He didn't say a word when she stuffed the mistletoe in the bottom of the box of Christmas decorations and carried the ladder out to the back porch. Her brother hadn't had any desire to hang it, and Stephanie thought it was highly unlikely that she would have a need for it.
IT WAS almost a week before she gathered the pride to write Brock a short note, saying only that she was sorry he hadn't understood her reason for turning-down his invitation. But she subtly made it clear that she still believed she had made the right decision.
After writing that, she didn't write to him again. He had made it fairly plain that there wasn't any point. Perry had been a rock to her, never once reminding her that he had "told her so." Instead, he had tried to cheer her up each time her spirits sagged into the pits of despair—which was often.
They had weathered many depressing situations together. His support gave Stephanie the hope that she could do it again. Otherwise she wasn't certain what she would have done.
The week before Christmas their church had a Christmas caroling party. A skiing accident to one of the guests at the inn forced Perry to cancel at the last minute, but he encouraged Stephanie to go without him. Regarding it more as a religious festivity than a social party, she agreed.
He dropped her off at the church with instructions to call him when she was ready to go home and he would pick her up. It didn't prove necessary, however, since one of the first persons she met was Chris Berglund. His parents owned the farm a mile from theirs and the two had virtually grown up together—playmates becoming schoolmates. It had always seemed as though they were related, which they weren't.
Stephanie hadn't seen much of him since they had graduated from high school. Chris had gone on to college, coming back only for term breaks like this Christmas one.
When Chris learned she was without a lift home, he immediately volunteered to take her since it was right on his way to his parents. They gossiped, exchanged personal news and recalled funny incidents from their shared childhood days.
As he turned into the lane leading to the farmhouse, Stephanie leaned back in her seat and sighed. She couldn't remember when she had laughed like this and felt so lighthearted. She glanced at Chris, with his curly brown haft and dark-rimmed glasses, a thick parka adding bulk to his slim frame.
"I still can't believe you're going to be a doctor," she remarked. "I can remember when you used to squirm at the sight of blood."
"Thank heavens I outgrew that!" he laughed.
"Dr. Chris Berglund." Stephanie tried out the sound of the title with his name. "It has a very professional ring to it."
"It does, doesn't it?" he agreed with mock smugness. "But I still have a few years of school left, plus my internship before that's a reality. I have to learn how to say 'Open your mouth and say, aah' with finesse!"
Stephanie laughed, as she was meant to do. "I'll bet your bedside manner will be impeccable."
"You know it." Chris slowed the car as he approached the house. "It looks like Perry is waiting up for you. Good grief, he even has the front light on for you. Is big brother playing the heavy-handed parent now?"
"That isn't his style. Perry is just Perry. I wouldn't trade him for the world," she replied, and meant it.
"He is a pretty special guy," Chris agreed, and stopped the car beside the shoveled sidewalk to the front door.
Stephanie climbed out of the car, joined by Chris as he walked around to see her to the door. "Why don't you come in for a drink?" she suggested. "Perry would love to see you."
"I'd better not." Chris turned down the invitation reluctantly. "I just got home this afternoon. With mom being in charge of the caroling party and all, I haven't got to visit much with the folks. The minister and his wife and a couple of mom and dad's friends are coming by the house tonight. I think they'd like to show me off."
"Naturally," Stephanie understood, stopping at the door and turning to him. "I'm glad you're home, Chris. It isn't the same when you aren't around."
"The next time I come, I'll bring a couple of guys from my fraternity. I'll fix you up with one of them," he winked. "I don't want my favorite girl turning into an old maid." He locked his hands behind her waist and pulled her closer. "You're much too pretty."
"Flatterer," she laughed, but there was a tight pain in her breast.
His kiss was a warm, friendly one, innocent and meaningless. It didn't occur to Stephanie to object—any more than it would have if a member of her family had kissed her. It was the same with Chris. Neither of them was hiding any secret passion for the other.
