"Since when did you get so good at stonecutting?" he asked, grimacing. "I thought paints and papers were more your thing."
"Someone around here has to keep you in line, McKay. Love's doing terrible things to your perspective."
He laughed. "And how am I supposed to take that statement?"
Her look was one of wide-eyed innocence. "Any way you want to. All I'm doing is making a simple observation."
Leon and the others had been eavesdropping openly since Annie had come into the room. Enough of his life was already public domain, so Michael led her outside into the yard.
"Your attorney called," she said as soon as they were out of earshot. "He wants you to call him back ASAP."
His neighbor Jim Flannery had stepped in to handle the increasing custody threats from the Bentleys.
"How did he sound?"
"Serious."
"Did he talk to Art and Margaret?"
"He didn't say."
"Can I use – "
She linked her arm with his. "Of course you can use my phone. Come on."
Ten minutes later he hung up the phone and stared blankly at the silk screen on the wall across from him.
"Go to Florida," Jim had said. "Talk to them, face-to-face. Give it one last shot before we start flexing our muscles."
The last thing he wanted to do was go to Florida and talk with the Bentleys face-to-face.
Hell, the last thing he wanted was to be away from Sandra right now, when it looked as if the future he'd always dreamed of was finally within reach.
"Bad news?" Annie asked from the doorway.
He nodded. "Flannery wants me to go to Florida and have it out with Art and Margaret."
"When?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"I thought the day after tomorrow was Davey's school pageant."
"You're right." He dragged his hand through his hair. "What the hell am I going to do?"
"Perspective," Annie said gently. "You're going to go to Florida. I don't see as if you have much choice in this."
"It might take a couple days."
"Then so be it. It's a small price to pay to keep your kid, isn't it?"
He looked over at Annie and smiled. "Who the hell ever said women aren't logical?"
"Not me," she answered. "So will Davey go with you?"
He shook his head. "I want to keep him out of this, physically and emotionally, for as long as I can."
Her mouth opened, then she caught herself.
"What?" he asked.
"Forget it."
"You were going to say something, Gage. Out with it."
She met his eyes. "I was going to say I'll take care of him while you're away, but given the circumstances . . . " She let the words trail off. "It doesn't seem like the provident thing to do."
"Provident? Since when do you use words like 'provident'?"
Her saucy grin reappeared. "That's what happens when you work in a cathedral basement. Just forget I said anything."
"They get along beautifully," he said, referring to his lover and his son. "I didn't expect it."
"Please," Annie said. "I get the drift. Even Davey has jumped ship."
"Annie, I – "
"I'm teasing," she said. "Don't take me seriously."
"I always take you seriously."
"How about the two of you?" she asked. "Are you as serious about each other as I think you are?"
"Yes." He felt the tug of something close to regret at the flash of sorrow on Annie's face.
"Then go to her. If the two of them are going to be a family, now's as good a time as any for them to get started."
He bent down and gave Annie a swift hug, and as he did he saw the glitter of tears in her golden eyes.
"Thanks for the good advice, Gage," he said, his voice soft. "I can always count on you when the chips are down."
Annie blinked rapidly, refusing to acknowledge the tears trailing down her cheeks. "Damn it," she whispered fiercely. "I wish I hated her."
He looked at the woman who'd been his friend for so long, and he couldn't think of a thing to say that made any difference.
#
McKay the younger was spending the night with his pal Sean Flannery, while the elder McKay spent the night with his pal Sandra.
When Michael told her they'd be able to spend a whole night together, she'd surprised herself by suggesting he come to her house for a home-cooked dinner.
To be honest, she was getting a little weary of the moonlight-and-roses aspect of being courted, and the opportunity to be alone together without hovering waiters and smarmy maitre d's was too wonderful to pass up.
Being courted had turned out to be more wearing than she would have imagined, and it was taking its toll on her work. A steady diet of candlelit dinners and dancing and trips to the theater could be exhausting. Ed had made more than one pointed comment about her obvious fatigue, and she'd had to hold herself back from snapping, "None of your business!" when he'd asked why.
He'd been doing his share of hinting around about a new opportunity coming his way, but Sandra had been too preoccupied to pay much attention. Her work for US-National had finally slid into second place in her life where it belonged.
Oh, she was still hardworking Sandra Patterson, but the fever was gone. She no longer felt the burning need to prove herself over and over and over again.
There were other things in life that deserved her attention.
Elinor's condition had taken a sudden, mysterious turn for the worse, and Sandra had driven up to Fair Oaks a number of times only to be turned away. Lucie had been urging her to call first before making the 150-mile round trip, and Sandra had finally given in.
Not being able to share her happiness with her mother was one of the few dark spots on an otherwise happy, if hectic, horizon.
"This is wonderful," she murmured, as she stretched out on the sofa after a late dinner. "A night without an orchestra."
"All danced out, are you?" Michael was busy stacking wood for a fire.
"I may never tango again," she said, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet on the arm of the couch.
