Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  Rich’s hand fell from the lock he was caressing. “What?” He set his glass aside, tumbled onto his back, and covered his forehead with the back of his hand. “Holy fright. How do we stop them?”

  Torrie laughed. “Take it easy, they just want to put a few streaks of pink in their hair. Most schools don’t allow odd colors in their students’ hair so all the kids are doing it while school is out for summer. By fall, they would have to have their hair back to its original color.”

  He peered up at her. “I’m light years behind in this hair coloring thing, and I’m clueless about Estella’s clothes. The other day my precious daughter informed me I needed to take a class in fashion—and she said a parenting class wouldn’t go amiss either. I feel like a big dope.”

  Torrie chuckled. “Estella is precious, but she’s extremely articulate and way too bright for her age. I can get some washable, colored hair spray, and we can see if they like it first before we make the giant leap to a professional hair dresser.” She set her wine glass aside and laid on her back next to him.

  “How do you do it?” he asked her, staring at the treetops. “Do you ever feel you’re not getting it right? Raising your daughter, I mean?”

  “All the time.” Eyes closed, she sighed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not getting my whole life right.”

  He rolled toward her and brushed a finger across her cheek. She turned her head and looked at him. His gaze was as soft as a caress. He kissed her gently along her neck. “There’s some chemistry happening here,” he whispered in her ear before his mouth covered hers hungrily.

  Chapter Twelve

  The kiss was slow and thoughtful, sending spirals of ecstasy through Torrie’s body down to her toes. All the memories of her hellish life when she was pregnant, alone, and struggling in New York dissolved beneath his tender mouth and his desire to explore their relationship and perhaps take it to a new level. She would have liked the kiss to go on forever, but she put her hand on his chest and forced herself to pull away. She reminded herself she could not risk her heart. He was not part of her life. He would leave in a few weeks, and she didn’t have the strength to fall in love and watch him return to his high-powered lifestyle in Texas. And there was Iris to consider as well.

  “This is a bad idea, Rich,” she said between a gasp to catch her breath.

  “There are a lot of bad ideas in the world, but this isn’t one of them.” His ash-colored eyes smoldered with fire as he brushed a knuckle over the side of her cheek. “Let’s just enjoy the moment.” He bent his head and reclaimed her lips, tugging her toward him. Torrie’s heart rattled frantically inside her chest and she found herself passionately rising to meet his urgent kisses…until his cellphone rang.

  “Noooo,” he muttered against her lips. “What fool…what idiot…what insane person…would be calling me now?”

  Torrie pulled away and, like a jack in the box, popped up into a seated position and straightened her blouse.

  Rich groaned, grappled for the phone in his hip pocket, peered at it, and clicked it on. He drew in a shallow, steady breath to collect himself. “Lulu, this better be an emergency or I’m throwing all those points you’re earned into the can and flushing it twice—” He clicked the icon to the speaker and tossed the phone on the quilt between them. “—along with this phone,” he muttered under his breath.

  Lulu spoke, “Estella fell and is perfectly fine except for a skinned knee, but unless she talks to you, I might as well be in the bathroom with the door closed and earplugs on.” He heard the strain in Lulu’s voice. “Her persistence would make a diehard spy spill his guts to the enemy. You sure this child came from your loins?”

  “What are loins?” a little voice asked in the background.

  Rich ran a hand through his hair and heaved an exhausted sigh. “Put her on, Lulu.” Beside him, Torrie put a hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh.

  He raised an eyebrow and silently mouthed the words, “You think this is funny?”

  “Where are you?” Estella whined into the phone. “Iris’s Uncle Gus said he saw you and Torrie leaving town in a new car.”

  “Torrie and you,” he corrected her. “We were just taking the new SUV from Iris’s Uncle Lars’s showroom for a spin to see how it works. How’s the knee?”

  “Why didn’t you take me and Iris?”

  “Iris and me,” Rich enunciated, then persisted in a no-nonsense tone. “How is the knee, Estella?”

