Lost in His Arms (7 page)

“Okay, I'm coming,” Talbot replied. He stood and steeled himself for the night to come, a night that he knew would be filled with laughter, family, fun—and Elizabeth.

“Mom!” Andrew hollered up the stairs. “Come on.”

Elizabeth and Talbot met at the kitchen door, where Andrew stood as sentry. “Welcome to McCarthy Pizzeria,” Andrew said with a studied soberness that the dancing light in his eyes belied. He led them through the doorway.

The kitchen had been transformed. A red-and-white checkered cloth covered the surface of the table, and a candle burned brightly in its perch atop an empty wine bottle. Soft music played in the background, and Talbot recognized Dean Martin singing something in Italian.

“I will show you to your table, Madam Judge,”
Andrew said, offering her his arm in gentlemanly fashion.

“Thank you, sir. I've heard that the pizza here is world-renowned.” It was obvious she intended to throw herself fully into her son's game.

Suddenly that was what Talbot wanted, as well. A night of laughter, of fun, with no thoughts of the past, no worries about the future.

He grabbed Rose's apron from the hook next to the stove and wrapped it around him with a flourish. “And of course, I am the master chef of this establishment.” He flicked his fingers toward Andrew and Richard. “And these are my rather dull students attempting, in vain of course, to best me at my specialty.”

Richard hooted his derision and Andrew giggled. “We will see who is the true master when the contest is over. Let the baking begin.”

Elizabeth had shopped to make the contest as even as possible. At their separate workspaces on the countertop, each had a package of pizza-crust mix, a large jar of sauce and a dozen toppings to use at his discretion. They were allowed to use any spices in the cabinet, and they each had a pizza stone to prepare their creation on.

Talbot was acutely aware of Elizabeth seated at the table, sipping a glass of red wine. Clad in a pair of rust-colored slacks and a blouse to match, she looked like a beautiful autumn leaf blown into the
kitchen. He frowned, pulling his gaze from her and to the work at hand.

“Hey, Andrew, did you know that a crushed, flat box can sail over tall grass as fast as a sled can slide over snow?” Richard asked.

“Really?”

Richard nodded. “When we lived in Twin Oaks, your uncle Talbot and his buddies used to race down a big hill on crushed boxes. Remember that, Talbot?”

Talbot grinned as he covered his ball of crust to allow it to rise for a few minutes. He turned around and smiled at his brother. “I remember. And if I recall, you insisted on trying it even though we all told you that you were too young.”

“And what happened?” Andrew asked.

“Your dad took off like a kite in the wind, flying down the hill. Unfortunately he forgot one little thing.”

“What?” Andrew asked eagerly.

“I forgot to watch where I was going,” Richard replied. “I flew right off that hill and into a pond. I sank to the bottom like my rear end was filled with stones. Your Uncle Talbot had to jump in and save me.”

“And then I got grounded when we got home, because Richard told Mom and Dad I tried to drown him in the pond,” Talbot added.

Richard laughed. “That's true. As Talbot pulled
me out of the water, he called me a pain-in-the-butt twerp, and that made me so mad I got him into trouble.”

This story invoked another, and another, and as they worked, the kitchen filled with laughter and the warmth of family.

Talbot tried to keep his gaze from Elizabeth, but it was impossible. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he was drawn again and again to the laughter in her eyes, the obvious pleasure that lit her features as the stories grew wilder and crazier.

By the time the pizzas were all in the oven, the kitchen looked like a battle zone. Flour splattered every surface, and sauce speckled the top of the stove. Bits of mushrooms, shredded cheese, slices of pepperoni and onion littered the floor, transforming the plain white tile into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.

“Rose is going to kill us all,” Elizabeth said, then took a sip of her second glass of wine. Talbot didn't know if it was the wine or the laughter that filled her cheeks with blossoms of color. In any case it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she looked lovelier than he'd ever seen her.

“It's a good thing I gave her the night off. She'd go crazy if she saw this mess,” he said.

“Hey, it takes a mess to create masterpieces, right, buddy?” Richard ruffled Andrew's hair affectionately.

“How long does it take to bake? I'm starving,” Andrew said, then picked a piece of pepperoni off the countertop and popped it into his mouth.

Talbot opened the oven door and peered inside. “Just a couple more minutes and they should be ready.”

“If I don't eat in a few minutes, I'm going to be tipsy,” Elizabeth said, and pushed her wineglass aside. “And if I have the awesome responsibility of judging this contest, I have to have my wits about me.”

“You won't need your wits to know that mine is the undisputed best,” Richard said, gaining catcalls and boos from his brother and nephew.

Talbot couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed an evening more. They had all cut up and acted silly. And the warmth and positive feeling continued as they ate.

