Forever Spring (18 page)

And now Paul was here, offering her the possibility of a different, brighter reality. But she could not let him stay. Karen had not sought love, had not wanted to love ever again. But she did love, was in love. She didn’t suspect it; she was certain of it. And she could not let him stay.

The realization that she must deny herself and send Paul away struck Karen like a blow. She swayed with the shattering backlash.

“Karen!” His tone sharp with alarm, Paul stepped toward her.

Karen stepped back. Drawing in deep, controlling breaths, she held up a hand as if to ward him off.

“I’m all right.” Her reedy voice belied her assurances. Straightening her spine, tightening her body and her nerves, Karen steeled herself to say what had to be said. The words of rejection and dismissal never made it from her mind to her lips.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest, Karen?”

Karen jolted at the sound of speculation woven through the pleasant tone of Charles’s voice. Reality was here and now, in the form of Charles and his parents sauntering into the room and the infinitely more important forms of the two wary-eyed boys hovering in the doorway.

Acceptance was not unlike the feel of living death. For a millisecond, rebellion flared inside Karen; then, just as quickly, it was extinguished.

“Yes, of course.” Karen was amazed at the even, casual sound of her voice. She was more amazed at her ability to smile as she turned to face them. “Charles, Judith, Randolf, this is Mr. Vanzant.” She shifted to look at Paul without looking at him at all. “Mr. Vanzant, I’d like you to meet Charles Mitchell.” She indicated the man who had come to stand beside her. “And his parents, Judith and Randolf Mitchell.” Her smile grew easier as she glanced at the doorway. “And the boys are Rand and Mark.”

Paul responded to the disruptive interruption like the gentleman and aristocrat he was. His expression cool but polite, he extended his hand as he moved forward. “Charles.” Paul gripped Charles’s hand briefly, then released it and turned to his parents. “Mr. Mitchell. Mrs. Mitchell.”

“Mr. Vanzant.” The three Mitchells responded in unison.

“Paul, please,” he murmured vaguely, gazing at the two boys in the doorway. A faint smile relieved the coolness of his expression and lit his dark eyes from within. “Rand?” Paul stared at the older boy. At Rand’s nod, he shifted his gaze. “Mark.” With three long strides, Paul was across the room, extending his hand with the same respect he had afforded the adults. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

Wide-eyed and obviously surprised at receiving the same consideration as their elders, Rand and Mark hesitantly extended their own, smaller hands. The grip was completed, establishing contact on various levels of awareness. Both youngsters revealed pleasurable confusion.

A bittersweet ache filled Karen as she watched the man she loved touch her sons, physically and emotionally. The ache expanded as she watched each boy’s reluctant response. The thought of what might have been teased the edges of her mind. With ruthless determination, Karen shoved the thought aside. The situation was growing more impossible by the minute. The glint of speculation in Charles’s eyes was solidifying into... what?

“Vanzant.” Randolf murmured the name in bemused contemplation.

Karen blinked and glanced at Randolf. As she looked at him, he frowned and murmured the name again.

“Vanzant?” This time his murmur held a questioning note.

Mentally shrugging off Randolf’s odd behavior, Karen switched her gaze to the man turning to face her. Paul’s stare was compelling; she couldn’t maintain it and speak the words of dismissal. Her gaze shifted to Charles. “Mr. Vanzant was just—”

“Speaking to that colorful character who runs the store in town,” Paul finished for her. “He told me that even though the bed-and-breakfast was closed for the season, Ms. Mitchell might be willing to accommodate me.”

Karen was consumed by equal measures of elation and despair. She knew he couldn’t stay but, but... Hope leaped higher than the flames in the fireplace.

“You want to rent a room?” Charles exclaimed. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Paul Vanzant.” No longer a murmur, Randolf’s contemplative tone cut through his son’s protest and drew a varied response from his audience.

Both Karen and Judith frowned in confusion.

Charles scowled impatiently.

Paul arched his brows in mild inquiry.

“The Philadelphia banker Vanzant?” Randolf asked, ignoring his family as he centered his attention on Paul.

“Yes.” Smiling wryly, Paul inclined his head. And unbeknownst to Karen, with his quiet confirmation, choice and decision were plucked from her hands.

