Orchard Valley Grooms (16 page)

Humming to herself, she put on a CD of Verdi’s
Aida
and turned up the volume until the music echoed against the kitchen walls. The emotional intensity and dramatic characterizations of the Italian composer suited her mood.

She found an old white apron her father had used years before whenever he barbecued. Wrapping it around her waist, she drew the long strings around to the front and tied them.

Half an hour later, she was stirring the last of the tomato paste into the pot. She added a generous amount of red wine, all the while singing at the top of her lungs. The sound of someone pounding at the back door jolted her back to reality.

Running barefoot across the kitchen, she pulled open the door and saw Charles standing there, holding a pot of purple azaleas.

“Charles! What are you doing here?”

“No one answered the front door,” he remarked dryly.

“Oh. Sorry.” She walked to the counter to turn off her CD player. “Come in.” The silence was nearly deafening.

“I thought you said your father was home from the hospital?” As though self-conscious about holding a flowerpot, he handed it to Steffie.

“He is,” she said, setting the plant aside. “How thoughtful. I’m sure Dad will love this.”

“It isn’t for David.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, I was…we just got a full-page ad from How Green Is My Thumb Nursery and I felt it might be a gesture of good faith to buy something. I thought you’d appreciate an azalea more than your father would.”

Steffie wasn’t quite sure what to say other than a soft “Thank you.”

He shrugged, apparently eager to leave. He stepped toward the door and she desperately tried to think of something to keep him there, with her.

“Have you eaten?” she asked quickly, even though the sauce was only just starting to simmer and wouldn’t be properly ready until the following day.

“What makes you ask?”

“I was just putting together a pot of spaghetti sauce for tomorrow. Dad asked me to cook him an Italian meal and…well, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit, I’ll be happy to fix you a plate. It really needs to simmer longer, but I know from experience that it’s perfectly edible after an hour.” She sounded breathless by the time she’d finished.

“I’ve already had dinner, but thanks, anyway,” Charles told her. “I could do with a cup of coffee, though.” He nodded toward the half-full pot sitting beside the stove.

“Sure…great. Me, too. I’d get Dad but he’s sleeping,” she explained as she poured him a cup, then one for herself.

“Through that?” Charles motioned toward the CD player.

“Sure. He loves listening to the same music I do. Besides, he’s way over on the other side of the house. I doubt he could even hear it.” She didn’t mention that a tragic love story might suit Valerie’s mood, however. And since her sister’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen she was the one most likely to have been serenaded.

Charles held the mug in both hands and walked over to examine her efforts. “So you learned to cook while you were away?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were the domestic type.” He stirred the sauce with a wooden spoon, lifted it out of the pot and tasted it, using one finger. His brows rose. “This is good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“There must’ve been some Italian man you were hoping to impress.”

The only man she’d ever wanted to impress was the one standing in the kitchen at that very moment.

“I was too busy with my studies to date much,” she said, dumping the empty tomato-paste cans in the recycling bin.

“That isn’t the impression you gave me the other day.”

She hesitated, her back to him. “I know. I certainly seem to make a habit of playing the fool when I’m with you.”

Charles’s voice was rueful. “I’ve occasionally suffered from the same problem.”

The unexpectedness of his admission caught her off balance, and she twisted around to face him. For a long, unguarded moment she soaked in the sight of him.

“There wasn’t anyone I dated very often,” she told him in a raw whisper.

“Surely there was someone?”

She shook her head. They gazed silently into each other’s eyes, and Steffie seemed to lose all sense of time.

Charles was the one who broke the trance. “Uh, your pot seems to be boiling.”

“Oh, darn, I forgot to turn down the burner.” She
raced across the kitchen, flipped the knob on the stove and stirred the sauce briskly, praying it hadn’t burned.

While she stood at the stove, Steffie basked in a glow of unfamiliar contentment. It felt so wonderful to be with Charles—not fighting or defensive, not acting like a love-struck adolescent. For the first time, she was truly comfortable with him.

“I’m sure the sauce will be fine,” she murmured, picking up her coffee mug.

He pulled out a chair and sat.

