In Your Eyes

by Laura Moore

  Alex was still struggling to come to grips with his feelings for Gen when the headlights of the Volvo pulled into the driveway. Caleb climbed out and made his way toward Alex. Murphy trotted over to greet him. “Hey, guy,” he said quietly, patting him soundly on the shoulders. To Alex, he said, “You just get back?”

  “Yeah. Dropping off the baby-sitter?”

  “Uh-huh. Sweet kid. Definitely earned her baby-sitting stripes tonight.”

  “Is Cassie asleep?” At Caleb’s nod, Alex asked, “feel like a drink?”

  Caleb’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Sure, why not? The night’s young.”

  Neither man spoke as they slowly headed toward the dimly lit house, giving Murphy ample time to relieve himself. In the kitchen, Alex opened the wooden hutch and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, then led the way out onto the porch. Setting the glasses down on the wicker coffee table, he uncorked the bottle and poured two fingerfuls in each glass.

  “Thanks,” Caleb said, taking the proffered glass.

  Alex dropped into the chair next to Caleb’s. Murphy, as if he’d been waiting for the two men to position themselves, sank down onto the floor between them. Caleb raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said.

  “Cheers.” There was a moment of silence as both men sipped their whiskey. Then Caleb stretched out his legs and began rubbing Murphy’s stomach with the toe of his shoe. “Gen asleep?” he asked idly.

  “Yeah. Somewhere on Stephen Hands Path, Cinderella turned into Sleeping Beauty on me.”

  “Ahh.” Caleb nodded. “I know both those ladies. Sophie’s a fan,” he explained. “So Gen conked out, did she? Little too much champagne?”

  “No, the car cast a spell on her.” And she’s cast a spell on me, he thought broodingly as he took a long swallow of the whiskey.

  “Happens to Cass all the time.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Mainly when we’re coming back from a horse show.” He shifted in his chair and Alex could feel his eyes studying him before continuing. “So tell me, Miller. If you’ve got Sleeping Beauty lying in the studio, just waiting for your kiss, what the hell are you doing out here with me and a dog for company?”

  That was one of the more annoying aspects of Caleb’s southern drawl: it lulled you into thinking he was just another good ole Virginia boy.

  Rather than spilling his guts, Alex merely shrugged.

  He should have known Caleb wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

  “Ahh, I get it,” he said. “This is the scene they gloss over in the fairy tales. The one where the prince is scared spitless, wondering what happened to his world. ’Cause shitty though it was, at least it was his world.”

  Damn him for hitting the nail on the head, Alex thought, shooting Caleb a narrow-eyed look. “You have such an eloquent way with words. Pure poetry.”

  Unfazed by the sarcasm, Caleb grinned. “Thanks. I notice, though, that you’re not denying the truth of my very eloquent observation.” His voice changed, grew serious and kind. “Gen’s worth falling for, Alex. She’s bright as a penny, talented, and kind as the day is long.”

  “I know. It just—” He broke off and rubbed his hand over his face as he tried to describe what he was feeling. “It hit me so damned fast, like a—”

  “Like a sucker punch,” Caleb offered.

  He nodded glumly—“Yeah”—and downed the rest of his whiskey in one fiery gulp.

  Caleb leaned forward and snagged the bottle between his fingers and poured some more whiskey into Alex’s glass. “You know, Alex, we could take the kids with us tomorrow to Pound Ridge. They can visit another—”

  “No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I want Jamie and Sophie here. Besides, having them around will give me a chance to figure this thing out while I get my bearings. Thanks, though.” Raising his glass, Alex took a long swallow.

  “You’re welcome. You know, Alex, I won’t ever forget how you helped me after I, uh, messed up with Cassie. I’d like to help you in return,” he said quietly. “So here’s some good advice, free of charge. Go back to your sleeping beauty. Wrap your arms around her and while you’re holding her, think about what your world was like before you found her. Then try and imagine living without her. You’ll be kissing her before long.”

  The following morning Gen was in her studio, drinking coffee from the largest mug she’d been able to unearth in Mrs. Miller’s kitchen. She was frowning, not from a champagne-induced hangover, but from concentration. Putting the coffee mug down, she took up the Conté crayon and approached the canvas once more.

