by West, Cara
"There's nothing to talk about. And there won't be at this rate. This is our business, not Sam's."
"For God's sake, Megan, he's my oldest friend. And your big brother." Nate's tone was agonized, and he turned away from her, leaving her momentarily silent while she searched to understand the emotions constraining him.
Finally she asked, "Are you ever going to make love with me?"
"I hope to."
"When?"
"Eventually. I don't want to do anything right now that will upset Andrew."
"My father has no place in this room with you and me.
"Megan—" he turned back to her, his expression pleading "—you're not just some woman I want to take to bed."
"What if I want to be some woman you want to take to bed?"
He smiled faintly. "You always did want to get your way."
Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at him balefully. "That was a tacky thing to say."
"Tacky but accurate."
Before she could stop herself, she chuckled.
With her laughter, his features relaxed.
Throwing up her hands, she gave a fatalistic sigh. "Okay. We'll do it your way for the time being. But I'm on record as saying I feel you led me on."
"I'm sorry. I told you already, I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
"I thought I was in the hands of an expert."
"Well," he said with sudden savagery, "it seems you thought wrong."
WHEN THE PHONE RANG, Nate glared at it. He'd just taken off his jacket for the second time that night, and he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.
Nevertheless, when Jenny's voice came over the answering machine, he reached for the receiver.
"Jenny, I'm here."
"Oh. Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"I wasn't sure if Megan was with you."
"You can rest easy," he drawled. "I just returned from delivering her to her doorstep. Her virtue remains intact for now."
"Nate, please. That's not why I'm calling."
He could hear the hurt in Jenny's voice. Still, he couldn't conceal his bitterness. "I thought perhaps your husband had deputized you."
"Sam's gone to bed. But I couldn't sleep. Not until I'd talked to you."
"Do you agree with Sam that I should keep my hands off his sister?"
"Sam hasn't said that."
"He didn't have to spell it out. I got the message loud and clear."
"Give him time, Nate. Don't be angry. The family just needs time to adjust."
"After more than thirty years, don't they feel they can trust me? Don't they understand I wouldn't use Megan or hurt her?"
"They will—as soon as they get used to the idea. They never realized she was in love with you all those years."
"But you did? Did she confide in you?"
"I realized what she felt as soon as I saw you together—I guess because I came with a different perspective. And Molly knew. She's always had a way of reading her children."
"Yeah, well, I think Molly's terrified we'll bring on another heart attack."
"That worries us all. Andrew has to be protected." Jenny's voice suddenly had a militant edge.
"So, you are warning me off."
"No. I'm on your side. I'm just asking you to take it slow."
"I intend to do that, Jenny. So go to sleep. You've said your piece."
But apparently she wasn't finished. "Nate, do you mind if I ask a question?"
"You can ask. I'm not guaranteeing an answer."
"How do you feel about Megan?"
He took instant affront. "Damn it, don't you trust my motives?"
"I'm not talking about trust. I'm asking how you feel. Do you love her?"
"Of course I do. I've loved her from the day she was born."
"But are you in love with her?"
"She enchants me," he hedged. "I'm under her spell."
"You want her, in other words."
"It's more than wanting. I fought this, Jenny. For all that's worth."
Jenny was silent for a moment, and Nate began to wonder if the conversation was ended.
Abruptly she said, "I think I know what your problem is. You never mixed love with sex before. That's why you can't figure out what's happening. You are in love with Megan. Have you told her?"
"I've told her she's different from any other woman."
"Then treat her differently. Court her."
"I'm trying." He heard his desperation and laughed ruefully. "Megan has other ideas about how this affair should proceed. She's not in the mood for hearts and flowers."
"That's because she hasn't fallen in love with this particular Nate."
"This particular Nate," he said gloomily, "is the only one available."
"You need to give her time, as well. I think the two of you belong together. In fact, you should marry her."
He took a ragged breath, winded by Jenny's blunt assessment. "I hadn't planned that far ahead. First you want me to go slow, then you have us at the altar."
"No. I'm just saying now's the time to decide. Nate... there will never be another woman in your life like Megan."
"It's the gods' own truth," he agreed with a sigh.
"And that's what you're going to say to Sam when you talk to him."
"How did you know—"
She laughed softly. "I know you pretty well. Remember the day of the ferry accident? I knew then that eventually you'd wake up to how you felt."
"Even then?"
"Yes. Only you weren't ready to deal with it."
"Now I have no choice."
"Tell Sam that, as well. You know, some men wouldn't feel he deserved an explanation."
"He's my oldest friend," Nate said for the second time that night.
Thirty minutes later as he lay in bed, still far from sleep, still hard and wanting, the scene with Megan kept replaying in his mind, along with the things Jenny had told him.
Jenny had said he was in love with Megan. She'd seemed certain of it. He guessed he'd have to accede to expert opinion.
Except he had yet to get a handle on just what love was. When he thought about Megan it was with a maelstrom of emotions, only some of which resembled affection. Mostly he felt as if he'd been run over by a two-ton truck.
