He looked at her mouth, then into her eyes. “That’s because we didn’t seal it.”
“With a handshake?”
His eyes grew dark. “With a kiss,” he murmured, and when he took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his, Wendy sighed his name and kissed him and kissed him, while the sky and the snow and the planet spun wildly through space.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AFTER THREE DAYS, peace returned to the Monroe household.
Wendy was very glad it did.
Tiptoeing around your parents when you were ten or eleven and they’d quarreled was uncomfortable. When you were twenty-seven, it was unbearable—especially when they’d quarreled over you. Not that her parents had shouted or snarled or even exchanged harsh words after her mother’s outburst.
Wendy pulled on an ivory wool sweater, lifted her hair free of the turtleneck collar and picked up her hairbrush.
Actually, a little shouting might have been better than the formality with which they’d treated each other afterward. Everything was very civilized. `Please,’ `thank you’ and `you’re welcome’ were the only words exchanged, hanging in the air like dust motes on a sunny day. Somehow, that had only made the tension more noticeable, perhaps because Wendy couldn’t remember her folks arguing over her when she was growing up.
Well, yes. She could. She paused in front of the mirror in her bedroom, the brush in her hand forgotten. She could recall hearing the hum of their voices leaching through the bedroom wall long after she was supposed to be asleep, Gina saying that Wendy should be permitted to spend a few days in Boston with a friend and her parents, and Howard disagreeing because she’d lose vital practice time.
Amazing that she’d forgotten that low-pitched discussion, or others like it. Was it because remembering was too upsetting? Maybe they weren’t real memories at all. Children’s recollections could be fickle, couldn’t they?
No. They were real memories, all right; she could even recall the mornings that came after them, how her father would explain that she could spend time with her friends later, when practice wasn’t so important.
Once she reached middle school, she didn’t need those pep talks. She didn’t want to do anything but ski.
And then, in high school, she met Seth.
Wendy sighed, returned to brushing her hair with even more vigor.
Seth. A smile curved her lips as she thought about him. Their truce was holding. Better than holding. They’d spent the past three evenings together at Twin Oaks, and even when he was with the twins and she was busy with guests, she was always aware of his presence. Sometimes, she’d look up and see him watching her. She’d smile, and he’d smile….
That walk in the snow had changed everything.
They didn’t argue anymore or talk about the past. They just enjoyed being together. Seth hung around the B and B after Randi and Robin went to bed. He waited for her to finish up, and they’d drive to a little diner on the road to Lenox or to the Burger Barn, order something to eat and then let the food get cold because all they really wanted to do was look at each other and talk.
“You’re not tiring yourself out, are you, baby?” Gina had said just this morning.
It was her subtle way of letting Wendy know she was aware of how late she came home nights, lots later than the job at Twin Oaks necessitated. Wendy had looked up from her oatmeal, considered telling her that she was seeing Seth, and then thought no, she wouldn’t. Her mother was too sentimental. Too old-fashioned. She’d leap to conclusions about forever after, and forever after wasn’t part of the equation.
There were still too many questions. Not about Wendy’s feelings for Seth. She loved him; she knew that. And even though he hadn’t said it, she sensed he still loved her. But where did that take them? Where did they go from here? She knew what Seth would want. Marriage. A life in Cooper’s Corner. Children. Children, she thought again, and felt the old despair creeping up to envelop her.
And then there was the operation. Seth was opposed to it. He thought she wanted the surgery for the wrong reasons, but how could he judge what was right for her? How could he possibly understand how important it was for her to reclaim at least part of herself, when he didn’t know how much of herself she’d actually lost?
Wendy put down the hairbrush, took a pair of small gold hoops from the top of the dresser and inserted them in her earlobes.
Pommier had to come back to town soon. He just had to.
She looked at her reflection again.
And she had to get to work. She was due at Twin Oaks in less than ten minutes.
* * *
TWO TOWHEADED LITTLE BOYS, a girl with dark-brown braids and a boy about the twins’ age all sat cross-legged at Wendy’s feet in the gathering room. Randi and Robin were curled against her on the love seat.
All six pairs of eyes were fixed on Wendy’s face.
“…and,” she said softly, “when Janie heard the wolf’s long, lonely howls echoing through the starry night, she wrapped her arms around Akela and planted a kiss on his silky muzzle, just between his sad eyes.
“`Is the wolf your friend?’“ Janie asked. “`Do you feel sorry for him? Please, Akela, don’t go away. I love you.’
“Akela licked Janie’s face. Then he looked up, up, up at the moon. What should he do? Follow the cry of the wolf or stay with the little girl he loved? It was a terribly difficult choice to make, but he knew he had to make it, and soon.”
Wendy fell silent. The only sounds in the gathering room were the crackle and pop of the logs blazing on the hearth and the soft tinkle of keys as Beth Young, the village librarian, coaxed lush, old-fashioned melodies from the Twin Oaks piano.
At last the children gave long sighs.
“That’s a wonderful story,” Randi said.
“Akela should stay with Janie,” Robin said gravely. “‘Cause he loves her and she loves him.”