"We could cut this courtship short and get down to business."
"Five more weeks," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm entitled to thirty-five more days of moonlight and roses."
He chuckled and she heard him throw another log on the pile. The truth was, she didn't want more moonlight or more roses or another fancy dinner. The fact that they were ready to take the next step was painfully obvious in everything they said and did.
Their connection was deep and strong. It spanned years and continents and other alliances. Marriage was only a way of confirming what already existed, what would always exist between them.
However, the fact that marriage should be based upon truth lodged in her throat like a stone each time the words "Let's marry now" tried to escape her lips. Michael had been painfully honest about his son, about his marriage and his in-laws and the years that had gone before.
She had told him about her need for a career. She had told him about her broken engagement, about the powerful ambition that made her always want to be the best in her field. She had told him that these weeks with him and his son were the happiest she had ever known.
But she still hadn't told him about her mother.
She hadn't told him about the heavy burden of emotional and financial responsibility that colored every move she made, every decision that came her way. The promise made to Elinor was a promise made in blood.
Elinor had sacrificed so that Sandra could be where she was. Honoring Elinor's wishes was the least her daughter could do.
Despite the sixty-day courtship and the silly jokes about wine and candles and music and her wanting an old-fashioned engagement, Sandra knew she couldn't take her wedding vows until she told him the truth.
And yet how could she change her mother's mind when her mother was too ill even to see her?
Until she could, she was powe
rless to follow her heart.
"Are you okay?"
Her eyes flickered open. Michael was kneeling next to her, his eyes darker than the night. She wanted to hand herself over to him, body and soul, and be absorbed into his power and healed by his strength.
"Just tired," she said, making room for him on the sofa. "I usually settle for a frozen pizza and a glass of wine."
"The lasagna was great," he said, fitting his body against hers in a way that made her forget she was tired.
"You sound surprised."
"I am. I didn't know you could cook."
"I'm a woman of many accomplishments."
He bent his dark head and kissed the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. "So I've discovered."
"There isn't enough room on the couch for that," she whispered as he slid his hands up under her silky robe.
"Sure there is." His fingers splayed out over her bare hips and grasped her firmly.
"You'll fall off," she warned.
"The hell I will."
He lifted her as easily as if she were a doll, and then positioned her atop the length of his body. He was all coiled muscle, tense and ready to strike.
"You're quite a man," she said, kissing the contours of his jaw. "It must come from carrying all that limestone around the workshop."
His hands slid over the backs of her thighs and found what they were seeking. Her entire body trembled with longing as his fingers moved within her, coaxing, demanding, urging her higher.
"Do you still hate men who work with their hands?" His voice was rough with desire, his breath burned against the curve of her ear.
"I was a fool . . . a total fool . . . "
His laughter was the last thing she remembered for a long time.
#
Two hours later they were curled together in the middle of Sandra's bed. She'd been right: the couch hadn't been large enough to contain the love they needed to express.
Her heart certainly wasn't large enough. The emotions he brought out in her were so violently tender, so overwhelming that each time she saw him, each time he touched her, each time they came together, she wondered how it was she didn't die from pleasure.
"This is wonderful," she mumbled against his chest. "And to think I once thought pajama parties were the ultimate."
His laughter rumbled beneath her ear. "Marry me and we can do this every night."
"Unfair bargaining practice," she said, looking up at him. "Bribery is against the law."
He touched her intimately, then brought his hand to her lips. "Nothing between us is wrong," he said. "Nothing."
She moaned low in her throat, an almost animal sound of pleasure that shocked her with its intensity.
"You make me feel things I never imagined," she said. "Things I never knew were possible to feel."
"Then take a chance, Sandy." He moved away from her, and she felt desolate without his touch. His power over her was infinite. "Track your mother down and let's set a date. Let's start living this life together."
The mention of Elinor worked on her like a splash of ice water. Lust moved aside and reason took its place.
"Remember your son," she said. "I think he could use more than three weeks to get used to me." There was a long silence and anxiety sprang to life. "Michael?"
"This is a hell of a time, but I have a proposition for you."
She laughed. "I think we've run the gamut, but if you have any suggestions . . . "
"It's about David."
"David?" She was at a loss to figure out what he could possibly be talking about.
"I spoke to Art today at my lawyer's request."
She listened carefully as he explained the Bentleys' escalating demands and Jim Flannery's advice to take one last shot at a civilized solution.
" . . . so I'm leaving for Florida the day after tomorrow to take a stab at it."
"You don't sound very positive."
His laugh was grim. "Oh, I'm positive, all right. I'm positive we'll end up at each other's throats."
"So don't go."
"I have to." He paused. "For my son's sake."
Responsibility. She knew it well.
"And where do I fit into this?"
"How would you feel about watching David while I'm gone?"
She sat up straight. "What?"
"I'll be gone two days. Jim said he and his wife would be happy to take him, but if we're going to become a real family one day soon, maybe you and David should – "
She put her finger to his lips to silence him. "Shh. It's not that I'm against the idea, Michael. It's just that I didn't expect it."
