“Sensational. I’d like the honor of being your first client.”
Trish leaned forward, nearly spilling her coffee, and widened her eyes. “What?”
Mallory looked from Trish to Kate and grinned at the startled expressions playing in both their faces. “I want to sell my house,” she said bluntly.
Trish emitted an undignified whoop, and Kate beamed her approval.
“It’s about time,” observed the latter. “If I were married to a hunk like Nathan, I’d ride around in his hip pocket!”
Mallory laughed. “Kate Sheridan, I’m shocked!”
“That’s progress,” Kate retorted with tart good humor. “You’ve stepped up from stupid.”
“Thanks a lot!”
Trish giggled conspiratorially and hunched her shoulders beneath her pink velour shirt. “Mall, you were terrific this afternoon! Those women were positively eaten up with curiosity, but you didn’t give them one damned thing to talk about.”
“They’ll make things up to fill the void,” Mallory said somewhat ruefully, turning her empty coffee cup in one hand.
“Who cares?” Kate demanded. “They would anyway.”
Trish’s hand closed over Mallory’s, warm and reassuring. “I really think you’re doing the right thing, Mall. You love Nathan—I know you do.”
Mallory nodded distractedly; suddenly, it was as though Renee Parker had joined the women sitting around that homey table, and the glow of the afternoon just past was somewhat tarnished by her unseen presence.
“You and Nathan ought to go away somewhere,” Kate interjected quickly. “Now that he’s retiring—”
Mallory shook her head, drew a deep breath and forced a brave smile to her face. “We can’t—not yet, anyway. It would look as though we were running away. Besides, he still has that farewell concert in Seattle next month. If I know him, rehearsals will begin any minute.”
“After that, then,” Kate persisted, a small, worried frown creasing the space between her eyebrows.
Mallory shrugged. “I can’t think that far ahead. I still have an obligation to Brad, for one thing.”
“Brad!” Kate scoffed dismissively. “That creep is half your problem, if not all of it. Break your contract, Mallory, and see Alice Jackson over at the elementary school. They’re looking for substitute teachers to fill in whenever the regulars are sick.”
Mallory was gaping at Kate. “Break my contract? I can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Trish asked cautiously. “You said you didn’t want to act anymore.”
“Well, there is such a thing as loyalty, you know.” Mallory bridled stiffly. “A contract is a promise!”
“There are exceptions to every rule,” Kate said with staunch persistence. “And besides, I’ll lay odds that Brad Ranner is behind this paternity suit.”
Mallory was stunned; until that moment, she had placed all the blame for Renee Parker on Diane. “W-why would he do that?” she managed after a long, difficult pause.
Kate and Trish exchanged looks of exaggerated impatience before the younger of the two replied, “Mall, you dummy—Brad looks at you like you’re made of spun sugar! If he thought he could get Nathan out of the picture, he’d do anything.”
Mallory had known that Nathan was jealous of Brad Ranner, though she’d never understood why. Their relationship was harmless—almost like that of a brother and sister. And yet, Brad had been so outraged that she meant to quit the show—
But that was business, of course. She glared at Trish and Kate in turn and lifted her chin. “Diane Vincent got Renee to say those things about Nathan,” she said firmly. “Brad wouldn’t do a thing like that!”
“Wouldn’t he?” challenged Kate, who seldom interfered in the problems of other people. “Wake up, Mallory. I’ve seen him and Nathan together, and they look like two lions about to do battle over the same quarry.”
“Diane did it because Nathan fired her!” Mallory insisted, almost desperately.
“When was that?” Trish pressed. “Yesterday? The day before? It takes longer than that to arrange a lawsuit, Mallory—this thing has been in the works for weeks.”
“It could still have been Diane!”
Kate shrugged. “Maybe they arranged it together,” she said. “I wouldn’t put anything past that she-cat either. Just watch your step around Ranner, because he’s not what he seems to be.”
