Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  Torrie drew her lips in thoughtfully. “I think our next step is going to be a challenge. We need to talk to Ivan’s father. I’m hoping Dr. Winters won’t stonewall us and his records haven’t been destroyed. Nathan Winters has been retired quite a while now. He’s getting up there in years. He may not even remember the specific adoption.”

  Nodding, Rich looked out the window where a slight breeze caused the flowers in the urn outside the diner to bounce and bow their heads as if they too knew the troubles ahead. If the adoption of the child was a private one, not only would Dr. Winters be involved, but also a lawyer. In private adoptions, paperwork was often difficult to track down and even more difficult to obtain. Many times, it was easily and conveniently misplaced upon the request of those involved. It could include certain agreements about when a child might have access to his records—upon request of the birth mother or the adoptive mother. There were a multitude of legal scenarios he didn’t want to think about.

  “There is something interesting I did find out after glancing through the ledgers last night. I skimmed the last five before your dad’s death and one afterward.” Torrie’s voice shook him out of his reverie.

  His lips thinned in exasperation. “Burning the candle on both ends? You’re not supposed to be working after hours, Torrie. Make sure you keep track of the time so I can pay you.”

  She waved him away and bent closer. “Don’t worry about it. What I did find out was every month, before your dad died, various monthly sums of money were paid to Henry Jordan at Henry’s Garage.”

  “How much?”

  “Anywhere from one thousand to three thousand dollars, and usually in even amounts.”

  “I’ll bet he was making payments on a car for my grandmother. Perhaps paying for repairs. Or maybe Dad bought a vintage car from Henry. Henry was always getting good deals on used vehicles from the local dealers. And Dad was a car fanatic.”

  Torrie raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think it’s a lot of payments for a car? And I’ve never heard of monthly repairs to the tune of thousands over years and years. The payments stopped after his death.”

  “Hmmmm, interesting.” Rich leaned back. “I guess you and I will be poring over ledgers when we get back to Hickory Valley.” He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Let’s not talk about work. We’re here to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Okay.” Torrie gave him a small endearing smile. “Do you know we’re in Mark Twain Country? The Clemenses spent their summers here, just outside Elmira at Quarry Farm where the sister of Twain’s wife lived. Her name was Olivia.”

  “And he wrote here?” Rich looked at her animated face. She was so beautiful when she talked about the arts. Her eyes held a glint of wonder and passion.

  “Yes, this is where he wrote portions of some of his most acclaimed works like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. He’s buried here in Woodlawn Cemetery in Elmira.” Torrie paused to catch her breath.

  “Do you want to explore the town?” he asked. “Today’s supposed to be our day together. No kids. I’ll do whatever you’d like.” He rubbed his thumb gently over the top of her right hand and the delicate ring she wore. “Tell me, Torrie. Do you miss designing jewelry?”

  She shook her head. “There was a time when I thought I did. But once Finn and I decided to open the landscape center, it drifted farther and farther from my mind. I found I missed the outdoors and feeling of the sun and wind on my face. Then, when I started floral arranging, I realized I had a real talent for working with flowers, shapes, and colors. You can apply the same design techniques in most art forms, but my creations are special because they’re not cardboard copies of stock arrangements—they’re all original bouquets and arrangements, although some people do request the same composition once they’ve seen one of mine at a friend’s house. I keep pictures of all my designs in a scrapbook to be safe.”

  They left the restaurant together, strolling up the street. “Do you like Hickory Valley?” she asked.

  Rich pulled her close, his arm around her waist. He was amazed how comfortable they were in each other’s company. “Yes, and I envy you because Iris can be brought up in a small town surrounded by a large loving family.” He pulled her closer and kissed her gently beside her ear.

  “Would you consider relocating from Texas?”

  “It would be difficult. I own a firm with two partners and eight other practicing lawyers back in Dallas.” But most of the time, Redman, you are on the road and work with a computer. It could be possible, a little voice in his head whispered.