"I know this is short notice. I don't want you to feel pressured."
The idea of getting to know his son had a definite appeal. "I still have to work. I mean, I can't take a day off or anything."
"You wouldn't have to. He'll go to school same as always. In fact, he has a pageant on Wednesday evening. I was planning to go but that's out now."
"Could I go in your place?" What was she saying? She knew about as much about school pageants as she knew about nuclear physics. Had she lost her mind? "Would that embarrass David?"
The sheer joy in Michael's voice brought tears to her eyes. "Hell, no! It would probably make his week." The other kids in David's kindergarten class had begun to ask questions about his missing parent, and David didn't know how to answer them. Each question probed deeper into feelings of loss and abandonment that were more than a child his age could handle.
"Okay," she said. "You've got yourself a babysitter."
Oh, Mother, she thought. What am I going to do now?
The chains binding her to Michael were growing stronger, and she wondered how she would ever break free.
#
"I don't believe this!" Ed Gregory stepped around a tricycle in her foyer and nearly tripped over a small sneaker in the living room.
"Believe it," Sandra said, slipping a cracker into Pepper's seed cup and praying he'd keep his beak shut.
"Don't we pay you enough? Did you have to open a sleep-away camp for Munchkins?"
"Keep your voice down," she said, pushing a Hulk Hogan coloring book off her elegant sofa. "I don't want Davey to wake up."
"Davey?" Ed lowered himself down on a Queen Anne chair, and then reached behind him to retrieve a chestnut-brown Crayola from the seat cushion. "What's going on?"
"I'm taking care of a friend's child. His name is David. He's five years old, and it took me two hours to get him to go to sleep. If you wake him up, Gregory, so help me, I'll kill you."
The school pageant had been a lot of fun and afterward they'd gone off for Mexican food, which David seemed to love. He'd slept in her car on the way home, but the second they'd gotten inside, he'd been wide awake.
David had had to have a room-by-room inspection of Sandra's house, complete with a closet check, before he went to sleep. He seemed to have a vivid imagination that ran the gamut from the usual bogeymen under the bed to a water monster that managed to creep throughout the plumbing until it popped out of the hot-water faucet in the bathroom sink. How the water monster had managed to get from Michael's house to hers was something she didn't pursue.
Just getting him off to sleep was enough of an accomplishment.
Fortunately, however, Ed hadn't come by to check up on her private life. He had other things on his mind.
"I want to talk to you," he said as she brought him a cup of coffee.
"You could've phoned."
"I tried. No answer. And since you refuse to get yourself a machine, here I am."
She pointed to the end table near the door. "I got one," she said. "I set it up an hour ago."
"Welcome to the age of enlightenment."
She ignored the gibe and sat down opposite him. "Whatever this is, it couldn't wait until morning?"
"We needed privacy. McGrath and Richter seem to have a grapevine that won't quit."
She took a sip of coffee in a crazy attempt to calm herself down.
>
"We could schedule a lunch for tomorrow."
"You're never around these days, Patterson. I've tried to book dinner with you three times in the past week, and you're always busy." He drained the cup of coffee, then put it down on the table in front of him. "I figured I'd catch you in your own den while your guard is down."
Her hand began to shake and she gripped her cup more tightly. He had come over either to proposition her or fire her, and at the moment, she wasn't certain which idea bothered her more.
He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Have you unpacked yet?"
A nervous laugh rippled through her. "I keep promising myself I'll do it on the weekend, but things haven't worked out that way so far."
"Don't."
"Don't?"
"Don't. You may be on your way out."
The room seemed to swirl in front of her, as if she'd had too much wine.
"If there's a problem, Ed, I wish you'd told me about it sooner."
"The only problem I have is getting a word in edgeways. Quit hyperventilating for a moment and listen. I've lined up a dynamite job for myself in Geneva and I want you to go along as a full vice-president."
Geneva, Switzerland.
The job she'd always wanted, in the perfect location.
Why, then, did she feel as if she were being sent to the electric chair?
"Did you hear me, Patterson? The big enchilada! Switzerland. Banker's paradise."
He looked as excited as a kid out of school, and she had to laugh. "I hear you, Ed, and I think it's great."
"You think it's great? Let me tell you, it's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. A 20K-per-year raise. Perks up the yin-yang. I get to pick my own staff. From now on, the sky's the limit, and I intend to take you with me."
"Is your transfer final yet?"
He waved an impatient hand in the air. "Almost. Burrows still has to sign the papers, but it's as good as done."
"You haven't put through any papers for me yet, have you?"
His sandy brows drew together. "Not yet, but that's only because I have to get on the Swiss payroll before I can do anything." His expression lightened. "Is that what's bothering you? I'm not going to pull a fast one on you, Patterson. I promised to take you to the top, and I'm going to keep that promise." He grinned. "And you can bank on that."
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