As she was getting cream, sugar and teaspoons, she thought she heard some noise from upstairs. Glancing at the ceiling, she frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Steffie joined him at the table, adding only cream to her own coffee and pushing the sugar bowl toward Charles. “I’m worried about Valerie,” she said frankly. “So is Norah. Everyone is, except Dad, which is for the best—I mean, he’s got enough on his mind healing from the surgery. He shouldn’t be worrying about any of us.”

Charles added a level teaspoon of sugar to his coffee, then paused, the spoon held above his cup. “How’d you know I take sugar?”

Her gaze skirted away from his. “We had coffee together once before, remember?”

“No” came his automatic response.

Steffie preferred not to dredge up the unhappy memory again, especially since
he
didn’t even seem to
recall it. She stared down at the table. “It was the first time you asked me to—you know, leave you alone.”

He scowled. “The first time,” he repeated, then shook his head in apparent confusion. Just as well, Steffie thought to herself, astounded that he had absolutely no recollection of an incident she remembered in such complete and painful detail.

She decided to change the subject. “Norah baked cookies the other day, if you’d like some.”

Charles declined. “Tell me what’s going on with your sister.” His eyes darted to the ceiling.

Steffie wondered how much of Valerie’s dilemma she should confide in him, but then remembered Norah’s telling her that Charles had been with them the night of her father’s surgery. More than likely he knew how Colby and Valerie felt about each other.

“She’s in love,” she said after a moment.

“It’s Doc Winston, isn’t it?”

Steffie nodded. “They both seem to have fallen hard.”

“So what’s wrong?”

Steffie wasn’t sure she could explain, when she didn’t entirely understand it herself. So she shrugged and said, “I think Colby wants her to be something she can’t. Valerie’s an incredibly gifted businesswoman. But I gather he wants a woman who’d be happy to stay home and be a housewife—there’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but it just isn’t right for Valerie. It doesn’t look like either one of them is going to compromise.”

“If she loves him, maybe she should be willing to
compromise first,” Charles said, then sipped his coffee. “Take the first step.”

“What about Colby? Why does it always have to be the woman who compromises? Don’t answer that, I already know. Women have been forced to adapt to men’s fickle natures for so many generations that it comes to us naturally,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “Right?”

Charles was silent. “I didn’t come here to argue about your sister,” he finally said.

“I know, it’s just that I found your statement so—” She stopped in midsentence because she didn’t want to fight with him, either. They’d done so much of that. And she didn’t want this encounter to end the way all the others had.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m concerned about her, and I can’t help feeling a bit defensive. I’m pretty sure she’s making arrangements to return to Texas—and I wish she wouldn’t.”

“You haven’t had much time with her, have you?”

Steffie tapped the mug with her spoon, staring into the dregs of her coffee. “That’s not the whole reason I wish she’d stay.” She was silent for a moment. “Leaving your problems behind simply doesn’t work. Not unless you’ve exhausted every possibility of reaching a compromise. In fact, I think leaving can make everything much worse. The problem is, I can’t tell Valerie that. It’s one of those painful realities we each need to discover on our own, I guess. I’m going to talk to her, but I doubt it’ll make any difference.”

Charles’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “I hope she listens.”

Steffie thanked him with a smile. “I hope she does, too, but the three of us seem to share a wide streak of stubbornness.”

Charles rubbed his eyes, and she realized he must be exhausted. “You won’t get an argument out of me,” he said with a tired grin.

“Are you still working as many hours?”

He nodded. “Fifty to sixty a week. We publish twice weekly now and eventually we’re looking to go daily. Some days I feel like I’m married to that paper.”

The word “married” seemed to hang in the air. At one time Steffie had been convinced beyond any doubt that
they’d
be married, she and Charles. It was this unshakable resolve that had created so many difficulties in her relationship with him. Naively, she’d assumed that all she had to do was
show
him they were meant to love each other and after a few short object lessons, he’d agree. Now she knew that life—and love—didn’t work that way.

“Are you still a jack-of-all-trades at the paper?” she asked, remembering that his job meant he had a hand in every aspect of publishing the newspaper—from writing, editing and layout to distribution.

