Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (13 page)

“But—”

He cut her off again. “In my experience, if a man says he's divorced, people hesitate to pry. On the other hand, if he says he's a widower, he's fair
game—for expressions of sympathy. And questions. A lot of questions. From ‘How long were you married?' to ‘How did she die?' I didn't want to get into all that, so yes, it's possible I said I was divorced.”

“But you're not. You're a widower.”

“Yes. I'm a widower. Now let's talk about something else.”

“I'd just like to know—”

“It's the past. It's done with.”

Lynn didn't believe that. Not for a minute. “Is it?”

“Drop it, Lynn. I mean it.” The words were hard as granite rocks.

Lynn subsided into silence. Not a word was spoken through the remainder of the drive home.

When they got to her house, he walked her to her door. But he didn't kiss her. And he didn't call the next day.

On Monday Lynn learned that Mrs. Parchly, the school secretary, planned to hire an assistant, someone who would be part-time clerical and part-time teacher's aide. The pay was modest to start, but the benefit package would be a good one. It occurred to Lynn that Trish had the basic qualifications for the job.

She stewed about whether or not to try to approach Trish on the subject. So far, Trish had hardly proved a model employee. It might not even be fair to the school for Lynn to recommend her. If Trish were hired and made a mess of it, Lynn would feel at least partly to blame.

She was still trying to decide what to do when she got home at four—and found Trish sitting on her front step.

“Can I…come in? Just for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

They went to the breakfast nook and sat across from each other at the round maple table.

“Thanks for the card,” Trish said in a tiny, lost-sounding voice.

“You're welcome.”

“When I got it, I just sat down and cried.”

“I didn't mean for you to cry.”

“Well, I did. I cried. And I thought about you and how you're my sister and…well, men can come and go—but a person only gets so many sisters in her life.” Trish folded her hands on the table and then stared at them, her soft lower lip quivering. “I guess…I've got to admit it….” Trish faltered. Lynn held her breath.

She let it out when Trish made herself go on. “You didn't really steal Ross Garrison from me. He never even liked me much, anyway. I guess I'm just not his type. But I…I thought I could
make
him like me. And then, when it turned out he wanted you, well, I was so jealous, I could have kicked a hog barefooted. You know how I get when things don't go my way….”

Lynn did know. She also knew how much grit and love it had taken for spoiled little Trish to come here today. She reached out, then thought better of it. She folded her own hands, just to have something to do with them.

Trish spotted the ring. “Wow. That's some diamond.”

Lynn met her sister's eyes and wished she had taken the thing off when she first saw Trish waiting for her, out there on the step.

But what good would that have done? It would only be another lie, to hide the major one. The one that Winona had said would bring truth.

And what truth?

Certainly not Ross Garrison's truth. Whenever Lynn tried to get near that, he cut her right off. She could still see him, the other night, his strong jaw clenched, staring straight ahead as he told her that he wasn't divorced, after all.

That his wife had
died,
for goodness sake.

Trish sat a little straighter. “Look. It's all right. You're engaged to him. And I just better get used to it. I know that. I do.” Trish sniffed. “Mom's still mad—but she'll get over it. And don't get that doubtful look. She will. She always does. And besides, she…misses you. Just like me and Arlene do. We all keep getting in fights with each other, you know? Poor Clyde. We're drivin' him crazy. We get on each other's nerves. And you're not there. To settle us down. Now you're not around, it's pretty obvious to all of us, even if we don't like having to admit it, how much we really did count on you. And for more than just keeping things neat and tidy, you know?”

A feeling of lightness spread through Lynn. Maybe she'd never really reach Ross Garrison, but as far as her family went, things were looking up. “Oh, Trish…”

“I miss you, Lynnie.”

“I miss you, too.”

“We have to get over this stupid problem between us. We're a family, aren't we?”

“Yes. We certainly are.”

