15. Chapter 15
Zane headed for the staircase that would take him to his room, but his mother swept through the entryway and intercepted him before he'd ascended past the third step.
"Not so fast, young man." How she managed to scold and tease at the same time was a mystery Zane doubted he'd ever solve. "Did you really think you could escape upstairs without giving your mother a report?"
Biting back a groan, Zane turned to face the matriarch of Clan Erickson.
Not quite ready to fully capitulate, however, he held his ground on the third stair.
"Spying on me from your sitting room again?
" He raised a brow but couldn't manage to hold the affronted expression for more than a couple of seconds before a grin took its place.
She waved off the accusation with a sweep of her hand through the air. "It's a lovely room. The perfect place to enjoy a good book and a cup of tea in the evening."
"It also happens to have a window providing a view of the front porch."
"Does it?" Her eyebrows arched in mock innocence. "I hadn't noticed."
Zane rolled his eyes. "You're a terrible liar."
"Thank you." She winked and sashayed closer. "You're a terrible escape artist."
"I don't know about that. I can outrun you."
"But you won't. You love me too much to leave me in suspense."
An impenetrable argument. Of which she was well aware. Her smile bloomed with triumph.
Zane trotted down the steps and offered his mother his arm. "One of these days, I'm going to have my own home, and you'll have to find new ways to ambush me."
"If this home of yours comes with a wife and children, I won't have to."
A reluctant chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Somehow, I think you'll still find a way to run me to ground."
She patted his arm. "Of course I will, dear. 'Tis a mother's duty to insert herself into the lives of her children. And grandchildren."
"Whoa, now. It's not time to start knitting baby booties just yet."
Mother shook her head and clucked her tongue.
"Come now, Zane. You know me better than that.
There's already a small trunk in my dressing room filled with booties, bonnets, and blankets just waiting for the next generation of Ericksons.
Your father's not the only one who plans for this family's future. "
Zane drew to a halt outside the sitting room door. "Speaking of Father, should I fetch him before making my report?"
His mother's smile dimmed slightly before brightening with a false cheer that made Zane's chest ache. "No. I'll fill him in later. He's out with Mr. Barnum at the lodge tonight."
The Masonic Lodge where all the men with power and influence in Galveston congregated. Father had once told him that he accomplished as much work there as he did at the Exchange. But what price was he paying for that success?
Zane's parents' relationship had been deteriorating for years.
They put on a good show for neighbors and business associates, but they rarely spent any time together at home, apart from the dinner table.
Father either closed himself in his office or went out with men from the Exchange.
Mother spent her evenings reading, embroidering, or apparently knitting baby booties on the sly.
Was it any wonder she was so invested in Zane's life?
Her husband had cut her from all the meaningful parts of his.
Zane wanted so much more than a dutiful union.
He longed to share his life, not just his bank account.
A vision of Muriel playing the recorder with eager enthusiasm banished the shadows brought on by his father's neglect.
While tonight had only been their first outing, and she'd likely been trying to impress him as much as he'd been trying to impress her, he'd noticed nothing artificial about her interest. He'd escorted enough young women to tell the difference between genuine enthusiasm and the feigned variety manufactured to win a man's favor.
Joy had radiated from Muriel this evening. Whether they'd been looking at architecture, eating ice cream, or playing music, her eyes had danced, and her smile had beamed. Her joy had fed his own and left him whistling on the way home. Whistling!
How he craved a home filled with love and laughter.
A family that actually liked each other and spent time together because they enjoyed each other's company, not under the duress of dutiful obligation.
The hints Muriel had revealed about her own family gave him the impression that the Quinns had captured some of that familial magic.
Who better to help him establish the family of his dreams than a woman with insider knowledge of how such relationships worked?
Mother seated herself in her favorite chair and turned up the lamp on the table near her elbow, one she'd obviously turned down to aid her spying through the front window with the drawn curtains.
