Chapter 4
Four
Slade extended his hand to Shelly’s father and grinned. “I believe you’ve got me confused with sourdough bread.”
“Sourdough bread?”
“Dad, Slade and I met this morning on the plane.” Shelly’s cheeks brightened in a self-conscious pink flush.
“When it looked like the flight wasn’t going to make it to Seattle, we rented the car,” Slade explained further.
A curious glint darkened Don Griffin’s deep blue eyes as he glanced briefly from his daughter to Slade and ran a hand through
his thick thatch of dark hair. “It’s a good thing you did. The last time I phoned the airline, I learned your plane still
hadn’t left Portland.”
“Slade has an important meeting first thing tomorrow.” Her eyes were telling him that she was ready to make the break. She
could say goodbye and wish him every happiness. Their time together had been too short for any regrets. Hadn’t it?
“There’s no need for us to stand out here in the cold discussing your itinerary,” her father inserted and motioned toward the warm lights of the house.
Slade hesitated. “I should be getting into Seattle.”
“Come in for some coffee first,” her father invited.
“Shelly?” Slade sought her approval. The unasked question in his eyes pinned her gaze.
“I wish you would.” Fool! her mind cried out. It would be better to sever the relationship quickly, sharply and without delay, before he had the opportunity
to touch her tender heart. But her heart refused to listen to her mind.
“For that matter,” her father continued, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between Slade and Shelly, “stay for dinner.”
“I couldn’t. Really.” Slade made a show of glancing at his wristwatch.
“We insist,” Shelly said quickly. “After hauling this bread from here to kingdom come, the least I can offer you is a share
of it.”
To her astonishment Slade grinned, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. The smile was both spontaneous and personal—a reminder
of the joke between them. “All right,” he agreed.
“That settles it, then.” Don grinned and moved to the rear of the car while Slade extracted Shelly’s suitcase and the huge
tote bag. “What’s all this?”
“Presents,” she said.
“For me?”
“Well, who else would I be bringing gifts for?”
“A man. It’s time you started thinking about a husband.”
“Dad!” If her cheeks had been bright pink previously, now the color deepened into fire-engine red. In order to minimize further embarrassment, she returned to the car and rescued the bread. Her father carried the gifts inside, while Slade brought up the rear with her carry-on.
The house contained all the warmth and welcome that she always associated with home. She paused just inside the open doorway,
her gaze skimming over the crackling fireplace and the large array of family photos that decorated the mantel. Ol’ Dan, their
thirteen-year-old Labrador, slept on the braided rug and did little more than raise his head when Don and Slade entered the
house. But on seeing Shelly, the elderly dog got slowly to his feet and with difficulty ambled to her side, tail wagging.
She set the bread aside and fell to her knees.
“How’s my loyal mangy mutt?” she asked, affectionately ruffling his ears and hugging him. “You keeping Dad company these days?”
“Yeah, but he’s doing a poor job of it,” her father complained loudly. “Ol’ Dan still can’t play a decent game of chess.”
“Do you play?” Slade asked her father as his gaze scanned the living room for a board.
“Forty years or more. What about you?”
“Now and again.”
“Could I interest you in a match?”
Slade was already unbuttoning his overcoat. “I’d enjoy that, sir.”
“Call me Don, everyone does.”
“Right, Don.”
Within a minute the chessboard was out and set up on the coffee table, while the two men sat opposite each other on matching
ottomans.
Suspecting that the contest could last a while, she checked the prime rib roasting in the oven and added large potatoes, wrapping each in aluminum foil.
The refrigerator contained a fresh green salad and her favorite cherry pie from the local bakery.
There were also some carrots in the vegetable drawer; she snatched a couple and put them in her pocket.
After grabbing her denim jacket with its thick wool padding from the peg on the back porch and slipping into her cowboy boots,
she made her way out to the barn.
The scent of hay and horses greeted her, and she paused, taking in the rich, earthy odors. “Howdy, Sampson,” she said, greeting
her favorite horse first.
The sleek black horse whinnied a welcome as she approached the stall, then accepted the proffered carrot without pause.
“Have you missed me, boy?”
Pokey, an Appaloosa mare, stuck her head out of her stall, seeking a treat, too. Laughing, Shelly pulled another carrot from
her pocket. Midnight, her father’s horse and Sampson’s sire, stamped his foot, and she made her way down to his stall.
After stroking his sleek neck, she took out the brushes and returned to Sampson. “I suppose Dad’s letting you get fat and
lazy now that I’m not around to work you.” She glided a brush down his muscled flank. “All right, I’ll admit it. Living in
San Francisco has made me fat and lazy, too. I haven’t gained any weight, but I feel flabby. I suppose I could take up jogging, but it’s foggy and
rainy and—”
“Shelly?”
Slade was standing just inside the barn door, looking a bit uneasy. “Do you always carry on conversations with your horse?”
“Sure. I’ve talked out many a frustration with Sampson. Isn’t that right, boy?”
Slade gave a startled blink when the horse answered with a loud snort and a toss of his head, as if agreeing with her.
“Come in and meet my favorite male,” she invited, opening the stall door.
Hands buried deep in his pockets, Slade shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“You don’t like horses?”
“Not exactly.”
Having lived all her life around animals, she had trouble understanding his reticence. “Why not?”
“The last time I was this close to a horse was when I was ten and at summer camp.”
“Sampson won’t bite you.”
“It’s not his mouth I’m worried about.”
“He’s harmless.”
“So is flying.”
Surprised, Shelly dropped her hand from Sampson’s hindquarters.
Slade strolled over to the stall, a grin lifting the edges of his mouth. “From the look on your face when we landed, one would
assume that your will alone was holding up the plane.”