  They could hear Estella take a long, deep breath. “Well, Lulu cleaned it and sprayed it with some first aid spray. I have a Band-Aid on it, but it looks awful.”

  “The knee or the Band-Aid?” Rich asked.

  “The Band-Aid.”

  “Ah-ha. Then what’s the problem?”

  “The Band-Aid doesn’t match my shorts. They’re dark green.”

  Rich looked heavenward, shook his head to clear it, then glanced at Torrie. He threw his hands skyward in mock defeat.

  Grinning, Torrie leaned over the phone. “Hey Estella, your dad and I are on our way home. How about we stop at the pharmacy and pick up some cool Band-Aids? I bet a camouflage one would do the trick. What do you think?”

  “Yeah, that would work. Thanks, Torrie. Will you be here soooon?” Estella asked. “We have to get the sleepover started.”

  A sleepover starting at three in the afternoon? Torrie rose and grinned at Rich’s sour expression. He looked like he had sucked a tub of lemons. She could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. It was going to be a long night.

  “Yes, Estella,” Rich said, “Dentro de poco. Soon. Tell Lulu to hold down the fort. And do not give her any back talk or grief. Do you hear me?” Before she could respond, he clicked off and rose.

  He turned to Torrie. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked. “This may have been fate working to save us from a crazy impulsive act. We might have done something we both might have regretted.”

  “Only one of us may have,” he said sourly, adjusting his trousers. “What I was feeling wasn’t pangs of regret or guilt.”

  Amused, Torrie grabbed the sweatshirts and folded the quilt while Rich packed the wine and glasses in the cooler and recovered the journal. They worked silently in tandem and Torrie found herself wondering what it might be like to be married to someone like Rich Redman. Even when Estella pushed him to the limit, he never raised his voice. And his dour-faced expressions of disappointment, disgust, or gloom were sweet and endearing.

  ****

  Rich was not surprised Estella met him at the front door, flying into his legs and wrapping her hands around him as if he’d been on a trek to the North Pole for the last two months. But he was even more surprised when Lulu quipped, “Halleluiah! The reinforcements have arrived.”

  For her brave conduct under fire, Rich gave her the rest of the day off, while Torrie treated the girls to a girly dress-up party and make-over before they all ventured out to dinner. They now sat in a corner booth of Webster’s Burgers and Fries with Estella and Iris opposite them, each wearing streaks of pink in their hair and holding a stuffed giraffe and parrot, respectively. They had even convinced Torrie to color a front lock of her hair a lime green. He was sure he was part of some bizarre psychedelic human circus.

  The waitress who had served them at the German restaurant came over to the table with a pad in hand and beamed them a warm welcome. “Hello, Torrie and Iris,” she said. “Wow. Look at you three beauties. You all look chic tonight.” She nodded at the little girls. “Nice color of pink, young ladies. What’s your friend’s name, Iris?”

  “Estella,” the little girl replied, smiling.

  “You know each other?” Rich looked at her, baffled.

  The young waitress grinned. She was a lovely girl with hazel eyes. “Yes, I’m Denise. Danielle and I are Henry Jordan’s granddaughters. The wait staff at the German restaurant at Gibson Lake is not allowed to make casual conversation with dining guests. We both think it’s silly and r
ather petty, but hey, it’s not our restaurant. And it’s a job, right?”

  “Is Danielle working today?” Torrie asked.

  The girl nodded and pointed across the room where a girl with light brown hair stood at the cash register and waved to them. Iris bounced up and down in her seat and frantically waved back. “Look, look! Danielle has purple streaks in her hair.”

  “Yes, I see. Shhhh.” Torrie tried to curb Iris’s loud enthusiastic squeals before she brought unwanted attention to them.

  “I need a favor, Denise,” she said and drummed her fingers on the table. “Gus is going to work for me tomorrow at the landscape center, but I’d like Danielle or you to go in for a few hours and help with the register if you can. He can make a mess of things in short order when the place gets busy, especially around the lunch hour.”