  They stopped near where the car was parked across from a small floral shop. Torrie went to the display window and looked at the bouquets and arrangements.

  “We can go in and look around,” Rich suggested. “We only have to be at Seventh Heaven Bed and Breakfast at Montour Falls by dinnertime. It’s about a half hour drive. I have a bottle of wine on ice waiting for us.” Torrie saw the reflection of his smile in the glass.

  “Seventh Heaven?” she squealed and turned to face him. “Overlooking Shequaga Falls?” Eyes shining, she grasped his hand and yanked him toward the car. “Let’s go. I haven’t been there since I was a teenager.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Torrie couldn’t believe her good fortune. Upon their arrival at the bed and breakfast, they had hurriedly stashed their luggage to take advantage of the warm afternoon to see three of the many falls in the surrounding area. Torrie felt like a princess with Rich squiring her from one beautiful place to another, and he had been attentive, caring, and kind. Not only did he reserve a tranquil, spacious room at the elegant bed and breakfast, but he had also requested dinner and wine be served on their private screened terrace overlooking the lush gardens, sparkling fish pond, and pergola. Never once had he brought up the problems of the destroyed flowerbeds or his problems with the jewels and his lost half-sister. He had promised her the entire afternoon and evening would be set aside for their enjoyment, and he had meant it.

  Now, as they sat on the patio outside their room in peaceful silence with empty wine glasses and only the occasional songbirds to interrupt the calmness of the descending evening, Torrie could feel the sexual magnetism hang in the air between them. She wondered what it would be like to always have someone so self-assured to stand by her side when life got tough. It would be comforting to have someone she could lean on and who could reassure her when problems arose. Someone who would wrap his arms around her and make her feel protected and safe.

  “What are you thinking?” A tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth.

  “Wouldn’t it be awesome to have this perfect Norman Rockwell world go on forever and ever?” She sighed and leaned back in her seat.

  He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently and sending delicious shivers up her arm. He bent near her and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Then let’s not destroy the perfect moment.” His gray eyes brimmed with tenderness and passion.

  Torrie met his gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was not a fickle female who didn’t know when a man’s eyes were full of desire. All of a sudden a shadow of alarm washed over her as her snug safe world tilted on its axis. What had she gotten herself into? What was she thinking when she agreed to accompany him and stay overnight? She wasn’t a woman who did one-night stands. She was Torrie Larson. Responsible, steadfast, and predictable. The girl who never colored outside the lines all her life. Single mom. Mother of a young daughter who led an uneventful, innocent life for the last six years. Even though she was attracted to Rich Redman, she still couldn’t bring herself to believe a relationship between them had a chance. They were so totally different and from different backgrounds. He was rich and she was poor. He was mature, worldly, polished, and sure of himself. She was a jumbled mess of insecurities and broken dreams. So what was she doing here?

  “What’s the matter, Torrie?” he asked softly.

  She swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer that was honest, but not insulting. �
�I guess I can’t decide whether I’ve made a good decision.” She bit her lower lip. “I’ve never done this before.”

  He smiled at her with his utterly stunning lips. “And do you think what we’re doing here is wrong?”

  She shrugged, afraid to look him in the eye. She stared at the stone patio instead. Panic like she never felt before rose up. “I…I think…I think we need to call our girls,” she stammered.

  “Torrie, look at me,” he said. When she met his gaze, he spoke with a voice filled with a knowing and gentle calmness as if he could read her mind. “Torrie, this night is for you to enjoy. Trust me, you needn’t feel frightened or pressured to do anything you don’t want to do. Yes, we need to call the girls.” He rose and offered her his hand, helping her up. “I have to make a few calls myself. Why don’t you use the shower and afterward, I’ll take one.”

  He pulled her into his arms. His comforting embrace felt so right. She leaned into him, feeling his warmth through his shirt. She could hear the soft beating of his heart. When she pulled away, he kissed her lightly on the lips and looked into her eyes. “I want you to shower, and put on those sexy stilettos and the hot electric blue dress I saw in the garment bag.” When her eyes widened, he laughed and said in a low, husky voice. “It’s not what you’re thinking. We’re going out on the town…dancing, my dear.”

