SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

by Donna Sterling

  The knot in her throat swelled bigger. She thought she had overcome this sensitivity. Many times in the past ten years she had talked about children, played with them, held newborn infants, even daydreamed about having one of her own. So why should she choke up now?

  Ryan then did a very unexpected thing. He winked at her. A special wink, full of purpose, executed without a smile. Something's up. Something new and interesting.

  A tingling anticipation washed through Sunny. A reflex, surely, from years gone by. And though she knew the anticipation to be groundless, its warmth gradually dissolved the tight ache in her throat.

  Ryan held her gaze for an appraising moment, then turned his attention to Wilbur's conversation. Sunny struggled with a rush of affection for him. He cared! She hugged the revelation close to her. Another part of her—the realistic part—contradicted, He just hadn't wanted his hostess to ruin the dinner party with hysterics over their lost baby.

  Lavinia brought Sunny out of her reverie with a quiet remark. "How romantic," she said, having caught Ryan and Sunny's gaze.

  "Romantic?" Sunny's eyes snapped back to Lavinia's watchful ones. "Ryan and I? Oh, no, you're mistaken. Very mistaken. Our relationship is anything but romantic."

  Acutely embarrassed—and very glad Ryan hadn't overheard that part of their conversation—Sunny announced that dinner was almost ready and retreated to the kitchen.

  Lavinia's remark had jolted her. How could she have jumped to such a false conclusion? As Sunny filled the silver serving dishes, she realized her hands were trembling.

  Wilbur led the rest of the party into the dining room with a cigar clamped between his teeth. He smiled at Sunny as she lit the candles on the dining room table. Patting his stomach, he rumbled, "I'm starved, Sunny. What's on the menu tonight?"

  Ryan answered from behind him, "Lobster Newburg."

  Wilbur removed the cigar from his mouth and raised his white, bushy brows. "Doesn't smell like lobster Newburg."

  With a mild sense of surprise, Ryan realized he was right. It didn't smell the least like lobster Newburg. He'd been so distracted, he hadn't noticed.

  "There's been a change in the menu," Sunny informed them. "No lobster Newburg tonight." Three pairs of questioning eyes awaited an explanation. "Don't you just love surprises?" She smiled and gestured for everyone to be seated.

  Ryan explained with urbane smoothness, "Sunny is famous for her, uh, surprises." As he pulled out a chair for her, he whispered against her fragrant golden hair, "You canceled the restaurant order?"

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

  "What did you make?"

  "The most gourmet thing I know how to cook."

  Her answer did not reassure him. Ryan seated himself beside her and admirably maintained his smile. What the hell else could he do? He tried to forget the last time he'd seen her cook. She had melted the frying pan. Mentally he braced himself for whatever might come. He'd take up the matter of her insubordination with her later. If they survived the meal.

  The elegance of the table mollified him somewhat. Crisp linen napkins, silver serving dishes, long-stemmed roses and candles in crystal holders enhanced the aura of fine dining.

  Sunny lifted the lid off the largest serving tray with an impressive flourish. Ryan stared at the main course. Wilbur and Lavinia stared at the main course. In silence.

  "Tacos," Sunny explained.

  "Tacos?" repeated Wilbur, frowning.

  "Tacos," noted Ryan in a strangled tone.

  "How lovely!" Lavinia's delighted cry surprised everybody. "I adore tacos. We had them in a little seaside café in Mexico. It was on our honeymoon. Before Wilbur stopped eating at restaurants." She eagerly lifted one onto her plate.

  "Are these homemade?" Wilbur studied his plate suspiciously. "Can't eat restaurant food. Never agrees with me. Meant to warn you ahead of time, but it slipped my mind."

  "Yes, certainly they're homemade," Sunny assured him. "Right down to the corn tortillas."

  "I'll know if they're not. I can tell the minute I put 'em in my mouth."

  "They're homemade, I swear."

  With a dubious expression, Wilbur took his first bite. Swallowed. Took another. "Homemade," he confirmed.

  "Delicious," pronounced Lavinia between crunches. "Every dinner we attend, it seems they serve lobster Newburg. How refreshing to have something I like instead of Wilbur's old standby. He's probably tired of lobster Newburg, too. Whatever gave you the idea to serve tacos, Sunny?"

  "Research," she replied, trying to turn the success to its fullest advantage. "Ryan always says it's important to ask the right questions and, above all, be prepared. It's the only way to please the customer. Or, the guests, as the case may be."

  Lavinia smiled her approval, and Sunny chanced a peek at Ryan. He was staring at her in something akin to wonderment.

  "Wilbur, darling," cooed Lavinia, "you must have told Sunny how much I like tacos." For the first time that evening, she beamed a loving smile at her husband. "And here I thought you'd forgotten my fondness for them. Aren't you the sly one, acting surprised."

  Perplexed but smiling, Wilbur shrugged and helped himself to another taco, refried beans, guacamole salad and rice.