  “Sure, sure. We’re both off tomorrow and Friday. One of us will stop in around noon and work until dinner, or as long as Gus needs help.”

  When she left with their order, Rich spoke, “So those are Kyle Jordan’s twins? Henry’s granddaughters? He was so proud of them when I talked with him.”

  “Yes, though you can’t tell it by their looks. Complete opposites. But they are the sweetest gals. Sometimes I get one to babysit for me. Iris is fond of both of them. Keep their numbers on your speed dial. They’re always looking for work to make money for college expenses.”

  The burgers arrived, and they ate quietly. But before they finished, Denise showed up with two very large chocolate fudge sundaes and set them in front of the little girls. “Compliments of Ivan Winters.” She pointed toward a booth at the opposite end of the restaurant where Ivan Winters sat with Henry Jordan.

  Rich watched a shadow of annoyance cross Torrie’s face.

  “Please tell Ivan the girls said thank you,” Torrie instructed Denise before she left to check on another table of customers.

  “I was capable of buying dessert,” Rich pointed out, equally annoyed.

  He felt her place a hand gently on this thigh. “Easy, Rich. Let’s not spoil the sleepover.”

  “Why? Am I having one, too?” A hopeful expression lit up his face. When she shook her head and laughed, he refocused his attention across the room at Ivan Winters, offering him a brutal unfriendly stare.

  Minutes later, just when Rich thought things were as back to normal as they could be for three women with recent makeovers, Ivan sauntered over. He was still dressed in his dark pinstripe banker’s suit, dreary gray tie, and shiny black shoes.

  “Looks like someone had fun with some hair color.” Ivan’s eyes circled the girls and came to rest on Torrie’s face. For a moment, he just glared at her. “I understand you being lax where Iris is concerned, but aren’t you a little old for green hair?” He didn’t try to hide the reprimand in his question.

  Rich tensed and an overwhelming desire to pop the pompous jerk in the nose rushed over him. He felt Torrie’s hand clamp down on his forearm before he could slide out of the booth and do the damage dancing around in his head.

  She spoke in a saccharine voice. “Ivan, please don’t make me crawl over this messy table and rip your eyeballs out.” She smiled at Iris and Estella. “We think we look absolutely fabulous, don’t we, girls?” When they nodded their little heads, she forged onward. “You see, we had a make-over this afternoon including a manicure and pedicure. Show him, girls.” Twenty little fingers with electric blue nails popped up and wiggled in the air. Torrie jiggled her sea green, sparkly fingers at him and smiled a devilish smile. “And tonight, Iris and I are having a sleepover at Estella’s house. With movies and popcorn!”

  Ivan’s jaw dropped. Too stunned to speak, he stared at her. The message hit home like an arrow hitting the bullseye. Torrie Larson was sleeping over at Rich Redman’s house.

  And that will teach the dim-witted banker to take a swipe at a mother’s child, Rich thought as he fought with every ounce of stamina he had to repress a chuckle bubbling in his chest. But he couldn’t halt the satisfied grin spreading over his face.

  Flushed, Ivan excused himself and like a crab scuttling across the sand, he made a quick retreat toward the front door.

  As the girls waited for the check, Estella sat up straighter, brightened, and looked at her father with an expectant gaze. “So is Torrie staying with us, too?”

  Torrie pushed her water glass aside and collected her purse. “Just until after you are all tucked into bed.” She nudged Rich on the shoulder to let her out of the booth. “I have things to do back at the apartment to get ready for tomorrow.”

  Rich slid out and threw a tip on the table. “Dang, I guess it means no dessert for me later tonight,” he mumbled under his breath as she stepped close to corral the girls and their stuffed animals.

  “Got that right, cowboy.” She gave him a sly look to let him know she understood his intent, then hustled the girls toward the door.

