by Joan Hohl
They were lingering over coffee and dessert when the front doorbell rang. Rand was already standing, since he had just asked to be excused from the table.
“I’ll get it,” he called, loping out of the dining room and down the hall.
“Now who could that be?” Judith wondered aloud.
“I haven’t the vaguest idea.” Karen shrugged.
“You weren’t expecting more company, were you?” Charles asked, looking both suspicious and annoyed.
“No,” Karen said, bristling at his proprietary attitude.
“Can I help you, sir?” they heard Rand ask in his best prep school manner.
Everyone grew quiet as they listened for a response. It came in a deep, attractive male voice that froze Karen’s mind and shot adrenaline through her system.
“Yes. My name is Paul Vanzant. Is Ms. Mitchell in?”
Chapter Ten
The teenager had to be Rand.
Staring into the tall, skinny boy’s brown eyes, Paul could see a masculine teenage image of Karen. He decided he liked the kid on sight.
“Hey, Mom, there’s a man here who wants to see you.”
Rand’s voice broke in midsentence. Paul suppressed the urge to smile, recalling how embarrassed Peter had been at the same age when his voice had been changing. Then the urge to smile vanished, to be replaced by a humming tension as Karen, her face pale, her posture rigid, walked out of the dining alcove and along the hall toward him.
“You should have invited Mr. Vanzant inside, Rand, instead of keeping him standing outside in the cold.”
Outside in the cold. Paul felt a bone-deep chill. He could sense her withdrawal. She was closing him out, had closed him out. Despair coiling in his mind, Paul stepped inside. After closing the door, Rand stood, his gaze moving from Paul to his mother. Karen didn’t say a word; she didn’t have to. The pointed look she leveled at her son said it all.
Rand shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Ah, I guess I’ll, um, go talk to Dad,” he stuttered, lowering his eyes.
“I think that’s a good idea.” Karen kept her gaze steady on Rand until he loped along the hall to the alcove.
Throughout the exchange, Paul felt the chill inside him intensify. A tremor of shock ripped through him when Rand mentioned his father. Charles was at the house! For the holiday or—? Ruthlessly cutting off the thought, Paul narrowed his eyes. Questions crowded his mind, but he held them at bay, waiting for Karen to make the first move. When she did, her voice was so strained that Paul was afraid he already knew the answers.
“Paul, what are you doing here. Why have you—”
“Here?” he interrupted her, sweeping the hallway with a glance. His remote tone and arched brows silenced her. She looked helpless for an instant. Then she sighed. Paul’s own chest heaved in response.
“Come into the living room, please.” Avoiding his stare, she turned to lead the way into the room Paul felt he knew more intimately than his bedroom at home. And yet her attitude made him feel like a stranger, an unwelcome stranger. The feeling induced a mixture of emotions in Paul, the strongest of which was anger.
“Won’t you sit down?”
So polite, Paul thought, she’s so damn polite. Suppressing an urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her while demanding to know why she was shutting him out, Paul curled his fingers into his palms and decided he’d be damned if he’d play polite word games with her.
“Charles is here for the holiday?” he asked bluntly.
Karen flinched at his harsh tone but met his stare directly. “No.” Her tone was even, inflectionless. “Charles has been here for over a month. I brought him back with me a week after he was released from the hospital.” She drew a quick breath before continuing with her explanation. “Rand and Mark are home for the holiday, and Charles’s parents are visiting. They picked the boys up at school and drove them home.”
“I see.” Paul smiled; it was either smile or curse. “Just one big happy family, hmm?”
Karen winced as though she’d been struck. “Paul, please—” She broke off and bit her lip.
“I’m sorry.” Paul gave in to the need to swear softly under his breath. Self-disgust underlined each muttered syllable. He had lashed out in reaction to the fear creeping through him, and he had hurt her, insulted her. It was not like him, not at all like him, and yet...
