The Ties That Bind (2 page)

"An interesting idea."

"Of course," she teased daringly, "you might have to sacrifice a few luxuries like the Porsche."

"I don't consider the Porsche a luxury."

"Oh." Before Shannon could think of a response, they arrived at the far end of the beach where a craggy point thrust out into the foaming water. The distant point was lost in the fog. Without a word Shannon and Garth halted and stood staring into the mist.

"You can't even tell where the land ends and the water begins," Garth finally observed.

"I know. It's the kind of scene where you half expect a ghost ship to suddenly appear out of the mist. An old-fashioned sailing ship, perhaps. One that's still flying the Jolly Roger."

"You have got an imagination, haven't you?" Garth turned and started back along the beach.

Shannon took a couple of extra quick paces to catch up with him. "Look, if you're not doing anything this evening, would you like to come over to my place for dinner? I'm having a couple of friends in, and you'd be quite welcome. Nothing fancy, I promise. Annie and Dan are very comfortable people."

"Annie and Dan?"

"Annie does
macrame
and Dan writes. He actually sold his first book this year. I'm sure you'd enjoy their company." Damn it, she wished she didn't sound quite so anxious. Shannon had intended the invitation to be supremely casual. Suddenly another thought occurred to her.

"Perhaps you work in the evenings?"

"No. Not this evening."

"I see." She floundered, wondering what to say next. He wasn't accepting or declining the invitation. It made things awkward. Writers were often a little difficult, she reminded herself. One couldn't always expect normal manners from many of them. She had to make this as
openended
as possible. "Don't worry about making up your mind right away. I mean, there will be plenty of food, so if you decide to drop over at the last minute, feel free. Annie and Dan will be arriving around six."

"I'll keep it in mind."

So much for first contact, Shannon thought ruefully. If she had any sense, she would back off right now. It was clear the man was not the sociable type. A part of her wondered why she felt so compelled to draw him out. It was probably going to be a complete waste of time. Besides, she wasn't quite sure what she would do with Garth Sheridan if she succeeded in getting him to open up to her. She came to a halt on the beach and smiled with what she hoped was a casual charm.

"I guess I'd better get back to work. I have a lot of designing ahead of me today. I'm refining some sketches for the tote bags I told you about. See you around six, if you feel like dinner." Without waiting for a response she was certain wouldn't be forthcoming, anyway, Shannon nodded once and hurried up the short cliff.

At the top she turned to look down at him. Sheridan was standing on the beach, staring up at her. Even as she watched, a tendril of fog curled around him, partially veiling him from her sight. Shannon turned again and started toward her cottage. She had the oddest sensation of fleeing from something she didn't understand, and at the same time, she could feel the tug of invisible bonds urging her to go back and try again to break through the barriers surrounding Garth Sheridan.

Shannon was wise enough to recognize that some mysteries were better left alone. Unfortunately, perhaps, for her, she didn't think she was going to be able to leave Sheridan alone. Something in him was calling her, demanding further contact. She felt a little like a moth drawn to a shrouded flame.

By
six o'clock
that evening Shannon was convinced Garth Sheridan would not accept her invitation. With a curious sense of disappointment she finished setting the trestle table in front of the brick fireplace. The long runners that formed place mats had been screened in an exotic bird motif that she had designed three months ago during a long winter's weekend. She liked the birds with their otherworldly crests and flamboyant tail feathers and had idly considered using the design on a commercial batch of place mats.

She heard Dan
Turcott's
car crunching on the gravel in front of the cottage just as she was setting out the ceramic wine goblets that had been made by a friend in the town of Mendocino. Telling herself that she didn't really care if her reclusive neighbor failed to show, Shannon went to the door to greet her friends.

Annie O'Connor, her seven-months-pregnant figure outlined in a hand-embroidered jumper, reached the door first.

"Hi, Shannon, I'm starving," she said, grinning. Annie was the perfect image of an earth mother. There was a round fullness to her that, enhanced now by pregnancy, seemed to be the walking embodiment of the fertile female. She wore her long hair in braids, made her own clothes, her own bread and her own granola. She was close to Shannon's age, which was twenty-nine, but the two women bore little resemblance.

