Rekindled Dreams (10 page)

She shook off that tempting thought. “If I didn’t earlier, I want to thank you for helping. The outfit is great, and when I look at you, I get a perfect picture of Brady.” Vena scanned the bedroom. “Pretend this is the private sitting room of a hotel. You sit on that chair and act like you’ve been waiting.”

Finn moved across the room and sat, resting his hat on his knee. “What’s next?”

“I’ll go into the hall and make my entrance. I already told you the set-up for this meeting, right? We’ll make up the conversation as we go along.” She stepped toward the door and then peeked over her shoulder, her heart warming at the sight of him assuming different poses in his chair. “Remember, Brady doesn’t know what to expect when that door opens.”

Finn frowned. “Tell me your character’s name again.”

“At this point, it’s Lola Danforth.” She paused, wondering if explaining the whole character development would help his acting. “Previously known as Lola LaDonna, but that was when she was a madam.”

“A madam?” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Interesting. Anything else I need to know?”

“Just that she’s desperate to improve her life. This marriage of convenience may be her last chance.”

Finn nodded and jerked a thumb at the door. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Vena moved out to the hall and smoothed the red satin of her ball gown. She tapped twice on the door.

“Enter.” Finn spoke in a lower tone.

Butterflies attacked her stomach, and she took a deep breath. As soon as she opened the door and stepped inside, she wished she’d grabbed a purse or a shawl to hold on to. She pressed her lips into a modest smile. “Mr. McNeel?”

“Ma’am, you must be Miss Danforth.” Wearing a reserved smile, he approached her, hat held at his left side, and extended his right hand. “I hope your stagecoach ride from St. Louis wasn’t too unpleasant.”

His hand swallowed hers, and her attention was drawn to his intense gaze. His face was schooled into a serious expression, making him seem remote and mysterious. She searched his eyes for a hint of their familiar joking twinkle. A gentle squeeze of his hand prompted her to speak. “Although a bit dusty, the ride was tolerable. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“If I had known what I was waiting on, I might have been more anxious.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “May I say, Miss Danforth, you are lovelier than I had hoped?”

Finn’s voice, smooth as molasses, caressed her ears, and her stomach tumbled with her building excitement. Vena almost groaned at how thickly Finn was laying on the Irish charm. She averted her gaze, her mind racing for a response. Lola would know the importance of a memorable impression. Releasing his hand, she dragged one finger along the inside of his palm before clasping her hands in front of her waist. “Thank you, sir. You are ever so kind.”

His eyes narrowed, and a smile jerked at the corner of his mouth. “Excuse my manners, ma’am.” He reached for her hand and tucked it into his elbow, escorting her across
the room. “This sitting room seems inadequate for proper courting. Of course, you must take the chair.”

Vena ducked her head to hide a smile. He was really diving headfirst into this skit, and his gentlemanly manner was very convincing. Carefully arranging her skirts, she sat and placed her hands in her lap, eager for what came next.

Finn tossed his hat on the bed and grabbed the inside edges of his vest. “Miss Danforth, I am a man who believes in shooting from the hip. I intended my letters to be clear on the conditions of our…” He rocked on the heels of his boots. “I hate using the word ‘contract,’ that’s much too businesslike. What word would you prefer?”

The sight of his impressive pose thrilled her, and her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly aware of how closely this pretend scene paralleled their current agreement, she studied his face. “How about arrangement?”

“Arrangement? That does sound more genteel.” With a wink, he dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Vena nodded, suppressing a smile. If he only knew how sexy he looked and how the rough, deep timbre of his voice sent chills up and down her spine. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“As I said, my last letter spelled out my expectations. Have any questions occurred about those requests during your journey?”

He was throwing the ball back into her court. She peeked at his expression, but he remained impassive, his features carefully schooled. Vena told herself to think this through carefully. Lola was a woman who really wanted—no, needed—this marriage to gain respectability. Could Brady have had second thoughts? Thinking and acting like Lola made Vena bolder than normal.

