she complained because we didn’t go see her enough.”

  “Luckily you had two grandmothers.”

  Thomas tapped his glass. “Grandmother Steele lived and breathed the hotels. Granddad, too. It killed him when he was fifty. From then on, Grandmother had time only for hotels.”

  “She took time to teach you and David everything she knew about the hotel business.”

  “Because she cared about the hotels. The Steele legacy. Not because she cared about us.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s true,” Thomas said flatly. “Quit trying to put your naive spin on my life. We weren’t, we aren’t, a TV sitcom family. In my family, we don’t love people. We love what they can do for us. I don’t do family. I don’t do love.” He grabbed his cognac, gripping the glass tightly. “It’s not in me to love.” He refused to look at her. He hated this conversation. Hated pity.

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Thomas looked up swiftly. Disgust, not pity, filled her expressive eyes. “That’s easy for you to say,” he snapped. “You have a family. You know how families operate. I never had one.”

  “Yes, you did. An unconventional family, but a family all the same.”

  With her family, he shouldn’t have expected her to understand. “An unloving mother who barely acknowledges her children’s existence except to yell at them until they became people she can brag about, is more than unconventional.”

  “I’m talking about your real family,” Cheyenne said. “The people in the hotel. Edward and Alice and Johnny and his father and Bernardo and Mame and the rest of them. The ones who taught you your manners and made you behave and gave you treats and took you to ball games and covered for you when you got in trouble. The ones who reported to your grandmother how happy you were or how sad you were.

  “Once your grandfather died, I’m sure running the hotels consumed your grandmother. If she hadn’t taken over the business, what would have happened to the hotels, to your parents, to you?” Cheyenne set the rocker into motion again. “If she were alive, I think she would have dragged David and his wife home by the scruff of their necks. Your grandmother started out as a maid in a hotel. Your grandfather was a doorman. She wouldn’t have held Janie’s occupation against her.”

  Stunned, Thomas stared at her. Where had she learned all this? He searched for something to say. “Who’s Janie?”

  “Davy’s mother.”

  He inhaled sharply, feeling as if he’d been sucker-punched. “How do you know? I never heard her name.”

  “I asked Edward. You told me he knows everything that goes on in the hotel. You also told me Davy’s mother used to be a maid there. It stood to reason Edward knew her. He said she was a fine person who loved your brother very much.”

  Thomas stared blindly at her, trying to come to grips with the knowledge she’d acquired in a few short hours. “Edward never said anything to me about her,” he finally said.

  “You never asked him.”

  She made it sound so simple. It wasn’t. Edward must know. Thomas had been younger then, less able to conceal his thoughts. As he hopefully concealed them now. “What has he told Davy?” Thomas never doubted Cheyenne would know.

  “Edward hasn’t told Davy anything about Janie because he wasn’t sure you’d want him to. I told Edward that was stupid, that of course you’d want Davy to know about his mother.”

  “Mother won’t—” The look on Cheyenne’s face cut off his automatic response.

  “Your mother has made her choices, Thomas. Wrong choices, hurtful choices. I’d dislike her intensely if I didn’t feel so sorry for her. She must be miserably unhappy to shove aside the joy a grandson like Davy could give her, but that’s no reason to penalize Davy. Unless of course you resent the fact that, if his parents had lived, Davy would have had the loving parents you and your brother never had.”

  She treaded too close to dangerous territory. “You have no idea what kind of father David would have made.”

  “Yes, I do, and so do
you. Everyone talks about how loving David was. How much you loved him. How much he loved you.”

  He wanted her to shut up. She knew nothing. “He walked out on me. Walked away without so much as a farewell wave. Told me to stay out of his life. All he wanted was her.”

  Cheyenne’s eyes never left his face. “Whom do you hate the most, him for leaving or her for stealing him away?”

  “He never would have left except for her. It was all about sex. He was sleeping with her. Got her pregnant. They had to get married.” He stopped abruptly, horrified by what he’d said. By his lack of control. The snarled words hung in the air. He fought to regain his composure. “I don’t hate either one of them. Whoever told you I loved David was wrong. We fought all the time. He was obnoxious and whiny and weak.”

  “You took care of him, protected him. He adored you.”

  Thomas laughed harshly. “You’re unbelievable. You’ve turned my life history into some kind of fairy tale because you want me to adopt my nephew. Don’t bother to deny it. I’ve known from the beginning what you had in mind.”

  “I have no intention of denying it. Davy needs you and you need Davy.”

  “He doesn’t need me.” Thomas slammed his glass on the table. Cognac sloshed over the rim. Pulling out his handkerchief, he methodically wiped his hand and dried the tabletop. “Get this in your stupid blond head once and for all. I don’t need him.”

  She walked across the room and perched on the arm of the sofa, her long, shapely, nylon-clad legs almost touching his thigh. “All this furniture belonged to your Grandmother Steele, didn’t it? You must have had it recovered.”

  He hadn’t had too much to drink. So it wasn’t him. It was her. “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe.” She reached over and ran a finger down his tie. “But I don’t think so.”

  “Then I’m crazy, because I thought you’d run screaming into the night.”