Mallory felt sudden, unaccountable tears smarting in her eyes. Why was it so important to her to blame Diane? Kate and Trish weren’t meddlers, and they were both extremely intelligent. Had they noticed something in Brad’s manner that she’d missed?
God, why did she have to think about Renee Parker and that stupid paternity suit, anyway?
Trish’s pretty face crumpled with shared pain and deep concern. Unceremoniously, she dragged her chair closer to Mallory’s and wrapped her friend in comforting arms. “I’m sorry, Mall. I should never have brought this up—”
Mallory sniffled, returned Trish’s hug and drew back a little. “It’s okay,” she said bravely, dashing away the tears on her face. “You’ll call me about putting the house on the market?”
Tears gleaming in her own eyes, Trish bit her lower lip and nodded.
Kate rose briskly from her chair. “Well, I’ve spent half of my next advance on lacy geegaws no man will ever see. I trust you earned your damned bathrobe!”
Both Trish and Mallory laughed, and the tension in that cozy room was broken, just as Kate had probably intended it to be. She laid a motherly hand on Mallory’s shoulder.
“Come on, Mrs. McKendrick—I’ll drive you home. If I know you, you walked over here.”
Trish pretended to be very busy gathering up the coffee cups and spoons on the table. “Blizzards don’t stop her. She has herself confused with the postal service. How does that go? ‘Neither snow nor sleet nor gloom of night—’”
“You pitiable innocent,” Kate broke in. “When was the last time you mailed anything?”
Mallory laughed. “Don’t let Kate disillusion you, Trish. She has a running war with the post office.”
Kate was shrugging into a heavy woolen sweater-coat. “Only because they deliver my manuscripts by skateboard. Let’s get out of here before I really get on my soapbox!”
Knowing Trish’s house as well as she knew her own, Mallory said goodbye and went off to find her jacket again. Kate was waiting in her car a few minutes later when she went outside.
The snow was falling in the gray twilight by then, and the air was bracing, but not really cold. Mallory almost regretted agreeing to the offer of a ride home; it would have been nice to walk.
“You’re serious about selling your house?” Kate asked as she eased the small car out of Trish’s driveway and onto the main road.
Mallory nodded. “I realize now that I’ve been using it as a hideout, rather than a home.”
“You were happy there once. Naturally, you’re fond of it.”
Again, Mallory nodded. She wondered what advice her parents would have given her if they’d been alive. Would they have believed that Nathan deserved her trust and loyalty or would they have urged her to cut her losses and run?
The answer was easy. Janet and Paul O’Connor had liked and respected their son-in-law, after an initial wariness stemming from his unusual occupation, and they’d never been big on quitting.
“You’re wondering what your parents would have thought about this paternity mess, aren’t you?” Kate asked quietly.
Mallory chuckled. “Sometimes you amaze me. If you ever get tired of writing books, you could always become a mind reader.”
“I’d probably make more money,” Kate retorted with a wry grin. “I trust I can spare you the lecture about how you’re a grown woman now and you should think for yourself?”
“I would be grateful if you did,” Mallory said.
Kate’s attention was fixed on the snowy road. “We didn’t mean to upset you, Mallory—Trish and I. We just don’t want you to be h
urt anymore.”
“You’ve never doubted Nathan since this thing started, have you, Kate? I don’t think Trish has either. Tell me, why do you have so much confidence in him?”
Kate flipped on her windshield wipers and peered out at the snow-dappled night. “He wears his heart where his tie clasp should be,” she said. “Love is an obvious thing, and I’ve never seen a more flagrant case than Nathan McKendrick’s.”
Mallory swallowed and looked out the window on her side of the car. “I wish I could be so sure as you are. S-sometimes I think he loves me, and other times—”
“Yes?” Kate prodded gently.
“Other times I think he can’t possibly be interested in someone as ordinary as I am.”
“Then the fault lies in you, not in him. You need to believe in yourself, Mallory.”
Since no point on the small island was very far from any other, it didn’t take Kate long to reach Angel Cove. During that brief time, however, Mallory seriously considered what her friend had said. It was true that she didn’t have much confidence in herself.
