Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  Chapter Seventeen

  On the cab ride back to the B&B, Torrie snuggled close to Rich and laid her head on his chest, inhaling his spicy aftershave. A million thoughts swirled through her head, each colliding with the other:

  He’s out of your league and he’ll be gone before summer even ends, a little voice in her head warned her.

  But why couldn’t she have a short fling, no strings attached? she countered. Nobody was going to get hurt when it was over. They were adults, just two people, enjoying each other’s company for a few weeks. And enjoying each other’s bodies.

  But can you handle it? the contrary first voice asked.

  Minutes later, as they climbed the steps to their room, Torrie thought the fairy tale evening had ended, but she was even more astounded when they entered their bedroom. The lights had been turned off and a dozen candles in crystal globes shed shimmering light around the room, bouncing off the walls and mirrors. Two dozen white roses in two crystal vases gave off a sweet intoxicating smell she had come to recognize and love.

  “What on earth, Richard Lee Redman, have you done?” She turned to face him and felt the familiar sizzle jump between them. Before she could decide the many reasons why this was all wrong, she threw caution to the wind, cupped his face in her hands, pulled it to hers, and kissed him. His mouth responded hungrily and shivers of desire spiraled through her. His arms looped around her waist and he drew her up off her feet while they kissed and kissed. Finally, he set her down and pulled away ever so lightly, then yanked her close so she could feel his arousal.

  “Yes or no, Torrie,” he groaned against her lips in a tortuous tone. “You’re killing me here. Is it a warm bed or a cold shower for me tonight?”

  She knew she surprised him when she stepped back and laughed a buoyant, provocative laugh, toeing off her high heels and sending them sailing across the room. She let her eyes say it all. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered and crooked a finger at him.

  Breathing heavy, his eyes widened.

  “First one naked calls the shots and chooses who gets top or bottom,” she said with a devilish grin.

  “You’re on. And I’ll go easy on you,” he sputtered. “Jewelry doesn’t count.”

  Her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, Torrie yanked at her dress, pulling it over her head. “You’re toast, cowboy,” she muttered through the fabric. “Try to remember who had more experience in sports and could beat the pants off any competitor.”

  “Really? Bring it on, sweetheart.” His low ripple of laughter filled the room. His tie, shoes, and belt hit the floor together. He had always been skilled at multi-tasking.

  ****

  The morning arrived too soon for Torrie as she awakened, her head lying on Rich’s chest. The sun was already sending a slanting golden band through the end of the curtain to fall across the foot of their bed. They had made love several times through the night until they both had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Quietly, Torrie slipped out of bed and into her robe and rounded the bed, just as she heard him say softly, “Sneaking out on me?”

  “We have to get started for home,” she whispered coming to stand beside him. A hand snaked out and grabbed her, pulling her on top of him and rolling her onto his side, pinning her in place. “Why are we whispering?”

  Laughing, she stammered, “Rich, stop it. We have to get dressed.” She raised herself on an elbow and asked, “So? How are we going to handle this?”

  “This? I think we’re handling this really well at the moment. Don’t you think so?” If he heard nervousness in her voice, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he pulled her gently back down, kissing her forehead at her hairline. He ran his other hand over her hair and down the side of her shoulder.

  She nudged him in the ribs. “You know what I mean. When we get back to Hickory Valley.”

  “Your hair is beautiful,” he said, his hand toying with a strand. “Silky and soft. Like satin. Flaxen-colored satin.”

  “Flaxen?” She snorted. “Who taught you the color chart?” She tapped him on the chest. “Concentrate, Richard Lee Junior. We were talking about what happens when we go back to Hickory Valley.” She rolled on her stomach and looked him in the eyes.

  “If you think this is just a fling or one impulsive day of sexual dallying, Torrie Jane Larson, you’re wrong. You’re sorely mistaken.” His eyes flashed.

  Realizing he was on the verge of becoming angry, she reined herself in. “I just would like to keep our little tryst out of the town’s gossip pipeline. Understand?”