  An hour later, after a short taxi ride to the Still Waters Lounge, Torrie and Rich were seated at a table in a private corner of the room, away from the noise of the bar and the possibility of loud music from the band. A bottle of champagne was waiting for them when they arrived.

  “Rich, this is fabulous. It’s like a fairytale.” Torrie swept her hands in the air and looked around at the lavish room trimmed in polished brass, dark walnut paneling, and lush red carpeting. The dance floor at the front was lit with overhead spotlights of blue, aqua, and pink. Behind it, a slightly raised stage held a multi-piece band, complete with violins and brass, already playing a soft waltz.

  A waiter appeared, opened the champagne, and poured two flutes. Rich raised his glass to Torrie’s. His shark gray suit emphasized his gray eyes and turned them from smoke to charcoal in the dim light. “You look stunning tonight, Torrie.” He winked. “A toast to us for health and happiness, and some excellent music and romantic dancing.”

  “And sleuthing,” she added, beaming.

  Moments later, she was swept up in his arms on the dance floor where he held her close and smoothly twirled her in a soft waltz across the room. Within minutes, it was obvious others on the dance floor were watching them. Oblivious to everyone and the spectacle they were making, Rich kept his gaze pinned on her face alone. He was so incredibly handsome and charming, she let herself go, melting into his arms, enjoying the music, the beat, and powerful attraction between them.

  “How did you learn to dance so well?” she asked. “And don’t tell me it was natural talent inherited from Great Uncle Walter.”

  He grinned and spun her toward an isolated area on the dance floor free of other dancers. “It was my grandmother’s idea. When I was in junior high, the local YMCA of Hickory Valley was giving summer dance lessons. My grandmother knew I wasn’t comfortable around women…well, girls back then. She told me if I learned to dance, every female would look at me in a different light since all women love to dance.” He offered her an arresting smile. “Of course, she hinted a new baseball bat and mitt might be forthcoming if I managed to suffer through all the lessons. What she didn’t tell me was she wanted to expose me to the YMCA and to more people my age who later became my friends when I transferred for my last two years of high school. She did the same with sports in school and our church group. Because I was an only child, I think she always worried I wouldn’t fit in. I wouldn’t have friends.”

  A lull fell and Torrie snuggled closer, feeling blissfully happy and alive. She kept in perfect step with him as if they were made to be partners. She remembered Elsa telling her Rich could be so unbelievingly charming when he wanted to be and depending upon how much mischief he was planning for later. “So tell me, did the females look at you in a different light?” she asked.

  He chuckled, expertly twirling her around in the opposite direction. “If they did, I didn’t notice. But I met your sister and her twin brother there. Elsa was often my dance partner. She refused to dance with Lars.”

  “Ah, ha. So that’s how she knows so much about you.”

  “Hmmm, I guess.”

  “Lars still has two left feet.” Torrie smiled.

  “True, but he’s one of the funniest guys I’ve ever known. We became close that summer, and have been best friends ever since.”

  “He’s a car salesman, for goodness sake. He’ll sell you the wheels off your own vehicle and joke about it.”

  “Well, I know a Texan who’ll do that.”

  Torrie’s laughter was warm and carefree.

  “I also met Ivan Winters there.”

  This time she stiffened and faltered, but recovered her step. Her smile faded. “On that cheerful note, let’s take a break,” she suggested.

  Back at their table, Rich pulled out her chair and casually slid his hand across the back of her bare shoulders, caressing her before sliding into his seat. “Is everything okay?”

  Torrie nodded, afraid to speak. Afraid she would blurt out secrets even her family didn’t know about.

  ****

  Rich felt Torrie’s change in mood the minute he mentioned Ivan Winters. He wondered what caused the shift, but he knew how secretive Torrie was with her personal life, so he dismissed her sudden reaction and focused on putting her at ease. This was a night to romance Torrie Larson.