“Everything except the classifieds.”

“Do you still have an intern?”

Charles relaxed against the back of his chair and nodded. “Wendy. She’s a recent graduate from the University of Portland.”

He smiled as he spoke, and a red light went on in front of Steffie’s eyes. “What happened to Larry? I thought you were working with him?” The idea of Charles spending long hours with an attractive college student filled her with a sense of dread.

“No, he moved on to an Internet news service. So, Wendy’s with me now.”

Wendy’s with me now?
Then it came to her. She didn’t need to worry about competing for Charles anymore.

She was out of the running.

“I
s someone here?” Steffie heard her father even before he entered the kitchen. He was wearing his plaid housecoat, cinched at the waist, which emphasized the weight he’d recently lost. His white hair was rumpled from sleep.

“David, hello,” Charles said, standing to shake hands with him. Her father slowly made his way to the table, declining Charles’s gesture of assistance.

“I thought you were still asleep,” Steffie said with a loving smile. She’d missed the worst of the crisis, but her sisters had repeatedly told her how close they’d come to losing their father. Now, every time she was with him, she felt a sense of renewed love and gratitude that his life had been spared.

“How do you expect a man to sleep with such delicious smells coming from the kitchen?” David grumbled good-naturedly. “I swear it’s driving me to distraction.”

“It’s my Italian spaghetti sauce.”

Her father squinted. “But we already ate dinner.”

“I know. The sauce needs to simmer for several hours and it’s even better if you let it sit overnight. I was hoping to surprise you tomorrow evening.”

Her father nodded approvingly. “Sounds great, Princess.” Then he grinned at Charles. “Good to see you, boy.”

“You, too, old man.”

She could tell that they’d often bantered like this. The atmosphere was relaxed, one of shared affection and camaraderie.

“You were in the neighborhood and decided to stop by?” David inquired. It wasn’t likely Charles would come this way except to visit the Bloomfields, and they all knew it.

“I stopped in to check up on you,” Charles said, but his gaze drifted involuntarily toward Steffie. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away.

“That’s the
only
reason?” her father pressed.

“I, uh, brought that for Stephanie,” he said and pointed in the direction of the potted azalea.

“You wouldn’t by any chance happen to be sweet on my little girl, would you?”

“Dad,” Steffie broke in urgently, “how about something to drink? Coffee, tea, a glass of water?”

“Nothing, thanks. I just came to see if I was dreaming about garlic and basil or if this was for real. I’ll leave the two of you to yourselves now.” He stood awkwardly, as though he wasn’t quite steady on his feet. Steffie’s
instincts were to help him, but she knew it was important that he do as much as possible on his own. She stepped back, ready to assist him if necessary.

Charles must have been thinking the same thing because he stood beside her, a concerned look on his face.

“I’ll see you to your room,” she said. The effort of rising from his chair and walking a few paces seemed to deplete her father’s strength.

“Nonsense,” he objected. “You’ve got company. Charles isn’t here to visit me. I heard him say so himself. That was just an excuse so he could bring you that pretty flower.”

“Don’t argue with me, Daddy.”

Her father grumbled, but allowed her to wrap her arm around his waist to support him. She looked over her shoulder at Charles. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

No sooner were they out of the kitchen than David came to a halt, wearing the most delighted grin Steffie had ever seen. “What’s so amusing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. Then he started chuckling softly. “It’s just that your mother was right about this, too. Surprises me, but it shouldn’t.”

“What? Right about what?”

“You and Charles.”

“Daddy, there’s nothing between us! We’re hardly even friends.”

“Perhaps, but all that’s about to change. Soon, too. Very soon.”

Her father continued to mutter under his breath, as pleased as ever. Steffie closed her ears to his remarks, knowing that he had to be referring to his dream—the time he’d supposedly spent tiptoeing around the afterlife, gathering information. It hadn’t bothered her nearly as much when he was going on about Valerie and Colby, but now that it was her turn, she felt decidedly uneasy.