He was smiling when he drew away to leave. "Tell Perry I'll stop by the inn tomorrow. Maybe we can all have coffee together."
"Okay," she agreed, and added with a quick wave as he disappeared down the sidewalk, "Thanks for the ride!"
Her answer was a wave. Stephanie turned to enter the house as the car door slammed. Hurrying inside out of the cold, she paused to shut the front door and stomp the snow from her boots on the heavy mat inside.
"Hey, Perry!" she called to her brother as she turned and began unwinding the wool scarf from around her neck. "Guess who's home for Christmas?"
She had barely taken two steps into the living room when she saw a dark-coated figure standing beside the fireplace. She faltered in surprise before a seating joy ran through her veins.
"Brock!" she cried happily, and started forward with lighter steps.
"Surprise! Surprise!" Sarcasm dripped from his taunting voice, halting her as effectively as a barrier.
His left hand was thrust in the side pocket of his topcoat. In his right, he held a glass of whiskey. It had to be whiskey since that was the only kind of drink they kept in the house. His legs were slightly apart in a challenging stance. But it was the rawly bleak anger in his gray eyes that froze Stephanie. His masculine features might have been carved out of brown stone.
"When did you get here?" she managed finally. "Why didn't you let me know?"
"Fifteen minutes ago. What's the matter?" Brock jeered. "Are you wishing I'd come fifteen minutes from now so I wouldn't have witnessed that tender little scene out front?" His mouth thinned as he downed a swallow of whiskey. Angry disgust and contempt flared his nostrils. "I'll bet you would have liked to know I was coming. You would have done a better job of juggling the men in your life so they wouldn't meet each other coming and going."
"Brock, that's not how it is," she protested in a pained voice.
"You mean that's not an example of how you wait for me?" he challenged with open scorn. "I saw you kiss him."
Stephanie half turned to glance at the glass pane on the top half of the front door, the outside light illuminating the entrance. If Chris had kissed her in the living room, they wouldn't have been more visible. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her brother appear in the kitchen opening, drawn by Brock's angry voice.
"It was Chris." She unconsciously appealed to her brother to make Brock understand how innocent the kiss had been.
"He's a neighbor—" Perry began, trying to come to her rescue.
"That's convenient," Brock snapped.
"You don't understand," Stephanie insisted helplessly.
"I understand all right." His voice was savagely low. "I understand that I was a fool to think you were different."
With unleashed fury he hurled the glass into the fireplace. Stephanie flinched at the crash of splintering glass and the subsequent small explosion of flames from the alcohol that splattered on the logs.
It all happened so quickly she didn't notice Brock was moving until he swept past her. By the time she turned, the front door was slamming in her face. She wrenched at the doorknob, the lock momentarily jamming from her haste.
She managed to jerk it open in time to see Brock striding around the station wagon to where his car was parked. The boxy bulk of that station wagon had previously hidden it from her view, but then she hadn't been looking for it, either.
As she ran down the sidewalk after Brock, she heard the car
door slam and the motor start. Before she reached the driveway he had reversed onto the lane. Stephanie had a brief glimpse of his profile and the forbidding grimness of his expression before the car accelerated down the long drive.
"Stephanie?" Her brother was calling to her from the open front door.
She paused long enough to ask, "Are the keys in the wagon?"
"Yes. Where are you going?" he asked, already guessing.
"I've got to explain to him. I can't leave it like this." The answer was tossed over her shoulder as she ran to the car.
She lost sight of the Mercedes's taillights when she turned onto the main road. Judging by the direction Brock had taken, she took a chance that he was going to the inn.
His car was parked in the section reserved for employees, steam, rising from the hood, when she arrived. She parked the station wagon beside it and hurried inside, slowing her steps to a fast walk through the lobby. Ignoring the questioning look she received from the night clerk, she didn't stop to explain what she was doing there at that hour of the night.