“I'm not making any final decision until I've eaten all I want of each pie,” Elizabeth announced as she started on the first piece.

They sat around the table, everyone sampling not only the pizza they had baked, but the others, as well. And as they ate, the pleasant talk continued.

“Mrs. Walker in the grocery store said to tell you hi,” she said to Talbot. “And that her daughter, Alva May, just got engaged.”

Talbot winced. “I dated Alva a couple of times,
and I think her mother had already printed up wedding announcements for us.”

“Why didn't you marry her, Uncle Talbot?” Andrew asked.

Talbot leaned toward the young boy and grinned. “Because she had hairy legs and smelled like a burning tire.”

Andrew snorted soda pop and spewed pizza. Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter, and Richard joined in with his own chuckles.

Talbot continued, “You see, Alva is a mechanic down at Walker's Garage. She's twice my size, and she didn't really love me at all. She just wanted to replace the shocks in my car.”

“You're terrible!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

He held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “So shoot me. I don't like hairy legs and the smell of burnt rubber.”

He was grateful when nobody pursued the topic and asked him what he
did
like in a woman. He would have had to answer that he liked a woman who had hair the color of butterscotch pudding and eyes as
bright
blue as gift-wrapping ribbon.

He liked a woman who smelled as fresh as spring rain, as sweet as a summer flower. He even found endearing the tiny dab of sauce that decorated her slightly pointed chin.

“Mom, are you ready to make a decision yet?” Andrew asked anxiously.

Elizabeth smiled and dabbed her face with her napkin, removing all trace of sauce from her chin. “Yes, I think I'm just about ready to announce the winner.”

“Before you do, Mom, I want to tell you something.” Andrew got up out of his chair and moved to his mother's side. He slid an arm around her neck. “I just wanted to tell you you're the best mom in the whole wide world.”

“Hey, no fair buttering up the judge,” Talbot protested with a laugh.

“Who, me?” Andrew batted his lashes in innocence. “I just wanted her to know that I love her more than anything.”

“If anyone is going to be successful buttering up the judge, it's going to be me,” Richard interjected. “After all, I'm the one who might not be here in a couple of weeks.”

Elizabeth gasped, and whatever frivolity had been in Talbot's heart blew to shreds beneath the weight of Richard's words.

A roar resounded in his ears—the roar of fear unexplored, of unrealistic rage, of guilt unnamed and of promises unkept.

He stumbled to his feet, wanting, needing to get out, away, before he lost control. As he left the kitchen, he vaguely heard Andrew admonish his father. “Jeez, Dad.”

“It was just a joke,” Richard said softly.

But the problem, Talbot thought, was that it wasn't a joke. It was a possibility, a distinct possibility he'd refused to face until this very moment.

He raced for his bedroom, needing the familiarity, the privacy of that room, because he knew that for the first time in his life, he was about to lose control.

R
ichard looked at Elizabeth helplessly as Talbot strode out of the room. He was like a contrite young boy who had done something wrong and now needed guidance on how to fix it. “I'm sorry. That was incredibly stupid. I just wasn't thinking,” he finally said.

“Maybe you should go to him,” Elizabeth suggested, a vision of Talbot's face frozen in her mind. “He looked pretty upset.”

Richard appeared terrified at the very idea. “Nah. When Talbot's upset, he always wants some time alone. It's better to let him work it out himself.”

“Maybe you and me should go to that movie we were gonna see,” Andrew said to his father.

Richard's face lit up. “That's a great idea. And
by the time we get back, I'm sure everything will be fine.”

Before Elizabeth knew it, she found herself alone in the silence and the mess of the kitchen. She sank down at the table and poured herself another glass of wine.

She took a sip and shook her head, marveling in the wake of the chaos Richard had left behind. It felt far too familiar and reminded her of all the reasons their marriage hadn't worked.

Richard had always meant well, but he'd lacked the maturity to form a real commitment to their marriage, a true bond with her. He'd preferred hanging out with his friends, shooting pool and drinking beer. He'd often spoke thoughtlessly, never intending to be hurtful, but succeeding just the same.

She knew he hadn't meant any harm with his remark, that it had simply flown from his lips without first circulating through his brain, but she couldn't get the vision of Talbot out of her head.

When Richard had spoken those words, all color had fled from Talbot's face, and the look in his eyes had painfully pierced her heart.

The man she had always seen as vital and strong, as powerful and in control, had suddenly appeared filled with despair and anguish.

He's an adult, she told herself. He's a grown man. Let him handle this the way he's handled everything
else in his life—alone. She took another deep swallow of her wine.

She knew all about alone. From the time her parents died when she'd been a young child, she'd been alone. She knew now her marriage to Richard had been an attempt to assuage the deep loneliness that assailed her, but being married to Richard had made her feel more alone than ever.

