by Susan Floyd
“You want to know what I’d do?” Beth Ann asked, as she swallowed, a curiously attractive glimmer in her dark eyes.
“What?”
“I’d do both. Cut it in half and then pick it up. The best foods are the ones that use fingers. Burritos, barbecue ribs, cold fried chicken legs. Don’t you think?”
Christian paused and nodded absently, still strategically studying the burrito. He remembered those things from the years he’d spent in boarding school. They’d always had a big barbecue on the last day of spring semester. The chicken legs were made by Max’s mother. She always made extra for him. Max was one of the lucky boarding school kids who saw his amicably divorced parents often and went home for every holiday and got lots of care packages during the in-between times.
“Yes, I do think,” Christian said suddenly.
“What?” Beth Ann looked up midbite. She seemed startled by his sudden return to the conversation.
He stared at her plate, amazed she had already worked her way through the taco and tamale and was embarking on the enchilada. Half of the beans and rice were gone. The salad was decimated.
“Are you going to eat all that?” he asked curiously.
Beth Ann glanced down at her plate in surprise. “Yes, I think I am. Do you want some? This is very good.” She proceeded to separate a portion of her enchilada. “Burritos are nice, but they’re not the same as the gooey cheesy stuff.” She lifted her plate and slid half her enchilada next to his burrito. She indicated the burrito, still untouched. “You should eat. Just cut it in half and pick it up. Here.”
She reached over and sawed it in half, then wrapped the bottom with a paper napkin and presented it to him. “Problem solved.”
Christian was stunned. In his thirty-six years, no one had ever assaulted his food in such a way. Years of training made him take it graciously, and the growl of hunger in his stomach made him take a bite.
It was delicious.
He took another bite and realized he was very hungry. They worked their way through the rest of the meal in silence. Between bites of his burrito, he studied Beth Ann as she ate, unable to pinpoint why his heart seemed to be beating a little faster. She wasn’t beautiful. Not like Caroline was beautiful.
In fact, it would never occur to him to date someone like Beth Ann. But it was more than politeness that had prompted him to visit the only two florists in Mercy Springs to find the exact roses he imagined. And despite the fact their conversation seemed to alternate between territorial skirmishes and almost intimate teasing, there was something that made the silence between them comfortable. That was only one of the things Christian found unique about her.
Her appetite was another.
He had never seen another woman put away so much food. The women he knew usually picked like birds. Salads, cucumber sandwiches. He couldn’t remember Caroline eating anything with her fingers. Beth Ann looked delicate, but ate like a horse.
When their meal was done and coffee ordered, Christian decided it was safe to broach the topic again.
“So I need some kind of confirmation from you about Bernadette’s inheritance.”
“We don’t want it,” Beth Ann replied simply.
It was such an easy solution! Beth Ann wondered why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. Good old denial. By refusing DirectTech, they could go back to the way things were. He’d probably be relieved because he could keep the company and his family would make more money. It was a truly perfect answer to what seemed to be a complicated problem.
“What?”
Beth Ann met Christian’s stare as directly as she could.
“We don’t want it,” she repeated and took a sip of coffee. She tore open three packets of sugar at one time and dumped them all in.
“You mean you don’t want it,” he corrected her, his voice very low and flat.
Beth Ann felt a small chill run along the inside of her shoulder blades. Why did his voice sound so menacing, when he looked perfectly civilized, even slightly smiling at her with very square, straight, white teeth?
“No,” she replied. “We don’t want it.” Then, she said hurriedly, “I’m sure your family will be relieved you get to keep the company. Of course, I’ll sign any papers that need to be signed to make it happen.”
“The company isn’t yours,” Christian said quietly.
Beth Ann flushed at his observation.
“Don’t you think you ought to give Bernadette the chance—”
“Bernie,” Beth Ann interrupted him.
“What?”
“Bernie. We call her Bernie. We never call her Bernadette. Just like Carrie. Carrie was always Carrie. She wasn’t Caroline.”
Christian was silent for a long time, his eyes unreadable. His voice was very controlled when he spoke. “I never knew Caroline as Carrie. She never let me know she preferred Carrie.”
“Oh, she didn’t prefer Carrie. She wanted to be Caroline. But she was Carrie,” Beth Ann said for emphasis. “My mother called her Carrie, her father called her Carrie. I called her Carrie. She was Carrie. She became Caroline. She made up Caroline. Bernie’s going to be Bernie. Not Bernadette, even if she does own a software company. She’s not going to have to reinvent herself to find happiness.”
“Is that what you think Caroli—er, Carrie did?”
Beth Ann nodded. “I know that’s what she did. She was very unhappy living in a town this small. She loved reading magazines about the rich and famous and was forever telling me some day she’d be part of that world.” Beth Ann gave him an assessing stare. “I guess she did that.”
“Through me, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“I loved her.”
Beth Ann turned away, feelings about Carrie and Christian and Bernie churning inside her. Or maybe it was just the taco, tamale and half an enchilada with rice and beans and salad.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“I know you don’t. Which is why I’m telling you. I loved her.”
“Then why’d you let her die?”
“I didn’t let her die.”