Her heart was pounding and she was out of breath when she reached the door to Brock's suite. Before she lost her nerve, she knocked rapidly three times. She felt a tense kind of relief when she heard hard strides approaching from the other side of the door. It was jerked open by an impatient hand. Brook's eyes narrowed on her with icy anger.
"I deserve the chance to explain what you saw," Stephanie rushed before he could order her to leave.
Minus his topcoat and suit jacket, he had on a white shirt, his tie askew from an attempt to loosen the knot. His hand returned to finish the job as he pivoted away from the door, not closing it. Stephanie moved hesitantly into the room, shutting the door behind her and watching the suppressed violence in the way he stripped the tie from around his neck and tossed it onto a seat cushion.
Without looking at her, he walked to the gold-leafed coromandel screen and opened it to reveal the bar. She watched him splash a couple of jiggers into a glass from a whiskey decanter. He took a quick swallow and moved away—not speaking, not looking at her.
"I…" It was difficult to know how to begin when she was being so frigidly ignored. "Chris Berglund and I grew up together. We played as kids, we were in the same grade in school. He's studying to be a doctor and I haven't seen him in ages. He arrived home this afternoon for the Christmas break."
"You must have had a very joyous reunion," Brock remarked caustically.
"It was wonderful to see him again." Stephanie refused to deny that. "Chris and I are old friends. That's all we've ever been. It's more like we're brother and sister. I know how it might have looked—"
"Do you?" Brock spun around, withering her with the fiery blast of his anger. "Do you have any idea at all what it's like to break appointments, to tell important executives to go take a running jump into a lake, because there's this woman you can't get out of your head—and if you don't see her, you're likely to go crazy? So you take off, drop everything. Then you're there, in her home, waiting for her to come back from church—from church!" he emphasized with biting contempt. "You hear a car drive up and voices. You're so anxious to see her that you nearly go flying out the door. But there she is—kissing someone else."
"But it didn't mean anything." Her voice was hoarse, scraped by the rawness of the emotions he had displayed, his feeling of betrayal. "You've got to understand it was no different from kissing Perry."
"Am I supposed to believe that you missed me?" he challenged, unconvinced. "That you wanted to see me again?"
"Yes." She was astounded that he could doubt it.
"Then why haven't you written me?" Brock demanded, setting his glass down with a thump to punctuate the question.
"Because I thought…When you called me and I couldn't come to California…" Stephanie was so confused she couldn't finish one sentence before starting another. "You said goodbye…I thought it was final. You were angry because I refused," she reminded him.
"Yes." He began to cross the room. "I was furious—with you and with myself. When those letters stopped, I thought I'd lost you. I came all this way to apologize for being such a selfish, arrogant bastard." He stopped in front of her, reaching out to dig his fingers into the tender flesh of her shoulders. "Then, to find you in that man's arms, I…"
The male lines in his face were more deeply etched as he struggled to control his warring emotions. With a smothered curse he crushed her lips beneath his, grinding them against her teeth. The brutality of his kiss bruised and punished, shocking Stephanie into the stillness of silent endurance until the moment of wrath passed.
Lifting his head to view her swollen and throbbing lips, Brock permitted her to breathe for a minute. Then his hands were forcing their way inside her parka and crushing her into his tortured embrace. Rough kisses were scattered over her hair and temples as anguished sounds moaned from his throat.
"Do you blame me for going a little crazy?" he groaned. "For wondering…" He raised his head again, anger still smoldering in his eyes. "How many men are there? How many men would fly halfway across the world to be with you?"
"Brock, there's only you," Stephanie whispered, lifting a trembling hand to let her fingertips trace the iron line of his jaw.
"That's what you say." Rueful cynicism flashed across his expression. "But I don't know what you do when I'm not here. My God, I don't even know if you're still a virgin!"
She was stunned that his doubt ran that deep. "You don't mean that!"
