Chapter Six #3
“Well.” She flicked a balloon with a fingertip to send it dancing.
“I think I’ll go see if Aunt Coco’s got any of those chocolate pastries ready.
” As she walked by Sloan, she paused. Unlike Amanda’s, her eyes were cool, but the meaning was clear.
“I’d hate to think I was wrong about you.
” She walked through the terrace doors and, after a brief hesitation, shut them to give her sister privacy.
Amanda didn’t wait to pounce. “You’ve got a nerve, or maybe you’re just plain stupid, showing your face here after what you did.”
“You don’t know anything about it. Suzanna and I worked it out.”
“Oh, you think so?” Ready to joust, she slammed down a package of pretty pink-and-silver plates.
“Not by a long shot. When I think that just a few hours ago you’d nearly convinced me you were the kind of man I could care about, then I come home and find my sister running away from you looking devastated. I want to know what you did.”
“I ran with the wrong information. And I’m sorry about it.”
“That’s not good enough.”
His own emotions were a bit too raw for reason. “Well, it’s going to have to be. If you want to know more, you’re just going to have to ask Suzanna.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m telling you that what happened was between her and me. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She crossed the terrace until they were toe-to-toe.
“You mess with one Calhoun, you mess with them all. I may have to put up with you until after the wedding, since you’re supposed to be best man.
But when it’s over, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to see to it that you go back where you came from. ”
Pushed to the end of his chain, he took her by the lapels. “I told you before, I finish what I start.”
“You are finished, O’Riley. The Towers doesn’t need you, and neither do I.”
He was just about to prove her wrong when Trent opened the terrace doors. Trent took one look at his friend and future sister-in-law glaring daggers at each other and cleared his throat.
“Looks like I’m going to have to work on my timing.”
“Your timing’s perfect.” Amanda rammed an elbow into Sloan’s stomach before she pulled away. “We’ve got no time for men around here tonight. Why don’t you take this jerk you’ve sicced on us and go do something manly.” She shoved by Trent and stalked into the house.
“Well.” Trent let out a long breath. “I don’t think I mentioned the Calhoun temperament when I asked you to take on the job.”
“No, you didn’t.” Scowling at the empty doorway, Sloan rubbed his stomach. “Is there a dark, noisy bar anywhere in this town?”
“I guess we could find one.”
“Good. Let’s go get drunk.”
He found the bar, and he found the bottle. Sloan slumped in the corner booth and hissed through his teeth as the whiskey stung his throat. Over the first drink, and the second, he told Trent about his altercation with Suzanna.
“Baxter Dumont is Kevin’s father? You never told me.”
“I gave Meg my word I wouldn’t tell anybody. Even our folks don’t know.”
Trent was silent a moment, sipping thoughtfully at his club soda. “It’s hard to figure out how such a selfish bastard managed to father three terrific kids.”
“It’s a puzzle, all right.” Sloan signaled for another round. “Then I go off and unload both barrels on Suzanna.” He broke off and swore. “Damn it, Trent, I’m never going to forget the way she looked when I cut loose on her.”
“She’ll handle it. From what C.C.’s told me, she’s dealt with worse.”
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe. But I don’t care much for slapping down women. I was already feeling like something you scrape off your shoe when Amanda lit into me.”
“These women stick together.”
“Yeah.” Scowling, Sloan drank again. “Like a dirt clod.”
“Why didn’t you explain things to her?”
Sloan shrugged and knocked back more whiskey. He had his own share of pride. “It wasn’t any of her business.”
“You just explained it to me.”
“That’s different.”
“Okay. Do you want some pretzels to go with that?”
“No.”
They sat for a moment, nursing drinks, two dynamically different men, one in battered jeans, the other in tailored slacks; one slumped comfortably, the other comfortably alert.
They’d both come from money—Trent from real estate, Sloan from oil, but their backgrounds and family lives had been opposites.
Trent’s first experience with real family ties had come through the Calhouns, and Sloan had known them always.
They had almost nothing in common, and yet in their first semester in college they had become friends and had remained so for more than ten years.
Because he was feeling sorry for himself, Sloan enjoyed the sensation of getting steadily drunk. Because he recognized the symptoms, Trent stayed meticulously sober.
Over yet another drink, Sloan eyed his friend. “When’d you start wearing basketball shoes?”
Trent glanced down at his own feet and grinned to himself. They were a symbol of sorts of the way one hot-tempered brunette had changed his life. “They’re not basketball shoes, they’re running shoes.”
“What’s the difference?” Sloan narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not wearing a tie. How come you’re not wearing a tie?”