Moving abruptly, he walked to the fireplace. He stared into the low, flickering flames, seeing in the blazing depths scenes of other, more satisfying moments spent in the room with her. His body tightening in response to memories as hot and vivid as the crackling fire, Paul raised his head and turned to gaze at her through eyes shielded by lowered eyelids. “I never even considered the possibility that I might be interrupting your holiday.” His voice was low, reflecting the tightness gripping his body. “I never even considered the probability of your boys being home.” A self-mocking smile briefly moved his lips. “All I thought about was my need to see you, to talk to you.” He paused to examine her expression and eyes. Her eyes were shadowed by a wounded look; her features were pinched with lines of weariness.
Anger flared in Paul. When they had parted five weeks ago, Karen’s face had revealed both her inner battle concerning her passionate, if brief, relationship with him and consternation over the possible effects of Charles’s heart attack. Now, a mere five weeks later, her eyes still betrayed inner conflict, but she appeared on the point of exhaustion.
What in the hell is he doing to her? The question seared Paul’s mind and strengthened his resolve. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “I had planned on staying awhile, to give us time to get to know each other.” He smiled faintly. “And to give myself time to find out if what I suspect is true.”
“What you suspect?” Karen repeated, shaking her head. “Paul, I don’t understand. What do you suspect?”
“That I’m falling in love with you.”
For one perfect, brilliant instant, undiluted joy shimmered through Karen. Paul was here, near enough to touch. Her fingers itched with the need to reach out and seek proof of his reality. Her lips burned with a fire only his mouth could quench. Her empty body ached for a completion he alone could give. Within that perfect instant, Karen could envision an end to endless nights of longing. Paul was here. She was whole. Life was radiant.
And then the instant ended.
Reality waited in the dining alcove. And reality was unchanged by a man who suspected that he was falling in love.
The death of the perfect instant left the agony of an imperfect reality. How many times since the day she had driven away, leaving him calling after her, had she secretly, silently cried out for him? How many times in all the long nights since then had she awakened, her body quivering with the need to be a part of his? Karen shivered in response to the answers that washed through her mind.
And now Paul was here, offering her the possibility of a different, brighter reality. But she could not let him stay. Karen had not sought love, had not wanted to love ever again. But she did love, was in love. She didn’t suspect it; she was certain of it. And she could not let him stay.
The realization that she must deny herself and send Paul away struck Karen like a blow. She swayed with the shattering backlash.
“Karen!” His tone sharp with alarm, Paul stepped toward her.
Karen stepped back. Drawing in deep, controlling breaths, she held up a hand as if to ward him off.
“I’m all right.” Her reedy voice belied her assurances. Straightening her spine, tightening her body and her nerves, Karen steeled herself to say what had to be said. The words of rejection and dismissal never made it from her mind to her lips.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest, Karen?”
Karen jolted at the sound of speculation woven through the pleasant tone of Charles’s voice. Reality was here and now, in the form of Charles and his parents sauntering into the room and the infinitely more important forms of the two wary-eyed boys hovering in
the doorway.
Acceptance was not unlike the feel of living death. For a millisecond, rebellion flared inside Karen; then, just as quickly, it was extinguished.
“Yes, of course.” Karen was amazed at the even, casual sound of her voice. She was more amazed at her ability to smile as she turned to face them. “Charles, Judith, Randolf, this is Mr. Vanzant.” She shifted to look at Paul without looking at him at all. “Mr. Vanzant, I’d like you to meet Charles Mitchell.” She indicated the man who had come to stand beside her. “And his parents, Judith and Randolf Mitchell.” Her smile grew easier as she glanced at the doorway. “And the boys are Rand and Mark.”
Paul responded to the disruptive interruption like the gentleman and aristocrat he was. His expression cool but polite, he extended his hand as he moved forward. “Charles.” Paul gripped Charles’s hand briefly, then released it and turned to his parents. “Mr. Mitchell. Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Mr. Vanzant.” The three Mitchells responded in unison.