"So, tell me about your evening." She smoothed her skirts then leveled a probing gaze at him. "Are you still enamored with this young woman after spending time with her, or will she be joining the dozens of others who failed to hold your interest past the first outing?"
Zane removed his hat and sprawled on the sofa next to her chair. "There have hardly been dozens, Mother. And there would have been a lot less had you accepted my protests and not insisted that I escort certain ladies about town on a trial basis."
"Well, how else were you to know if any of the young ladies of our acquaintance might suit?
I'm still not convinced you gave Elsie Dumore a fair assessment.
She's a lovely girl from a good family. She's well educated, a skilled pianist, and possesses a keen appreciation for art.
The two of you should be a perfect match. "
Except she complained about the heat incessantly, belittled those she thought her inferiors, and declared Grandpa Clem to be an adorable country bumpkin. The addition of the word adorable had done nothing to soften the insult. Zane would never marry a woman who held his grandfather in contempt.
"Unfortunately, Miss Dunmore's disposition failed to shine as brightly as her accomplishments.
Miss Quinn, on the other hand . . ." He smiled as he recalled the mischievous expression on Muriel's face as she stole a curl of shaved chocolate from atop his ice cream.
". . . was utterly delightful. Never have I enjoyed an evening more. "
Mother leaned forward in her chair, hope glimmering in her gaze. "Do you plan to see her again, then?"
Zane sat up straighter and slapped his palms against his knees.
"Yep. Invited her to our family dinner tomorrow night.
" Mostly just to spend time with her but also to see how she acted around Grandpa Clem.
She didn't seem the type to put on airs, but he'd rather know now, before he fell for her any harder.
"Family dinner. Tomorrow? And you thought to sneak upstairs without telling me this vital piece of news?
" Mother lurched to her feet and paced to the window.
"Good heavens. I'll have to speak to Cook.
" She pivoted and targeted Zane with a pointed gaze.
"Do you know what foods she likes? Or more importantly, what she dislikes? "
Zane rose to his feet and laid gentle hands upon his mother's shoulders.
"Don't go to any special trouble, Mother.
The queen isn't paying a call. Just a young woman who might one day be part of this family.
Whatever you and Cook have already planned will be more than sufficient.
I want her to experience a real Erickson family dinner. No frills. Just family. All right?"
"Fine. But I'm asking Cook to make her famous chocolate cake for dessert."
Zane grinned. "Good choice. I happen to know Miss Quinn is fond of chocolate."
Mother reached out a hand and smoothed back the section of hair that always flopped over his forehead, just like she used to do when he was a boy. Her expression softened. "You really like this girl, don't you?"
A swelling warmth climbed from his stomach up through his chest. "I do."
"Then I'll endeavor to like her, too. Even if she can't speak."
Zane bent his head and kissed his mother's hair. "Thank you." He stepped back. "Just think—tomorrow you won't have to ambush me at the door to know how the evening went. You'll already be privy to all the pertinent details."
Mischief lit her eyes. "I might ambush you anyway. Just to keep you on your toes."
Zane chuckled. "Thanks for the warning." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and edged backwards a pace. "Now, have I satisfied your curiosity enough to earn my freedom?"
"Yes, yes." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Run off and do whatever it is young men do these days to pass the time."
He didn't know what other young men did, but he intended to read a letter from a particularly fetching redhead. Muriel might not be able to speak with her voice, but she could speak through words penned upon paper, and he didn't want to wait a minute longer to hear what she had to say.
After collecting his hat, he took the stairs two at a time and closed himself in his room. He spared only enough time to remove his collar, tie, jacket, and shoes before slicing open the envelope and extracting the folded pages from their sheath.
Dear Zane,
Is it all right that I address you as Zane? I realize it's not proper on such short acquaintance, but that is how I think of you. How I've thought of you since the day I pulled you from the sea.
His pulse vibrated like a guitar string strummed by her words. Zane. She thought of him as Zane. Such a little thing on the surface, but it carried deep implications. Implications of intimacy. Of attraction. Of—dare he hope—affection?