They did the jumping up and down for her.
True to their word, the delivery truck pulled into the back drive almost an hour later. Although the storm of the previous night was long over, clouds still hung close despite the way the sun made an attempt to peak through them—but anyone with eyes could see the sun would lose before it set. More clouds were already moving in from the west.
At least the rain held off long enough for the four men to get the piano into the conservatory and assemble it.
As soon as they climbed out of the truck, Eleanor and Alexander disappeared. Torrie was so busy staring out the windowed walls, making sure the piano was safe, she didn’t notice until after the men carefully made their way through the muck to bring in the beautiful wooden instrument. Black, shiny, beautiful, and huge, the piano looked perfect in the middle of the conservatory. The padded bench couldn’t have matched better.
Despite the pain in her foot, Torrie stood for a long time and simply stared at the instrument. In the conservatory, with the windows and the few plants and Will’s desk at the far end, the room was absolutely stunning. She absently signed whatever the deliverymen put before her. She was surprised Will never came down. No matter what he was doing, he had to hear the commotion. And the children? Where had they gone? Well, perhaps if she sat down and played something, the sounds of her music would draw them into this room.
Because she’d gone home and played on her keyboard a few nights previously, she wasn’t as rusty as she could have been. Her music was far from perfect given she had none to read and simply played from memory. The keys were smooth as glass beneath her fingertips.
She smiled as she played, enjoying the feel of the keys beneath her fingers. Her music had never sounded so beautiful as it did on this piano. Before she could get lost and never at all want to leave this room or this bench, she forced herself to stop.
Lightly, she ran her fingertips along the keys, and then moved them across the smooth polished edge where music would rest. “This is so beautiful. I’m going to have one of these someday,” she murmured to herself. Her words were lost in the room to the plants.
“You can have this one, any time you want to play it,” Will said behind her.
She didn’t jump at the sudden sound of his voice. Somehow, she’d simply felt him there, and she smiled.
With her fingers on the keys, she again admired the sleek instrument again. “Would you like to know what I think?”
“What?” Will stood behind her and gently placed his hands on her arms.
“This piano was the only thing you said you wanted out of the whole house.”
“So?”
“Everything else you let me choose. And yet, in regard to the rest of the entire house, the piano is the most perfect…”
“Oh, I’ll admit, this instrument looks very perfect here, but you can’t deny you’ve done an excellent job on the rest of the house.”
Torrie absently let her fingers roll across the keys in a sweet melody. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
Will leaned down close to her ear. She felt his breath on her neck and her heart quickened. She forced herself to stay still. “But I couldn’t help but notice that you arrived rather late this morning.”
“I had work to do at my office.”
“Are you certain you weren’t trying to avoid us, trying to distance yourself from us.”
“It is time, don’t you think?” Torrie asked.
“There’s still so much to do on Hargrove House.” Then as if it was an afterthought but nevertheless important, “And the children and I don’t want you to distance yourself from us.”
“The work is nearly done,” she argued. The idea of what he and his kids wanted would be argued later.
He stood up straight again. His warmth left her. “The work is far from done. The house needs pictures on the walls, rugs on the floor, accessories like towels and decorative candles—things a woman should pick out. Then, of course, we need to start on the garage, remember?”
“I remember. But I’d rather not venture out there until the weather is better.” She moved on to another ballad.
Out of the corner of her eye, Torrie saw Eleanor and Alexander had carefully stepped further into the room and watched the interaction between their father and Torrie with delightful interest.
“There’s a small table and stools in the trunk of my car that I thought would be perfect for the third bedroom,” she said absently. The mixture of her haunting melody and the warmth of his hands on her arms had her feeling as if she floated. All she had to do was close her eyes and she thought she could somehow fly away into the clouds. It was an enlightening feeling. Will leaned close and touched his lips to her neck. Heat tingled through her, and for a split second Torrie wasn’t certain she was still in the conservatory.
“If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll get them out in a moment and take them up there. How does your foot feel?”
His voice was low, his breath warm near her ear. Now, she couldn’t help but close her eyes. She thought she could melt against him, into him. She wanted to stay like this forever, with his hands on her, his warmth on her, his children close, the room inviting and cozy, the wonderful sounds of music in her ears and beneath her finger tips.
“There’s something important I need to tell you,” he said softly in her ear.
He could have told her just then the world no longer existed as she knew it, or that somehow things had changed and now the sky was green and the grass blue. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he told her as long as he never took his hands off her, as long as he never moved away from her.
Torrie leaned her head slightly to him and his cheek touched hers.
Her heart quickened, and she let out a sigh. “What is it?”
“We—I mean I have a third child. I’m telling you because I want nothing but honestly between us.”
Torrie was in a dream.
There was no other explanation for the drifting feeling. With her eyes still closed, she leaned even closer to Will until her entire cheek pressed against his.
“Another child?” she asked. Her tongue felt thick. And had he said we or had he said I? Torrie suddenly couldn’t remember.