  “Little tryst? Is that what you want to call this?”

  Torrie squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, brother. This was not going as she had expected. She tried a different, straight forward approach instead. “Okay, I don’t want the kids, my parents or brothers and sister to know. Not yet.”

  “Elsa already suspects there’s more than camaraderie,” he pointed out.

  “Rich, we need to figure out where we’re going with our relationship without everyone jumping in to give advice.”

  “Fine,” he conceded. “But I’m not going to walk on eggshells or avoid you like you’ve got the mother of all diseases.” He rolled on top of her and kissed her—and his phone started ringing.

  ****

  This time Rich was really aggravated. Why couldn’t he catch a lousy break? What was with the darn phone interrupting at the most inopportune times?

  Cursing, he rolled over, sat up, snatched the phone from the nightstand, and checked the number. He swiped the answer screen. “This better be important, Marlene.” He frowned, watching Torrie slip off the bed and tiptoe into the bathroom. So much for his quick morning romp before a long drive back.

  He had called Marlene last night before they left for the Still Waters Lounge to see if she could find someone who had the inside track with Dr. Winters.

  “What are you doing working so early in the morning?” he asked.

  “I could ask you what you’re still doing in Elmira,” she shot back with an amused tone to her voice. “Car break down again?”

  “Hah, I’m in Montour Falls.”

  “Hah to you, I’m not at the office.”

  “If we’re going to waste each other’s time with ‘who’s on first,’ I’d rather you give me the information you’ve found out and hang up.”

  “So I did interrupt something.”

  “Spit it out, Marlene!”

  “Well, Joe says—”

  “Whoa, are you at Joe Bradley’s house? At six in the morning?”

  His eyes grew large in lust and awe when Torrie pranced out of the bathroom in a sexy black bra and panties. Hers widened as well when she figured out the drift of their conversation and she realized Marlene’s early morning whereabouts. She gave a two-thumbs-up gesture, then she bent and started picking up loose clothing from the floor, tossing his on a nearby chair, and throwing him a pair of silk boxer shorts. He caught them one-handed and frowned at her, obviously disappointed by the turn of morning events. She grinned impishly at him, collected a pair of jeans and shirt from her suitcase, and sashayed back to the bathroom.

  “It’s is none of your business, Rich Redman,” Marlene’s clipped voice was cool and disapproving.

  “Touché,” he replied.

  Silence descended, and Rich knew she was regrouping her thoughts.

  Finally she spoke. “Okay. Truce. Here’s the scoop. The two people who were close to Ivan’s mom and dad were Joe Bradley’s father and Lucille Smith’s late husband. Joe told me they once collectively owned a hunting cabin up in New York by the Finger Lakes. Here are my thoughts. You approach Dr. Winters with one of the women, either Joe’s mom or Lucille Smith, and you might have a better chance of shaking him down for information.”

  “You’re a gem, Marlene.” Rich bent and picked his belt off the floor. “Tell Joe I said hello.”

  “Tell Torrie I said hey, too.”

  “I will when I see her later this morning for breakfast.”

&n
bsp; “The hole you’re digging is getting deeper by the minute,” Marlene warned. “Have a safe trip back to Hickory Valley.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rich drove along U.S. 15 south toward Hickory Valley with Torrie sitting quietly beside him, hardly making a sound. He wondered whether she was thinking about the information involving Dr. Winters and his half-sister’s adoption, or whether she was mulling over the night they spent together. She had been insistent they take both vases of white roses. Perched in a box on the back seat, the roses permeated the inside of the car with a sweet intoxicating smell. Torrie had also insisted they skip breakfast and stop only for a quick, fast-food hamburger since the trip would take over three hours.

  “Why the silence?” he asked. “Come on, Torrie, tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “The girls.” She frowned. “Surely they will be asking why we didn’t drive home last night.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, it might be awkward to lie and tell them we were too tired to drive back.”