  For the past hour, while Alex was in the house, keeping the twins occupied as Cassie and Caleb got ready to leave, Gen had been working on the underdrawing for the painting, lightly roughing in the composition, and then stepping back, studying it critically. Right now, she was most concerned with the proportions, that and the drama of Alex’s and the twins’ gestures as they constructed their fabulous sand castle. The poses and the position of their hands had to be just right, conveying expression and emotion to the viewer.

  “Hey, Gen, can I come in?”

  Gen’s Conté stick stilled and she glanced over to the door where Cassie stood. Her preoccupied frown became a smile. “Of course.”

  “Wow, this place looks so different,” Cassie said, looking about her with interest.

  “It’s a great studio,” she said, picking up an old hand towel and wiping her reddish-brown-stained fingers with it. “There’s room to do almost anything imaginable. Paint, sculpt . . .” She stopped in midsentence, aware that Cassie’s attention was fixed on the canvas behind her.

  “My God,” Cassie whispered. “That’s . . . is it . . .” Her throat worked convulsively.

  “Yes,” Gen said gently. “I made the sketch yesterday while you and Caleb were taking a stroll. Here it is,” she said. Moving to the worktable, she handed the drawing pad to Cassie. Filled with a sudden anxiety, she asked, “You don’t mind, do you? That I’m using the three of them for the painting?”

  “Mind? It’s perfect, Gen. Tom and Lisa would love it—” Her voice cracking with emotion, she pressed a hand to her lips. Her slender shoulders rose as she drew in a long, shaky breath. “It’s perfect,” she repeated. “Thank you, Gen.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said simply. For a minute, their eyes met, then Cassie’s gaze returned to the drawing, studying it intently. Every so often, she would glance over to the canvas as if envisioning the finished painting. Finally she lay the sketch pad back down on the table. “Does Alex know?” she asked, turning to face Gen.

  “About what I’ve decided to do for the painting?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No, I wasn’t talking about the painting. I meant about how much you care for him.”

  “I—I—” Gen stammered, feeling her face flame.

  “It’s there, Gen, in every line you’ve drawn,” Cassie said gently.

  Disconcerted, she picked up her coffee cup. “Alex is a handsome man,” she mumbled, before burying her nose in the cup and drinking deeply.

  “He’s a heck of a lot more than handsome, and you know it. Most of the women he’s been with have never bothered to look past the fancy veneer that surrounds him and see the real Alex. I think that’s hurt him more than he’s willing to admit. I love my brother, Gen. More than anything, I’d like him to have a chance at finding real happiness. I hope you do, too.”

  Before Gen could reply, however, Caleb’s voice reached them. “Hey, Slim, we gotta get this show on the road or we’ll be late for Steve and Ty.” He stuck his dark head through the doorway. “Ahh, so you found Gen.”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t gotten around to saying good-bye,” Cassie replied as she and Gen walked over to Caleb.

  “Busy having a girl talk?”

  “Something like that.” With a smile, Cassie turned and gave Gen a hug. “ ’Bye, Gen.”

  “ ’Bye, Cassie. Good luck at the horse show.”

  “Thanks. And good luck to
you—remember what I said.”

  “Don’t let the kids run you and Alex ragged,” Caleb advised as he kissed Gen’s cheek. “If you’re in danger of collapsing from exhaustion, feed ’em pizza and stick ’em in front of the TV.”

  “Caleb!” Cassie exclaimed in outrage.

  “What? I’m just providing an invaluable parenting tip. One we’ve used a couple of times when we suddenly needed a few minutes of privacy. Ain’t that right, Slim?” he asked, his voice dropping to a suggestive murmur.

  Cassie’s cheeks bloomed a becoming shade of pink. “Extra cheese and sausage is their absolute favorite. Oh, and Finding Nemo works like a charm.”

  Gen stayed behind when Alex drove Cassie and Caleb and the twins to Southwind, the horse farm owned by Steve and Ty Sheppard. Although Gen would have really liked to see them and what was apparently a beautiful horse farm, she sensed that her presence would only delay the adults’ departure. That, in turn, might be all that Jamie and Sophie required to start missing their parents before they’d even driven away.

