“Good idea. See you later.”
He awakened an hour and a half later, refreshed. What he wouldn’t give to be able to dive into a pool right then! He put on a pair of white slacks and a yellow T-shirt, followed the sound of voices to the back porch and noted with gratitude that the glass panels were closed and the place air-conditioned. He could do without the Texas heat.
Phelps came in from the garden. “You’re in good time. I just put the last batch of fish in the pan, and everything else is ready. How’d you sleep?”
Drake resisted a yawn. “Like a baby.”
“We’ll eat right out here. I’ll set up the table in a minute.”
Phelps went about his tasks, and Drake decided to find Pamela and get some answers to questions that had plagued him all day. He found her in the basement watching television and knitting.
“Hi. Is your father the man I’m seeing last night and today or the one I saw when I was here before?”
She returned her knitting to its basket and flipped off the television. “I hope you slept well.”
“I did. Thanks. About your father.”
“He’s both people. He can get as testy as anybody, and he has a temper that rarely shows itself, but…I’d say ninety-eight percent of the time he’s the man you’ve seen on this visit. He admitted that he sized you up completely wrong and acted on that basis. Also, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he did some research on you, because he’s a thorough person.”
“You mean to say that, when I was here before, he took one look at me and decided that I wasn’t worth your time?”
“Right. And Mama and I read him the law. Still, he’s decided that he likes you, and I’m certain of that, because there is not a phony bone in his body.”
Phelps yelled down to them. “Come on up. Lunch is ready.”
When Drake tasted the crispy fried fish, he had to admit that he’d never eaten better. Phelps preened when he told them so. He ate as much as he could, relaxed and waited until he could eat more. “I’d like to know how you cooked this.”
“The secret is the open flame and the black-iron skillet. I mix flour, yellow corn meal, salt, pepper and some Cajun spice, rinse the fish, roll it in the mixture and fry it. I use canola oil for frying. That’s all.”
“Excuse me.” He went to his room, got a piece of notepaper and wrote down the recipe. “We have an outdoor brick oven and grill, and if Henry can’t prepare this, I will. Thanks.”
Later, driving the rented Cadillac, he tailed Phelps to the club and at last was able to swim in the Olympic-size pool. He liked the atmosphere and thought it was the next best thing to having a pool in back of your house. He swam three laps, then stretched out on one of the chaise lounges and closed his eyes.
“I’m not moving until you tell me who you are and where I can find you.”
His eyelids flew open and he stared at the mostly naked woman sitting on the edge of his chair and wearing the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen. His first thought was of what Phelps Langford would think if he saw that woman sitting there.
He glowered at her and could feel the anger flaring up in him. “I’d appreciate it if you would get up this second.”
“Oh, don’t be mean,” she said, molding her face into a pout.
“Unless you want me to turn this chair over with you sitting on it, get up. I’m not one bit interested.”
“Don’t tell me you’re gay.”
He got up, resisted kicking the chair, whirled around and almost knocked Pamela down. His hand shot out in time to prevent her fall. “Am I glad to see you!” he said, holding her to his body.
“Oh, dear! Pamela, how are you? Are you and John still an item? Please tell me who this gorgeous hunk is.”
He nearly laughed at the expression on Pamela’s face. Irate hardly described it. “If he wanted you to know who he was, he’d have told you when you threw yourself at him.” She put her arm through his. “Come with me, sweetheart. I’d like a change of scenery.”
A few steps away, he saw Phelps standing with his legs wide apart, his arms folded across his chest and an unpleasant scowl on his face. Uh-oh. Just what he’d feared. Well, he was over twenty-one and paid his own bills. Phelps would have to learn not to jump the gun.
“What was that about?” Phelps asked. “I never saw such brazenness in my life.”
“She did what you did, Daddy—took one look at Drake and decided he was a playboy. I got there in time to keep him from dumping her on the concrete floor.”
“It would have served her right,” Phelps said. “Sometimes I don’t know what to make of these modern women.”
Delta’s response was a shrug. “Oh, the poor girl is probably lonely.”
Phelps hadn’t simmered down. “And well she should be. What man wants his woman to display herself that way? Nice-looking girl like that making herself cheap.”
Drake laughed. He couldn’t help it. Phelps had certainly catalogued that woman’s assets. Methinks you protest too much, buddy, he said to himself in the manner of Shakespeare. The woman sauntered past them slowly as if to make sure that Drake saw her, but only his peripheral gaze captured her, for he was too busy observing Pamela. He had never seen a woman more vexed, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Aren’t we supposed to attend a garden party next week?” he asked her, not that he welcomed the prospect; he didn’t. He wanted to divert her attention from the black vixen who had waded into her space not once, but twice.
“Uh…what? Oh, yes, the garden party. That’s Saturday, and wear your hard-hat outfit.”
“Wear my… Hey, wait there. I didn’t do anything to set you off. If you’re going to react this way to every little tactless airhead who appears on the scene, I might as well take a hike. I could be a dozen other places, but I’m down here in this stifling Texas heat just to be with you. That ought to tell you something. If you don’t trust me, lay it out for me right now, and I’m out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Drake, but these women get on my nerves.”