“Sure you did. You let her do anything she wanted, even if it was bad for her.”
Christian stared at Beth Ann in disbelief. How dare she talk to him like he had something to do with Caroline’s death? He felt a sting of guilt, even though he understood her words were spoken from the pain of losing her sister. He met her dark eyes, black tonight in the low light of the restaurant and saw the grief and the loss—felt the sensations as acutely as when Max had come to tell him.
It was interesting that Max was the one to tell him about Caroline’s death and not the police. That hadn’t occurred to him before. At the time he had thought it meant that Max believed the news would be easier to hear coming from him rather than an officer. Now, he wondered why Max had known before him. Had the police contacted Max first? Then he remembered. Max was at the party with Caroline. But he took no comfort from that thought. He focused his attention on the woman before him and spoke succinctly. “I was not Caroline’s father. I was her husband.”
“And as her husband, maybe you should have said enough is enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” He couldn’t help the sharp tone in his voice.
“You weren’t at the party where she died, were you?”
“I had to work.”
Beth Ann threw him an appraising look. “Did you go to any of the parties with her?”
How would she know? He refused to answer.
She nodded. “Did you go on those cruises?”
He stayed silent.
She nodded again. “Then how in the world would you have ever known what your wife was doing?”
“Maybe that’s what she ran away from,” he said smoothly, turning the tables on her, and was satisfied when Beth Ann blushed.
“Maybe she lived in a place with a sister so controlling she couldn’t breathe and all she wanted was a little freedom.”
“Maybe,” Beth Ann co
nceded.
“And maybe that sister is doing the exact same thing with her daughter and Caroline knew it and willed her niece the company so Berna—uh, Bernie at least had a fighting chance.”
“A fighting chance at what?” Her eyes grew big at his implication.
“At life.” There. He had got her.
His triumph faded abruptly when Beth Ann did not look defeated. Instead, she was silently shaking her head. When she met his eyes, he saw a completely different woman. This one was educated, cultured. Her voice lowered an octave, as she said, “I guess that depends on what you call life. In this life, what matters is what’s being nurtured in that tiny body and head of Bernie’s. She’s got no need for a software company. She’s fed, she’s loved, she’s given every bit of attention I can give her—”
“She looks like a boy.”
Beth Ann shrugged. “She doesn’t know that. When it makes a difference, I’ll find appropriate clothes for her.”
“At a garage sale or secondhand store.” He couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.
“Repair, reuse, recycle. Things don’t have to be new to be valuable.” Beth Ann’s eyes flicked over him. “But I guess you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
“All our companies adhere to the very strictest of environmental standards,” he said stiffly.
“I’m sure they do.” Beth Ann looked at the check and picked it up. “I think I’m ready to go now.”
Christian took the check from her. “I’ll get it.”
Beth Ann paused for a minute and said graciously, “Thank you.”
As they walked out, the night air just starting to have the hint of summer to it, he informed her, “This still isn’t over.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Sure it is. Have your lawyer draw up whatever document we need to return the company back to your family. You can let me deal with the fallout when Bernie turns twenty-one and discovers I gave away her inheritance. Thanks for the flowers.”
Christian shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. You just need to be a little more open-minded. It’s Bernie’s company. You don’t really have a choice. Anyway—” he couldn’t resist adding “—it seems as if you could really use a couple of months of dividends.”
Beth Ann’s smile died. “Why would you say that?”
There was no way to put it tactfully, so he said, “It’s obvious you need the money.”
Beth Ann didn’t flinch as he’d expected.
She nodded in thoughtful agreement. “We do need the money. But we don’t need it this way.”
“What do you mean this way?”
She shrugged. “Through intimidation. You’re rich and we’re poor. You have everything and we have nothing. For some reason, we’re supposed to take money or software companies at whatever the cost.” She poked a slender finger gently into his chest. “I’m going to keep the flowers, because they’re so beautiful and because I believe you gave them to me sincerely. I don’t want the software company because somehow I think the cost is going to be too great. Bernie’s just going to get hurt.”
“Bernie?” Christian softened his voice.
She looked away too quickly.
“Or you?”
“I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” For the first time since they’d started this conversation, Beth Ann sounded vulnerable.
Christian didn’t know what he was talking about either. He was merely fishing. But years of business training told him Beth Ann’s reasons for not signing the papers had less to do with the welfare of her daughter and more to do with herself.
“I think you do,” he said shortly. “And I think you’re hiding something.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BETH ANN REGARDED the stranger who had been married to her sister for seven years and saw something behind those silver eyes, something that stopped her from flinging the truth at him in the middle of the parking lot. Even though he was obviously trying to provoke her, playing her like she was some complicated business deal, she saw in Christian Elliott a man unraveling. She was struck by the realization that they all had paid enormously for the secrets Carrie had kept.
How misguided he was. Money didn’t get rid of the bags under the eyes. It didn’t heal grief. It didn’t make bad marriages better, even in retrospect. It didn’t do anything but pay the bills and put clothes on the back and a roof over the head and he didn’t seem to understand that.
Or maybe he did.