  Lavinia's animation dispersed all traces of tension. The conversation flowed from favorite restaurants, Lavinia's contribution, to worst restaurants, Wilbur's, each anecdote elevating the mood.

  While Sunny talked, Ryan watched her gesture expressively and punctuate her story with peals of laughter. This was how he remembered her. Bright-eyed, spontaneous and bubbling with contagious gaiety. Impossible to look at her like this without seeing his eighteen-year-old bride.

  Disturbed beyond all reason, Ryan pushed his plate away barely touched. And found Lavinia watching him.

  Soon, he assured himself, this would all be over. Sunny would be gone again. Middle management could deal with her. And he would head out for the mountains. Find new ledges to climb. Ride the highest ridges. Store up enough thrills to stave off the inevitable emptiness.

  "Lavinia's been cranky lately," confided Wilbur as he lit an after-dinner cigar. He and Ryan had settled into armchairs in the living room with snifters of brandy. "She complains that I don't think about her anymore. I'm going to let her think I suggested those tacos, if that's okay with you."

  Ryan nodded, hiding his surprise at Wilbur's personal confidence. He himself would never air private problems of that nature—if he had private problems of that nature—to anyone, let alone a stranger. In fact, he suddenly realized, the only person he had ever confided in, to any degree, was Sunny.

  A lifetime ago.

  As the men turned their discussion to finance, Lavinia insisted on helping Sunny carry dishes to the sink. When they were alone in the kitchen, she awarded Sunny a grateful smile. "Those tacos brought back fond memories of my honeymoon in Mexico." She sighed in contentment and, with a sideways glance, queried, "Where did you and Ryan spend yours?"

  Relaxed from her dinner success and mellowed by laughter, Sunny replied, "We didn't travel very far. We ended up just staying at Windsong Place

  ." With a smile, she reminisced, "Oh, but it was heaven, though…"

  It took only a moment longer for Sunny to realize what she had said. Embarrassment shot through her. And self-recrimination. If only she could take back the words!

  Lavinia's bottom jaw had lowered. "You spent your honeymoon at Windsong Place

  ?"

  Mortified, Sunny realized that not only had she spilled the beans about their past relationship, but she had also opened the door for way too many questions. Questions Ryan hadn't wanted asked, let alone answered.

  Lavinia clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh, Sunny, how perfect! How absolutely perfect. I sensed that you regarded the place as more than just a cold business deal. You honeymooned there! It must have been while we were at another location. We have fifteen of them to oversee, you know. Oh, wait until I tell Wilbur. What suite did you stay in?"

&n
bsp; "It was a long time ago," Sunny hedged weakly.

  "Do you remember the color of the wallpaper? We've tried to keep all the same color schemes in the bedrooms."

  "Blue. With pink Victorian cabbage roses in the trim."

  "I know exactly which one you mean. In the southeast corner of the inn. French doors lead to a balcony, right? One of my favorite suites. Oh, Sunny, I must say, you've changed my mind about Ryan." Lavinia squeezed her arm in an affectionate, motherly way.

  "I have?"

  "Certainly. I thought he wanted the inn strictly for the investment value. You know how these self-made tycoons can be … all dollars and cents, with no appreciation of the finer things. I even thought Ryan might be considering absentee ownership. Which I deplore. I misunderstood the situation entirely. To be honest, I didn't even realize he was married. When Wilbur sidestepped my question about his marital status, I was certain he was single."

  "Well, actually—"

  "When we arrived this evening, the first thing I noticed was your lack of a wedding ring. And then when Ryan introduced you as Sunny Shannon, his 'general manager,' as he put it, I was sure you two weren't married. I was ready to leave right then and there, and to sell the inn to our other bidder. But then, the way you gazed at each other across the room—" Lavinia all but sighed.

  Sunny felt herself blanch. Had she gazed at Ryan in some doltish way?

  "Is Shannon your maiden name, or your middle?"

  "My maiden name. But—"

  "Oh, you modern women, keeping your maiden names instead of taking your husbands'. In my time, no one even thought of it. Anyway, Sunny, I'm so pleased Ryan is happily married. The first thing I look for in a franchisee is a solid marriage."

  "You do?" replied Sunny, astounded.

  "Absolutely. I would never again sell one of our franchises to an unmarried man. We learned our lesson a year ago with our New England location. So irresponsible, that bachelor was, chasing women, throwing wild parties, causing all kinds of scandals with our female guests. Things like that can ruin our corporate image. We're a family resort, Sunny, and we want every one of our inns to keep its mom-and-pop ambience." Leaning closer, she whispered, "There's only one thing worse than a single man, and that's a divorced one. We learned that lesson at our Hawaiian location."

  Sunny gazed at her in mute agony.

  Lavinia confided in a chatty tone, "I try to keep a close eye on all of our resorts, but with fifteen of them, it's difficult. That's why we must franchise them out to people who really care about them." With another maternal squeeze of Sunny's arm, Lavinia said, "I'll have to tell Wilbur that I approve of the sale. He can't sell without me, you know. I might not use my maiden name, sister, but I do own half of the corporation." She smiled, obviously well pleased with herself. "Come, dear. I'll tell Wilbur that I approve."