“You think they don’t get on mine? I detest it, but I’m not going to blow a fuse over it.”
“I trust you, and I am not jealous. What gets my dander up is the temerity of these women. She saw me with you when we walked in here, and she’s known me since I was in kindergarten. The idea of suggesting that I have something going on with John when she knows better! How dare she! I felt like telling her to go to hell.”
“Yeah. You looked as if you had a worse punishment than that in mind. Where’s your father?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “Over there watching the whole thing.”
“Let him watch. As long as he doesn’t judge me on the basis of the way in which strangers react to me, we’ll get along. And I hope he’s shrewd enough to know that.”
Chapter 11
The day of the garden party finally arrived. Pamela stepped out of Drake’s white Jaguar wearing an ankle-length, peach-colored chiffon sheath with a split from the hem to the left knee and a matching, wide-brimmed organdy hat, elbow-length gloves, bag and shoes. She looked at Drake, resplendent in a white linen suit, violet tie and white shoes, and winked.
“Rhoda said we should dress for a formal garden party, and I had better see every woman here in a broad-brimmed hat.”
As if he knew she was a little anxious about it, he grinned and winked back at her. “Why? If some of the guests don’t know what’s de rigueur for garden parties, I’m not going to sweat for them. You look stunning.” He offered his arm. “Beautiful.” And she thought he breathed rather than said the word.
“Oh, Pamela!” Rhoda exclaimed when she opened the door. “You look… Gee whiz…” Her gaze traveled to Drake and lingered there. “Come…come on in.”
The way the woman drooled over Drake, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see saliva dripping from the side of her mouth. “Rhoda, this is Drake Harrington. Drake, Rhoda Hansen.” She stared at Rhoda’s hand as it gripped Drake’s, tightened and
remained there as if she was greeting a friend of long standing. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at Drake’s widened eyes and perplexed expression, but she quickly stifled it. But when his obvious attempt to extricate his hand failed, Pamela could no longer contain the mirth and laughter poured out of her.
“You sure are something,” Rhoda said, evidently oblivious to the drama in which she was the central character.
“He is that,” Pamela said, not bothering to hide the smirk, “but I think he wants his hand back…provided you don’t mind, of course.”
Rhoda flinched as if she’d been struck by an unseen object, and Pamela realized that Rhoda hadn’t been conscious of her behavior. My Lord, she’s actually got a crush on him.
“Where’s your hat?” she asked Rhoda. “You told me this would be a formal garden party, and that means women wear hats.”
“I…uh, I know, but I couldn’t find one that suited me. I rationalized that since I’m the hostess, I could get by without one. Y’all come on in and mingle.” Her gaze lingered on Drake’s face, and Pamela knew that if Rhoda didn’t get her act together, their visit would be short.
Later, sipping punch, she asked Rhoda, “Is this the first time you’ve met Drake?”
“First time I met him, but I saw him with you a couple of times. The man’s a knockout. Are you two serious?”
“We’re serious, Rhoda. Very serious.”
Rhoda seemed to shrink the way a balloon shrivels when it loses air. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”
She looked at the woman, almost as if seeing her for the first time. Seeing her not as a coworker and assistant, but as a woman like herself with dreams deferred and needs unfulfilled. “You’re very attractive and you’re only thirty-five, too young to be discouraged about life. You have a lot to offer a man, so find one who is worthy of you and who loves you.”
Rhoda lifted her gaze from the floor, and understanding gleamed in her eyes. “Thanks for the compliment. You’re right about the rest. I always get attracted to men I can’t or shouldn’t have. At least this one isn’t married, which means I’m making progress.”
“You mean to tell me—”
“No, I haven’t had an affair with a married man, but I’ve had a couple of close shaves. I guess I should start going to church and maybe taking up tennis and swimming, so I’ll meet some single, unattached men.”
The touch of Drake’s hand at her elbow alerted Pamela to his presence. He handed Rhoda a card. “You might find this group interesting. It’s similar to Big Brothers and Big Sisters, but it combines the efforts of the two. The idea is that groups of three or four men and women talk with orphaned or one-parent children and offer whatever understanding and support they need, whether it’s a man’s touch or a woman’s touch. The members of the group range in age from twenty-one to thirty-five, and most are single. If you’d like to attend, call the president. He’ll be glad to hear from you.”
“Thank you,” Rhoda said. “I’ll telephone him Monday. I really appreciate this.”
Pamela could see that Rhoda was both serious and grateful and, from her demeanor, that Drake may have managed to diffuse Rhoda’s passion for him. “I think that’s wonderful,” she told Rhoda. “If for no other reason, your garden party is a success.”
Somehow, she had a sense of relief that Rhoda’s interest in Drake would cool, if it hadn’t already done so, for she valued the woman as an assistant and didn’t want conflict with her. Furthermore, she could think of little else more devastating for a woman than to carry a torch for a man whose interest was elsewhere.
Drake made no reference to Rhoda’s behavior, which he had skillfully finessed, and that pleased her. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming week,” he observed. “At the wedding rehearsal on Thursday, the bridal supper on Friday and the wedding on Saturday.”