"Prove it," Brock challenged with a new urgency in his voice. His hands tightened their hold to draw her closer to the hardening contours of his body, making her vividly aware of his need. "Stay with me tonight."
"You expect me to go to bed with you just to prove I'm still a virgin," she accused, her hands straining against his chest to keep some distance between them. "What kind of a reason is that?"
"It's a damned good one!" he flared. "Because you're going to have to convince me that I haven't been going through this hell for nothing!"
"No!" A sudden surge of strength enabled her to wrench free of his arms and she backed quickly toward the door. "I shouldn't have to prove anything to you. Do I ask you how many women you've slept with since you met me? Don't forget I know about Helen! What kind of things do you think I imagine when you're gone? You can't have lain awake as many nights as I have wondering who you were with. But I promise you, tonight it isn't going to be me! Not for a reason like yours!"
Pivoting, she raced out the door into the hallway, but her haste was unnecessary. Brock made no attempt to follow her. The demons that pursued her were from her own imagination. She slowed her flight to walk swiftly through the lobby and outside to the station wagon.
A sense of justifiable indignation and pride kept her eyes dry and her chin steady. It wasn't until she was at home and alone in her bedroom that she began to think about some of the things Brock had said and the implications that he cared for her—even loved her.
Her temper cooled quickly when she realized she might have rejected the very thing she wanted most of all. The next question was whether she could swallow her pride and admit that to Brock.
Chapter Eight
ALL NIGHT LONG Stephanie wrestled with her dilemma. She awakened on Saturday morning no nearer to a solution than she had been the night before. Perry noticed the faint circles under her eyes at the breakfast table.
"How did it go last night? Did Brock listen to you?" He pushed his empty plate back and leaned on the table to finish his last cup of coffee.
"He listened." But she didn't say whether he had believed her.
"And?" her brother prompted.
"We argued," Stephanie admitted and rose from the table. "Do you want anything else before you leave?"
"No." He shook his head and downed the coffee. "It's late, I'd better be going. Are you going to wash clothes this morning? My basket of laundry is still in my room," he remarked on her change of routine. Usually she brought the dirty clothes do
wnstairs before she fixed his breakfast.
"Yes…I'm going to wash. I'll get them later." At the moment, the laundry was the furthest thing from her mind. "I'll see you tonight," she murmured absently.
After Perry had left, Stephanie decided to leave the laundry until later in the afternoon. Instead she chose to dust and clean the living room. Secretly she was hoping that Brock would make the first move to patch up their argument, so she didn't want to stay far from either the telephone or the front window.
The morning passed without a phone call, and she began to worry that Brock might have left. She couldn't stand the thought that they had parted on a bitter and angry note. Suddenly it seemed that she was being childishly stubborn by silently insisting that Brock had to be the first to say he was sorry they had argued.
She hurried to the phone and dialed the inn, asking to be connected to Brock's suite. Unconsciously she held her breath as she listened to his extension ring once, twice, three tunes, then—
"Yes?" It was Brock. She recognized his voice instantly.
"It's Stephanie," she said, and waited for some kind of favorable reaction.
His response was a long time coming. Then it was a disappointing and noncommittal, "Yes?"
The telephone became a very impersonal and inadequate means of communication. "I'd like to talk to you. May I come and see you?" she requested, trying to be calm and not as anxious as she felt.
Again there was a pulse beat of silence. "When?"
"Now." Before she got cold feet.
Brock's pause was several seconds long. "I have some overseas calls I'm expecting. Perhaps later…say, about five o'clock," he suggested in a completely emotionless tone.
"That will be fine," she answered, because there was nothing else she could say.
"Good. I'll expect you then," he replied, clipped and to the point. "Goodbye."
"Yes…goodbye," Stephanie responded, then there was a click and the line was buzzing its dead signal in her ear. She slowly replaced the receiver, wondering if she had made the right decision after all by contacting him first. Brock couldn't have sounded more indifferent.
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