Heat Wave (26 page)

“But what about you, Mommy,” Margaret asked. “Will you be sad if we don’t have the party?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Carley picked up her daughter and cuddled her on her lap. “I’ll be happy, if you want me to be honest. I’ve got such a lot to do, it might make me crazy, trying to get things ready for a big party.”

“I’m going to call Kyla and tell her!” Cisco escaped from the room, glowing with excitement.

“You and I can have coordinating costumes,” Carley told Margaret. “Like you can be Sleeping Beauty and I can be the Witch.”

“Oh, Mommy, you’re not a witch!” Margaret protested.

“Well, then, what should we be?”

Margaret lit up. “I’ll be the Good Witch of the East and you can be Dorothy!”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, Dorothy is shorter than the Good Witch.”

Margaret’s face fell. “But I want to wear the pink sparkle dress and carry a wand.”

“Oh, I see. It’s decided then. I’ll be Dorothy.”

• • • • •

H
er girls were in bed, sound asleep. Tomorrow Wyatt would leave on his hiking trip. Tonight he was here, looking disheveled and distracted.

“I only just finished the work Russell needed help with,” he said, giving Carley an absentminded hug. “I hope he’s going to do all right without me.”

“Of course he will. He always has before.” Carley led Wyatt into the kitchen. He wore a suit but his tie was undone, his shirt was rumpled, his hair mussed. “It’s his business, after all, Wyatt.”

“True. But Russell’s in his sixties. He’s lost his only son. He’s excited about going to Guatemala, but I think he’s really going because it’s what Annabel wants to do. I’ve seen him have spells of shortness of breath. He has high blood pressure.” Wyatt paced, running his hands through his hair. “I hope I’m not doing the wrong thing by leaving him alone for a few weeks.”

“Would you like some coffee? Or a sandwich? Have you eaten tonight?”

“What? Oh, no thanks, Carley. We ordered in a pizza. I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

She took one out of the refrigerator, uncapped it, and handed it to him. Leaning against the sink, Wyatt took a long thirsty sip. She looked at the movement of his elegant throat. Everything he did turned her on. Just looking at him made her blood flame. This was terrible, insane, it was like being thirteen again and having a crush
on a rock star, so reduced by emotions into a trembling mass of nerves and desire she was always on the verge of hysterical tears. But should she build a life on passion?

“Thanks, Carley. Wow. I needed that.” He slumped into a kitchen chair and stretched. “I suppose I feel responsible for Russell and Annabel. I feel Gus would want me to watch over them.”

Carley sat down at the other end of the table from Wyatt. “Wyatt, I love them, too. I’ll watch over them while you’re gone.”

“Great. I’m glad they have you and the girls.” Wyatt shrugged. “The funny thing is, I don’t worry about my own parents at all. They’re the same age, but they’re both busy, happy, healthy—”

“They didn’t lose a son.”

“True. And they’ve got my sister and her kids. They’re crazy about the new baby.”

“Yes.” Carley’s thoughts turned inward. “Babies are pretty special.”

“They kind of terrify me,” Wyatt admitted. “Wendy’s little girl is either screaming or sleeping.”

“She’s what, four months old? She’ll change.”

“Her face gets so red when she’s mad. Almost purple. And the way she squirms—when I hold her, I’m afraid I’ll drop her.”

Carley said, teasingly, “Somehow, centuries of babies have survived men holding them.”

Wyatt looked across the table at her and all at once, he was really seeing
her
. His smile faded and his eyes grew warm and solemn. He said, “Carley.”

His look was like a magnet, pulling her to him. His gaze was eloquent, luminous with desire.

“I’m a dope,” Wyatt said softly. “Rambling on about babies and work when I could be in bed with you.” He stood up, walked around the table, and held out his hand. “Let me take you to bed.”

For a while, it was like heaven. For a while, Carley’s skin was like new spring leaves and Wyatt’s breath and touch was the sun. Everything
disappeared, all worries, all fears, all the niggling complications of daily life. She was lifted up out of the normal world into a warm, golden realm of ecstatic connection. They were the flame, heat, and blaze of a fire in winter. They were incandescent.