  Besides which Gen was grateful for a little time alone. It would give her a chance to mull over what Cassie had said to her in the studio about Alex. And as the house was empty, Mrs. Miller having waited to say good-bye to Cassie and Caleb before taking her morning constitutional, it would also be the perfect opportunity to vacuum the sand that had accumulated throughout the house.

  Gen pulled out the vintage Hoover from the hall closet. Armed with a bevy of attachments, she attacked the downstairs rooms, sucking up sand and dust bunnies with a vengeance, her thoughts whirring inside her head as loudly as the powerful machine. Could what Cassie had said be true, that Alex had been hurt by the other women he’d been with? Could they really have been so stupidly ambitious—the sort of people who cared more for private jets and penthouse apartments than for what was inside Alex?

  And what about Sydney’s claim, that Alex wasn’t capable of commitment? That he’d never stay with one woman? she wondered, bumping her way up the stairs, Hoover in tow, pointing the nozzle at every corner and crevice she encountered. From the way Sydney had described Alex’s affairs, she’d made it sound as if he’d left a trail of broken hearts in his path. Was it broken hearts or broken ambitions? Which was the truth? she wondered, realizing immediately that the truth wasn’t necessarily black or white. It could be a shifting shade of gray.

  With a slight frown, Gen yanked the Hoover over the top step and began vacuuming the upper landing. So, she thought, while everything she was learning about Alex only added to the complexity of the man, one thing was certain: her feelings for him. She was helplessly in love with him. And according to Cassie, she was practically wearing her heart on her sleeve— or, rather, on her drawing pad.

  Was it really so obvious that she’d fallen in love with Alex? Gen wondered, unconsciously gnawing her lower lip. It must be. Cassie had looked at her sketch and recognized the truth immediately. . . . Oh, God, what would happen when Alex saw it?

  To calm herself, she drew a long steadying breath, the air she inhaled carrying with it the lightest hint of citrus. Instantly she realized she’d unwittingly vacuumed her way into Alex’s room. Glancing about, she felt suddenly shy, as if she were somehow trespassing.

  Good Lord, she was being utterly ridiculous. It was only a bedroom. Nevertheless, she was glad Alex had left it as neat as a pin. She would vacuum and leave.

  With the vacuum cleaner humming behind her, she worked her way across the bedroom, awash in sunlight streaming in through the bay window. Set at an angle to the window was a large, comfortable-looking upholstered chair. Her eyes strayed to the chair as she vacuumed, easily picturing Alex sitting there and gazing out at the blue expanse of ocean, and her mouth curved in a soft smile.

  Her smile abruptly became a startled gasp.

  Beneath her hand the nozzle jerked, while the vacuum’s motor whined loudly in protest. Something was obviously clogging it. Pulling the wand out from beneath the chair, Gen lifted the nozzle.

  He must have dropped a sock, she thought, as the half-swallowed white material vibrated madly. Automatically she stepped on the power switch. The room went silent, accentuating the awful pounding of her heart as with suddenly trembling hands, Gen freed the nearly transparent panties.

  Her eyes closed. But that didn’t stop her from seeing Sydney. Her cruel memory conjured the image of Sydney walking out onto the porch in a silk, claret robe, the ivory skin of her slender neck abraded with the marks of passion. She saw Sydney again—as she’d been last night at the party, dressed so beautifully, and gazing up at Alex with a wistful smile. She saw Sydney leaning forward to press a kiss to Alex’s lips.

  Her knuckles tightened around the vacuum cleaner’s handle as jealousy and pain pierced her, cutting her to the quick. How could she survive this kind of torment? she asked herself as tears filled her eyes. The answer came from an unexpected source: Lizzie Osborne, her blue eyes filled with compassion and hard-earned wisdom, saying, “Don’t let your fears destroy you.”

  Lizzie was so very right.

  Gen couldn’t go on like this. If she did, eventually jealousy and uncertainty would destroy her love for Alex. She had to believe in herself and she had to believe in Alex. Most of all, she had to trust that what they’d discovered together was real and lasting. If she didn’t conquer her fears, their love would never stand a chance.