Unable to resist, Vena connected with his gaze and slowly rose from the chair. “I do believe your requirements were clear, sir.” With each statement, she stepped toward him, her excitement sending a shiver over her skin. “Upon mutual agreement after this first meeting, we proceed to an immediate wedding ceremony, rather than a proxy marriage in the East. I presume that was your way to escape if you deemed me unsuitable.” She dipped her chin and gazed from under lowered eyelids. “Based on what I see tonight, I am in favor of our marriage.”

She reached his side, ran a hand up his arm, and then circled behind him. “I am to manage your household and act as your hostess.” Her hand ran along the width of his shoulders, and her insides quivered at the images that ran through her mind. “I come to you with no encumbrances, financial or emotional.”

With slow moves, her hand trailed down his right arm, and his muscles bunched beneath her fingers. That her touch caused the reaction set her blood racing. “In public, I will be as attentive as a loving wife should.” She leaned down and brushed her lips across the back of his hand and peered up from under her lashes.

“I will perform my wifely obligations whenever, and wherever, you may desire.” Emboldened by the playacting, she pushed for more. Her tongue slid between Finn’s thumb and finger, and she inhaled a hint of woodsy aftershave. She eased away, holding his fingers until the distance separated them, being sure to keep her expression as prim as she could manage.

His wide-eyed gaze was priceless. His skin flushed a deep red, and a muscle in his jaw jerked.

****

If he didn’t release the sexual tension Vena had created, Finn knew he would explode. Her seductive performance had really thrown him for a loop, but he’d reveled at the feel of her caressing hands on his body. And the sight of rounded breasts almost spilling from the neckline of her gown had his body going stiff all over.

He closed the distance and took her hands in his, rubbing thumbs across her knuckles. “We must do something about that bare finger.” He released her right hand and dug into his vest pocket, pulling out a ring and slipping it onto her finger. “Your understanding of our arrangement is accurate. This ring proclaims our engagement.”

He raised his free hand to touch the loose hair ringing her face. With a tendril between his fingers, he grazed his thumb along her cheek. “So soft.”

Running fingers around to her nape, he skimmed the pad of his thumb over her erratically beating pulse. The evidence she was as affected as he by their role playing tightened his chest. “I intended to add a limit of one year’s time to the contract. But after meeting you, I fear that’s not long enough to satisfy me.” He watched her eyes round and felt her throat contract. “I propose we seal our arrangement with a kiss.”

With a triumphant smile, she nodded, eyelids drooping closed.

Tempted to give her as good as she’d given him, he restrained himself. Instead, he leaned close, inhaling her citrusy scent, and brushed a soft kiss just to the side of her lips. When he did kiss her—and after the swirling sensual heat they’d just created, he knew it was inevitable—he wanted her to know it was as
Finnian Quaid, not as the Old West character he pretended to be.

Denying himself the temptation she represented, he whispered, “Well, how was that?”

Vena jerked and opened her eyes. Her dreamy gaze flicked around the room before settling back on his face. “Th—” She cleared her throat. “The famous Irish blarney, right?” She blinked and shook her head. “You’re quick on your feet, Finn.”

He expelled a frustrated breath and moved to the bed, lowering himself to the edge. “Just like old times.”

The skin on the bridge of her nose wrinkled. “What old times?”

“When we ran over our lines for the plays in high school. We’d sit out on your family’s porch swing.” He smiled at the memory. Even then, he’d enjoyed an audience listening to what he had to say. A clue to his ultimate profession. “Remember?”

Vena dropped to the chair, her lips turned down. “That wasn’t me.”

“Sure, it was. I remember you being there when I practiced Romeo and Juliet’s balcony scene.” He turned and angled a leg onto the mattress. “What was the name of the character I played in The Tempest?”

“You practiced with Thia.” Her arms crossed over her chest.

Uh-oh. Big mistake. “Was it?” He sat straighter and spun his hat between his fingers, angling his head to glance her way. “But I remember you being there. You must have had a smaller role that I helped with.”

“Nope. I was never on stage.”

From downstairs came the peal of the telephone.

Irritated at the interruption, he pressed his point. “I remember seeing you at rehearsals when I waited to walk Thia home. You joined us a few times.”