Instead of Annie's bosomy, motherly roundness, Shannon was slender with small, pert breasts and a graceful but not overly generous flare of thigh. She wore her seal-brown hair parted in the middle and falling in a casual curve that ended at the shoulder. The sweep of dark hair framed wide, heavily fringed hazel eyes and a soft mouth. There was a faint sprinkling of freckles across the assertive nose that lent a note of whimsy to Shannon's features. The whimsical motif was echoed in the snug-fitting jeans, the silk-screened sweatshirt and the well-broken-in leather loafers she wore.

"You've been starving for the past seven months." Dan laughed indulgently as he came around the hood of the old Volkswagen Bug he had lovingly maintained. He was a couple of years older than Annie, dark eyed and dark haired with a full mustache.

"You know how it is when you're eating for two," Annie said, patting her stomach complacently as she stepped through the door. "Umm. Smells delicious. What are we having. Shannon?"

"Pasta with olives and basil sauce and a salad. I got the basil fresh from Becky today. Don't worry, there's plenty."

Dan was smiling knowingly behind his mustache as he examined the fourth place setting at the table. "Expecting someone else?"

"Not any longer. If he were going to show I think he would have been here by now. He's a writer. Possibly a poet. You know the type, all dark and brooding and unpredictable. You can never tell what they'll do. I left the invitation open but I get the feeling he-"

The short double knock on the door she had just closed startled Shannon so much that she nearly jumped.

"Looks like your friend couldn't resist a free meal," Annie remarked.

"What starving writer could?" Dan asked philosophically as Shannon opened the door. He scanned the tall, dark figure on the threshold and added half under his breath to Annie, "This one looks like he needs his groceries on a regular basis."

Shannon ignored the comment as she smiled up at Garth. "I'm so glad you could come," she said, unaware of just how much welcoming warmth there was in her voice. She stood aside for him to enter and then hurriedly made introductions, which her visitors accepted politely.

"Sit down, all of you," Shannon requested, feeling remarkably happy as she hurried toward the kitchen with a new sense of anticipation. "I'll get the drinks. Annie, you're still on fruit juice?"

"Two more months of it and then I'll be free," Annie confirmed as Dan helped her gently into a chair.

Garth said nothing as he gravely took the goblet of
Almaden
Mountain White that Shannon offered. His crystal-colored eyes met hers for an instant, and she thought she saw a remote curiosity there. Whatever questions were going through his head, he didn't voice them. In fact, he didn't say much at all. He seemed content to sit in the overstuffed chair and drink his wine while he watched the other three with a distant gaze. It was only when Dan said something about his writing that Garth asked his first question.

"What sort of books do you write?"

"Those trashy glitz novels. You know the type. Everyone's sleeping with everyone else and all the characters are thoroughly neurotic." Dan grinned cheerfully.

"I don't read much fiction" was all Garth said. There was a moment of blank silence.

The conversation might have gone on the rocks then and there if it hadn't been for Annie. She started chatting determinedly about the crib she had located for the baby.

"Dan and I are going to refinish it next week. It's going to be lovely. Shannon, I was thinking of having you design some stencils I could use to decorate it. Interested? I could trade you a couple of
macrame
pot hangers."

"I'll be glad to do the stencils, but consider it a baby-shower gift. What would you like? Bunnies and teddy bears?"

"Are you kidding? I want some of those great illuminated letters you put on your greeting cards and totes. With any luck the kid will grow up learning how to read Medieval Latin."

"Not a very useful accomplishment," Garth observed.

There were a few seconds of awkwardness before Dan intervened to say, "Shannon tells me you're a writer, Garth."

Garth slanted a mildly reproving look at Shannon, who immediately got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I wonder what made her think that?"

"Oh, Shannon has a rather vivid imagination," Dan said dryly. "I take it you're not a writer, then?"

"No. I run an electronics firm in San Jose."

