Least Likely Wedding?

by Patricia McLinn

  Christ, he couldn’t think about that now. That was the last thing Kay needed from him as she was about to encounter her grandmother again, and so publicly.

  At a guess, Dora was in the middle of the knot by the windows that included Steve’s mother, Lana Corbett. Lana, newly returned from Europe, considered herself the leader of what society Tobias had and would view it as her position to greet a famous visitor.

  “Kay,” said a husky voice.

  Some of the crowd stepped back as Dora Aaronson approached her granddaughter. Miss Trudi performed an efficient block to turn Lana and other eager visitors aside, leaving Kay, her grandmother and him in a pocket of relative privacy, at least momentarily.

  Dora wore her gray-and-silver hair turned under at her chin, and was dressed in a pair of finely tailored navy slacks and a light blue sweater set. She could have been one of Lana’s fellow Tobias matrons heading to the country club. Her long face reminded him of Kay. But where Kay’s chin was short and pointed, her grandmother had an elongated jaw.

  “Hello, Dora. Hope you had a good trip.” Kay smiled.

  This woman would smile if her heart were breaking.

  Dora’s expression didn’t change—so different from her granddaughter—yet Rob thought Dora was going to reach for Kay. But in the end neither woman touched the other.

  Nell arrived in their small circle in a rush, intent on her own agenda. “Kay, may I have one of Chester’s puppies?”

  Kay appeared unsurprised that word was out about the puppies, or that the privacy had been so fleeting. Maybe she was getting used to Tobias.

  “Nell…” Steve, following his daughter, made her name a warning.

  “We have lots of room. Pansy could have a sibling,” she said.

  “You already have a dog, Nell,” Steve said. “You need to be sure you give Pansy all the attention she needs while she’s still growing up.”

  “You wouldn’t want her to feel neglected, would you?” Kay received a grateful look from Steve. Before the girl could argue, Kay resorted to a blatant attempt to distract her. “Nell, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Dora Aaronson. Dora, Nell is Steve and Annette’s daughter, and a talented finger-painter.”

  “I might be a famous artist someday,” the girl told Dora.

  “Is Trudi giving you lessons?”

  Nell shook her head. “Not painting. Miss Trudi shows me other things. But I’ll take lessons when I decide.”

  “Decide?” Dora blinked quickly.

  Kay suppressed a chuckle, and tension eased from Rob’s shoulders.

  “I suspect,” Kay said, “Nell means when she decides where being a famous artist fits into her agenda. She has a lot of goals to accomplish.”

  “Ah,” Dora’s face was solemn as she bent to the girl, but her eyes were alight. “I am honored to meet a young lady of such ambition.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. You’re pretty nice for a grandmother.”

  Dora flicked a look at Kay.

  “Nell feels her grandmother doesn’t meet the standard,” Kay explained.

  Dora only had time to nod before Lana sailed up in full Grande Dame of Tobias mode. “As I was saying before we were interrupted, Dora,” she announced, “I am Lana Corbett.”

  “That’s my grandmother,” Nell said to Kay, her tone adding, See what I mean about grandmothers? then she peeled away from the group.

  “We are gratified that you have forgone the civilization of New York to visit Tobias,” Lana said to Dora, either not attuned to the emotions swirling around her or not caring. “But, really, to ask Dora Aaronson to execute a mural in such a pitiful—”

  “Bliss House looks magnificent.” Dora cut across Lana’s words like a scalpel. “And I’m happy to be involved. Although my contribution won’t—”

  “Now, now, no details, Dora,” Miss Trudi interrupted equally effectively. “For any discussion in detail, we need to call an official committee meeting, isn’t that right, Steve?”

  “I suppose, although—”

  “You are absolutely correct, Steve. Our guests must depart now so that we can conduct committee business. There will be a reception for Dora later, allowing everyone to say hello at leisure. Lana, you said you might consider doing something to help Bliss House now that you have returned from your travels. A gathering at Corbett House next week for Dora would be a wonderful contribution.”