Randolf took command of the situation. Smiling broadly, he again extended his hand to grasp Paul’s. “I’ve wanted to meet you for years but somehow kept missing the opportunity. It really is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The term of respect from the older man said reams more than his actual words. “And I’m positive Karen will be delighted to accommodate you.” He beamed at Karen. “Won’t you, my dear?”

What could she say? Karen hesitated as her options skipped through her mind. Then she granted Randolf s request—simply because she wanted to. “Yes, if you insist.” She was careful not to look at Paul or Charles.

“Well, of course I insist.” A flicker of a frown crossed his face as he noted his son’s scowl. “Charles, Judith.” Reaching out, he drew his wife to his side. “Surely you both remember all the times I’ve mentioned Mr. Vanzant’s name?” Randolf glanced from one to the other. Impatience flashed in his eyes as he encountered a blank stare from Charles and a vague smile from Judith. “Good heavens!” he exploded. “How could either one of you forget the name of the banker who saved our company from financial ruin?” he demanded, conveniently forgetting that he himself had spent several minutes capturing the memory.

“It was a long time ago, Mr. Mitchell,” Paul inserted in an attempt to easie the tension.

“Randolf, please,” he murmured in an echo of Paul’s earlier request. “But you’re correct, of course. It was a long time ago.” Randolf smiled at his son. “Charles was still in college.” He looked pensive. “He very probably wouldn’t have graduated if it hadn’t been for you, Paul,” he admitted with simple honesty.

Judith gasped in surprise. Charles bristled visibly.

“Dad, really, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that!”

“Are you indeed?” Randolf’s head snapped up, revealing the shrewd businessman he’d become in the years between his son’s college days and Charles’s current position as vice president of the firm under discussion. “Then you’d better reorganize your thinking. I was within a hairsbreadth of losing everything.” His features grew taut with remembrance. “And I mean literally everything. I had unwisely extended myself. I had been refused help by every banker in Boston and several other cities.” His expression eased as he glanced at Paul. “Paul was the only one with the guts to back me. And he did it sight unseen, through my representative.” A flush of color tinged his cheeks. “I never thanked you personally.”

Paul’s smile was easy and meltingly attractive. “You thanked me many times over by confirming the faith I had in your ideas for company expansion and your ability to make them work.”

Fascinated by the conversation and the insight it gave her into a previously unsuspected facet of Paul’s character, Karen was unconscious of the fact that Paul was still wearing his jacket, that they were all standing in the center of the living room and that the boys had disappeared at some point or other during the discussion. Paul, on the other hand, was obviously aware of everything that went on around him.

“I wonder if I might remove my jacket?” Though his expression and tone were scrupulously polite, the eyes he directed to Karen had a familiar devilish gleam. “It’s quite warm in here.”

“Oh!” Karen flushed with embarrassment.

“Good grief!” Randolf muttered.

“How terribly rude of us all!” Judith fluttered. Charles remained silent, staring resentfully at the cause of the sudden confusion and the reason for a revelation he obviously hadn’t enjoyed. But then, he didn’t need to say anything; his disapproval of Paul was a palpable force in the atmosphere.

Sparing a frown for Charles, Karen walked to Paul, hand outstretched. “I am sorry, Mr. Vanzant. Please do take off your jacket.”

“Paul, I insist.” The devilish gleam brightened in his eyes as Paul shrugged out of the garment. Ignoring Charles and his flustered parents for an instant, he smiled for Karen alone. “Thank you.” His murmured response encompassed much more than appreciation of being relieved of the heavy outdoor coat.

“You’re welcome.” Karen’s reply encompassed much more than an automatic social response. For the length of a sighing breath, their gazes tangled, meshed, blended,

“Have you had lunch, Paul?” Randolf’s inquiring tone revealed his lack of awareness of the dreamlike spell cocooning Karen and Paul. At the same time, his voice shattered the moment.

Paul’s lips twisted as he reluctantly glanced away from the soft glow in Karen’s eyes. “As a matter of fact, I completely forgot about lunch.” His shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “I quite often do.”