“Violet,” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes, Violet, the artist. I brought the work table for her,” Torrie said slowly.
“I’ll go get it for her.”
Will’s voice was close and far away at the same time.
He let go of Torrie’s arms.
Torrie thought she might fall off the piano bench, and her music came to a sudden halt, her fingers still on the keys. The dizziness that swept through her was like a tidal wave, and when Torrie opened her eyes, the room was nothing but a moving blur. Had she just awakened from a dream? Good thing she hadn’t eaten lunch yet, she thought.
What had happened?
She had been playing the piano.
That was all she could remember suddenly. Forcing in deep breath after deep breath, she lowered her head and closed her eyes again in an attempt to calm her nerves, her racing heart, and the spinning room. When she looked up at the doorway again, Will was gone, but there were three children standing there looking at her anxiously.
Chapter Seven
“Eleanor? Alexander? And…Violet?”
The young girl who stared at her with wide eyes nodded slowly.
Torrie had to close her eyes again for a brief moment because of the headache that followed in the wake of the dizziness.
“Are you all right?” The voice was familiar, yet new, Violet’s voice, the voice of the young girl who had complained at the dream party.
Torrie felt a cool child’s hand touch her arm. She forced in a deep breath. “Yes, maybe.” Truth be told, Torrie wasn’t certain whether she was all right or not. She might still be caught in the dream, or this might be real. Either way, she didn’t like it.
Will had a third child? Just how many did he have?
; “And where have you been hiding? Why?” Will had wanted nothing between them but honestly and yet, he’d been hiding away yet another child. Torrie finally forced her eyes open. She found herself staring into Violet’s green eyes.
“I just…” Violet began.
“It wasn’t a good time to meet you yet.” Will spoke from the doorway. He set down the two stools he’d brought in from Torrie’s car.
Torrie looked beyond the children gathered around her to meet Will’s gaze. For the first time in what felt like hours, her head was clear and pain free. “Not a good time?” Torrie echoed. “Why was it a bad time?”
Will licked his lips, took a deep breath and was silent for a long time as if he contemplated carefully how he should answer. The entire room was silent as a tomb. Torrie stared at Will and the three children surrounding Torrie stared at her.
“Violet was staying elsewhere, and she just yesterday arrived here. I’m sure you can understand it was a difficult journey for her, and the transition into the house took some time. I thought it best she stay upstairs and get acquainted with her room,” Will explained.
It all sounded so justified, and yet there was a hole—a huge hole in his story.
And Will must have recognized the hole, too, for he went on. “With everything my children have endured, from the loss of their mother to the transition to this house, you must agree that things couldn’t be easy.”
Torrie stared at Violet. “Yes, I know that.”
Violet stared back. She was so beautiful, with the shape of her eyes like almonds, like her father’s only green, her small nose delicate and slightly pointed, her strawberry blonde curls swept back away from her face, and the minor dusting of freckles on her nose.
And then Torrie did understand.
She understood everything. These children had somehow been traumatized. Perhaps Violet had been traumatized more than the others, and Will had had to take extra care with her, hence his sending her away, probably to another close relative. She had no idea what had happened to their mother, but it wasn’t something easily faced by these three or by their father, and he was merely doing whatever necessary to protect them.
It was what fathers did, they protected their children.
She should applaud him for it.
And perhaps it had all been so utterly painful even for Will that he couldn’t talk about the loss of his wife with her.
“I think I understand now why you worked so hard to finish the house quickly,” she put in.
“Are you angry I never told you about her?” he asked quietly as he stepped closer. He placed a gentle hand on Violet’s shoulder.
Torrie shook her head. “No. I know you were just protecting her, as you protected all of them. I’m sorry I was ever angry before. And you’re right, the house is far from finished. We need photographs of the children on the walls, as well as some of Violet’s artwork.”
The smile he offered her was small, but sincere and managed to shoot an arrow straight into her heart. “I’m glad you see that.” Then right in front of his children, he leaned down and kissed her. And this wasn’t some quick peck on the cheek or a simple brush of his lips to hers. No, this kiss was long and meaningful, filled with need and desire.
When he finally pulled away again, Torrie fought to catch her breath.
The children stifled giggles.
Torrie was unable to fight down the heat that felt like fire moving up her neck into her face.
“I like when Papa kisses you,” Eleanor said. “It makes your cheeks all red.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Torrie muttered.
“Will you play something else?” Alexander asked.
“Of course, darling,” Torrie replied. “Remind me to bring some music. This would be much easier with notes in front of me instead of playing by memory.”
“I think there might be some sheets of music up in the attic,” Eleanor put in. “I’m sure if you asked Papa, he would go up there and get it for you.”
“I’ll have to remember to ask him,” Torrie said. She had to fight down heat again as the memory of her attic adventure with Will touched her.
“Miss Torrie?” Violet grabbed her attention before Torrie could turn back to the keys.
“Yes?”
“Could I have a hug?”
