Cinderella's Big Sky Groom

by Christine Rimmer

  But the other, about him not being the man for her. That had begun to look like nothing less than cold, hard fact.

  She had wanted time, to reach out to him. Time to get him to show his true self to her.

  Well, she had gotten her time. And she was getting nowhere.

  Trish came to her classroom Monday, right after Lynn’s students had left for the day. One glance at her sister’s shining face and Lynn knew.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “I just talked to Mrs. Parchly.”

  “And?”

  Trish let out a yelp of pure glee. “I got it.” Trish flew across the room and threw her arms around Lynn’s waist.

  “Congratulations.” Lynn held her sister’s tiny body close, hugging back. Hard. “I’m so glad….”

  “Me too. Oh, me too. Lynnie, I’m going to work really hard. I promise you. I’m going to learn this job and be good at it and make you proud.”

  “I am proud.”

  “Well.” Trish pulled back, smoothed her hair and swiped at happy tears. “I am going to make you prouder, then. How’s that?”

  “Sounds wonderful to me.”

  Trish sniffed. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Mrs. Parchly is going to show me around a little, get me going on the paging and intercom system. Show me the ropes, you know?”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Yeah. I’m nervous.”

  “You’ll do just great.”

  “I hope so. Oh, and I almost forgot….”

  “What?”

  “Arlene asked me to see how you felt. About Thanksgiving?”

  “Thanksgiving.” Lynn glanced around her own room, at the paper turkeys and Pilgrim hats, the cornucopia on the far wall, with a harvest of numbers and alphabet letters spilling out of it. Two more days to go. And then the four-day weekend. When class resumed on Monday, they’d start decorating for Christmas. Her students were already gearing up for the big annual Whitehorn Elementary Christmas Pageant, which would involve all the children at the school.

  Time was definitely getting away from her.

  Trish chewed her lower lip, clearly apprehensive. “Arlene said…well, she wants to ask you to come and have Thanksgiving with us. Or even, if you want to, we could have it at your house. We all kind of think it’s time to let bygones be bygones. Even Mom. You know what she said yesterday?”

  “Tell me.”

  “She said that Arlene should call you. That we shouldn’t let the holidays go by without all of us together, the way Papa would have wanted it.”

  “I agree,” Lynn said. “Either way—my house or Arlene’s—would be just fine with me.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “Arlene will call you, then. Tonight.”

  The phone rang at five. Lynn answered expecting to hear her older sister’s voice.

  But it was Ross. “How about dinner? At the Grill?”

  Her kitchen calendar hung on the wall next to the phone. She stared at today’s date: Monday November 23. Exactly one month since they’d become “engaged.”

  “Lynn? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

  “Will you have dinner with me?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “About seven? I’ll come for you.”

  She told him she’d be ready.

  Arlene’s call came fifteen minutes later. “Thanksgiving is coming,” Lynn’s older sister said rather stiffly, “and I think it’s a good time to let bygones be bygones, don’t you?”

  Lynn smiled. “Yes, Arlene. I do.”

  “We all appreciate what you’ve done, finding Trish a new job.”

  “I’m glad I could help—and where shall we have our Thanksgiving dinner, your place or mine?”

  “Well, I have been thinking about that. A lot. We could have it here, and that would be fine. But it would be nice to have it where we’ve always had it.” Arlene’s tone had softened, grown wistful. “It’s kind of a family tradition, in a way. And you are so…organized. Things always seem to go better at your house. Sometimes I look around here and I wonder where all the mess comes from.”

  “Let’s have it here.”

  Arlene drew a breath. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well. All right, then. Let’s do that. I’ve already got the turkey.”

  “You could bring it over Wednesday night.”

  “And you’ll do those creamed onions? And the yams with marshmallows?”

  “I will.”

  “And I’ll get Mom to make the raspberry gelatin mold with cream cheese topping. And the pies…”

  “Pumpkin and mince.”

  “Apple, too. I put up bread-and-butters and dills this year. And blackberry jam, for the rolls.”

  “I’m hungry already.”

  “Lynn?”

  “Um?”

  “Well, it’s just…good to talk to you again, that’s all.”

  “It’s good to talk to you. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, what can I say? My ankles are too fat. And I get heartburn. It’s probably better if you just don’t get me started….”

  “Mother?”

  “She’s fine. She got the doctor to change her heart medicine. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it. On Thursday. And I suppose…” Arlene paused to clear her throat. “I suppose you’re going to want to invite that fiancé of yours.”

  Lynn’s reply was automatic. “Yes, I do want to invite Ross.” But in her heart, she couldn’t help wondering, would he accept her invitation? Would they even still be “engaged” by then?

  “All right,” said Arlene, sounding resigned. “So Ross Garrison will be there.”

  “Yes.” Lynn injected a good deal of assurance into the word. “And would you mind if I asked Danielle and Sara Mitchell, too? If they don’t have plans, I mean. After all, it’s just the two of them and—”

  “You don’t have to explain. Ask them.”

