Wilbur just chuckled. "I don't blame you for getting impatient, son. Never liked jumping through hoops myself." From the pocket of his country-club shirt, he drew a cigar and lit it. "As you know, Lavinia is determined to sell the inn to a happily married couple. Mom and pop and apple pie…"
"We discussed all that Friday," cut in Ryan. "I thought Lavinia had approved of us."
"At the time, she did. But she went to the beauty parlor and her stylist mentioned seeing you, Ryan, in a tabloid." He hesitated again with an uncomfortable glance at Sunny. "Maybe I should talk to you about this in private."
"There's nothing you could say that Sunny can't hear."
Sunny nodded her encouragement.
"Okay, then." He lifted his hands in a here-goes-nothing gesture. "I'm sure you can imagine how important marital fidelity is to Lavinia. There's nothing that upsets her more than men fooling around on their wives, or vice versa."
"What does that have to do with—"
Wilbur raised a hand to silence a visibly annoyed Ryan. "Just two months ago, there was an article about you. It seems you were … uh … on a yacht with…"
Sunny surprised both men with a gentle laugh. "I'll bet I know what you're going to say." She hoped her cheerfulness didn't sound too forced.
"What?" said both men in unison.
"Princess Catherine, right?"
Ryan's brows drew together, but Wilbur exhaled in relief. "Guess you read the article."
"Read it? I was in it," declared Sunny. Wilbur gaped at her, as did Ryan. "Of course, they never mentioned my name," she said, piqued. "Makes the story much more interesting if the readers believe Ryan is doing something illicit."
"I know just how those news folks can be," Wilbur commiserated.
"Damned media," cursed Ryan.
"In fact, they didn't even get my face quite in focus. But if you take a magnifying glass and look closely, you might be able to see me there behind Ryan."
After digesting that piece of information in silence, Wilbur asked with sudden interest, "So you two know Princess Catherine?"
"Barely at all," demurred Ryan, while Sunny claimed, "A close, personal friend."
Wilbur puffed happily on his cigar. "Well, that clears up my questions." Nevertheless his forehead was wrinkled in worry. "Hope Lavinia buys it."
Sunny saw a muscle clench in Ryan's jaw and knew he was reaching the limit of his patience. Quickly, she said, "I'd be happy to talk to Lavinia about it. I was upset myself when that article came out. They took a perfectly innocent social occasion and made Ryan seem like some kind of … playboy." She cast him a glance. "A libertine. A womanizer. The worst kind of Don Juan…"
"I think we get the point," Ryan muttered.
Sunny smiled sweetly at him. A little too sweetly.
"You two just be yourselves," encouraged Wilbur, "and I'm sure Lavinia will see that you're as happily married as any couple can be." Rising, he gestured with his cigar as if he were a general leading his troops into battle. "Now, let's go downstairs and find her."
"Uh, before we go anywhere, Wilbur," Ryan interjected, "I'd like a copy of the purchase agreement. I'll fax it to my legal department, so we can finalize the sale today."
Wilbur puffed out a cloud of smoke contentedly. "Can't."
"Can't?" repeated Ryan.
"My attorney won't have the contract drawn up until the end of the week." Wilbur smiled paternally beneath his white mustache. "That'll also give you two a chance to convince Lavinia that all is well in paradise."
They found Lavinia in the dining room, where she was ushering a chattering party of guests toward the breakfast buffet. A shame, thought Sunny, that breakfast wasn't served on the glassed-in side porch, where lush plants flourished in the gentle morning sunshine.
She had breakfasted there often with her grandmother. A pleasure she'd never forgotten. She made a mental note to move the breakfast buffet from the dining room to the sun porch.
Lavinia greeted Sunny with smiles and Ryan with a cautious nod that left no doubt she'd be watching him closely.
Sunny felt Ryan's irritation growing; she knew he hated to "perform" for anyone. He'd always set his own goals and never bothered striving to live up to anyone else's expectations. Except his father's, which had been an exercise in futility.
This time, however, he'd asked for it. Their marriage masquerade had been his idea, not hers. She wondered how much his arrogant soul could stand for the sake of Windsong Place
.