She stared at him for a long time. She understood what Glenn had been telling her and took a deep breath. Even though she believed she was making one of the worst mistakes in her life, she said, “I’ll tell you what. I made some banana bread yesterday. Why don’t you come over for dessert? There are a couple of things I think you need to know, but not here.”
Just by looking at him, she had no way of knowing whether or not she should regret her words. His face was unreadable, made impassive by what was probably years of training. She thought she saw a flicker of light, but then that was gone as well.
“We’ll talk about transferring DirectTech to Bernie?” he asked.
Beth Ann nodded and said, “But you may want to wait until after we talk.”
Satisfied, Christian got into his car, feeling as if he had just pulled off one of the biggest coups ever. He’d thought he’d lost any chance with Beth Ann after he’d pushed so hard.
He followed Beth Ann, the short drive back to her house seeming interminably long. He didn’t know what he thought he was hoping to find but he had an idea that whatever it was it needed to be found. Somehow. He parked the car to the side and kept his headlights on so she could see her way to the front door even though the porch light gleamed into the night, like a lighthouse beckoning to lost sailors. He then turned off his lights and strolled to meet her. He was waiting a step down as she jiggled the key in the lock, when the door swung open.
“Bethy!” Glenn poked his head out and Christian’s spirits fell just slightly. He had forgotten about Glenn, his blond good looks and his familiar relationship with Beth Ann and her daughter. The reasonable side of his mind kicked in. Beth Ann had been able to meet him tonight because Glenn had stayed with Bernie. He felt a little better.
“Hi, there,” she said cheerfully as she walked in the house. Christian hesitated slightly. He nodded at Glenn, but the other man missed the nod because he was staring affectionately at Bernie.
“Mommy!” Bernie, dressed for bed in her yellow duck pj’s, squealed with two-year-old abandon and ran in place in her excitement. She then twirled around, crumbs from a fig bar flying everywhere. Her hair was a puffy brown cotton ball of curls with as many tangles. She spun even faster, the grip on her cookie tight.
“Bernie, Bernie, Bernie.” Beth Ann crouched down and swung her daughter up. Bernie gave her a big wet kiss, smearing half-masticated fig filling over Beth Ann’s cheek. “Can Mommy have a bite, please?”
Christian watched, the same spark of envy he’d felt that morning flaring.
“Bite, please?” Bernie asked teasingly, holding the cookie away from Beth Ann who was pretending to eat her way up Bernie’s fat arm.
“Bite, please,” Beth Ann repeated with chomping noises. Bernie chortled with laughter, her chins jiggling, and then generously gave Beth Ann a bite.
Glenn took the flowers from Beth Ann. “Nice,” he commented.
“Fowers,” Bernie said.
Christian stood on the threshold of this beacon of a house, not wanting to intrude on the scene. He was transfixed by the concept that in back of him was stark darkness but in front were the shining lights of home and hearth. He suddenly didn’t see the house as old or in need of repair. It actually exuded a freshness that many of the homes he stayed in never did.
“Please, come on in,” Beth Ann invited, as if she’d only just remembered him. Glenn looked his way in surprise. Christian gave him another curt nod. Beth Ann looked at the toys scattered around the living room with a resigned humor. “Watch yo
ur step. Don’t worry about breaking anything but your ankle.”
Glenn took Bernie out of Beth Ann’s arms and Beth Ann took the flowers back.
“You’re just in time,” Glenn said. Christian watched them exchange a silent comment with their eyes. Glenn continued, “I was wondering how I was going to get a brush through her hair.”
The detangler stuff, Christian remembered, the stuff in the blue bottle.
“Oh, there’s a blue spray bottle of detangler on the kitchen counter,” Beth Ann called as she walked down the hall. She turned to Christian. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to put these in water.”
Picking up a Barbie arm from the couch, Christian sat down, placed the limb on the coffee table and prepared to wait. Despite the toddler clutter, Christian now observed that Beth Ann’s home was almost hedonistically feminine. It smelled like an odd combination of baby shampoo and lavender. Flowers, fresh and representations thereof, were displayed on top of white lace generously draped across the many shelves and mantles. Small, well-cared for objects were interspersed among the flowers, along with dozens of meticulously framed photos all high enough and secure enough to be out of the reach of an exploring child.
At Bernie’s level, he noticed dozens of children’s books and watercolor magazines and an onslaught of toys and toy parts. From the looks of it, Bernie had had a busy night. A brown bear caught his eye. Fluff was uncomfortably wedged between the back leg of a thick leather armchair, the wall and the floor lamp. Christian glanced around self-consciously, and when he didn’t see anyone, he got on his hands and knees to take a closer look, intent on retrieving the beloved bear.
“Ah, that’s how I like a man,” a voice said good-naturedly, behind his raised backside. Mortified, Christian grabbed the bear and stood hastily, dusting off Fluff, unable to control the flush that crept into his face. Beth Ann beamed up at him, her dark eyes dancing. Christian’s heart jerked to a stop. Her whole face was lit, brown eyes wrinkling with fun, the corners of her wide mouth tilted up into two perfect points. And dimples. When was the last time he’d seen dimples? Especially ones so deeply embedded that they enticed him into her world.