  “I will.”

  “And I’m…glad, that we’re doing this.”

  Lynn agreed that she was, too.

  Ross arrived right on time.

  Lynn gestured him inside. “I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes before we go.”

  Dark eyes grew darker, with sheer wariness. He couldn’t know about her Thanksgiving plans. But it wouldn’t take a Princeton graduate to realize that the month of their “engagement” was drawing to a close.

  He tried to skirt the inevitable with a stall. “I thought we’d agreed that it’s not a good idea for me to come inside.”

  She suppressed a humorless laugh. “I promise, Ross. I won’t try to seduce you.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

  “I think you can control yourself, if you really put your mind to it.”

  “Lynn—”

  “Please. I want to talk with you. In private. Now.”

  His reluctance achingly clear, he followed her into the living room. She went through the motions of offering him a chair, which he refused with an impatient shake of his dark head. “What is it?”

  Fine. He didn’t want to sit. She did. She sank to one of the two wing chairs, then cast about for a way to begin.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  And scowling, too, she noted.

  She decided to broach the easier subject first, though she knew it was only a stall of her own. If they ended up calling it off in the next few minutes, he wouldn’t be coming to her family Thanksgiving anyway.

  “I talked to Arlene tonight.”

  His scowl deepened. “You’re saying you’ve made up with her, too. Is that it?”

  “Yes. I have.”

  “Well, good. You wanted that pretty badly, didn’t you? To make up with your family?”

  “Yes. I wanted my family back.” And I wanted more than that, she thought.

  I wanted you.

  His jaw was set, every line of his big body drawn taut. She wanted
to reach out to him, to soothe him with a gentle touch.

  She gripped the chair arms. “We’ve decided to have our family Thanksgiving here, at my house.”

  He looked at her for several seconds. Then he swore. “Thanksgiving dinner. Here? With your stepmother and Arlene…and Trish, too?”

  “That’s right.”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his fine wool slacks. “That’s what this is about? You want me to come?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  He wasn’t scowling anymore. Now he looked apprehensive—worse than apprehensive. He looked trapped.

  He yanked one hand free of a pocket and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, Lynn…”

  She did laugh then, a low, sad little chuckle. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to say no.”

  He looked down at the rug, over at the drapes that covered the front window—and finally, back at her. “Forgive me, but asking me to dinner with Jewel and Arlene and Trish…that sounds like a prescription for disaster if I ever heard one.”

  “It won’t be a disaster, I can promise you that.”

  “Oh, come on. I know your stepsister.”

  She drew herself up in the chair. “Pardon me. But you do not know my sister. Not really. And my family accepts the idea that I’m inviting you. They will be on their best behavior. So it will not be a disaster. It might not be a whole lot of fun. I admit that. But sometimes you have to do things in life that aren’t particularly fun.”

  He paced over to the window and remained there, facing away from her. She looked at his broad back, waited for him to turn to her again.

  He didn’t. He spoke to the drawn drapes. “Listen. I’ve been thinking. Thanksgiving’s a four-day weekend. Let’s not waste it. Let’s…get away.” He did turn then, his expression both hopeful and bleak at the same time. “We could fly to San Francisco. Or even Hawaii. I think I could arrange it. How would you like that? Four days on Maui?”

  She shook her head, murmured his name.

  He said something low and hard, under his breath, so she couldn’t make it out. Then he strode toward her. He pulled himself up short a few feet from her chair. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “As if I’m suggesting something impossible. We’d have separate rooms, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She stared up at him. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Why would we have separate rooms?”

  “No, Ross. I mean, why in the world would we want to get away together? What purpose could that possibly serve? What we have isn’t real, anyway. Is it?”

  Ross glared down at her. He did look trapped. Yes. Trapped between what he wanted and what, for reasons she still didn’t understand, he couldn’t let himself have.

  The time had come at last.

  For the truth born of the lie.

  She gave it to him. “I love you, Ross.”

  He muttered, “No.” She felt as if something inside her was tearing, ripping a jagged wound in the center of her as he turned away once more. “No,” he said again. In three long strides he was back at the curtained window, miles and miles away from her, showing her only the uncompromising line of his back.

  She stood. And she dared to say it again, with more force. “I love you.” He didn’t move. He might have been carved from stone. She made herself go on. “I think I’ve loved you since the first. When you were my gentle, perfect prince for a night, when I knew there was more behind those cold eyes of yours than you let people see. I’ve…played this game with you. I’ve pretended, since you seemed to want it so much, that we were engaged. But not for the sake of anyone’s reputation. Not for the sake of what people might say. I’ve learned that it’s not really all that important, what people might say. I only—”

  “Stop,” he said on a rasping whisper.

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “—wanted a little time. To try to find my way to you. To help you…find your way to me. And I got it, the time. But really, time hasn’t taken us anywhere. We’re both still pretending. What we share is not real, not…complete. You pick me up and you take me to dinner, we laugh and we joke, we talk about safe things. But it’s not going anywhere. We’re never alone together. We don’t dare to be alone together. We both know we can’t afford that. We can’t…make love again. It wouldn’t be right.”