  Rich threw her a quick glance. Was she was feeling guilty? Having second thoughts about their relationship? Or was she truly concerned about the girls and how to explain a night away from them?

  “We’ll tell them the truth, Torrie. We wanted to have some time alone. We went to see the falls. We had a nice dinner. I was exhausted, especially after the sleepover.” He stopped, then added, “Anyway, Estella is used to me being away.”

  “But Iris is not. At least, not in another state where I can’t reach her.”

  He sighed. A twinge of annoyance crept into his buoyant demeanor. “Okay, what do you want to tell them?”

  “I don’t know. I know I don’t want to fight. I don’t want us to make commitments we can’t keep. We’ve spent one night together. Maybe we were just caught up in the moment. Maybe this was a rash decision.”

  “Rash decision? Where do you come up with all these disastrous thoughts? Last time it was fate working to save us from a crazy impulsive act. I don’t know about you, but last night was no rash decision. I was caught up in the moment, and I want to be caught up in a lot more of them, sweetheart.” He picked up his phone from the console pocket beside him and handed it to her. “Here, look up the name of the bicycle shop I saw in Mansfield on the way up. Get me an address.”

  “Whatever for?” She punched at the keyboard. “And you better not call me sweetheart in front of the girls.”

  “Insurance, babe. The kind you like.”

  “Can you be more specific?” She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Maybe babe isn’t such a good idea either.”

  He drew in a long breath. The woman had the ability to be exasperating without much effort. “Insurance so our time away will never cross their devious little minds. The girls need something else to do at the house besides pestering the poor cat and asking Lulu enough questions to fill a half-hour game show. So I thought we’d pick up bicycles for them in Mansfield.”

  He recalled his conversation with Gertie’s ghost on the porch. He wasn’t about to tell Torrie that his grandmother had made the suggestion. He had noticed the bicycle shop on the way up.

  “I loved to ride my bike at Gertie’s,” he admitted aloud. “I’d start at the back of the house where the lawn sloped downward. If you could get a fast start, you could come down into the circular drive and around the house to end up almost where you started. And barely pedaling! I wore a path around the place.”

  Torrie slapped a hand on her knee. “I can’t let you buy Iris a bike, and I can’t afford to get her one yet.”

  “Will you stop?” he begged. “Please stop with your tedious desire to be so independent. Why can’t the girls have fun together? If it will help to end your unrelenting guilt trip, I’ll tell them the bikes must stay at the house.” His black mood shifting like the wind, he offered her a conspiratorial wink. “And that only means Iris will be bugging you like a gnat on a hot summer day to spend more time with Estella, and you’ll be forced to spend more time with me.”

  Torrie stared at him. “Does anyone ever win against you?”

  Yes, he wanted to say. You did. You stole my heart, messed with my head, and made me the most confused, love-struck creature in the state. You belong to me, Torrie Larson. Now all I need to do is convince you.

  “Not usually,” he admitted instead and reached over and ran his hand tenderly over the top of hers. “Torrie, I don’t want to bicker.”

  “Well, we’ll have to get two bikes exactly the same and exactly the same color,” she said, conceding. “You better hope it’s possible. Otherwise, you’re going to see two little girls quibbling, instead of sailing around the house in mind-numbing circles.”

  “Are you serious? You think they care what color they are?”

  Torrie laughed. “Ah, Rich, you have a lot to learn about kids in groups of more than one, especially girls. Mom used to say raising kids is like working with one hand tied behind your back. Even my brothers would argue over new baseballs, bats, kick balls, soccer balls—even the color of their T-shirts. When she could, especially with sports equipment, Mom used to buy everything exactly the same, right down to the same manufacturer, then write their names on everything with a permanent marker so there’d be no mistaking who owned what. When someone’s baseball turned up missing, you’d find her checking everyone’s baseballs to make sure there was no pilfering taking place among her sons.”