“It's just like Papa always said…”

Lynn smiled to herself. Trish had always called Horace Taylor her “papa.”

“You remember what he said, Lynnie? That family is more precious than diamonds or gold. And that we were a family, Papa and Mom, Arlene and you and me.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Well, now Papa's gone. And I miss him. I really do.”

“Me, too.”

“But the rest of us, you and me and Mom and Leenie…we're still here. Still family. Aren't we?”

“Yes. Definitely. We are.”

“It would be so wrong for us to forget that. For us to let stupid things, like who got the house—and who got a certain man—break us apart. We just can't let that happen.”

“No. We can't.”

“We won't, will we?”

“Absolutely not.”

A single tear tracked its way down Trish's soft cheek. “I knew you would say that. But I'm sure glad to hear it, anyway.”

The café curtains were open. For a moment Trish stared out at the backyard. Then she heaved a big sigh. “I need to get my own place.” She looked back at Lynn. “No. I am not dropping hints that you should take me back here. It's time I found something just for myself. I know it won't be big. Something dinky is okay. As long as it's mine.” She tipped her chin at a jaunty angle—a pose that betrayed the apprehension in her eyes. “I have to grow up someday, now, don't I?”

Softly Lynn asked, “Have you had any luck finding a new job?”

“Not yet. But I am trying. And I'm not gonna move—unless Clyde gets fed up and kicks me out—until I find one. I still have the money Papa left me, but I want my place to be something I pay for myself, something I
earned,
you know? I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and it seems to me that a girl ought to earn her own way. Then, if the right fella ever does come along, well, I could be like you. Not depending on him to take care of me. Not
needing
him, you know? But just being with him because I wanted to, not because of something I could get from him.”

It really did sound as if Lynn's baby sister had started to grow up. “Listen…” Lynn hesitated, still unsure if she was doing the right thing.

Green eyes bright and hopeful, Trish waited for her to go on.

Lynn took the leap. “There's a job opening up at the school….”

 

Wednesday was Veterans' Day. Ross kept his office open. He had three early appointments: a new client seeking a divorce, one who wanted to make some changes to his will, and an adoption case. After that, there were the walk-ins: two land disputes and a Chapter Seven bankruptcy.

He and Mrs. Simms spent the remainder of the morning catching up on correspondence. She had his files in good order now. The office was spotless, everything in its place, tempting him to ask his new secretary if she'd ever considered cleaning houses in her spare time.

All through the morning, Lynn was never far from his mind. School would be closed today, wouldn't it? Would she be at home?

He hadn't contacted her since Saturday night, when she'd tried to pump him for details about Elana. That had really bothered him.

He was never going to discuss his wife with Lynn. It was bad enough that he'd told her the truth concerning his real beginnings. She hadn't needed to know about dear old Dad, the gambling, boozing womanizer, and Mom, the hopeless drunk.

But she had asked—and asked directly. There had been no way to get out of telling her, except to flatly refuse. And for some reason he himself didn't understand, he hadn't wanted to refuse her.

Still, he'd had to draw the line at the subject of Elana. His guilt and self-loathing on that score were his and his alone.

After he'd drawn that line, it had seemed wiser to keep away for a while, to give them both a little breather. Their “engagement” had been going on for over two weeks now. He'd bought her a ring, and they'd been seen together frequently. It wasn't going to rouse anyone's suspicions if they took a few days off from each other.

But unfortunately, he missed her. Way too much.

Dangerous. Damn dangerous, the way he couldn't seem to get her off his mind. Four or five times a day, at least, he had to stop himself from calling her. Sometimes he'd even gone so far as to pick up the phone and punch up the first two or three digits of her number.

But then he'd cut off the connection, thinking, No. Wait. Give it a little more time….

Were three and a half days enough?

They would have to be.

Because by noon on Wednesday, he'd decided they'd had enough damn time apart.

T
he phone rang at five minutes past noon. Lynn's pulse started pounding; her breath caught in her throat.