“Is Russ getting nervous?”
A slight frown, like a transparent cloud, passed over his face. “Russ? I can’t imagine Russ getting nervous. I’d bet that, once he made his mind, he’s been counting the days impatiently. My brother knows his mind, and he would never make a commitment unless he was certain he could live up to it.”
“Sounds as if you’re speaking of yourself.”
He gazed down at her, unsmiling. As serious as she’d ever seen him. “That is one of my credos. And let me tell you this—when I commit myself to a person or situation, I write it in stone. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” But her mind was focused on the commitment he hadn’t made and of which she had vowed never to remind him.
He took her arm and ushered her toward a corner of the garden where daylilies grew in yellow, orange and pink profusion. “I’ve wanted to ask you this, and now is as good a time as any. What happened that your father was so gracious to me last weekend? That was a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree reversal, a complete about-face. I enjoyed the time I spent with him, and I appreciated his reaching out to me, but I have to tell you I was stunned.”
“My father respects people who stand up to him and he admires accomplishment. He later told my mother, but not me, that the first time he met you he liked everything about you, but wasn’t sure of his judgment because men who look like you are so often shallow. Plus he did some thinking, because Mama and I gave him what-for after he was rude to you.”
“I’m glad to know it,” he said, “though I suspected he’s still a little suspicious and he’s got a low boiling point.”
“I’d say that sums him up fairly accurately.”
“Hello, Pamela,” a voice just behind her said, and she turned to see Raynor, her boss, and another man she didn’t know. Raynor made the introduction and said, “Trevor is Lawrence’s replacement. He’ll be on from seven till midnight.”
After introductions and handshakes, the two men left and she inhaled a long and cleansing breath. At last, Lawrence Parker could be relegated to her past.
“Do you think Lawrence is able to manage his life?” Drake asked her. “I mean, if he’s psychotic, shouldn’t he have treatment?”
She was learning that compassion, even for his adversary, was an essential element of Drake’s character, and she couldn’t help thinking that she wanted her children to have that—and many of his other traits. Her face must have reflected her thoughts, for when she stopped ruminating and focused on him, his eyes blazed with a look of intimacy that nearly caused her to lose her balance. It was a look that said, I know you, I’ve had total possession of you and I want you right now. She tried to shift her gaze, but as if her mind mated with his, she couldn’t release herself from his snare, her breath shortened and she stopped herself just before her tongue rimmed her lips.
He stepped closer to her. “If you tell me you aren’t thinking of me, remembering us, I won’t believe you. Do you want to leave?”
She did. Oh, how she wanted the joy of exploding in his loving arms, but she looked past his shoulder and shook her head. “I could say yes to that every day, but I am not going to settle into an affair with you. I deserve more than that.”
“We’re already in an affair.”
“Please, let’s not debate this, Drake. What I’ve experienced with you is too important to me. Okay?”
He grasped her right forearm. “It’s important to me, too, and don’t you ever forget that.”
She managed to force a smile. “At least we’re in the same park, if not on the same park bench.”
His hand went to the back of his head and she stared at him while he punished his scalp. After a while, he said, “I suppose it’s natural for a woman to be impatient with a man, but trust me in this, will you? I don’t think you’ll be sorry that you did.”
When he looked into the distance, seemingly preoccupied, she said, “Let me know when you get bored. I don’t mind leaving.”
Both of his eyebrows shot up, and she got the feeling that he hadn’t been aware that his mind wandered. “Forgive me. I don’t get bored when I’m in your company. I’m not
with these people.” He let his gaze sift through the crowd. “I’m with you, and that’s why I’m here.”
This man could be serious when she least expected it, and he could treat lightly—or so it seemed to her—incidents and things that she thought deserved serious consideration. For her articulated thoughts, he rewarded her with a frown.
“I take you seriously, even when you’re joking, because everything you say and do tells me who you are, and this is something you shouldn’t forget. The fact that you see my teeth in what looks to you like a smile or a grin does not mean you are looking at my heart. It also doesn’t mean I’m a phony. When I can do it without sacrificing my principles, I try to put people I meet at ease with me, but I don’t do that with you. With you, I am my unvarnished self.”
He gazed steadily at her, and she saw the truth in his eyes. Yes, and a loneliness or a need, she couldn’t figure out which. She only knew that if they had been alone at that moment, she would hold him in her arms and in her body, showering him with the love she felt for him.
“Pamela! Sweetheart!” His arm encircled her waist, and he walked with her away from that corner of the garden to the center of the crowd. “If we had remained over there,” he whispered, “I’d be holding you and loving you right this minute, and the way I wanted to do it was not for the eyes of any third person. You do pick the damnedest times to open your soul to me.”
She looked up at him, shaken by what she had felt, what she had exposed and by his reaction after reading her as if he could see inside of her. “Is that what I did?” She hardly recognized her voice.
He nodded. “Being among these strangers may be good for us—if nothing else, it forces us to discipline our reaction to each other.”
“Is that so?” she asked him. “You speak for yourself—as far as I am concerned, your reaction to me is already disciplined enough.”
Love Me or Leave Me Page 23