  “A select group would be best, so as not to overwhelm Dora.”

  In other words, so as not to let the riffraff into Corbett House, Rob thought.

  “Nonsense.” Miss Trudi brushed aside Lana’s objection. “Everyone will want to come. Saturday about seven. That should suit.”

  Before Lana could protest, everyone was agreeing as they headed out the door. Miss Trudi cleared the room of everyone except the committee and the two Aaronsons in less time than Rob could have believed. No wonder he hadn’t stood a chance with his first strategy of staying away from Kay. Pitted against Miss Trudi’s stealth efficiency, it was no contest.

  “Now that we’re down to the committee…” Steve started.

  But Miss Trudi wasn’t done. “Delay calling the meeting to order for a moment, Steve. The artistic subcommittee requires a brief time to meet and view the mural site. Dora, Kay, please come with me.”

  She herded them out. Into the silence left in their wake, Max asked, “Do we have an artistic subcommittee?”

  “Not that I know of,” Steve said.

  “So what was that all about?” Suz asked.

  They all looked at Rob.

  He had a damned good idea, but he wasn’t going to share Kay’s family strains. “You think I’m in on Miss Trudi’s Machiavellian twists and turns?”

  “If anyone knows what’s going on it would be you,” Steve said. “Whatever Miss Trudi’s up to, it has to do with Kay. And you two have been joined at the hip since…well, since you joined at the lips that first day.”

  Rob had no inclination to join his friends’ laughter.

  “And now you’re going to help her with the puppies when they come,” Annette said. “I’m glad you’re together. You’re a good fit.”

  “We’re not together. And we don’t fit.”

  Sliding into her slick, tight heat… Her legs wrapped around him… Later, her head tucked against his neck, his arm around her shoulder. The peace, the rightness…

  He jerked his mind back to this moment. “Kay’s—emotions push her decisions one way or the other. I don’t operate that way.”

  “No, you’ve always had a lot of common sense,” Annette said. Somehow it didn’t sound complimentary.

  “Right. You’ve got the sense,” Suz said—and he was sure that wasn’t entirely complimentary. “And Kay has the feelings, the emotions, the—”

  “Sensibility,” Annette supplied. She and Suz exchanged a look.

  “Sense and sensibility,” Suz said with triumph.

  Rob rubbed at his forehead. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Chick flick,” Max said.

  Steve was nodding. “Oh, yeah. I had to watch that one when I lost the coin toss at the Video Barn last month. Sense and Sensibility.”

  “It’s a wonderful movie based on a Jane Austen book,” Annette said. “And it perfectly describes you and Kay.”

  Before Rob could refute that, Steve hooted. “Hey, I’ve got a better movie—forget Sense and Sensibility. Their movie should be Clash of the Titans.”

  Rob was saved from responding when Miss Trudi’s front door opened.

  “It’s all settled,” Miss Trudi announced, leading Dora Aaronson in. “Kay’s going to assist her grandmother with the mural. It’s going to be magnificent. Now, Fran, Dora would like to hear more about the gardens.”

  Everyone except Rob clustered around Dora. He waited, but Kay didn’t return. So he went in search of her.

  She wasn’t anywhere in the small garden around Miss Trudi’s quarters. He walked across to Bliss House.

  Ins
ide the empty tearoom, Kay stood staring at the blank wall she’d selected for the mural.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I…I agreed to fill in any painting Dora can’t do.”

  One good thing about Dora’s arrival, it had pushed them past the worst of the awkwardness this morning.

  “I heard.”

  “I showed Dora the wall, and she said it was a good choice because none of the windows give a view of it, which means no sunlight can hit it. And then…and then…” She shook her head. He wished Kay’s wide eyes and pale face weren’t so zombie-like. “One minute I was talking about capturing an impression of the gardens rather than strict representation, the next, Miss Trudi was showing Dora a copy of the sketches I’d done.”