To her amazement, he pulled her to him with a proprietary arm around her shoulders. "She wants 'happy,'" he whispered against her ear, "we'll show her 'happy.'"
A tremor passed through her at his sudden nearness.
"Wilbur, why don't you take Ryan for a tour or something? Sunny and I have business to discuss."
"The attic," said Ryan immediately. "I'd like to see the attic."
"Nothing up there," replied Wilbur. "Except ghosts." He chuckled at his own humor. Lavinia glared at him. "Just kidding." To Ryan, he mumbled, "We had one staff member who quit because she swore—"
Lavinia interrupted, "Just show him the attic, Wilbur."
Sunny hid a smile. She imagined that the wind blowing through the eaves and gables would sound especially eerie in the attic. She hadn't personally been up there. For as long as she could remember, it had lain silent and locked, as if in mute memorial to his late mother, who had used the attic as her piano room, or so Sunny had been told.
After Ryan and Wilbur had left, the two women settled into the private, chintz-decorated parlor adjoining the dining room.
At Lavinia's urging, Sunny handed her the colorful brochure she had designed. The older woman's eyes lit up with approval upon seeing the front of the brochure, which was a watercolor of the mansion and its surrounding mountains.
"Lovely," Lavinia murmured, running her hand reverently over the picture. "Did you paint this?"
Sunny nodded, pleased at her approval. "There are a few activities I didn't include on the brochure," she said, "because I wasn't sure if I could arrange them in time. But generally speaking, this is the game plan."
Lavinia opened the brochure and glanced at the agenda. "My!" she exclaimed. "Oh, my."
Sunny chewed her bottom lip, waiting as Lavinia continued to peruse the list.
Tiny vertical lines gathered between Lavinia's eyebrows. "I'm sure our younger guests would love the white-water rafting excursion and bathing in the hot springs, but I don't know if Wilbur and I are up to it." She then glanced at Sunny with a definite twinkle in her eyes. "The rest of it, I'm willing to try. When do we start?"
Sunny grinned in relief. "Right now. But our first activity isn't on the agenda."
Ryan drove Wilbur's open-topped Jeep. Wilbur and Lavinia rode in the back seat. Sunny sat in the front beside Ryan. Casually, he slid his arm around her and pulled her closer.
She did her best to pretend it was a common occurrence; one she took for granted, as any wife of long standing would. But sitting there beside him, in the curve of his strong shoulder, inhaling his woodsy, masculine scent, Sunny couldn't imagine ever taking his nearness for granted. She had to remind herself of the reason he was holding her this way—because Lavinia was watching them from the back seat with eagle eyes.
Forcing her mind to function despite the distraction, Sunny gave Ryan directions on how to reach the launch site.
"Launch site?" chimed Wilbur and Lavinia.
Sunny flashed them a "you'll see" smile. "Imagine, if you will, that we are riding in a van—the Windsong Place
shuttle—with guests. Ideally, we'd have left the inn before dawn."
Wilbur grunted. Lavinia raised her brows. Ryan slanted Sunny an indulgent glance. Sunny hoped her "guests" would enjoy her surprise.
They drove to the center of a grassy meadow, where yards and yards of rippling, shiny, colorful fabric were attached to a huge basket.
"A hot-air balloon," deduced Lavinia.
Sunny nodded,
and Ryan helped her down from the parked Jeep in an absolutely unnecessary gesture of strength. She wished he'd knock it off with the "happiness" routine already.
Resolutely she turned her attention away from his touch, as she eyed the colorful spectacle in the field. Last-minute doubts assailed her. It had sounded so romantic—a hot-air balloon excursion over the mountains, but it was quite another thing to stand in a meadow, about to step into a little basket attached to a balloon.
Yet, anticipation sparkled in Ryan's dove-gray eyes. Again, his arm came around her; this time she welcomed it.
They approached the site where young people in jeans and balloonist T-shirts were milling around. Sunny heard the whir and putter of the inflator fan as it blew air into the deflated balloon, which began to grow like a bubble-gum bubble, slowly at first, until a definite mound took shape.
"It's huge," whispered Sunny, mesmerized. Ryan nodded, watching with interest as the balloon billowed and expanded into a gigantic, smooth sphere.