“Yeah, but that old wolf out there in the forest is so lonely,” one of the towheaded little boys said, just as seriously. “Wendy? What’s Akela gonna do?”
“My question, exactly,” Seth said. He was sitting behind the kids in an old wing chair. “What’s Akela going to do?”
Wendy smiled at him. “You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow night to find out.”
“But we won’t be here t’morrow night,” a small voice said. “We’ll never know what happens to Akela.”
Wendy looked at the little girl with the dark braids. Her bottom lip was trembling.
“Oh, honey.” Wendy drew the child onto her lap. “When are you leaving?”
“In the morning,” a woman said softly. She gave Wendy a quick smile. “Hi. I’m Amy’s mom. I want you to know that she’s loved every minute of Storytime.”
Storytime. That was what Clint had taken to calling her nightly sessions with the twins and any other children present at Twin Oaks. He’d even listed it on the chalkboard, after checking with Wendy. She’d been happy to agree to tell stories each evening, though at first she’d thought “Storytime” sounded too formal for what she did.
Now she felt a rush of pleasure whenever someone said the word.
“Well, we can’t let your daughter go home without knowing what Akela decides, can we, Amy?”
Amy shook her head. “No. We sure can’t.”
Wendy smiled and tugged gently at one of the child’s braids. “Tell you what. Suppose I meet you right here tomorrow morning at…” she looked at the mother “…eight o’clock? Will that work for you?”
“Oh, yes. That would be great.”
“Eight o’clock, then.” Wendy lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I’ll tell you what Akela decides to do.”
A happy grin spread across the girl’s face. “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome.” She hugged her, and the child scrambled off her lap and ran to her mother. “And before anybody asks,” Wendy said, her stern tone offset by her smile, “all the rest of you will just have to wait until tomorrow evening.
”
There were a couple of halfhearted groans, including one from Seth as he came toward her. She grinned as he clasped her outstretched hands.
“You’re not gonna make me wait, too,” he said, “are you?”
“Yes, she is,” Robin declared. “Aren’t you, Aunt Wendy?”
Wendy kissed Robin, then Randi, and got to her feet. “Darned right I am. Uncle Seth will have to wait, just like you guys.”
“Good!”
“What’s good?” Clint asked as he joined them and scooped the twins into his arms. “Surely not the terrors. They’re never good.”
“We’re always good,” Randi said decisively. “Right, Uncle Seth?”
“Absolutely! Especially when you go to bed without complaining.”
“Brilliant,” Clint said with a grin. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Wendy gave each child a hug and a kiss. “Good night, princesses.”
“G’night,” the girls replied sleepily.
“Hold down the fort, okay, while I deliver these angels to their mother?”
“Sure.”
“Be down in five…and Wendy? You’re terrific at this.”
“Mr. Cooper’s right.”
Wendy and Seth looked around. A man had come up alongside the little group. He held out his hand as Clint started up the stairs. “Arnold Worshinsky. The pair of towheaded hellions you held enthralled for the past half hour belong to me.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Worshinsky.”
“Are you a pro?”
“Excuse me?”
“A professional storyteller?”
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
“Oh, there is. I’ve heard several, and believe me, you’re as good as any of them. Maybe better.”
“Well, that’s very kind, but—”
“Kind, heck.” Seth slid his arm around Wendy’s shoulders. “The man’s right, sweetheart. You’re wonderful.”
She smiled up at him. Sweetheart. That was what he’d called her, just like in the old days.
“…any writing, Ms. Monroe?”
Wendy drew her gaze from Seth. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d ever done any writing.”
“Writing? No.”
“Sure she has.” Seth pointedly ignored the surprised look she gave him. “Wendy took a creative writing course her senior year in high school.” He smiled. “And she aced it.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course. You showed me that poem you wrote, remember? It was great.” His voice lowered. “I remember everything about that year.”
Arnold Worshinsky cleared his throat. “Ms. Monroe,” he said, handing her a business card, “if you have more stories, I’d be happy to see them.”
Wendy looked at the card. “Paper Doll Press?”
“Uh-huh. We publish children’s books.”
“Oh, but I’m not—”
“Won the Caldecott Medal the last two years.”
“I’m sure that’s an honor, but—”
She tried to put the card back in Worshinsky’s hand, but he shook his head. “Keep it, please. There are thousands of children out there who’d love to be fortunate enough to enjoy your stories.”
“But I’m not a writer, I’m a…” She hesitated. What was she? She didn’t really know. Slowly, she tucked the card into her pocket. “Well, thank you.”
“My pleasure. Ms. Monroe. Mr….?”
“Castleman. Seth Castleman.”
“Mr. Castleman. Nice meeting you both.”
Wendy waited until the publisher strolled away. Then she turned toward Seth and gave a little laugh. “Do you believe that?”
“That the guy wants to buy your stories? Sweetheart, I’m telling you, you’re terrific. Did you see those kids, hanging on every word?”
“It’s just because they don’t have anything else to do.”
“Oh, right.” Seth clasped Wendy’s hand. They walked slowly toward the empty office. “Maureen’s kids practically have their own FAO Schwarz store upstairs, and the guests’ children bring along enough toys to stock a summer camp. Electronic games. Board games. Crayons. Puzzles. Barbie dolls, and whatever you call those weird plastic jobs that look like monsters on steroids.”