  “That sounds like Miss Trudi. She has her ways and nobody knows what they are.”

  Kay nodded absently. “We were discussing the surface, and how one more base coat added now would allow work to start as soon as tomorrow. And then I heard myself agreeing that after Dora paints as much as her hands allow, I’ll layer in details.”

  “That’ll be good—great for Bliss House.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And it could be good for you, too. It’ll give you a chance to be with your grandmother, work things out. That’s good.”

  She brought her gaze to his face. “I don’t know if it is or not.”

  She looked so lost that he naturally took her into his arms. And naturally didn’t stop there.

  He smoothed her hair, knowing it was an invitation, a request, when he shouldn’t be asking. He should be giving her time and space….

  She accepted, tipping her head back. He kissed her. Her taste had something he couldn’t define. Some chemical that invaded his bloodstream and exploded through it.

  She was holding onto him, not trying to gain space but to eliminate it.

  Closer, he needed her closer.

  Two steps and she was against the wall, freeing his hands to touch and explore. Those hands of hers, those quick, clever hands of hers, had his shirt open to his waist, stroking his chest, her touch trailing those electrical sensations.

  He caught her hip in one hand, wadding the cotton material of her skirt in his fingers. And he felt her cool, smooth skin. Her thigh, then a lace-trimmed edge of panties.

  The heat beyond that lace.

  He bent, got his knees between hers and straightened, urging her legs apart, his hand now gripping her hip under the panties. She expanded the motion, wrapping her legs around him, shifting to welcome him.

  He would fit in her, as she fit so wonderfully around him.

  She felt like heaven and sin and home.

  He edged his fingers around, seeking her heat.

  “Rob.” Her breath fanned his ear, accelerant on the flame.

  Beyond the soft yielding of her breasts, he felt the tightened points against his flesh, responding to him as she had in the boat, as she had last night.

  The jolt of his own thought sucked away the oxygen.

  As she had in the boat, as she had last night.

  Not half an hour ago he’d been thinking how vulnerable she was after all the emotional turmoil of these past twenty-four hours. What sort of ass added to that this way? They hadn’t settled anything. Everything that had made her cry, made her sick this morning still rested between them.

  He dropped his forehead against hers, searching for control.

  “Kay, we can’t…”

  “We could go to the Hollands’….”

  He closed his eyes. A little longer, a little more, and he would have taken her—here, at the Hollands’, or the steps of Town Hall.

  “That’s not a good idea. The committee’s going to meet and—”

  “You can skip one meeting. They’ll never even miss us.”

  Yes, they would, and they would draw their own conclusions. But, hell, they’d probably approve. That wasn’t what stopped him.

  Hands on her shoulders, he shifted away from her.

  “Your grandmother will miss you. And I… This doesn’t make good sense, Kay.”

  She abruptly stepped to the side, away from his touch.

  “Sense.” She made it sound far worst than Annette and Suz had.

  “Kay, you have got to know how much I… Last night was the most—” He wouldn’t give her platitudes and his brain short-circuited in an effort to find the right description. “But after this morning—”

  “Yes. After this morning. It’s a good thing you came to your senses.”

  “Kay—”

  But she’d walked out.

  And letting her go did make sense, even if it hurt like hell.

  Chapter Ten

  Miss Trudi caught Rob at the compost bin again the next afternoon.

  He should have stuck it out longer, sitting on the roof with his legal pad and pen. But the damned blank page had annoyed him so much he’d opted for physical labor. Maybe if he wore out his body, his mind would work again.

  He had two of the posts in and was working on the third when Annette’s car pulled up and Miss Trudi got out of the passenger side.

  Annette gave a happy wave after depositing the ticking bomb, and drove off.

  Miss Trudi stood, hands clasped before her, surveying the house.

  “Your parents were such lovely people. I can almost see them sitting on the porch there. I remember the four of you on the lake in that large sailboat you had then, a lovely family, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company.”

  He gave the post a good whack.