Her fingers plucked at the fabric of her skirt and shook it. “I worked with the costumes. Never qualified for a speaking part.” She shrugged and lifted her chin, piercing him with a glare. “Remember, my stutter?”

The phone rang again. “Damn, I’ve got to get that. Ma hates getting the answering machine if someone is here. We’ll continue this later.” He wanted to touch her, to reassure her that he’d enjoyed their playacting. But, at the moment, she looked as fragile as a porcelain doll.

WITH QUICK MOVES, VENA
shimmied out of the ball gown and donned her own floral dress. Pet peeve number one in life was being compared to her older sister. The age-old jealousy gripped her stomach and held tight.

Just when she’d gotten the courage to use her museum scenario to play out a Finn-centered fantasy, she got upstaged. Finn had to ruin it by confusing her with
Thia. Everybody remembered Thia.

What she needed was distance between this room and its recent memories. Careful to be quiet as she descended the stairs, she sneaked out the kitchen door and dashed for the back gate. Gazing down the alley, she paused to notice the differences between home and Dry Creek. Here, people kept their lawns mowed and edged, flowerbeds were well tended, and fences freshly painted. Here, people really cared about how their property looked to the world.

Even along the back alley, a place seen by only a few, clean, undented garbage cans, flowering bushes, and full-grown trees were pruned flush with the fence line. A little difference, but the gesture spoke volumes about the feeling of community in this small town.

“
Whatcha lookin’ at, lady?”

“Oh.” Vena jumped at the squeaky voice. She turned and looked down into the puzzled face of a freckled boy about eight years old.

Chubby fingers gripped the handle of a Radio Flyer wagon half-filled with aluminum cans. His crooked baseball cap flattened straight, brown hair to his forehead and one shoelace dragged in the dirt.

“Hi. Um, I’m just thinking. Seeing this clean alley makes me think of what it all means.”

The boy stared down the alley for a few moments and then squinted his brown eyes at Vena. “Don’t mean nothin’.” He shrugged and continued walking. After a few steps, he turned and retraced his steps. “Hey, lady, got any soda cans?”

Vena nodded and swept her arm toward the house. “Got a few in the kitchen. You don’t have to call me lady, my name’s Vena. What’s yours?”

The boy stopped. “Donny Taylor. I live up the block, in that big blue house.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and waited.

Although embarrassed she’d been caught daydreaming, Vena was reluctant to drop the subject. A theme floated around her mind and she didn’t want to lose it. “Donny, have you ever noticed how neat and tidy this alley is? I like how everyone takes pride in their possessions. Just look at the trash cans—they’re lined up carefully along the fence, not just tossed around.”

Donny gazed upward and wrinkled his nose. “That’s the Galvan’s job. Some folks like the cans in a certain place, and Fred and Joe put them there.”

“The cans still have their matching lids.” She waved a hand toward the cans and gazed down the alley. “That’s an amazing sight, don’t you think? We don’t have cans in California anymore, everyone has big plastic bins. If you squint, these ones look a bit like pudgy sentries, guarding the entrance to the owner’s property. Maybe there’s a secret password—”

“Who are you talking to?” A woman’s voice cut into Vena’s rambling.

Vena whirled and clasped a hand to her throat. “Aunt
Tootie, you scared me. I’m talking to Donny over there.” She waved a hand.

Tootie
leaned over her picket fence as far as her ample bosom allowed, her head turned in the direction Vena indicated. “Who?”

“You know, Donny Taylor. He wants...” She glanced to her left and did a double take. The only reminder of his escape was a swirl of dust. She raised a hand to her face and covered her eyes. “I scared away that poor child before he got his cans.”

Tootie joined Vena in the alley and squinted in the same direction. “Elfie dear, how long have you been standing in the sun?”

“Not long.” She lowered her hand and smiled. “I was talking to Donny about the orderliness of the alley...oh, never mind.”

Tootie stepped close and grasped Vena’s elbow. “Come inside and have some tea. We haven’t had much time for a chat.”