“Charles isn’t here to see me,” she insisted. “Bringing me the azalea didn’t mean anything. He got a new advertising account, that’s all. I’m sure he intended to give it to you, but you were sleeping.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere, and besides, she didn’t want to keep Charles waiting. She suspected he’d be leaving soon, anyway. Her father sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes curious as he smiled up at her. “I might have guessed. I wasn’t sure what to think when your mother mentioned you and Charles. She told me you’ve been in love with him for quite some time. She’s right, isn’t she?”

Steffie kissed his brow and ignored his question. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Good heavens, no! You hurry back to your young man. He’s waiting for you. Has been for years.”

“Good night, Dad,” she said pointedly.

Her father’s grin broadened. “By golly, your mother was right,” she heard him mutter again. “I should’ve known. Forgive me, Grace, for doubting.”

Outside the bedroom door, Steffie started to tremble.
Without directly saying so, her father was telling her what she’d most dreaded hearing, and at the same time what she desired above all.

Whether it was the result of fantasy, intuition or, as he believed, spiritual intervention, he’d become convinced that she’d be marrying Charles. The same way he was so certain about what would happen between Valerie and Colby Winston. And Steffie wasn’t any more confident about her older sister’s relationship than she was about her own with Charles.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Charles told her when she rejoined him in the kitchen.

She raised her eyes to his, dismayed that he’d noticed. She needed to sit down. He was right, it
had
been a scare, listening to her father talk like that about the two of them, making marriage sound imminent.

“What is it? Is your father okay?”

She nodded. “Oh, he’s fine, growing stronger every day…”

“It’s good to see him smile again.”

Steffie nodded and glanced at the simmering pot of sauce. Anything to keep her eyes away from Charles.

“What’s really wrong?” he asked her. His concern was gentle and undemanding, and it touched her heart. This was the man she’d always known him to be. The man she’d fallen in love with—the man she’d never been able to forget.

Had it been anyone else, she would have laughed off her father’s words. She would have joked with her
“destined” husband-to-be about how her father was bent on playing matchmaker.

She couldn’t do that with Charles, not when she’d so blatantly played the role herself. He’d assume, and not without justification, that she was up to her old tricks.

“It’s nothing,” she said, forcing herself to smile brightly. “I can’t help thinking how lucky we are to have him with us again.”

Charles studied her intently. “You’re
sure
there’s nothing wrong?”

“Of course.” She looked at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“There isn’t.” She smiled, to take the sting from her words. “You’ve already done so much. We’re all indebted to you…you’ve been wonderful.”

“You make me sound like some saint. Trust me, Stephanie, no one’s going to canonize me—especially with the things I’m thinking right now.” He was behind her before she even realized he’d moved. His hands were on her shoulders and he drew her back and slipped his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in deeply, as though to inhale her scent.

Deluged with warm sensation, Steffie closed her eyes and savored the moment. She’d never believed this could happen. She dared not believe it even now.

It would be so easy to turn into his arms, to bury herself in the comfort he offered. She’d dreamed of this for so long. But now that it was here, she was afraid.

Her hands folded over his, which were joined at her middle. “I—the flowers are…”

“A gesture of good faith.”

His words confused her. He must have sensed her uncertainty because he spoke again in a low voice. “Let’s start all over again, shall we? From the beginning.”

“I— I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He softly kissed the side of her neck, then released her and turned her around so they were face to face. “Hello there, my name’s Charles Tomaselli. I understand you’re Stephanie Bloomfield. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand to her, which she took. If his eyes hadn’t been so serious, she would have burst into peals of laughter.

“Charles, you say? Anyone call you Charlie?”

“Hardly ever. Anyone call you Steffie?”

“Only when I was much younger,” she teased. “A mere kid.”

“I understand you’re recently back in town. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to notice, but there’ve been a few changes in Orchard Valley. How about if I drive you around, show you the place?”

She hesitated. “When?”

“No time like the present.”

“But we’ve just met.”

“I’m hoping that won’t stand in your way. It shouldn’t. I’m completely trustworthy.”

“Then I’ll accept your kind invitation.”