  She waited, willing him to turn and face her. When he didn’t, she muttered low, “Ross. The time for pretending is up.”

  He did turn then. His eyes were glacial, freezing her out.

  She said very gently, “We had an agreement. One month, and then it would end.”

  She had him there, and they both knew it. His shoulders rose in a hopeless shrug.

  And she couldn’t hold back a cry. “Oh, Ross. What is it? Why won’t you take a chance with me? That’s all I want. A chance to make this silly lie into the real thing. Please tell me, why won’t you take that chance?”

  But he didn’t answer.

  So she pressed on, into forbidden territory. “Is it whatever happened with your wife?”

  He muttered a low curse.

  She took a step toward him. “Ross…”

  He put up a warding-off hand. “Stop.” He said it very clearly that time.

  And she froze.

  He swore again. She saw pain flare, a flash of heat in the coldness of those eyes. Pain. And something more. Something desolate. And hideously final.

  He said. “You want to know, do you? You have to know. About Elana.”

  Somehow she made herself nod.

  And he said, “All right, then. I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Elana was beautiful,” Ross said. “She had auburn hair and big brown eyes. When she walked into a room, every head would turn. I met her right after law school, a week before I went to interview with Turow, Travis and Lindstrom. I met her because I needed a good suit for that interview—and she sold me one.”

  Lynn ventured a question. “She worked in a men’s clothing store?”

  “She worked in the best men’s clothing store in Denver. She was one of their top sales reps. I walked into that store and there she was, in a tight black skirt and matching jacket, looking…perfect. She took me by the arm. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ she said. Then she put me together. That was how she said it. ‘I’m going to put you together, Mr. Garrison.’

  “She sold me a whole damn wardrobe that day. A wardrobe I couldn’t afford at the time. Suits and shirts, ties and shoes. Everything. And then she asked me out to lunch. By that weekend, we were lovers. And we’d found out that we…suited each other.”

  Lynn sank to her chair again, murmuring, “You fell in love.”

  He gave her a distant look. “Love wasn’t the issue. Neither of us was looking for that. Or at least, I wasn’t.”

  Lynn’s disbelief must have shown on her face. He answered the question he saw in her eyes. “Yes, all right. I said the words. I told her I loved her. And she said she loved me. But the words weren’t that important. Just something people say. We were right for each other, saw the potential in each other. The way I viewed it, we were partners. Partners who trusted and respected each other. We would treat each other right and work together for our future.

  “She came from a poor family, just like me. From some little town in Arkansas. She grew up in a double-wide, with a drunk for a mother and a father who was never there. Just like me. She told me she’d been looking for the right man, to take her where she wanted to go. And guess what? She’d found him—me.

  “We were married a month after we met. And she was everything I expected her to be. We had four houses as I clawed my way up through the firm. She decorated all of them, with an eye for color and detail that had the other wives in the firm green with envy. She was always the life of the party, too. Charming and funny. And sexy enough to strike sparks off a dead man.

  “By the time I was twenty-eight
and made partner, I thought I had it all. Thought I had earned it all—with the help of my perfect wife. That we’d both gotten what we wanted—the good life. Success. My mama might have spent her life staring into the bottom of a bottle of rotgut whiskey. My daddy might have gotten his brains blown out all over a jealous husband’s bed. But I had arrived. I had made it.”

  He paused, took a deep and ragged breath.

  She waited, hardly daring to breathe herself.

  Finally he went on. “What I didn’t know was that she had helped me in ways I hadn’t realized. Because there wasn’t a man in the firm who didn’t want her. And she had…struck a few deals of her own. She had slept with my supervisors, with more than one of the partners. And after she slept with them, I got promoted.”

  Lynn must have made some sound of distress. He turned a hard glare on her. “You wanted to hear this. Don’t interrupt.”

  Lynn pressed her lips together, gave a tight nod.

  He laughed, the sound as cold as a midwinter’s night. “What is it people say? The husband is always the last to know? Well, I was. The last to know. I’d been a partner for almost three years when the word finally got around to me. I went home that night, to my perfect wife in our beautiful house—and threw up. And then I confronted her. She must have had some inkling the ax was about to fall, because she was drinking, had been drinking, through most of the afternoon, even though, as a rule, she never had more than one or two cocktails a couple of nights a week. I started shouting at her. Accusations. She poured herself another drink, tried to stay calm. At first.

  “She’d done it for my sake, she said, to help me advance. When I called her a liar, she admitted there might have been more. There might have been just a little bit of revenge in it for her. Because I had never loved her. She knew I had never loved her. For years, she said, I’d hardly known she was there. I expected her to perform, she said, and that was all I wanted from her. To keep my house for me and give good parties and entertain my colleagues. And so she had entertained them. In spades. She had given me what I really wanted. She’d seen to it that I made partner, and that I did it fast.