Torrie smiled. “Of course you can have a hug. Hugs are always free and always available from me. You don’t need to ask.”
The girl knelt before her and melted into Torrie’s arms.
Torrie held the girl close, close enough to hear her heart beating, close enough to smell the soft scent of her. And along with the shimmer that pulsed through Torrie, something else happened.
Torrie had no idea what. It was the same as when Will had made love to her and as the first time he touched her and the first time he kissed her. It was as if the earth stopped in its rotation. If Torrie didn’t know better, she’d think Violet had reached in and squeezed her heart or touched her soul in the simple act of giving a hug.
For a long moment, Torrie couldn’t move. She simply leaned into the girl, breathed in the clean scent of her, and fought tears that for some unknown reason filled her eyes. It wouldn’t be until much later, in the middle of the night, when Torrie would wake and wonder how she knew so much about Violet, about her being an artist. Or even how she knew about all of them enough to furnish their rooms before she ever met them.
Chapter Eight
It no longer mattered that Torrie couldn’t come up with a feasible suggestion as to how she knew to decorate rooms for them. The only things that mattered for the next few days was the Dalton family and getting Hargrove House ready for the upcoming party. And now the day of the party was here.
Torrie wasn’t ready.
The house wasn’t ready.
“Can you help Alice come up with the perfect menu?” Will asked when there was less than twelve hours before the guests would ring the bell.
Torrie didn’t look at him. She concentrated instead on the framed water color flowers that Violet had painted which she just hung on the wall. Then she reached out and straightened the painting before she stepped back and admired it. It was perfect in the parlor. “Alice doesn’t have a menu?” That in itself was mind boggling. Alice ran the house like a well-programmed computer. “She waited until the last day to come up with a menu?” It was an equally mind-boggling question. “If she doesn’t have a menu, what have I smelled cooking all morning?”
“Just a few things, but she probably could use your help,” Will said before he took in Violet’s painting.
“I’m sure the last thing Alice needs is my help,” Torrie said absently. She was still caught up in the painting. Had she dreamed of this painting? She couldn’t remember.
“She’s too proud to ask you.”
“She knows better than to ask me,” Torrie corrected. “I can plan colors and schemes and furniture, and what looks good where, but I’m the last person to ask for menu help or for help cooking. If it doesn’t come out of a box already prepared, I don’t have a clue as to how to fix it. Besides, I have no idea how many people you’ve invited. So is a pot of little weenies going to be enough?”
“Oooo, little weenies? Sounds interesting and delicious,” Will said. “Perhaps you should stay out of the kitchen after all.”
“It would probably be best. Besides, I’d like to spend some time getting ready for the party, if you don’t mind.”
“Violet is surely talented, isn’t she?”
“Yes. And that was certainly a quick change of subject.” She finally looked away from the painting to meet his gaze.
“Well,” he let out slowly as if dragging out the moment. “I wanted to ask a favor of you regarding getting ready for the party. Two favors, actually.”
Torrie wondered if by now he realized she would do whatever he asked of her, well, almost anything. He had, after all, asked her every day for the past week to stay with him over night. And every evening after enjoying supper
at the Dalton dining room table, she had refused his invitation to stay. She had long ago come to the conclusion that she couldn’t wean herself from Hargrove House any easier than she could walk away from Will Dalton or his children. But that didn’t mean she meant to move in. And she was still just a bit miffed about his lies.
“What favors?”
“I’d like you to get ready for the party here.”
“Here? Why?”
“Because I’d like for you to be here beside me to greet my first guest, as the hostess of Hargrove House.”
For a long moment, Torrie could do little more than stare at him. “Will? I don’t know what to say…”
“Say yes.”
“Okay, yes, but I still need to go home and get my dress and—”
“Which leads me to the second favor I need to ask,” Will interrupted.
Knowing this was another important favor for him, Torrie turned to him. When he reached out and took her hands in his, she knew he didn’t take this lightly and she didn’t either. “What?”
“Remember the green dress from the attic?”
“Yes?”
“I had it cleaned and checked by a seamstress. I would find it a great honor if you wore it.”
Again, his request rendered her speechless. “I…guess…I…could try it. If that’s what you want. But I don’t even know if it will fit me.”
“It’s very much what I want. And if it doesn’t fit, we’ll figure out a way to get your other dress. I hung the gown in what you call the mud room. I told the children you’d be preparing in there and not to disturb you or anything, I hope you don’t mind.”
Well, it was a sudden change of plans, but one Torrie could well handle. “I don’t mind. It would be an honor to wear the dress and greet your guests.”
“Thank you.” He sealed the agreement with a gentle kiss.
Two hours later, Torrie could hardly pin up her hair. Anticipation shivered through her like waves of the ocean. She stood in the mud room wearing nothing but a pretty, lacy bra and panties after her shower. She was still careful in her steps and with any movement of her foot, but as long as she didn’t twist or turn unexpected, she was pretty much pain free now and out of the boot.
Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One Page 19