  “Yes, indeed, there should be more of that. Having experienced such a life, however, is not the only path to an appreciation of it. Some who have never experienced it still have a great capacity to appreciate, to long for, and most of all to give that sort of love.”

  Whack. “No way, Miss Trudi.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Begging my pardon is exactly what you should be doing, but I doubt you mean it. I saw your fine hand pulling strings that pushed Steve and Annette, then Max and Suz together. I’m not saying that wasn’t right for them—it seems to be working out okay.”

  “Okay,” she repeated in a twinkling murmur. “Oh, yes, they do seem to be working out okay, as you say.”

  “All right, better than okay, but they knew each other. It’s great for them. But it’s not for me. I can see what you have in mind, and it’s not—” He stopped. He wasn’t telling anyone, and certainly not Miss Trudi, what was happening between him and Kay. “The timing sucks and even if I were looking for someone, we’re all wrong for each other.”

  “Putting aside why you might be wrong for her, I would be interested to hear why you believe Kay is wrong for you.”

  Because she couldn’t believe in the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. He didn’t blame her, not after what she’d gone through as a kid. But it didn’t change what he had to do. “Because she’s all over the place, scattered.”

  “Consider, Rob, that for all the diversity in her jobs, they are unified by their creativity.”

  “Look, Miss Trudi, I tried with a woman I thought was on the same page with me and that didn’t work. No way is it going to work with Kay. There’s no…no logic to it.”

  She snorted. Miss Trudi Bliss, who had always exhibited a certain kind of elegance—rough elegance maybe, idiosyncratic elegance absolutely, yet still a kind of elegance—snorted most inelegantly.

  “Logic has been elevated to a status it does not deserve. It is all very well when it is maintained among a range of tools. It loses its efficacy when it is raised as the sole ruler.”

  “Logic is all I have to work with, Miss Trudi.”

  Her bulldog expression softened in a blink. “Oh, Rob, you have so much more, so very much more.”

  Kay and Dora worked in an air-conditioned plastic cocoon.

  Max’s men had finished the major work in the tearoom and kitchen, but continued elsewhere inside. That meant dust, which threatened the mural.

/>   Dora suggested tweaks of the design, all good suggestions. They used an overhead projector to display Kay’s sketch on the wall and Kay traced it lightly with pencil. Kay had made several other copies of the sketches and they experimented with colors, agreeing to a blend of them.

  Under Dora’s direction, the workmen constructed a two-layer wall of thick plastic sheeting, sealed inside and out with tape to curve out three feet from the wall. It eliminated most of the dust and let in light. A free-standing air conditioner and filter kept them from sweltering and captured more dust. The only opening from their plastic room was a sort of enclosed vestibule where they did their best to leave the dust on their way in and the paint on their way out.

  These conditions were far from ideal, yet to Kay’s surprise, they found a working rhythm almost immediately.

  Dora Aaronson would lay in the forms and colors that would be the backbone of the mural, then, while she moved on to another area, Kay would do the details.

  It was strange watching her grandmother’s motion. Not the short, meticulous brush strokes Kay remembered watching for hours on end as a child, but a more open movement, awkward and tentative.

  What surprised Kay—astonished her—was that Dora began to talk while they worked. She had never known her grandmother to talk while she painted. But she didn’t question it. At least it kept part of her mind off Rob.

  It started that first afternoon, when Kay began filling in detail at Dora’s instruction. They had chosen a corner likely to be hidden by a table for their first work, but Kay’s hand still trembled, its unsteadiness exaggerated by the time it reached the tip of the brush she’d dipped into paint.

  “That dark chromium-green is a good choice for the leaf veining,” Dora said. Then, in a subject change Kay suspected was meant to prove she wouldn’t micromanage Kay’s work, she added, “These young people heading this renovation are an impressive group.”

  “They are.” Kay expelled a breath, and stroked the brush up the center of the leaf, lightening the color as it reached the tip. “They’ve pulled this Bliss House project together in an amazingly short amount of time.”