  ****

  Hours later, as Rich poured two glasses of wine and waited on the back porch for Torrie to tuck the girls in for the third and what he hoped was the final time, he thought about the day. It had been an enjoyable and fun time with Torrie and Iris. Torrie was a level-headed, down-to-earth woman and mother who only flew into a chilling rage when her child was under attack. He laughed thinking about the look on Ivan Winters’s face when he thought Torrie was spending the night at his house.

  He looked out over the back lawn and realized he had to make a decision about the rose gardens. All the roses would soon be coming into a full June bloom. Already he could smell the sweet soft scents of the other summer flowers in the air. There was no reason why Torrie couldn’t continue with her efforts to propagate the perfect heirloom white rose. In fact, it gave her a reason to come over to the house, and he was looking for every reason he could dream up to have her there.

  He had already decided to just repaper the formal living room and refinish the floor, doing as little to disturb its vintage look as possible, but still bringing it up-to-date. He sent the chairs out to be reupholstered and informed the custom furniture shop he would drop in to pick out a sample from the swatches lying on the kitchen table. This way, most of the on-site work would take less than a week. To be honest, Rich didn’t care about the stuffy room with its tons of Austrian tchotchkes. And he had no idea what he’d do with a floor-to-ceiling cupboard full of Steiff bears in the study. He just wanted as little disruption in the house as possible so he could work in peace. He and Torrie had used the cozier family room off the kitchen, with its bank of windows facing the backyard and an entrance onto the patio, to entertain the children tonight. The toasted marshmallows made over the brass fire pit outside had been sheer genius on Torrie’s part and had kept the girls together in one spot for hours. He could still smell smoke from the burning embers, still see the glowing red coals in the inky darkness.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Torrie said, padding out onto the porch in bare feet to stand beside him. In her hand, she held the swatches.

  “You’re going to need a fistful of coins.” He handed her a glass of wine from a small bistro table near the railing.

  Torrie took the glass and a sip. “One more burnt marshmallow and I would have exploded.”

  “Hey,” he said, “you were the one who said, ‘I’ll take it,’ when the girls grumbled it was too far gone and charred to a crisp.” He chuckled. “What do you think about the swatches?”

  “I’d stick with the gold color. I vote for the delicate gold plaid.”

  He felt a shiver crawl up his back. I’d stick with the gold color. The exact words of his grandmother. He peered at her intently.

  “What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me I have dirt on my face?”

  From behind them, the elusive white cat slinked up the porch steps and circled Torrie’s legs, purring loudly. “Sheba, where have you been?” She bent to pet her, then stepped away and disappeared inside. She returned with a saucer of milk and placed it by the door. The cat dived into it, greedily lapping it up.
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  “Torrine Larson. The savior of little children and guardian of stray cats,” Rich said.

  She moved toward him. “And a coach for men who need to learn the ropes of sleepovers.”

  “Trust me, I know the ropes of sleepovers.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers. She tasted of wine and the faint flavor of marshmallow. “Just not the kind we had tonight. But we could rectify it.” He took the glass from her hand and set it on the table and pulled her to him. This time the kiss was more demanding and as his passion grew stronger, he could feel her succumb to the magnetism pulling them together. She curled her hands into the back of his hair and didn’t try to disguise her body’s reaction. They exchanged kiss for kiss. His hands slipped down her waist and under her shirt and worked their way upward over her smooth soft skin to her breasts. He felt fire spreading over his entire body and he couldn’t get enough of her. If they didn’t stop soon, he didn’t know whether he could stop.

  As if reading his mind, she pulled away, panting. “No, not here.” She gulped in a breath of air and leaned her head against his chest, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, not here with the girls upstairs. We can’t do this.”

  “You’re right. Sorry,” he agreed. His breath was as hot and heavy as hers. “But it’s inevitable, Torrie. No matter how hard you try to resist.”

  When she didn’t reply, but only looked up at him, he pressed his forehead against the edge of hers, unable to let her go. A huskiness from their interlude still lingered in his tone when he said, “Are you still going with me to Elmira?”