But why else had he been mooning around like a lovesick adolescent, instead of behaving like the jaded, world-weary thirty-nine-year-old he was.
He had to be in love with Megan. He was in love with Megan. Therefore, he'd marry her. Once he'd calmed her family's fears.
After all, he felt a certain obligation. Otherwise the poor girl would die an old maid. Especially since he'd decapitate any other man who made advances. And Luke and Tony and Marcel could go straight to hell.
He chuckled at his possessiveness before he was struck by the obvious question.
How did he get a woman to love him? He knew how to elicit a woman's desire, and he knew very well how to satisfy her passion. But he'd never wanted love from a lover.
Court her. That was Jenny's directive. And that was already what he wanted to do.
Megan would get hearts and flowers and candy and candlelight whether she was in the mood or not.
And eventually the Grants would realize his intentions were honorable. All he had to do was give Sam and the rest of the family a little time.
Speaking of honorable intentions, there couldn't be a repeat of tonight's little scene in the kitchen. Just thinking about it made Nate groan with frustration.
Kisses. Chaste kisses. Those were all he could stand. Because next time he had her open and wanting, he wouldn't be able to deny his need.
How could he have known a female all her life and not known how silky her skin was, how lush her curves felt in the palm of his hand. How spicy her scent was when she was ready to take him inside. Her eager cries. Bringing his hand to his face, Nate discovered that her scent still lingered.
Holy hell!
He twisted and kicked at the sheets.
Lying alone in the rumpled bed now, his body aching for satisfaction, Nate faced up to the reality of a long and celibate courtship.
His curses were ripe as they drifted through the dark.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MEGAN STOOD BACK to get a better view of the expanse of stucco. Satisfied with her progress, she took another swipe at the wall.
The doorbell rang, and she lay down the roller, wiping her hands on her liberally splattered coveralls. As she made her way down the stairs and over piles of debris and drop cloths, she thought she might entitle herself Industry in the Midst of Chaos.
When she swung open the door, Betty stood waiting.
"Come in, come in," Megan welcomed her. "I can't wait to show you all I've done."
Betty gave Megan a shy smile. "From the looks of it, you must be working in latex."
Megan posed elaborately. "Just consider me ephemeral art."
That drew a soft chuckle.
Slowly but surely over the past few weeks, Megan had been drawing Betty out. Today represented proof of her progress.
"I took a taxi like you suggested." Betty moved into the hallway.
"Good, I'll drop you back at Sandra's when we leave here."
"It's stupid of me, I know, but I don't like to drive. Ken used to make fun of my driving. One time he made me so nervous, I ran into a stop sign."
Megan grimaced. "I'm sure that did a lot for your self-confidence."
"I used to ask the kids to drive me places when they lived at home. I've just now gotten the courage to make runs to the grocery store."
"You have four children, all grown, right? Do they still live in Austin?" Megan asked.
"Yes to both questions."
"It must be nice having them so close."
"Sometimes it is." Betty's eyes evaded Megan's.
"Any grandkids?"
"Two. They're Ken, Jr.'s. He's the only one who's married."
"How lovely to have grandchildren you can spoil. That's what my mother says grandparents are for."
"I—I haven't seen much of them since the separation."
"Oh? Do your children object to what you've done?" Megan realized her question could be taken several ways. "Please, don't feel you need to answer that."
"I thought—" Betty smiled "—that artists are advised to be candid with their agents."
"Aha! You're calling yourself an artist these days. And evidently you've decided to let me represent you."
Betty held up her hands in a mock-helpless gesture. "How can I say no to the one expert who considers me legitimate?" Her expression grew serious. "Sandra and I talked it over last night. We weighed the pros and cons—" Betty's voice trembled for a second "—and we decided that I had to give myself this chance. If you're still sure you want to take a risk on me."
"I owe it to the the world to bring you to its attention."
"But I'd just as soon...that is, I'm not crazy about fame or anything. I want my work to stand on its own."
Megan guessed at the thoughts behind the fumbling phrases. "You don't owe the world your private life, if that's what frightens you."
Betty sighed with relief. "I suspect you've guessed already—I'm a very private person."
"Are you worried about what your children will think? About your work, I mean?"
"They won't believe it when they hear someone actually wants to show me. For them, painting was just something Mom did to keep herself busy."
"Well, it's certainly more than that, Betty. For someone like me, who seeks out talent, finding someone with your gift occurs maybe once a lifetime."
"Oh, please." Betty put her hands to her ears. She was blushing furiously. "You shouldn't keep flattering me. It'll go to my head."
It was about time someone praised her, Megan thought angrily. An abusive husband. Insensitive children. Betty deserved better than that, and once Megan took charge of her career, she was going to get it.
Today, however, she bowed to Betty's protests and changed the subject, taking her on a tour of the rest of the house.
With Betty's help, Megan finished the upstairs parlor, the last room to be painted. They washed the rollers, brushes and themselves at the kitchen sink.