The question was, why? Paul and Janet O’Connor had been wise parents—they’d raised Mallory to believe she could do anything. And she hadn’t made such a bad showing. She’d gotten excellent grades in college, graduated with a teaching certificate, walked onto the set of a soap opera and landed a promising part.
In the warm confines of Kate’s practical car, Mallory sighed. Nothing she might accomplish seemed very impressive beside the glittering success that attended Nathan’s every move. But, then, who did she need to impress?
“Won’t you come in for a few minutes?” Mallory asked a few minutes later when Kate drew the car to a stop in front of the brightly lit house at Angel Cove.
Kate shook her head firmly. “I’d like to, but chapter seven awaits. Besides, the last thing you and that young man need is company.”
Mallory laughed and opened the car door to get out. After thanking her friend and saying goodbye, she bounded up the snow-dusted walk to the front door.
Nathan was just coming down the stairs when she walked in, and the house was deliciously quiet without the numerous members of his entourage. He grinned, as though he’d read her thoughts, and she blushed at the images his closely fitted jeans and soft, white sweater inspired.
“Hi,” he said. “Where’s your underwear?”
Mallory gaped at him, having forgotten all about the sales party she’d just left. “I beg your pardon?”
Nathan laughed, approached his wife and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “I wasn’t getting personal, pumpkin. Didn’t you go to some kind of party at Trish’s?”
Feeling foolish and oddly electrified by this man who had been her husband for six full years, Mallory nodded. “It’s not underwear, it’s lingerie. And you don’t bring it home the same day like you would if you shopped in a store. You just order it.”
His gifted fingers were kneading her tense shoulders, and she could feel their warmth, even through her jacket. “Thank you for clearing that up. I’ll rest easier knowing the straight scoop about underwear parties.”
Mallory gave him a slight shove, although the last thing she wanted at the moment was distance between them. “You’re incorrigible. And by the way, you’d better give Alex a raise.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah? Why?”
“Because the only reason Trish gave this party was to get a bathrobe for half price.”
Nathan laughed. “Could we please drop this conversation? I’ve got a candlelight dinner all laid out in the dining room, and you’re standing here talking about cut-rate bathrobes.”
Mallory unbuttoned her jacket, and her flesh tingled pleasantly beneath her clothes as Nathan took the coat from her with practiced hands. “A candlelight dinner, is it? And we don’t have to eat it in the bedroom?”
He feigned shock. “What? Eat on the very site of my ignoble defeat at Monopoly? Never.”
Mallory smiled, wishing that their lives could always be this way—unhurried, romantic and private. “Tell me about this candlelight dinner. Did you cook it?”
“Yes,” he said, guiding her out of the entry hall and through the doorway that led to the imposing formal dining room. “Mrs. Jeffries is in Seattle, visiting her sister. Therefore, I had no choice but to venture into the wilds of her kitchen and concoct a culinary delight unmatched even by your canned soup and tuna sandwiches.”
“Was that a dig?”
Nathan pointedly ignored the question and ushered Mallory to a chair at the long mahogany table that was usually lined with band members, their wives and girlfriends, and an accumulation of diverse hangers-on. Candles flickered elegantly over a repast of hot dogs, white wine, and limp french fries.
Mallory sat down with dignity, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. The ploy was unsuccessful.
Nathan, seating himself next to her, looked properly wounded. “You have no appreciation for fine food.”
“What on earth did you do to those french fries? They look positively anemic!”
He arched one eyebrow. “I put them in the microwave,” he answered defensively.
“After taking them from the freezer, no doubt?”
“Of course.”
“I see. Well, they’re far more appetizing if they’re browned in the regular oven.”
“Thank you, Julia Child.”
Mallory laughed and dutifully began to eat, and even though the french fries were still partially frozen and the hot dogs weren’t much warmer, she couldn’t remember a better meal.