“Paul, please,” he murmured vaguely, gazing at the two boys in the doorway. A faint smile relieved the coolness of his expression and lit his dark eyes from within. “Rand?” Paul stared at the older boy. At Rand’s nod, he shifted his gaze. “Mark.” With three long strides, Paul was across the room, extending his hand with the same respect he had afforded the adults. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”
Wide-eyed and obviously surprised at receiving the same consideration as their elders, Rand and Mark hesitantly extended their own, smaller hands. The grip was completed, establishing contact on various levels of awareness. Both youngsters revealed pleasurable confusion.
A bittersweet ache filled Karen as she watched the man she loved touch her sons, physically and emotionally. The ache expanded as she watched each boy’s reluctant response. The thought of what might have been teased the edges of her mind. With ruthless determination, Karen shoved the thought aside. The situation was growing more impossible by the minute. The glint of speculation in Charles’s eyes was solidifying into... what?
“Vanzant.” Randolf murmured the name in bemused contemplation.
Karen blinked and glanced at Randolf. As she looked at him, he frowned and murmured the name again.
“Vanzant?” This time his murmur held a questioning note.
Mentally shrugging off Randolf’s odd behavior, Karen switched her gaze to the man turning to face her. Paul’s stare was compelling; she couldn’t maintain it and speak the words of dismissal. Her gaze shifted to Charles. “Mr. Vanzant was just—”
“Speaking to that colorful character who runs the store in town,” Paul finished for her. “He told me that even though the bed-and-breakfast was closed for the season, Ms. Mitchell might be willing to accommodate me.”
Karen was consumed by equal measures of elation and despair. She knew he couldn’t stay but, but... Hope leaped higher than the flames in the fireplace.
“You want to rent a room?” Charles exclaimed. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Paul Vanzant.” No longer a murmur, Randolf’s contemplative tone cut through his son’s protest and drew a varied response from his audience.
Both Karen and Judith frowned in confusion.
Charles scowled impatiently.
Paul arched his brows in mild inquiry.
“The Philadelphia banker Vanzant?” Randolf asked, ignoring his family as he centered his attention on Paul.
“Yes.” Smiling wryly, Paul inclined his head. And unbeknownst to Karen, with his quiet confirmation, choice and decision were plucked from her hands.
Randolf took command of the situation. Smiling broadly, he again extended his hand to grasp Paul’s. “I’ve wanted to meet you for years but somehow kept missing the opportunity. It really is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The term of respect from the older man said reams more than his actual words. “And I’m positive Karen will be delighted to accommodate you.” He beamed at Karen. “Won’t you, my dear?”
What could she say? Karen hesitated as her options skipped through her mind. Then she granted Randolf s request—simply because she wanted to. “Yes, if you insist.” She was careful not to look at Paul or Charles.
“Well, of course I insist.” A flicker of a frown crossed his face as he noted his son’s scowl. “Charles, Judith.” Reaching out, he drew his wife to his side. “Surely you both remember all the times I’ve mentioned Mr. Vanzant’s name?” Randolf glanced from one to the other. Impatience flashed in his eyes as he encountered a blank stare from Charles and a vague smile from Judith. “Good heavens!” he exploded. “How could either one of you forget the name of the banker who saved our company from financial ruin?” he demanded, conveniently forgetting that he himself had spent several minutes capturing the memory.
“It was a long time ago, Mr. Mitchell,” Paul inserted in an attempt to easie the tension.
“Randolf, please,” he murmured in an echo of Paul’s earlier request. “But you’re correct, of course. It was a long time ago.” Randolf smiled at his son. “Charles was still in college.” He looked pensive. “He very probably wouldn’t have graduated if it hadn’t been for you, Paul,” he admitted with simple honesty.
Judith gasped in surprise. Charles bristled visibly.
“Dad, really, I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that!”