Wendy laughed. “Yes, but still—”
“But still, they’d rather listen to you tell stories.” He smiled. “Who knows? This could be the start of a whole new life.”
A new life. A new start. Wendy saw the flicker of hope in Seth’s eyes, felt the answering flicker in her heart. And then she thought of the past years, the grueling regimen, the hours of painful therapy…
And the secret that had almost destroyed her.
“I’m not a storyteller,” she said quietly. “I’m not anything right now. I don’t know why I didn’t tell that to the man.”
“Okay.” Seth’s smile was forced. “Let’s not get into this.”
“I’m not `getting into’ anything, I’m just stating a fact.”
“Sweetheart.” He rubbed his hands lightly up and down her arms. “You want to ski again? Hey, you can be skiing tomorrow.”
“I can’t. Not with this leg.”
“You don’t have to wear a number on your back and beat somebody else’s time down the hill to ski.”
“Yes, I do! That’s who I am, Seth. Don’t you understand?”
The stridency in her voice angered Seth. The last few days, he’d let himself start to hope things were changing. Had he been kidding himself?
He shut the office door. “What I understand,” he said, “is that you want to turn back the clock. Well, you can’t do it. Nobody can.”
“I will. I have to.”
She spoke with defiance, but there was a suspicious glint in her eyes. It softened his anger, and he linked his fingers through hers.
“Why can’t you see yourself as I do?” he said gently. “You’re strong. Determined. Brave. You’re Wendy Monroe.”
“But I’m not. I’m not Wendy Monroe, not the same one you loved.”
“Sweetheart, you are.”
“I know who I am, Seth. And I don’t need you to practice armchair psychiatry.”
“Damn it, can’t you see I care?” Stop it, he told himself. Stop it while you can. But it killed him to see how she viewed herself. “We’re talking about the surgery again, aren’t we? How you’d risk everything so you can walk without a limp.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You can’t honestly believe people judge you by that.”
Wendy jerked her hands free of his and jammed her finger against her chest. “I judge me. This is my life, Seth, and I need to be whole again. To ski. To compete. To win.”
“Do you?” He could feel his control slipping. There had to be a way to reach her. “Is that the life you want, Wendy? Or is it the life you think you should want?”
She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. What was the point? They both knew what he meant, and he’d said too much already. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy the truce they’d managed to establish.
“Wendy.” He clasped her shoulders. “Come with me tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“To Jiminy Peak. Let me get you up on skis—No. Don’t turn your face away.” Seth cupped her chin and made her look at him. “You remember that long, curved run?”
“The Left Bank?”
She spoke with distaste. He decided to ignore it. “Right. It’s a nice run.”
“It’s a run for people who don’t know a lot about skiing.”
“How about it’s a run for people who haven’t skied in years?”
“How about it’s a run for cripples?”
She jerked free of his hands, yanked the door open and walked away.
* * *
SETH THOUGHT ABOUT going home.
Actually, he thought about saying to hell with it all. What good wa
s a dream about love when only one person was dreaming?
He got as far as putting on his jacket and heading for the door. Then he stopped, mumbled some words that fit the occasion and turned back to the reception desk, where Clint was sorting some papers.
Wendy was nowhere in sight, but her parka was still hanging where she’d left it. She was still around, somewhere.
“You have anything needs doing around here?”
Clint, clever man that he was, looked at Seth’s face but asked no questions. “Well, actually,” he said, “we had a couple of deliveries and I haven’t had time to organize the boxes. You could move them. You know, office supplies with office supplies, publicity stuff with—”
“Yeah,” Seth said, “I get the idea.”
He dumped his jacket on a chair in the storeroom. Then, like Sisyphus endlessly rolling that dumb rock up that even dumber hill, he shifted boxes from one end of the room to the other.
There was nothing like mindless physical labor for working out frustration. For thinking and coming to some sort of a decision.
He was finished letting Wendy push him away. He’d let it happen last time because he was a kid, and what did a kid know about women? Okay. He didn’t know much more about them now—what man did? But at least he wasn’t nineteen anymore. And maybe, just maybe, the reason she’d been able to do it so easily was because, in his heart, he’d never really felt worthy of her.
Seth paused, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.
No. That was the wrong word. What he’d felt was amazed that a guy like him could have touched the heart of a girl like Wendy.
She’d grown up in a picture-postcard town. She had people who loved her, friends who cared about her. And by the time they met, she’d been surrounded by guys who thought skiing was life.
Well, skiing was fun, but Seth skied for sport. For the rush that came of knowing he could control what was actually a dangerous skid down a mountain, making it into an exhilarating ride. Though he’d never say it out loud because it sounded so corny, he skied for the communion he felt with the snow and the mountains.
Wendy skied for those things, too. The trouble was, she also skied for a medal.
There was nothing wrong with that, if a medal was what she really wanted. But after he’d known her a few months, he’d become convinced it was her old man who wanted the medal a lot more than she did.
Reunited with the Billionaire Page 17