“I’m selling my house,” she announced, once the fare had been consumed, her eyes on the kaleidoscope colors the candles were casting into her wineglass.
There was a short silence, followed by the inevitable, “Why?”
Mallory swallowed, though she had yet to touch her wine, and met her husband’s dark gaze. “Because it’s foolish to hang around over there, waiting for my childhood to come back.”
Nathan’s hand gently covered both of Mallory’s. “The place means a lot to you,” he said, and she couldn’t tell whether he was opposing her plans or approving them.
“I need to do it, Nathan—it feels right.”
“Then do it.”
“W-we have too many things that are yours or mine, and so few that are ours.”
“Everything I have is yours, Mallory—I thought you knew that.”
She felt tears burn in her eyes as she looked around at the huge dining room, with its elegant furnishings, its twin chandeliers, its oriental rugs. “I—I’ve spent so little time here, I feel like a guest.”
“You still don’t like this house, either, do you, Mallory? You’re only here to please me.”
She shook her head quickly. “I love this house, Nathan. It’s so spacious and airy and elegant. It’s just that usually—well—”
Nathan finished for her. “Usually, there are too many people here.”
Glumly, Mallory nodded.
“That will change now,” he said, and his gaze shifted from Mallory’s face. “I’m retiring, remember?”
Though she knew that he hadn’t meant her to, Mallory heard the reluctance in his voice. If he was reluctant now, how would he feel in a few weeks, a few months, a year? His career was understandably important to him. Would the loss of it make him bitter?
“I think one unemployed McKendrick is enough. Don’t give up music because of me, Nathan. I couldn’t bear to be the cause of that.”
His eyes returned to her face now, but their expression was unreadable in the dim light. “I love you, Mallory—and I need you. Our marriage is more important to me than anything else in my life, including music.”
“But you really don’t want to quit, do you?”
He left his chair to stand beside hers, and his hand was gentle under her chin. “I’m not sure, Mallory. The only thing I really have a handle on right now is that our marriage is on shaky ground.”
Mallory nodded in sad agree
ment and searched his face with wide, anxious eyes. “Nathan, please don’t retire because of me. There has to be some other way.”
He tilted his head to one side. “We need time, babe. Besides, do you think you’re the only one who ever gets tired?”
Mallory had been to dozens of Nathan’s concerts, and she was suddenly conscious of the incredible energy he expended when he performed. Add to that the constant travel and the endless rehearsals, and the formula for physical and emotional exhaustion was complete. “Then take six months off,” she said quickly, “or even a year.”
He looked away, considering. “A year,” he said, finally. “I’ll take a year off. At the end of that time, we’ll talk again, Mrs. McKendrick.”
Mallory offered a handshake to seal the bargain, but Nathan did not return the gesture in the usual way. Instead, he turned her hand and kissed the delicate, supersensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.
She trembled involuntarily, and Nathan chuckled in gruff amusement.
“Umm,” he teased. “A year of candlelight dinners and lovemaking—I may never go back to work.”
His tongue found the inside of her palm, teased it ruthlessly. “You’ll—be—bored,” Mallory managed, between gasps of helpless pleasure.
He drew her up and out of the chair, held her close. “Never that,” he said, his lips at her temple now.
“Nathan.”
His hands were drawing her sweater upward, making warm soothing circles on the small of her back. “I want you,” he said.
Mallory shivered as both his index fingers found their way beneath the waistband of her jeans and circled her to meet boldly at the snap in front. It gave way, and so did the zipper.
Mallory gasped as he drew her jeans down over her hips, her thighs, her ankles. “Nathan,” she protested, even as she stepped out of the jeans. “This is the dining room!”
He was kneeling before her now, and his hands were idly stroking her ankles, first one, and then the other. “How appropriate,” he said.
In the morning, Mallory awakened to find that the snow had stopped. Humming, pleased that she had for once woken up before Nathan, she scrambled out of bed and made her way into the master bath. There, in the massive sunken tub, she took a long, luxurious bath.
Snowflakes on the Sea Page 13