“Because I’m in love.”
“Yeah.” With a short oath, Sloan sat back. “See what it’s doing to you? It makes you nuts.”
“You hate ties.”
“Exactly. Damn woman’s been driving me crazy since the first time I saw her.”
“C.C.?”
“No, damn it. We were talking about Amanda.”
“Right.” Settling back in the seat, Trent smiled. “Well, some woman’s always driving you crazy. I’ve never seen anyone with a more... admirable affection for the gentler sex.”
“Gentler my ass. First she runs into me, then she knocks me on my butt. I can hardly say two words without having her claw at me.” After calling for another drink, he leaned across the table.
“You’ve known me for over ten years. Wouldn’t y’say that I was a kind of even-tempered, affable sort of man? ”
“Absolutely.” Trent grinned. “Except when you’re not.”
Sloan slapped a hand on the table. “There you go.” Nodding agreement, he pulled out a cigar. “So what the hell’s wrong with her?”
“You tell me.”
“I’ll tell you.” He jabbed the cigar toward Trent’s face. “She’s got the devil’s own temper and a mule’s stubbornness to go with it. If a man can keep his eyes off her legs, it’s plain enough to see.” He picked up his fresh whiskey and scowled into it. “She sure enough has first-class legs.”
“I’ve noticed. They run in the family.” As Sloan downed the liquor, Trent winced. “Am I going to have to carry you home?”
“More’n likely.” He settled back to let the whiskey spin in his head. “What you want to go and get yourself married for, Trent? We’d both be better off hightailing it outta here.”
“Because I love her.”
“Yeah.” On a sigh, Sloan let out a lazy stream of smoke.
“That’s how they get you. They get you all tangled up so you can’t think straight.
Used to be I thought women were God’s own pleasure, but I know better now.
They’ve only got one reason for being here, and that’s to make a man’s life misery.
” He squinted over at Trent. “Have you seen the way her skirt jiggles when she walks—especially when she’s in a hurry, like she always is. ”
On a chuckle, Trent lifted his glass again. “I take the Fifth on that one.”
“And the sassy way her hair moves when she’s yelling at you. Her eyes get all snappy. Then you grab ahold of her to shut her up, and God Almighty.” He took another quick slug of whiskey, but it did nothing to put out the fire. “You ever missed your step and gone down on an electric fence?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It burns,” Sloan murmured. “Burns like fire and knocks you senseless for a minute. When you get your senses back, you’re kind of numb and shaky.”
Carefully Trent set down his drink and leaned closer to study his friend. “Sloan, is this leading where I think it’s leading, or are you just drunk?”
“Not drunk enough.” Annoyed, he shoved the glass aside.
“I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I set eyes on her.
And since I set eyes on her it’s like there was never anyone else.
Like there’s never going to be anyone else.
” With his elbows propped on the table, he rubbed his hands over his face.
“I’m crazy in love with her, Trent, and if I could get my hands on her right now, I’d strangle her. ”
“Calhoun women have a talent for that.” He grinned at Sloan. “Welcome to the club.”
It rained all day so I could not go down to the cliffs to see Christian.
For most of the morning I played games with the children to keep them from becoming fussy about being kept indoors.
They squabbled, of course, but Nanny distracted them with cookies.
Even the boys enjoyed the tea party we had with Colleen’s little china dishes.
For me, it was one of those sweet, insular days that a mother always remembers—the way her children laugh, the funny questions they ask, the way they lay their heads on your lap when nap time approaches.
The memory of this single day is as precious to me as any I have had, or will have. They will not be my babies very long. Already Colleen is talking about balls and dresses.
It makes me wonder what my life would be like if it could be Christian who would stroll into the parlor. He would not nod absently as he opened the brandy decanter. He would not forget to ask about his children.
No, my Christian would come to me first, his hands outstretched to meet mine as I rose to kiss him. He would laugh, as I hear him laugh during our stolen hours at the cliff.
And I would be happy. Without this bittersweet pain in my heart. Without this guilt. There would be no need then for me to seek the quiet and solitude of my tower, or to sit alone watching the gray rain as I write my dreams in this book.
I would be living my dreams.
But it is all just a fancy, like one of the stories I tell the children at bedtime.
A happy-ever-after story with handsome princes and beautiful maidens.
My life is not a fairy tale. But perhaps, someday someone will open these pages and read my story.
I hope they will have a kind and generous heart, condemn me not for my disloyalty to a husband I have never loved, but rejoice for me in my joy in those few short hours with a man I will love even after death.