After that, Megan made coffee and brought out the cookies she'd stashed. They sat in her Spartan office. The only pieces of furniture she'd dared buy so far were two chairs and a desk.
She knew her mother had furniture in her attic that would come in handy, but she and Molly weren't discussing the move. The same was true of several other important topics.
That thought was so depressing Megan pushed it away.
"Tomorrow," she said to Betty, taking a sip of hot coffee, "the electrician installs circuitry for the track lighting. I'm hoping to open in another month and a half. Imagine your canvases hung in every room."
"Every room?" Betty's eyes widened.
"Yes. You're going to be the sole artist for my grand opening."
"Oh, Megan, no." Betty looked horrified. "My work alone can't support an opening."
"Your work would make anyone else's seem pedestrian. It wouldn't be fair to hang another artist."
"But exhibiting a rank amateur..."
"You're not a rank amateur."
"Someone who's never sold, then. It's too big a risk for you. I may not know the ways of the art world, but even I can see that.''
"Listen, Betty. I've been thinking a lot these last weeks, while I was waiting for your answer. We're either going to make it together or not at all, I've decided. If you're sure you want to hitch your star to mine."
"I guess I do. I mean, yes, of course, I'd consider it an honor." Betty's throat worked briefly. "But h-how many more canvases will you want me to deliver?"
"I have enough already to show your range."
"Good thing," Betty said weakly.
Megan pulled over her chair till she was sitting right in front of Betty. She spoke plainly and simply. "I hope before this is over you'll be able to trust me. I wouldn't have told you my plans if we'd lacked the necessary inventory. Part of my value to you is my understanding of how you work best."
Glancing down momentarily, Betty took a second to answer. "I'm afraid I'm a wimp. I paint best in a sheltered workshop."
"Most artists do. That's what Sandra's for."
A new thought seemed to alarm Betty. "But please, don't think I'm temperamental. If you want me to produce more, I'll do my best."
Megan laughed. "I don't think you've had a chance to be temperamental."
Betty searched Megan's face. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression about my kids."
"How do you mean?"
"They're not all upset with me for leaving Ken. My two boys, at least, think I should have left him years ago. They don't understand how a middle-aged housewife with no job skills might feel she should stay in a marriage until her children are self-sufficient. Ken's a computer engineer. He makes a very good salary. He... he used to tell me he'd fight me for the children if I left."
"How do your girls feel about your leaving?" Megan asked.
"They're ambivalent," Betty admitted. "Patsy thinks I should stand by Ken at this particular time."
"Why?"
"His work's going badly. He's being edged out by younger hotshots. His company is pressuring him to take early retirement."
"But surely your daughter wouldn't want you to—"
Betty shook her head. "Patsy thinks I should be more forgiving. She doesn't understand it's gone beyond forgiveness. The more stress Ken was under, the more he took it out on me."
"And she was no longer there to see what was happening," Megan guessed.
"No one knew how much worse it had gotten. Ken would fly into rages without provocation. I reached the point I couldn't stand it any longer." Betty took a ragged breath. "I was
near despair."
"Did you know Sandra already?" Megan asked carefully.
Betty nodded. "She'd sold Ken, Jr., his first house. She also handled a rental property of ours. But Ken took it out of her hands when she offered me a haven."
"I see."
"Do you?" Betty met Megan's eyes. "So you realize what's between Sandra and me."
Megan nodded, hoping Betty would be comfortable with any revelations she might make. Betty's gaze dropped to her hands.
"We... started out as friends. One day, before I left Ken, we were talking—and everything spilled out of me. All she wanted to do was help."
Betty met Megan's eyes again, and she recognized something that allowed her to continue. "Sandra saw how much I needed her. Wh-what's happened since has shaken us badly. We denied our feelings for a very long time."
"Does anyone else know?'* Megan asked after a moment.
"Ken suspects, and now you." The look Betty sent Megan contained a question.
"You seem to have known right away. Were we so obvious?"
"No. Don't forget, I've known Sandra all my life. She's changed, become more human and accessible. You're obviously the reason."
Betty immediately came to the absent woman's defense. "If Sandra seemed remote, it was because she had to guard herself constantly. And she didn't even realize what she was guarding against. Neither of us did."
"I can understand that."
"Our generation isn't terribly sophisticated." Betty seemed momentarily flustered as she tried to explain. "There are things we don't acknowledge or understand."
"Every generation has to find its own answers." Megan intended her statement to be in the nature of a platitude, but it seemed to worry Betty.
"We—Sandra and I—still don't want other people to know. I've discouraged my children from coming to the house. And Nate certainly doesn't know. We're afraid for anyone to see us together. Sandra almost didn't bring you home that day."
"I know."
"Image is very important in her business. The last thing we want is for rumors to be flying. But she wanted you to see my work. It was for me she did it."
"I'm glad she did."
Smiling for the first time in several minutes, Betty said, "I am, too."