Swallowing the last of her wine, she girded herself for the task of cleaning up the incredible mess the three males had made. But thoughts of Talbot made concentrating on anything else impossible.

Did he handle things alone because he wanted to, or because he had no other option? Did he need somebody to talk to? Somebody to share the emotions that must surely be whirling inside him?

Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but utterly helpless to do anything else, she went in search of him. He wasn't in his office, nor was he in any of the rooms on the ground level of the house.

She climbed the stairs quickly, knowing if she paused to think twice, she'd retrace her footsteps and run back to the kitchen. She had no idea what she intended to say to him once she found him. She only knew she couldn't stand the thought of him alone and in pain.

She found him in his bedroom, standing at the window, almost hidden by the evening shadows that had usurped much of the light of the room. Had his
door been closed, she would have never breached his privacy, but the door stood wide open, an unspoken invitation for her to enter.

“Talbot?”

He didn't turn to look at her, and for a moment she wasn't sure he'd heard her.

“Are you okay?” She took a step toward him, fighting the impulse to place her hand on his rigid back, smooth away the tension in muscles she knew were bunched just beneath the surface of his skin. Instead of reaching out to him, she balled her hands into fists at her sides.

“My father lived for two days following the car accident that took my mother's life instantly.” His voice was deeper than usual and held the slight tremor of emotions barely contained. Still, he faced away from her and out the window, as if the answers to any questions would be revealed by the coming of the night.

“For those two days he drifted in and out of consciousness. He knew he was dying, and I think he embraced death because he knew my mother was waiting for him. In those two days, he told me he wasn't worried about me or the business. He wasn't worried about the house or things left unfinished. But he was worried about Richard.”

Talbot's shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, and again Elizabeth fought her need to touch him, to somehow ease the pain she could hear in his voice.
She moved closer, so close she could reach out and touch him, so close the scent of his aftershave wrapped around her.

“Dad knew Richard could be thoughtless…careless. He wasn't a bad kid, he just didn't think things through, didn't consider the consequences of his actions. Dad made me promise I would always take care of him.” He finally turned to look at her, his eyes glittering and haunted. “I don't know how to fix this.”

She placed a hand on his arm, felt the tension that knotted his muscles. “You can't be in control of everything, Talbot,” she replied.

“But I made a promise, a vow.”

She wondered if he recognized the irrationality of his words. “There are some promises that can't be kept no matter how badly you want to keep them,” she said softly.

She dropped her hand from his arm, but didn't move away. “Talbot, you've done your job. You have fulfilled your promise to your father. Richard is an adult. You can support him and love him, but you can't carry his burden for him. He's going to have to get strong for himself.”

Talbot raked a hand through his hair, then clenched his hands into fists, the tension that radiated from him almost palpable. His eyes seemed unnaturally bright, and she could tell he was fighting for control.

“I'm so angry,” he said. “I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm…” He allowed his voice to trail off, but Elizabeth knew what he'd been about to say.

“I'm afraid, too,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.

For just a moment, she thought she'd gone too far, invaded his emotions and thoughts too deeply. He glared at her as if nonverbally demanding she take back the words, as if refusing to acknowledge his own fear.

“He's my only brother, the only family I have left.” His voice held the deep ache of loss.

“And he's my son's father, the only father Andrew will ever have.”

The air in the room was charged, as if lightning was about to strike or an explosion was about to detonate. She saw him fighting the battle for control. And control won.

He sighed, some of the tension leaving him. “I'm sorry if I messed up the pizza party.”

“You didn't mess up anything,” she replied. “Richard spoke thoughtlessly, and it's only natural that his words would upset everyone.”

“Where is he now? Where's Andrew?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned back against the window frame.

“They went to a movie.”

He shook his head, a rueful half smile forming on
his lips. “Typical. He stirs things up, then makes his escape.”

Even his partial smile had the power to send rivulets of warmth through her. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she stood in his bedroom, mere feet from the huge, four-poster bed.

The bed, with its navy-plaid spread and large, fluffy throw pillows seemed to beckon a body to fall in and enjoy. A warning whisper echoed in the deepest recesses of her mind.

“Speaking of things stirred up, I need to get back to the kitchen and deal with the mess. Rose would have a heart attack if she saw the present condition of her kitchen.” She needed to get out of this room, get some distance from him.

“I'll help,” he said.

“That's not necessary,” she protested quickly. “I really don't mind.”

“I'll help,” he repeated firmly. “I was a party to making the mess, so I'll be a party to the cleanup.”

She wanted to protest more strongly, tell him she could do it herself, that his help wasn't necessary. But she couldn't very well tell him to stay out of his own kitchen.