When they fell apart, they were both slicked with sweat. They lay beside each other, breathing deeply, and the afterglow of sated desire flowed through Carley like a drug.
I do love him
, she thought.
I must tell him, before he goes, that I love him
.

She glanced over. His eyes were closed. As she watched, he began to snore. He’s asleep, she realized, and closed her eyes, and she, too, fell asleep.

In her dreams, her boat was rocking on a tossing sea. She came awake to see Wyatt scrambling out of bed.

“Carley, it’s almost five in the morning.” Wyatt reached for the clothes he’d left scattered on the floor.

Carley sat up, dazed. They’d never done this before, fallen so soundly asleep after sex. She’d always asked him to go home so the girls wouldn’t see them in bed together. Margaret still often woke in the night.

She looked admiringly at Wyatt’s long stretch of naked back. The bed smelled warm and sexy. She didn’t want anything to change.

“I can’t believe we fell asleep.” Wyatt yanked on his boxer shorts, his suit pants, his shirt. Without buttoning it, he snatched up his shoes and socks and sat on a chair, putting them on, tying his shoelaces.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Don’t panic. Your plane isn’t until this afternoon and you said you were pretty much packed.” Yawning, she got out of bed and pulled on her robe.

“I’m worried about your daughters seeing us,” Wyatt said. He stood up and pulled on his suit jacket.

She pointed. “You need to button your shirt.”

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and followed Wyatt
as he hurried out into the hall and down the stairs. He felt in his suit pocket for his car keys and patted the breast pocket for his wallet, then nodded to himself. Clearly his mind was on the day ahead.

“Good to go?” she asked.

“I think I’ve got it all. I’ll call you before I leave, Carley. I’m going to call you a lot. I doubt if I can call you every day, the cell reception is probably iffy out in the woods. But I’ll try. You call me anytime, if you need to talk, if Annabel’s driving you crazy, anything.” He was less romantic and more practical, as if running down a checklist in his mind.

“Got it.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry to rush off like this. I’ll be back before you know it.” He hugged her to him tightly.

Then he left.

Carley stood stunned. She felt more than alone, she felt wrenched in half.
Don’t be ridiculous
, she told herself.
You just need coffee
.

She hurried upstairs to shower and dress, then went to the kitchen. As she started a new pot of coffee brewing, she organized her thoughts. She had three rooms full of guests and her own recipe for pumpkin-cranberry-almond bread to stir up and bake. As she set to work, she felt a flush of satisfaction. She was taking control of her day. Of her life.

• • • • •

A
t first, Wyatt phoned Carley every evening, to ask how her day was, to describe the challenging trails of the forested mountains. Before he hung up, he always said, “I miss you.” But as the October days briskly disappeared into November, things changed. He and his friend were roughing it with tents, backpacks, and heavy hiking gear. His phone calls became less frequent, briefer, and more casual.

Carley kept busy. It was easy enough to do, with her daughters’ activities, helping Annabel and Russell get ready to leave, and running the B&B. She was planning for Christmas, too. She was doing everything she could to distract herself from thinking about Wyatt.

This Saturday morning, her guests were a beautiful blond German woman named Christine and her boyfriend Andre, and two eager-beaver married couples from Boston who had come down to do
everything
the Cranberry Festival offered. Carley served cranberry-raspberry muffins and pumpkin-nut bread. The Boston couples ate fast and raced away, but the Germans ate leisurely, appreciating the food.

“I like the way you talk,” Margaret shyly complimented the woman.

“Do you? Would you like to hear us talk to each other in German?”

Margaret’s eyes went wide. “Yes, please.”

For a few minutes the couple spoke in German while Margaret watched in wonder, giggling, entranced. “When I grow up, I’m going to speak German!” she exclaimed.

“Would you like to learn some German words?” Christine asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Here is how you say ‘hello.’
Guten Tag
. It means ‘good day’!”

Margaret tried to say it, mangling the pronunciation only slightly. While she spoke with the Germans, Carley watched Cisco, who was eating hurriedly, eager to get out to the farm.

Carley suggested idly, “Perhaps Lexi and Jewel could join us for dinner tonight. Or sometime.”

“Cool,” Cisco said, which was about as excited as she got over something that wasn’t a horse.