“It was!”
He chuckled and tentatively reached out to rub Sampson’s ebony forehead.
She went back to grooming the horse. “Is your chess match over already?”
“I should have warned your father. I was on the university chess team.”
Now it was her turn to look amused. She paused in midstroke. “Did you wound Dad’s ego?”
“I might have, but he’s regrouping now. I came out here because I wanted to have a look at the famous Sampson before I headed
for Seattle.”
“Sampson’s honored to make your acquaintance.” I am, too, her heart echoed.
Slade took a step in retreat. “I guess I’ll get back to the house. No doubt your dad’s got the board set for a rematch.”
“Be gentle with him,” she called out, trying to hide a saucy grin. Her father wasn’t an amateur when it came to the game.
He’d been a member of the local chess club for years, and she wondered just what his strategy was tonight. Donald Griffin
seldom lost at any game.
An hour later she stamped the snow from her boots and entered the kitchen through the back door. She shed the thick coat and
hung it back on its peg, then went to check the roast and the baked potatoes. Both were done to perfection, and she turned
off the oven.
Seeing that her father and Slade were absorbed in their game, she stepped up behind her father and slipped her arms around
his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head.
“Dinner’s ready,” she murmured, not wanting to break his concentration.
“In a minute,” he grumbled.
Slade moved his bishop, leaving his hand on the piece for a couple of seconds. Seemingly pleased, he released the piece and
relaxed. As though sensing her gaze on him, he lifted his incredibly dark eyes, which locked with hers. They stared at each
other for long, uninterrupted moments. She felt her heart lurch as she basked in the warmth of his look. She wanted to hold
on to this moment, forget San Francisco, Margaret, the snowstorm. It felt paramount that she capture this magic with both
hands and hold on to it forever.
“It’s your move.” Don’s words cut into the stillness.
“Pardon?” Abruptly Slade dropped his eyes to the chessboard.
“It’s your move,” her father repeated.
“Of course.” Slade studied the board and moved a pawn.
Don scowled. “I hadn’t counted on your doing that.”
“Hey, you two, didn’t you hear me? Dinner’s ready.” She was shocked at how normal and unaffected her voice sounded.
Slade got to his feet. “Shall we consider it a draw, then?”
“I guess we better, but I demand a rematch someday.”
Shelly’s throat constricted. There wouldn’t be another day for her and Slade. They were two strangers who had briefly touched
each other’s lives. Ships passing in the night and all the other clichés she had never expected would happen to her. But somehow
she had the feeling that she would never be the same again. Surely she wouldn’t be so swift to judge another man. Slade had
taught her that, and she would always be grateful.
The three of them chatted easily during dinner, and Shelly learned things about Slade that she hadn’t thought to ask. He was
a salesman, specializing in intricate software programs, and was meeting with a Seattle-based company, hoping to agree on
the first steps of a possible distribution agreement. It was little wonder that he’d considered his meeting so important.
It was. And although he hadn’t mentioned it specifically, she was acutely aware that if his meeting was successful, he would
be that much closer to achieving his financial and professional goals—and that much closer to marrying coldly practical Margaret.
Shelly was clearing the dishes from the table when Slade set his napkin aside and rose. “I don’t remember when I’ve enjoyed
a meal more, especially the sourdough bread.”
“A man gets the feel of a kitchen sooner or later,” Don said with a crusty chuckle. “It took me a whole year to learn how
to turn on the oven.”
“That’s the truth,” she added, sharing a smile with her father. “He thought it was easier to use the microwave. The problem was, he couldn’t quite get the hang of that, either. Everything came out the texture of beef jerky.”
“We survived,” her father grumbled, affectionately looping an arm around Shelly’s waist. The first eighteen months after her
mother’s death had been the most difficult for the family, but life went on, and almost against their wills they’d adjusted.
Slade paused in the living room to stare out the window. “I can’t remember it ever snowing this much in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Rarely,” Don agreed. “It’s been three winters since we’ve had any snow at all. I’ll admit this is a pleasant surprise.”
“How long will it be before the snowplows are out?”
“Snowplow, you mean?” Don said with a gruff laugh. “King County is lucky if they have more than a handful. There isn’t that much call
for them.” He walked to the picture window and held back the draperies with one hand. “You know, it might not be a bad idea
if you stayed the night and left first thing in the morning.”
Slade hesitated. “I don’t know. If I miss this meeting, it’ll mean having to wait over the Christmas holiday to reschedule.”
“You’ll have a better chance of making it safely to Seattle in the morning. The roads tonight are going to be treacherous.”
Slade slowly expelled his breath. “I have the distinct feeling you may be right. Without any streetlights, Lord knows where
I’d end up.”
“I believe you’d be wise to delay your drive. Besides, that will give us time for another game.”
Slade’s gaze shifted to Shelly and softened. “Right,” he concurred.
The two men were up until well past midnight, engrossed in one chess match after another. After watching a few games, Shelly decided to say good-night and go to bed.
Half an hour later Shelly lay in her bed in her darkened room, dreading the approach of morning. In some ways it would have
been easier if Slade had left immediately after dropping her off. And in other ways it was far better that he’d stayed.
She fell asleep with the bright red numbers of the clock insidiously counting down the minutes to six o’clock when Slade would
be leaving. There was nothing she could do to hold back time.
Before even being aware that she’d fallen asleep, she was startled into wakefulness by the discordant drone of the alarm.
Tossing aside the covers, she automatically reached for the thick housecoat she kept at her father’s. Pausing only long enough
to run a comb through her hair and brush her teeth, she rushed into the living room.
Slade was already dressed and holding a cup of coffee. “I guess it’s time to say goodbye.”