A stab of guilt ran through Vena. This was the first time seeing the sweet lady since her midnight escape. She allowed herself to be guided through
Tootie’s gate, past fragrant roses, through an archway lined with heady wisteria, and into the house. All the while, she tried to think of how to smooth over her hasty departure.

Tootie
chattered away about some relative using her backyard for a wedding and just how she felt about that. “Here we are, watch your step. We’ll sit in the nook where it’s cool. Your face is a bit flushed.”

Vena pressed both palms to her heated cheeks. “Probably my embarrassment over sending that child running. My talk about the trash cans guarding the alley gates must have sounded a little crazy.”

Tootie held the kettle under the faucet and waited for it to fill. “Oh, pish-posh. Donny probably heard his mama calling.” She struck a match and lit the flame under the kettle. “Neighbors three blocks away can hear that woman’s yell when she wants something. Personally, I think it’s all those cigarettes that make her voice that deep.”

She straightened and blew out the match. “Don’t you worry. He’ll be around in a day or so to pick up those cans. Real resourceful little guy. He’s been helping out since the railroad laid off his daddy last month.”

Vena’s head swam with the wealth of personal information Tootie had at her fingertips. Her knowledge seemed like an invasion of privacy, but Tootie treated it in a matter-of-fact manner.

Tootie
set a china cup and saucer in front of her, and then lowered herself into the chair. A plate of homemade sugar cookies sat between them on the gingham tablecloth.

“Are these the same kind you made when I was a kid?” She bit into one and savored the crumbly sweetness flavored with a hint of lemon. “
Mmm, as good as I remembered.”

“Have another.” The older woman smiled and broke a cookie in half, dipping one end in her tea. “You’re too skinny. I never got out of the habit of an after-school snack. Once the kids were married and gone, I still made myself a pot of tea and rested a bit before starting supper for Herbert and me.” Her eyes misted. “Seven years and three months since he passed, and I still miss the old coot.”

Vena reached across the table and patted Tootie’s soft hand. She spoke past the scratchiness in her throat. “I was sorry to hear about his death.”

Rummaging in her apron pocket,
Tootie pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Thanks, sweetie. He was a good man.”

The perfect opening. For just a second, Vena gathered her stray thoughts. “Speaking of Herbert, I wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly. I’m allergic to something in that office, and I just couldn’t stay the night.”

“It’s okay by me. Ruth was a trifle miffed, but the way Finnian told the story, you were on death’s door.”

He’d defended her to that extent? “I was feeling ill.”

“Enough of that. What I want to know is, when’s your big day?”

Vena stilled. What had
Tootie heard? “My big day?”

“Your wedding.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Usually when a woman wears a diamond on her engagement finger, she’s engaged. When you’re engaged, you usually plan a wedding, and so…”

Vena squirmed in her chair. That stupid ring was causing nothing but trouble. Finn didn’t want to make the announcement until the weekend.
What am I supposed to say?
She hated lying to one of Nana’s good friends but needed to honor her agreement with Finn. “We haven’t exactly set a date yet, we’re enjoying the engagement.” A partial truth.

“Oh, no sizzle.”
Tootie rested a forearm on the table and leaned forward. “Not hot for his body, huh?”

Tootie’s
words conjured up the playacting scene, and Vena’s heartbeat increased. Less than an hour ago, she had definitely been hot for the man. “Where do you hear expressions like that?”

“I watch my share of the soaps.” Her expression was smug as she shrugged. “I know what goes on these days.”

Vena focused on stretching the facts of her recent relationship with Nick. “He’s concerned about finances and wants to wait until our savings reaches a particular goal.”

“Get rid of him.”
Tootie waved a dismissive hand. “He’s not the man for you, Elfie.”

“What do you mean?”

“He sounds too rigid. I remember the starry-eyed little girl who read fairytales and played dress-up in Gwen’s tea gowns.” She waved a hand in Vena’s direction. “And look, you still like that style.”

“Can’t deny that.” Vena glanced at her clothes. “Nana’s dresses were so beautiful. I wish I had some of them now.” With a sigh, she propped her chin in a hand and reached for another cookie. “Remember the summer party when Nana and Bridget put on that marvelous tea party and served Moira and me lemonade in the Quaid’s gazebo? You were there.”