Shannon nearly fell off her chair in astonishment. A businessman? Her dark, brooding poet? "I would never have guessed that."

"Then maybe your imagination isn't quite as vivid as your friends seem to think." Garth managed to soften the sarcasm but just barely. Before Shannon could think of a suitable response he was turning to Annie. "When is the baby due?"

Annie beamed, more than happy to discuss the impending event. "At the end of August. We're very excited." She transferred her smile to Dan, who grinned back briefly. "Fortunately Dan has just sold his first book, and the publishers seem quite anxious for another. Between the books and the
macrame
and some sewing work I'm going to be doing on Shannon's tote bags, I think we're going to be fine. Babies can be expensive, you know."

"So I've heard." Garth sipped his wine and then asked bluntly, "When are you two going to get married? If you're going to have a kid,
Turcott
, you owe it and its mother your name."

Shannon shot to her feet, every social instinct she possessed in full panic. "Dinner's almost ready. Annie, you and Dan go ahead and sit down while I get the salad out of the refrigerator. Annie, you sit on this side-it's more comfortable. Dan, you can have the bench near the fireplace. Why don't you put something on the stereo before you sit down? The Brandenburg Concertos would be nice, I think." With a determined expression she rounded on Garth. "You can give me a hand in the kitchen," she said very pointedly.

Garth hesitated. Then he obediently set down his goblet and followed Shannon into the kitchen. The joyous strains of one of the Bach concertos spilled out behind him as Shannon marched him into a corner and hissed, "Annie and Dan do not believe in marriage. They are a very devoted couple and are a good deal happier than many people I've known who are married. They are guests in my house, and I would appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from embarrassing them."

Garth said coolly, "If they don't believe in marriage, why does the subject embarrass them? I can understand why two adults would choose to live together instead of marrying. That's their business. But if your friend Dan is going to father a child, then he owes the kid and the mother the protection of his name."

"For heaven's sake! Don't you have any social tact at all? You just announced you were a businessman. Surely you've been obliged to learn some manners along the line. The business world has a few minimal requirements for social behavior."

The faintest trace of amusement came and went in his gaze as Garth asked softly, "Would I be exempt from such requirements as long as you thought I was a writer or a poet?"

"No. Even for a poet, you went too far in there. I just hope they can't hear us now." Shannon whirled and picked up a basket of sourdough bread. "Here. Make yourself useful. And try not to bring up the subject of marriage again."

Garth took the basket. "It shouldn't be hard. I'm not too fond of the subject myself." He walked back into the living room, leaving Shannon feeling intensely exasperated.

She had been so certain he possessed a deep, artistic soul. He had a lot of gall turning out to be a straitlaced businessman. From Silicon Valley, yet. It was incredible. Shaking her head over her own wayward imagination, Shannon went to the stove to finish the pasta preparations.

The rest of the evening passed in relative peace. Once Shannon was convinced Garth wasn't going to bring up any more socially unacceptable subjects she began to relax again. For their parts, Annie and Dan seemed quite at ease. The pasta with olives and basil vanished with satisfying rapidity.

It was somewhere toward the end of the meal that Shannon realized the revelations concerning Garth's occupation weren't having much effect on the strange compulsion she experienced around him. The remote aloneness she sensed in him still called to her, still made her deeply curious and still lured her close to the flame. Covertly she glanced at him from time to time, wondering at the watchful attitude he radiated.

"Any word yet on buyers for the tote bags and T-shirts?" Annie asked Shannon as she helped herself to another sourdough roll.

"No. I sent those samples off a month ago. I guess no one's interested."

"Well, it was just a shot in the dark," Dan consoled her. "You might have gotten lucky and interested some Bay area buyers, but the odds were against you. At least you know you've got a steady market around here. The same people who sell your cards will take the totes and shirts."

Garth frowned, looking at Shannon. "Did you just send your samples to the buyers unannounced? No preliminary contacts or follow-through?"

"I'm not a salesperson," Shannon retorted, sensing criticism. "If someone doesn't want my things, I'm not going to force them down his throat."