He followed her from his bedroom and down the stairs. She was aware of him with every step she took. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, sweeping across her shoulders, sliding down the
length of her back, lingering on her buttocks. Or was it just her imagination working overtime?

She was grateful when they reached the kitchen and together began to put away food, wiping countertops and filling the sink with dishes that needed to be washed.

Elizabeth wondered how it was possible for a kitchen so large to suddenly feel so small. No matter where she cleaned, Talbot was too close to her, filling her senses with his masculine presence.

“You can tell me the truth while Richard and Andrew aren't here,” he said as he filled the sink with soapy water.

“The truth?” She eyed him curiously.

“My pizza was the best.” The shadows that had darkened his eyes had lifted, leaving in their wake the self-assurance, the slight edge of arrogance she'd always found so attractive.

She laughed. “To be perfectly honest, they all tasted about the same. Although I must admit yours was certainly the neatest. I could tell just by looking at them whose was whose. Andrew's was loaded with his favorite topping—pepperoni. Richard's was a sloppy mess, and yours had the look of a neat, compulsive overachiever.”

She was grateful that he laughed, the rich, deep sound shooting warmth through her.

“What did you get as a prize for the winner?”
he asked as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, then plunged his hands into the soapy dishwater.

“An ice-cream cake decorated like a pizza.” She picked up a dish towel and moved next to him, steeling herself against any pleasure that might sweep through her by being so near. “I figured that way everyone could share in the spoils of victory.”

“Good idea.”

She watched as he rubbed the sponge across a plate. She tried not to notice the strength of his bare forearms, his long, sensual fingers as he scratched at a stubborn splash of sauce. She could almost feel the stroke of those long fingers across her flesh.

He handed her the plate to dry. “In fact, when we finish with the cleanup, I think we deserve a piece of that cake.”

“Sounds good to me.” Perhaps the ice cream would cool her off, make her stop having inappropriate thoughts about Talbot.

For a few moments, they worked in silence. He washed, she dried, their fingers touching briefly as they passed the dishes from one to the other. Elizabeth wondered if he felt the electric sparks that fired off each time their hands brushed.

He didn't appear to. In truth, he seemed distant, and she found herself wishing she could crawl into his head, see into his thoughts.

“Do you ever worry that you're doing too much
for Andrew?” he asked as the last dish was put away in the cabinet.

“Sure,” she replied. “I worry that I'm doing too much. I worry that I'm doing too little. So, you want a piece of the ice-cream cake.”

“Definitely. Why don't you get the cake and I'll make some coffee?” he suggested.

Within minutes, they were seated at the table, a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of cake before each of them. “Why did you ask me that about Andrew? Do you think I do too much for him?”

“No, not at all,” he said firmly. “You're a terrific mother.” He rubbed the rim of his mug with his thumb and frowned thoughtfully. “I just sometimes worry that I didn't do enough, or I did too much, where Richard is concerned.”

She smiled. “And you worry that you were too hard on him or too soft. And you worry that you spent too much time with him or too little. Sounds perfectly normal to me.”

He nodded and cut into his cake. “I was just wondering if maybe you and I haven't made it really easy for Richard not to be responsible and grown-up.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, defensiveness rising inside her. Surely he couldn't blame her for Richard's problems with maturity. She had married a boy—who had remained a boy, in spite of all their years together, all their marital angst.

“Relax,” he said. “This isn't an indictment of
your skills as a wife.” He took a bite of the cake, then continued, “I was just thinking that both of us suffer from the same condition.”

“And what condition would that be?”

“A self-reliance that is perhaps a bit daunting to others.” He took another bite of his cake and eyed her. “In all the years of your marriage to Richard, you never once asked for my help. When Richard forgot to pay the electric bill and your service was cut off, you didn't call for help, you simply handled it. You handled a million different crises and never asked me for help.”

“I would have cut off my arm before I would have asked you for help.”

“And why is that?”

“I knew you didn't approve of our marriage, that you thought we were too young…and I knew you weren't sure at all that you approved of me. Besides, it wasn't your responsibility. I was and always have been accustomed to handling my problems on my own.”

She stared down into her coffee mug, unable to tell him the real reason she'd never asked him for help—that she'd been afraid if he ran to her rescue, she would have to face the fact that she'd married the wrong brother.

 

She'd closed off from him. A moment earlier, her eyes had been windows into her thoughts, allowing him in, but now they were firmly shuttered.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Again a sweeping range of emotions filled Talbot. He was angry at fate, worried sick about what the future held, and for the first time in his life he was scared to death that he was going to have to face it all alone.

He suddenly wanted Elizabeth back with him. He wanted her to once again be open with him, sharing with him. He reached out and lightly touched the back of her hand. “I've made you angry.”