  Hours later, when they pulled into the driveway and unloaded their luggage, it was only Lulu who joyously greeted them at the door. “Welcome home, Richard Lee,” she quipped as he piled the luggage inside the entranceway. “Good trip?”

  When he nodded, she waved at the family room in the back of the house. “Iris is resting on the couch with a book, and Estella is upstairs with Denise who’s doing an elaborate series of braids in her hair. The girls were up most of the night according to Denise, and it was really another wide-awake, rambunctious pajama party. Danielle came over to help and join in the merriment, but Denise should get a gold star. She deserves a few bonus Redman points. She worked like a mother hen to keep them in tow. And trust me, they were a sugar-induced handful when I left.”

  “Noted,” Rich said. “Anything else?”

  “Well, I think Sheba’s approaching her due date.”

  He frowned.

  Lulu grinned. “Estella asked again how we were going to locate the father when the blessed event occurs. She seems to think he’d want to know.”

  “And what did you say?”

  Lulu headed for the kitchen. “I told her to ask you.”

  Rich groaned. “What am I missing here? You’re from a farm. Who better to explain the birds and the bees?”

  “Me?” Lulu snorted. “Explaining the propagation of felines was never mentioned as part of my job description, so I’d better not lose one stinking point.” She marched down the hallway and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I never got a copy of that job description!” Rich yelled after her.

  “Lunch will be on the table soon. Gather the troops,” she shouted in reply.

  “Well played, Rich.” Torri’s laughter billowed out as she headed for the family room. “Can’t wait to see how you handle cat reproduction.”

  Frowning and disgruntled, Rich climbed the staircase, halting at the top to listen to Denise and Estella chatting like magpies inside the front bedroom. From his vantage point, he could see Estella sitting on a chair, her small hands clasped demurely in her lap as she looked out her dormered window. Behind her, Denise stood, pins in her mouth, her hands deftly parting Estella’s hair, braiding, and coiling the braids into a fancy creation exactly like she was wearing. Not wanting to disturb their antics, he decided to silently stand and eavesdrop instead.

  “Denise, do you ever feel different?” he heard Estella ask. She held her little head ramrod straight as Denise wound another braid into a fancy knot by her ear.

  “Like how?” Denise asked, mumbling around the pin
s in her mouth.

  “Well, since Mommy went to heaven, sometimes I feel all alone—like I don’t always belong because I don’t have a mother like all the other girls. And I don’t have any sisters or brothers. Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in.”

  Denise nodded. “Hmmm. Yes, sometimes, I do. Even with my sister, I sometimes have a feeling like I don’t belong. I think everyone does. Danielle and I’ve discussed it and she agrees everyone gets those thoughts. I guess it’s quite natural—to sometimes feel all alone, I mean.” She chuckled. “But then, I know my mother and dad love me, and you know your dad loves you, too. That’s what important, Estella. Someday, you’ll get a new mommy and she will love you very, very much.”

  “But how can you be sure?” Estella asked. “What if she hates me?”

  “No, Estella. No, no. Your dad would never marry anyone who didn’t love you as much as he does. He’s a wonderful father. You must trust him.”

  “All right,” Estella said in a resigned tone. “I guess you’re right.” She brightened. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if my dad married Torrie? Then Iris could be my sister and I wouldn’t be an only child anymore!” She squirmed excitedly in the seat. “Then they could have a baby and I could have two sisters. I’d make a good big sister. I try to take care of Iris sometimes.”

  “Hmmm,” Denise said, removing more pins still in her mouth. “Maybe you ought to take this subject up with your dad. Hold still, I’m almost finished.”

  With a heavy heart, Rich looked at the two and sighed, turning to sneak back down the steps. He had no idea Estella worried about not belonging. About being alone. About not having siblings. He knew those feelings himself when he was growing up.

  He swiveled slightly to take one last look at Denise Jordan who was winding the last braid onto Estella’s hair-do. She was getting a huge bonus for babysitting today. She was a peach, like Lulu indicated.