“Do you want to bring a sweater?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He reached for her hand, his fingers entwined with hers as he led her toward the front door. It felt like the most natural thing in the world for them to be together.

They bounded down the steps, carefree and laughing. Charles opened the car door for her, helped her inside and without warning leaned forward to kiss her. Their lips met briefly, then lingered. When he broke away, Charles seemed surprised himself. Steffie glanced up at him, thinking she might read some sign of regret in his eyes, but there was none. Only a free-flowing happiness that reflected her own feelings exactly.

“Where were you last night?” Norah asked late the next morning. “I came home from Julie’s wedding shower and you were nowhere to be found.”

Steffie spread a thin layer of her sister’s strawberry jam across her English muffin. “I went out for a while.” She didn’t add any details because her father was sitting at the table, lingering over his cup of coffee and the paper. He’d make all the wrong assumptions if he knew she’d been with Charles.

They’d spent nearly two hours driving around the area. Charles had taken her past several new businesses, including fast-food restaurants and some specialty boutiques. He’d shown her the recently constructed six-plex movie theater, a new housing complex and a brand-new mall on the outskirts of town. The drive had been highlighted by an ongoing commentary that included the latest gossip.

Steffie hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in ages. Charles had been entertaining and fun, and he seemed to take pains never to refer to their past differences.

It was late when they’d gotten back to the house, but they sat in the car for another thirty minutes, talking, before Steffie went inside.

She’d fully expected to lie awake half the night savoring the time she’d spent with him, but to her astonishment, she’d fallen asleep immediately.

“Steffie was out with Charles,” their father announced without looking up from his paper. “She didn’t get home until late.”

Steffie feverishly worked the knife back and forth across the muffin, spreading the already thin layer of jam even thinner.

“Charles Tomaselli?” Norah repeated as though she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

“Two girls and a boy,” David returned cheerfully.

“I beg your pardon?” Steffie asked.

“You and Charles,” he answered. “You’re going to get married and within the next few years have your own family.”

Rather than argue with her father or listen to more of this, Steffie glanced at her sister. “I need to do a few errands around town, but then I’m driving to Portland. Does anyone need anything?”

“Portland?” her father echoed. “Whatever for?”

“I thought it was time I applied for my doctorate and a part-time teaching position at the university. I
am
qualified, Dad, as you well know since you paid dearly for my education.”

“But you can’t worry about finding work now.”

“I realize the country’s in a recession, but—”

“I’m not talking about the economy,” he said. “You’re going to be married before the end of the summer, so don’t go complicating everything with a job.”

Steffie could feel the heat leap into her face. He seemed so certain of a marriage between her and Charles, and that exasperated her no end. “Dad,
please
listen—”

“It doesn’t make sense for you to be starting a job or a course and then taking time off for a honeymoon.”

Steffie wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to humor him anymore. This had gone on long enough, but she didn’t know what to say. She was aware that her father claimed everything would work out between Valerie and Colby, too. After seeing her older sister’s pale, drawn features that morning, Steffie had no faith in her father’s words. Not that she’d really ever believed him…

“I don’t actually expect to make a lot of contacts, since most of the offices won’t be open on a Saturday, but I’m hoping to look around, check out the library, get a few names. Obtaining a teaching position now might be difficult, anyway, especially for the fall session. But I’d like to get started on a thesis soon.”

“In other words you’re going to Portland, no matter what I say?”

“Exactly.”

“Then go shopping when you’re done,” her father
suggested. “Try on a few wedding dresses. Both you and your sister are going to need ’em. Soon.”

Norah was watching Steffie closely and spoke the moment their father had left the kitchen.

“What are we going to do?” Norah pleaded.

“I don’t have a clue,” Steffie said, fully agreeing with her sister’s concern. “If Dad insists on believing—”

“Not Dad,” Norah blurted out impatiently. “I’m talking about Valerie.”

Steffie’s exasperation with her father was quelled by her compassion for Valerie. “What
can
we do?”

Norah’s face was pinched with worry. “That’s the problem. I don’t know, but we can’t let her leave town like this. She came down early this morning…. I decided I had to tell her about Colby dating Sherry Waterman.”