“Well, we’ll take care of that,” Randolf returned heartily. “Won’t we, Karen?” But before she could respond, he added, “Karen makes the most fantastic turkey club sandwiches.”

On her way to the closet in the hallway, Karen paused in the doorway, her fingers digging into the down-filled jacket. Randolf’s reference to sandwiches reminded her of the lunch debris waiting for her on the alcove table. Resigning herself to kitchen duty, she was about to offer Paul something when Randolf spoke again.

“Was there any meat left, Karen?”

As she turned, Karen worked her lips into a smile. “Yes, plenty. Would you like a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Paul?”

“No sandwich, really.” Paul smiled at her. “But I would appreciate the coffee.”

“And we’ll all have a cup with you, keep you company,” Randolf said expansively. “How about a piece of pumpkin pie with it? Karen made it, and it’s delicious.”

“I’m sure it is, but no thank you.” Paul glanced at Karen and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I never really liked pumpkin pie.”

It was ridiculous, Karen chided herself. It was childish and silly. And yet she couldn’t control the rush of pleasure his admission gave her or the satisfying sense of sharing a link with him, even such a ridiculous, tenuous link.

“That’s all right, I—” She started to tell him she also never really liked the dessert, but once again, Randolf hastened to enlighten the other man.

“No need to apologize, Paul. It seems you and Karen have something in common.” He chuckled as Paul sliced a glance at him and arched a questioning eyebrow. “She doesn’t like it, either.”

“Really?” His tone inflectionless, his expression bland, Paul returned his gaze to Karen; she alone saw the warmth flickering in his dark eyes.

“There were croissants left over at breakfast,” she said in her best hostess tones, thrilling to the light that flared in the dark depths of his eyes. “I’d be happy to warm some in the microwave for you if you’d like.” “Yes, thank you.” His heated gaze caressed her. “I’d like that very much.”

Another link had been forged between them; Karen knew it, but more importantly, she was suddenly aware that Paul realized it, too. Energy flowed through her, sweeping her weariness away. Her step light, she walked from the room, calling over her shoulder, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll only be a minute.”

As had happened after all the previous meals they’d shared, not one of the Mitchells offered assistance. Karen didn’t care. Paul was there, back in her house, back in her living room, back in her life. Humming to herself, she made child’s play out of the cleaning-up routine and had completed most of it before the coffee was finished.

After serving the coffee and croissants, Karen sat quietly, offering little to the conversation, content to simply be close to Paul once again.

He looked wonderful, she decided, studying him as she sipped the coffee she really didn’t want. But there was a subtle change in Paul’s appearance that puzzled her. Observing him, listening to him speak, Karen pondered the change, and then the answer struck her. The difference in Paul was not only in appearance but in attitude, as well. For all his aristocratic look, the man she’d first met on the beach had had an uncentered, rudderless look about him. The Paul now seated a few feet from her appeared purposeful and confident, the image of a man in control of his own life.

On reflection, it was obvious to Karen that something had occurred to transform Paul during the weeks they’d been separated. And with the memory of his near-confession of love for her singing in her mind,

Karen’s pulse leaped with the thought that she was in part responsible for the change in him.

Karen was almost giddy with the possibilities that sprang from her speculative thought and was oblivious to the watchful, scowling expression on Charles’s face. Paul, on the other hand, was very much aware of her former husband’s discontent.

He’s suspicious as hell and jealous because of it.

Even as the thought formed in his mind, Paul silently responded to it. The response was as hard as it was swift.

The hell with Mitchell
.

His attention divided between the elder and the younger Mitchell men, Paul was nevertheless aware of Karen’s soft gaze and her thorough scrutiny of him. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to be alone with her. While engaging in genial conversation with Randolf, his body tingled with anticipation. While he took Charles’s measure, his nerves twanged with impatience. In fact, Paul required every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from insulting the Mitchells by grabbing Karen and rudely walking from the room.

A silent sigh of relief shuddered through him when, at Randolf s suggestion, Karen rose to show Paul to his room. Keeping a respectful distance between them, he followed her from the room and up the stairs. A frown drew his eyebrows together when, at the landing at the top of the staircase, she turned toward the front of the house.