Looking white around the lips, Lavinia said, "I take it you mean for us to ride in that thing?"
"You don't think it'll be fun?" asked Sunny. From the glance Wilbur and Lavinia exchanged, she realized with a sinking heart that the answer was no. "But you'll be able see the entire mountain and valley."
"We'll watch you enjoy it," Lavinia murmured. "And meet you wherever this thing lands." Grimly, she added, "I hope."
Sunny threw a doubtful glance at Ryan, who watched the balloon inflate. "Maybe we should just skip this activity." She tried to hide her disappointment. As a little girl, she had watched the colorful balloons glide over the mountaintops and she'd fantasized about sailing above Windsong Place
some day, when she could afford it.
"Skip the balloon ride?" said Ryan. "Not on your life."
Sunny grinned at his low-key brand of enthusiasm. She'd known he'd be in favor of it. He'd gone many times with his school friends and he'd always described the trip to her.
The hum of the inflator fan stopped and a peaceful silence reclaimed the meadow. Seconds later, with a whoosh of the burner, the balloon stood up, proudly erect and graceful.
Wilbur urged, "Go on, you two." Though unwilling to take the trip himself, he seemed eager to watch. Without giving Sunny a chance to decline, Ryan laced his hand through hers and pulled her toward the colorful giant straining to be free.
He conferred in private with one of the men in a balloonist T-shirt, who handed him a walkie-talkie. Afterward, he helped Sunny climb into to the surprisingly sturdy craft made of wicker, rattan and leather. The creaking of the rigging seemed to whisper last-minute warnings.
Ryan climbed in beside her. "Where's the pilot?" she asked in mild alarm.
"You're looking at him."
"They're going to let you fly this thing?"
"Bribery will get you anywhere," he replied with a cocky smile, and Sunny remembered the boy he'd been—showing off some new skill he had mastered, fully expecting her admiration.
The manager of the operation told Ryan the approximate landing target he should aim for, considering the direction and velocity of the wind. He warned Ryan to watch the fuel gauge—he wouldn't want the propane tanks to run dry. And he told him to steer clear of power lines. And to keep in contact via the walkie-talkie with the chasers who would be following in cars. Ryan nodded and pulled on a cord.
With a whoosh of the burner, the basket lifted. Flames momentarily heated the air and Sunny was overcome by a strange, buoyant sensation. The small crowd of spectators cheered and waved as the balloon ascended, and the ground dropped away.
The roar of the burner stopped; silence claimed them.
Sunny shut her eyes, feeling as if she might make a fool of herself and panic. Soon, though, nature's music filled her ears: the calling of birds in the treetops, the croaking of frogs below, the gurgling of a mountain brook, the rustling of the wind through the forest.
Ryan wrapped his arms around her from behind as they drifted through the air as smoothly as a cloud. "Open your eyes, Sunny. Look."
She obeyed, and with a soft cry of wonder she saw the treetops drifting by just beneath them. She felt as if she could reach out and touch them with her fingertips. Beyond the trees, the mountainous horizon stretched all around her, sunlight golden and smoky blue. Infinitely peaceful. Beautiful beyond words.
She felt as if she could see into eternity. "It's lovely."
"Didn't I tell you?" He tightened his arms around her, and they sailed on in eloquent silence, awed by the buoyant feeling and the breathtaking scenery passing beneath them.
"Look over there," Ryan directed, leaning against a post on the rim of the basket. "The French Broad River."
"It looks like a sparkling silver ribbon, doesn't it."
"We'll be coming up to Heaven's Hollow soon. You'll know we're near civilization when you hear the dogs."
"The dogs?"
Ryan grinned. "Just listen."
As they came within sight of her grandmother's peaceful community nestled within a green valley, Sunny heard the dogs. First one, then another. Then a chorus of barking and howling.
She laughed at the canine ruckus they were causing below.
"Never fails." Ryan rested his forearm on the leather-topped railing. "Maybe they hear the wind whistling through the balloon." He pointed down to neat little patches of yards. "Olive's log cabin should be down there somewhere."
"I see it! Look, Ry, beyond that grove of trees."
"That's it." In another moment, he said, "Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. Devil's Ridge."