  A waiter arrived at their table with a tiered plate arranged with a rich assortment of elaborate hors d’oeuvres, fruit, and small sugared treats. Rich leaned back in his chair and chose a chocolate-dipped strawberry from the tray. “So tell me what it was like to live with three big brothers.” In truth, he often wondered what living in a large family was like. The many times he visited at the Larson household, it was a beehive of activity with Regina, Torrie’s mom, organizing the family of children with quiet but unwavering authority.

  He remembered she had a house rule. No one was allowed to leave the house until his chores were finished. Often Rich spent time in their backyard helping Lars so they could get out on a Saturday night in record time. He remembered mowing the lawn, washing the family’s van and pickup, and chopping and stacking wood for the woodstove in the downstairs family room. Most households had only one axe or one shovel, but with four males in the household, the Larson family had multiples of everything, including two lawn mowers and snow blowers. Most of all, Rich envied the camaraderie only a large family experienced. There was always laughter and ribbing and quibbling, and sometimes downright fighting. When he went home to his grandmother’s house, it sometimes seemed empty, silent, and lonely.

  “The noise. There were days when I hated the noise,” Torrie confessed. “Being the youngest, I thought everyone lived in a home with continual racket and commotion.” She sipped on her champagne and chose a piece of chocolate. “When my mom finally realized I needed quiet time for myself to sketch or read, she had Dad convert a space under a dormer window up in the attic into a small room with an overhead light and a desk so I could create in peace. Dad even put a lock on the door to keep my brothers at bay. When I wasn’t in my treehouse, I was up in the attic.”

  “But you played sports and played them very proficiently. Soccer, volleyball, basketball,” Rich pointed out. “So all your free time wasn’t set aside for only art projects.”

  Torrie took a small bite from the chocolate square. “When my brothers didn’t have enough people to fill out a team or needed a spare player, they always came looking for me.” She shook her head. “No, I’m not being honest. Those knuckleheads pounded on my attic door until I gave in. Then they humored their little sister until their game was over. Otherwise, they ignored or teased me.” Her aquamarine eye
s pierced the distance between them. “I played sports because my parents believed exercise was good for your health. I was often enlisted by high school coaches who needed to fill out their teams. When you play with rough and tumble older brothers, coaches figure out quickly you can handle the game better than a beginner because you’ve survived your holy terror siblings. They think you’re fearless.”

  “But the Larson boys looked out for you. And they still make it a point to check up on you.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t a big plus when you’re trying to date in high school.” She frowned. “Every guy who didn’t make muster by big brothers’ standards didn’t even get to wink at me.”

  “Your mother was a saint. I never heard her raise her voice.”

  “No, she never raised her voice or her hand. She gave you her cold Scandinavian stare. She believed in far greater punishments. She heaped additional chores on us if we stepped out of line.”

  A flash of humor crossed Rich’s face. “Tell me about it. I’ll never forget the time we had to wash all the outside windows before we could go down to the local hangout because Finn and Lars hid a video game from Gus.”

  “Mom always liked you. She thought you were well-mannered. I know she’d love to see you.” Torrie inclined her head. “I’ll try to find a time when I know the others are busy and out of our hair, and we’ll go over with the girls for dinner.” She yawned and glanced at her watch.

  “It is getting late and you’re getting tired,” Rich said, signaling for the waiter. He asked for the check and gave instructions to call a cab. While they were waiting, the band began its second set with a soft romantic Spanish waltz.

  He stood, holding out his hand. “Come, let’s dance,” he coaxed. “This is a favorite of mine by Eros Ramazzotti. The lyrics have been translated into Italian and Spanish.”

  He led her to the dance floor and pulled her into his arms, his fingers aching to touch her all over. Her nearness was intoxicating. They fell into the rhythm of the song like they had been dancing together for years instead of hours. With Torrie Larson pressed close to him, Rich felt like a prince. Like the lyrics of the song, he felt like she belonged to him and him alone.