“Yes, I was. I remember envying Gwen that day.”

Vena sipped her tea. “You did? Why?”

“It’s silly to talk about this so many years later.”

“I’d like to hear.”

Tootie heaved a big sigh. “When I was growing up, I hoped for a daughter so I could teach her what I held dear. You know, like a small part of me would be inside her always. How I wished my Belinda had just a fraction of the romantic streak like you and Gwen had.” She rested her chin in her hand and gazed at the wallpaper. “But she was too sensible for my fairy stories.”

A pang ran through Vena at the sad note in
Tootie’s voice. “I’m sorry, Auntie.”

The older woman straightened and reached for the teapot. “People are different, and we don’t get to choose who our children are.”

“Or our parents,” Vena muttered.

Tootie
gazed over her half-glasses with a stern look. “But we do choose who we marry. I say Mr. Conservative Finances is all wrong for you. You need someone more spontaneous, someone who likes to play. Come to think of it, someone like our Finnian.”

Vena choked on her cookie and gulped down some tea. “Why Finn?”

“Men like Finn like to have a good time.” Her eyes twinkled, and a smile quirked at her lips. “What were you two doing dressed in those costumes earlier? That seemed like fun.”

“You saw us?”

“See that window up there?” She leaned back in her chair and pointed to the upstairs window at the back of The Shamrocks.

Vena followed the line indicated by
Tootie’s outstretched finger and recognized the flowered curtains of her bedroom.
Oh, just great.
Would Finn be mad about their audience?

Tootie
breezed on. “Well, your curtains were wide open. I was sitting at this table cutting out coupons from last Sunday’s paper.”

Vena grimaced. “What could you see?”

“Finn was dressed like a gambler, and you had on a red ball gown. By the way, that dress does wonders for your bust. When you stood so close and peered up into his eyes, the pair of you looked like Rhett and Scarlet.” She clasped her hands under her chin and sighed. “That was the best movie.”

As Vena stared at
Tootie’s kitchen wallpaper, the trailing green vines and purple grape clusters blurred in and out of focus. How could she explain this seemingly bizarre behavior in a rational way?

Worse, she’d gotten Finn involved. Again. Just what his image needed—rumors of a candidate for state senator spending his afternoons playing dress-up. By rights, she should just tell people about her museum project and take the heat if her writing didn’t work out. That was fairer than risking damage to Finn’s political chances. Her thoughts whirled. “
Tootie, Finn and I were—”

The buzzer above the swinging kitchen door grated out a signal, startling them both.

“Oh, bother.” Tootie huffed out a breath as she scooted her chair away from the table. “Someone’s at the front door. I’ll be right back.” She shuffled across the multi-colored linoleum tiles toward the living room.

Once
Tootie was out of sight, Vena shoved back her own chair and untangled her foot from around the straight wooden leg. Her outstretched hand was just inches from the back door knob when she heard Tootie’s sing-song call. “Don’t go anywhere, Elvena Larke Fenton. I’m dying to hear the rest of your story.”

Jeez, the lady must have x-ray vision. Guilt, plus a healthy dose of respect for
Tootie, made Vena retreat to her chair. She grabbed another cookie and broke it onto her saucer, scattering crumbs over the tablecloth.

A murmur of voices floated in from the direction of the front room. Vena’s thoughts centered on devising a story to satisfy
Tootie’s curiosity, as well as keep Finn’s career from sinking before it officially launched. Overhearing her name and the speaker’s shocked tone, Vena crept to the doorway and eavesdropped.

Shoot. She couldn’t hear anything. She tiptoed toward the canning pantry at the other end of the room and slowly eased open the door. Through the crack, she spotted
Tootie standing in the open front doorway talking with...who? Vena mumbled a curse. The door blocked the visitor, but now she could hear what was being said.

“—and she scared off sweet little Donny Taylor.”
Tootie’s stage whisper held pity. “Talking about trash cans in guard uniforms and secret passwords. That poor child couldn’t have run away any faster. I brought her inside for some tea and my lemon sugar cookies. Hits the spot every time.”