“Are you indeed?” Randolf’s head snapped up, revealing the shrewd businessman he’d become in the years between his son’s college days and Charles’s current position as vice president of the firm under discussion. “Then you’d better reorganize your thinking. I was within a hairsbreadth of losing everything.” His features grew taut with remembrance. “And I mean literally everything. I had unwisely extended myself. I had been refused help by every banker in Boston and several other cities.” His expression eased as he glanced at Paul. “Paul was the only one with the guts to back me. And he did it sight unseen, through my representative.” A flush of color tinged his cheeks. “I never thanked you personally.”
Paul’s smile was easy and meltingly attractive. “You thanked me many times over by confirming the faith I had in your ideas for company expansion and your ability to make them work.”
Fascinated by the conversation and the insight it gave her into a previously unsuspected facet of Paul’s character, Karen was unconscious of the fact that Paul was still wearing his jacket, that they were all standing in the center of the living room and that the boys had disappeared at some point or other during the discussion. Paul, on the other hand, was obviously aware of everything that went on around him.
“I wonder if I might remove my jacket?” Though his expression and tone were scrupulously polite, the eyes he directed to Karen had a familiar devilish gleam. “It’s quite warm in here.”
“Oh!” Karen flushed with embarrassment.
“Good grief!” Randolf muttered.
“How terribly rude of us all!” Judith fluttered. Charles remained silent, staring resentfully at the cause of the sudden confusion and the reason for a revelation he obviously hadn’t enjoyed. But then, he didn’t need to say anything; his disapproval of Paul was a palpable force in the atmosphere.
Sparing a frown for Charles, Karen walked to Paul, hand outstretched. “I am sorry, Mr. Vanzant. Please do take off your jacket.”
“Paul, I insist.” The devilish gleam brightened in his eyes as Paul shrugged out of the garment. Ignoring Charles and his flustered parents for an instant, he smiled for Karen alone. “Thank you.” His murmured response encompassed much more than appreciation of being relieved of the heavy outdoor coat.
“You’re welcome.” Karen’s reply encompassed much more than an automatic social response. For the length of a sighing breath, their gazes tangled, meshed, blended,
“Have you had lunch, Paul?” Randolf’s inquiring tone revealed his lack of awareness of the dreamlike spell cocooning Karen and Paul. At the same time, his voice shattered the moment.
Paul’s lips twisted as
he reluctantly glanced away from the soft glow in Karen’s eyes. “As a matter of fact, I completely forgot about lunch.” His shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “I quite often do.”
“Well, we’ll take care of that,” Randolf returned heartily. “Won’t we, Karen?” But before she could respond, he added, “Karen makes the most fantastic turkey club sandwiches.”
On her way to the closet in the hallway, Karen paused in the doorway, her fingers digging into the down-filled jacket. Randolf’s reference to sandwiches reminded her of the lunch debris waiting for her on the alcove table. Resigning herself to kitchen duty, she was about to offer Paul something when Randolf spoke again.
“Was there any meat left, Karen?”
As she turned, Karen worked her lips into a smile. “Yes, plenty. Would you like a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Paul?”
“No sandwich, really.” Paul smiled at her. “But I would appreciate the coffee.”
“And we’ll all have a cup with you, keep you company,” Randolf said expansively. “How about a piece of pumpkin pie with it? Karen made it, and it’s delicious.”
“I’m sure it is, but no thank you.” Paul glanced at Karen and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I never really liked pumpkin pie.”
It was ridiculous, Karen chided herself. It was childish and silly. And yet she couldn’t control the rush of pleasure his admission gave her or the satisfying sense of sharing a link with him, even such a ridiculous, tenuous link.
“That’s all right, I—” She started to tell him she also never really liked the dessert, but once again, Randolf hastened to enlighten the other man.
“No need to apologize, Paul. It seems you and Karen have something in common.” He chuckled as Paul sliced a glance at him and arched a questioning eyebrow. “She doesn’t like it, either.”
“Really?” His tone inflectionless, his expression bland, Paul returned his gaze to Karen; she alone saw the warmth flickering in his dark eyes.