For years Carley had simply dropped by Annabel’s house without phoning. If she was there, Annabel was always ready to drop what she was doing and have tea or a drink and a nice long chat with Carley. On Main Street, Carley slowed in front of the other Winsted house. Annabel’s Saab was in the drive. Should she go in?

She shut off her engine, climbed out of the car, and went up to the house. As she always did, she just opened the front door and stepped inside, calling, “Annabel? It’s me, Carley.”

No response.

For a paranoid moment, Carley wondered whether Annabel wasn’t answering because she didn’t want to deal with Carley.

“Hello, dear.” Annabel appeared at the top of the stairs. She was still in her robe, and her hair hadn’t yet been combed. “I’ve been lying down.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll go.”

Annabel came down the stairs, slowly, holding on to the banister, like someone older than her years. “Stay, please. I’m glad you
came. Goodness, it’s after noon.” At the bottom of the stairs, she just stood there, blank.

“Let’s have some tea,” Carley suggested.

“Good. Right.” Annabel drew herself up straight but didn’t move.

Carley went down the hall and into the kitchen. She put the kettle on, set out the teapot and cups, and checked for bread for toast.

Annabel sat down at the kitchen table. “I haven’t been to the grocery store recently.” A wry smile crossed her face. “A fat lot of good I’ll be in Guatemala. Can’t even feed myself.”

“Give yourself a break,” Carley suggested mildly. “I certainly spend a lot of time in bed these days.” She found a box of shortbread cookies, set them on a plate near Annabel, and sat down in the chair closest to her mother-in-law.

“I don’t have anything to offer you as delicious as your muffins,” Annabel said. “I don’t even bake anymore. I can’t imagine how you do it all, take care of the children, bake homemade treats, and run a business. These days I don’t seem to do anything worthwhile.”

Shocked, Carley could see that Annabel was struggling to keep her dignity. Carley busied herself with the milk pitcher and spoons. The kettle whistled and she poured the water into the teapot. Bringing it all to the table, she was stunned to see the expression on Annabel’s face. It was a terrible regret, and something about it made Carley say, “Oh, Annabel, you’ve always done so much. You’re the best.”

Annabel huffed. “Hardly.”

“But it’s true. You are.” She sat down, reached out, and took Annabel’s hand. “You are the best at everything, the best grandmother, wife, mother—”

Annabel withdrew her hand gently, but when she looked at Carley, her gaze was tender. “I haven’t been a very good mother-in-law these past few months.”

Carley didn’t object. She waited.

“I allowed myself to care too much about the past. How things
were in the past. I suppose I was too caught up in what it meant to be a Winsted.” She looked at Carley and her eyes were weary. “I apologize, Carley.”

“Thank you, Annabel. Your opinion means a great deal to me. And as it happens, the B&B’s turning out to be a financial lifesaver.”

“That’s good,” Annabel replied automatically, listlessly.

Carley took a moment to gather her thoughts. She wanted to somehow compliment the older woman without opening herself to more criticism. Carefully, she said, “It’s true that Cisco wasn’t thrilled about the B&B at first. Margaret loved it from the start, but Cisco hated having strangers in the house. You were a godsend to Cisco, taking her in with you.”

Annabel’s face brightened at the mention of her granddaughter. “I thought she needed a place to escape to. I thought she needed to leave you, but not really. I always knew she’d come back to you.” Annabel pressed her hands together and touched her lips, then confessed in a rush, “I’m afraid I love my granddaughters too much. I want to keep them both locked in my house and never let them out, never let them on the street, never let Cisco back up on one of those enormous stallions—”

“They’re not
stallions—
”

“Well, they look like it to me! That’s how I felt about my son. Especially when he was a teenager, when he learned to drive, when he started drinking and having sex. Oh, sometimes, Carley, it’s all just too hard! Too frightening.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “That Gus died of a genetic heart defect—I feel so responsible.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“I worry even more about the girls.”

“I never knew you felt this way.”

“I’ve always felt this way. Thank heavens you’re such a great mother.”

A lump rose in Carley’s throat. “I’m glad you think that.”

“Of course I think that.” Annabel gave a rueful little laugh. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch because you opened a B&B.”

Annabel’s language shocked Carley. “You weren’t a bitch.”