  Squaring her shoulders, Gen lifted the nozzle and pulled off the attachment. Switching the machine back on to high, she gingerly picked up the scrap of white cotton and lace. Then, with a fierce growl that would have made Murphy proud and Lizzie Osborne get on her feet applauding, Gen let the Hoover have the panties.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Homesickness struck the twins later that after-noon. As a veteran baby-sitter and an aunt herself, Gen had been expecting some kind of emotional meltdown from Jamie and Sophie. So it had come as a surprise when the kids returned with Alex acting upbeat and cheerful. But then she learned how savvy Uncle Alex was. After saying good-bye to Cassie and Caleb, he’d driven directly to the Candy Kitchen in Bridgehampton and treated Sophie and Jamie to a kiddie feast of grilled cheese sandwiches, ice cream, and licorice sticks. And since Alex was not only savvy but a soft touch, they’d next hit Penny Whistle, a toy store conveniently located across the street, and bought “just a few more” sand toys, as well as two kites, and two boogie boards so that Jamie and Sophie could be just like real surfer dudes.

  But not even Alex’s near-impeccable avuncular instincts could block out a sudden attack of longing for Mommy and Daddy. In Sophie’s case all it took was something as inconsequential as a stubbed toe as she was running across the lawn—a hurt spunky little Sophie would normally have hopped off with an “Ow! Ow! Ow!” But without the reassuring presence of her parents, her face crumpled. Her smile drooped like a wilted flower, her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, and tears began slipping down her plump, sugar-smeared cheeks. Then came the dreaded wail of “I want my mommy!” And Gen, who along with Alex had rushed to Sophie’s side, got a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

  Her premonition proved correct. The homesick bug didn’t take but a minute to spread. It turned out Jamie wasn’t Sophie’s twin for nothing—or her brother for nothing, either. He not only matched his sister, he upped the ante. Soon his shoulders were heaving in anguish as he cried, “I want my mommy and daddy, I want Radar! I want to go home!”

  Simply because Gen had anticipated something along these lines didn’t make it any less heart-wrenching, watching two six-year-olds dissolve into puddles of distress. A quick glance at Alex’s face told her he was feeling equally helpless.

  Thank God for Murphy, friend to woman, man, and six-year-olds alike. As the wailing and tears gathered steam, he pushed his way into the center of their small, unhappy circle and began licking wet, sticky faces, while his shaggy body wriggled against theirs, his curled tail beating back and forth for good measure. When it came to dogged determination not even Soph
ie’s and Jamie’s combined efforts could stand up against a hundred-pound wolfhound. First a hiccup interrupted the flow of tears, followed by an aggrieved but definitely happier cry of “Murphy, quit it!” and “Hey, that tickles!”

  Gen’s and Alex’s eyes met over Murphy’s shaggy shoulders. Gen winked, then quickly, before the kids could remember that they were disconsolate, she jumped to her feet. “Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe it! I forgot I was supposed to take Murphy over to the groomer today!” she cried, slapping a hand to her forehead in an inspired touch of drama. Deliberately ignoring the kids she looked at Alex and said, “I have some shampoo, but there’s no way I can wash Murphy all by myself. He’s just got to have a bath. He’s so stinky, I can smell him from here.”

  Alex rocked back on his heels. “Ugh, you’re right. I guess I could help you, Gen, but I’m not sure about these two munchkins. Murphy’s a really big dog—”

  “We can help! Yeah, we can help,” they shouted in unison. “We’ve given baths lots of times. Daddy taught us how. And Radar and Belle are almost as big as Murphy.”

  Gen looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, it’s a messy job. You’ll get really wet.”

  “I know!” Jamie jumped up and down. “We’ll put on our swimsuits. Then it won’t matter if we get wet.”

  “Huh, that’s an idea.” Gen pretended to consider it. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “I guess we could try it. Why don’t you go get your suits on and I’ll find the shampoo and dog brush.”

  The kids ran off, tears and toe forgotten.

  Alex released a huge breath and stood up. “Thanks,” he said with a crooked smile.

  “My pleasure. Murphy’s too,” she added lightly. “Nothing upsets us more than six-year-olds crying.”

  He shuddered. “I’m with you there. I’ll make sure Murphy’s amply rewarded for his valiant efforts come dinnertime. You, however, deserve something more immediate.” Angling his head, he settled his lips over hers in a leisurely and thorough tasting that left them both gasping and hungry for more. “Mmm,” he said, coming back for a second helping. “Bedtime seems an awfully long time away.”