Sunny peered down at the dangerous gray-and-russet rocky cliff that overlooked a river gorge.
"Where the mountain climber died," Ryan murmured ominously.
From this vantage point, Sunny believed Ryan's old story. The rocky drop-off looked brutally desolate. A shiver passed through her. She was glad when they had sailed past.
"Oh—Windsong Place!" Delighted, Sunny gazed down at the familiar gables, verandas and turrets of the Victorian mansion. From here it looked like an elaborate doll-house.
When the mansion had disappeared beyond their line of vision, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Sunny to lean back against Ryan's wide, strong chest. His smoothly shaven chin rested against her temple; his warm, even breathing stirred her hair; dreamy contentment stole over her.
Ryan tugged at a cord every now and then, and sometimes with a roar and a whoosh, the basket would rise higher, catching an airstream that changed the direction of their flight.
"Is that how you steer it?"
Ryan nodded, happier than she had seen him in a long time. "It's a matter of raising and lowering the balloon to catch the air currents. Riding them."
With a pull of another cord, he lowered the balloon. Sunny looked up into the great cavernous interior of the brightly colored globe above them. A patch of azure sky had appeared in the balloon's fabric. She heard a gush of air surge out as they descended.
Ryan clicked on the walkie-talkie; in a few brief words, he described their current location. Which reminded Sunny that a crew in cars would be chasing them somewhere below.
She spotted a loose caravan of vehicles rounding the mountainous curves, headed in their direction. Wilbur's Jeep was among them. After a short while, the earth slowed its movement beneath them; treetops scraped against the bottom of their basket. They drifted down into a meadow, a smaller meadow than the first.
Ryan loosened his hold from her and she immediately missed his warmth, his nearness.
"It can't be over already," she whispered.
"It's not." His fingers beneath her chin, he tilted her face upward. His dark gray eyes were intense. He brushed his lips across hers—once, twice, lingered there, touching, tasting…
The kiss deepened and swept her away, higher than the balloon had taken her, far beyond the horizon. Giving her a breathtaking glimpse of eternity…
With a jolt and a harsh brushing sound, they put down in
the meadow. Ryan drew away from her and Sunny became aware of the vehicles pulling to a halt around them.
"Take a bow," Ryan uttered softly. The old mocking coolness had returned.
Sunny caught sight of Lavinia and Wilbur, waving from their open-topped Jeep.
* * *
6
« ^ »
Saturday afternoon, so far, had gone off without a hitch. Yet, it had been torture, Sunny reflected as she freshened her mauve lipstick at the oval mirror of the vanity table.
After the balloon ride, they had returned to Windsong Place
and lunched with the Tanners in the backyard gazebo overlooking the river. The afternoon would have been pleasant enough, but Ryan's determination to present a picture of wedded bliss had begun to wear on her nerves.
He'd touched her freely—casual gestures involving her shoulders, her waist or the small of her back. More troubling was when he touched her mentally, with a private gaze that almost made her believe they were a couple.
Every possessive gesture or glance went straight through to her heart, because they weren't a couple. She was too vulnerable, and he was too damned good at pretending. She had to remind herself constantly that it was all a sham. And when it was over it would hurt too much if she let her guard down, even for a moment.
As she had on that balloon ride.
Pinning her hair up in a casual twist at the top of her head, Sunny glanced at the bedside clock. Almost four. Time for the next activity on her agenda: tea in the Oak Hall.
Mrs. Lee, the assistant innkeeper, had enthusiastically agreed to serve, and Malcolm the chef was preparing some of his favorite pastry recipes. Sunny hoped Lavinia would enjoy herself more than she had at the hot-air balloon activity. Ryan had gone off to inspect some part of the property. Sunny wondered if he'd return in time for tea.
She stepped into her soft springtime dress of periwinkle blue with a close-fitting bodice and gently flared skirt; the simple design was enriched by an off-the-shoulder ruffle.
As she zipped it up the back, she mentally reviewed the remaining items on her agenda for the day: Tea in the Oak Hall. Dinner in the inn's restaurant. Dancing to the music of a band she had hired to play in the ballroom. Then, bedtime.
SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW Page 8