She
knew
it would be him.

It was. “Lunch,” he said.

“Right now?” Her heart lifted high in her chest, as if someone had just pumped it full of helium, enough to raise her feet right off the floor.

“I'm at the office. I'll pick you up. Ten minutes?”

“Okay.” She hung up the phone and ran upstairs, where she changed her sweater twice, settling on one of the new ones, of course—teal-blue, with satin piping at the collar and on the sleeves. She freshened her makeup and fluffed up her hair.

When the doorbell rang, she literally flew down to answer it.

The sight of him standing there on her front step
banished all the ugly, sad doubts she'd been living with over the past few lonely days. Maybe she was a fool—a fool living a fool's dream.

But right then, a fool's dream was just fine with her.

They went to the State Street Grill. In a way, she'd started to think of the lovely, quiet restaurant as “their place.” The food was excellent, and they enjoyed more privacy there than they did at the Hip Hop. And Ross said he liked to give the Grill his business. The restaurant was struggling a little, now that the summer season, with its modest tourist trade, had passed.

Through the meal, she kept thinking she should mention the other night, should at least try to achieve some sort of mutual acknowledgment with him concerning what had happened. That she'd broached a subject he considered forbidden, that he'd responded by cutting her off and then avoiding her for three days.

But every time she got her courage up to do it, she'd look across the table at him, see that gorgeous, rueful smile of his, the warmth and appreciation in his eyes. And she just couldn't do it. Couldn't ruin the moment. Couldn't bear to watch his jaw harden and his eyes turn cold.

So she told him of her progress with her family instead. That she and Trish had pretty much made peace, that Trish had an interview at the school for a new job, next Monday morning at nine. That she had called Arlene's again yesterday, and spoken to her stepmother.

“And?”

“She stayed on the line long enough to complain
about her blood pressure medicine. She thinks she wants to switch again. From a beta-blocker back to an ACE inhibitor.”

“Is that good?”

“Switching medicine? You'd have to ask her doctor about that.”

“You know what I mean. That she stayed on the line to complain about the drugs she's taking.”

“Yes. It is. Very good. It means she's well on the way to forgiving me.”

His expression darkened. “
You're
not the one who needs forgiving, and you know it.”

“I don't care who needs it. I sincerely do not. If my stepmother thinks
I
need it, fine. Whatever it takes.”

He didn't agree with her. She could see that on his face. But he didn't argue further, and she appreciated that.

He kissed her when he dropped her off, a long, slow, sweet kiss, the kind that stole her breath and made her wish he'd never stop. When he lifted his head, she wanted to drag it back down again.

He said, “There's another dance at the Grange hall, this Saturday.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Pick you up at eight.”

“I'll be ready.”

“Lunch on Friday, too?”

“I'd love that.”

He put her away from him and stepped back. “See you.”

“Yes…”

And then he was gone.

 

Over the next week, she saw him five times. Three times for lunch, then for the dance at the Grange hall—and once, on Friday night, the twentieth, for a dinner date. They went to Bozeman that time, to a place that was famous for its Italian and French cuisine. Not once during any of those five dates did they discuss his deceased wife. They talked about how well his office was running now, about her students, about the weather, which had so far been mild. They flirted and teased each other—and scrupulously avoided opportunities to go any further than flirting.

Two or three times Lynn tried to lead them around to more intimate conversation. He always changed the subject—skillfully, yes, but she wasn't fooled.

His past life was off-limits.

More and more, she believed that his
heart
was off-limits, that no matter how hard she tried, he would never let her in.

And if that was the case, well, why did she keep kidding herself? They'd been on this whirlwind of lunches and dinners, of trips to Bozeman and Billings to sample French cuisine and visit movie houses, for almost a month now.

A month.

The length of time they'd agreed on when they started. Ironically, the lie they told
was
beginning to look like the truth. Not the engagement part of it. That remained a fake through and through.

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.”