  Indecision roiled within Sunny. Should she tell the truth … and lose Windsong Place

  for Ryan a second time?

  Heartsick with apprehension, Sunny trailed Lavinia to the living room. If Ryan denied their "marriage," Lavinia would think she had deliberately misled her. She had to speak to him alone.

  Wilbur and Ryan stood near the expansive window that overlooked Manhattan, gazing down at the sea of city lights, discussing the performance of the New York Yankees. Lavinia tapped her husband's shoulder, interrupting his lengthy discourse, and whispered into his ear.

  Before Sunny could warn Ryan of their predicament, Wilbur announced, "I've made up my mind, Alexander. The franchise is yours. We'll work out details of the sale at Windsong Place

  ."

  Sunny saw the flush of triumph rise beneath Ryan's tan. He turned his eyes to her and she saw gratitude there.

  "Drive down next weekend, if you can," invited Wilbur. "And of course, bring your wife."

  A perplexed frown drew Ryan's dark eyebrows together. "My wife? But I'm not—"

  "Congratulations, honey!" In desperation, Sunny slid her arms around his neck. And tried to silence him with a kiss.

  He jerked back from her in surprise. "What in the—"

  To stop his mouth from forming words, she planted her lips against his. Firmly. She felt his muscles tense to absolute stillness. His breathing seemed to have stopped.

  How ridiculous she'd look, she suddenly realized, if her alleged husband pulled away and scowled! But after a prickly, heart-pounding moment, his arms came up around her. And he responded to her kiss. Thoroughly.

  He commandeered her mouth with searing, sensual mastery, his kiss deep and rousing and potent as the finest brandy.

  Intoxicating her.

  When the kiss ended, only his iron-strong arms kept Sunny upright. She felt dizzy. Overheated. Forgetful of where she was. And shocked by the intensity of her response.

  That shock was mirrored in Ryan's silver gray eyes.

  Wilbur's throaty chuckle intruded. "Must be newlyweds. Don't know why I thought you were single."

  Ryan couldn't seem to find a voice. Neither could Sunny. She disengaged herself from his embrace slowly, as if any sudden movement might tear her racing heart right out of her chest.

  "Well, he's not single," interjected Lavinia. "He's a stable, hardworking married man. The only kind we Tanners would trust with our corporate name." To Ryan, she explained, "Tanner Inns are, first and foremost, family inns. We intend to keep the mom-and-pop atmosphere at every one of our locations. Experts say it can't be done. I disagree." With a superior smile, she continued, "So we must be very picky about who runs them. And, as I explained to Sunny, a strong marriage speaks well of a person's moral fiber."

  Wilbur chimed in with the enthusiasm of a sports announcer, "It was a close decision between you and another bidder. Very close. Down to the wire. Funny—his name's Alexander, too. Edgar Rockwell Alexander. He's not related to you, is he?"

  Sunny saw a muscle flex in Ryan's jaw. "Distantly."

  Lavinia crowed, "I thought there might be a connection. We bought the house from him originally, you know. He wants it back. Badly. But you two are just the kind of couple I'm looking for to run our inns. Come now, Wilbur, it's time for us to go." On her way to the door, Lavinia murmured to Sunny, "Thank you for dinner, dear. See you at Windsong Place

  ."

  "Explain one thing to me, Sunny. Just one damned thing," thundered Ryan. "How the hell did I acquire a wife over dinner?"

  Sunny winced. "You're yelling, Ryan."

  Scowling at her, he shoved an unruly lock of hair back from his forehead and continued pacing across the living room. He knew full well how the fiasco had happened. He had heard Lavinia's monologue regarding the inn's family atmosphere and the superior moral character of married men. He understood that Sunny had acted with his best interests at heart. He knew he shouldn't be yelling, knew he shouldn't be shaking inside.

  But he was. And all because of that damned kiss.

  She'd caught him completely off guard. Her mouth against his had ignited a fuse that sizzled up his spine. Never had a kiss exploded inside him like that one had. Before he could think, he had pulled her closer. Kissed her deeper, harder. But not nearly long enough…

  "I'm sorry, Ryan," apologized Sunny with quiet dignity, "but Lavinia jumped to the conclusion we were married. What was I supposed to do?"

  Anything but kiss me, he thought, furious with her and himself.

  "Would it have been better to ruin our chances without even discussing the matter with you?"

  Yes. Much better. But of course, it wouldn't have been. He wanted Windsong Place

  now more than he had at the outset. "Our relationship is none of Lavinia's business," he growled. "Or anyone else's. My marital status should have nothing to do with my eligibility as a franchisee. I'm up against blind prejudice here. Discrimination against single men."

  "And divorced men," Sunny concurred. "They're even worse."

  Ryan's quelling frown chastised her. He then sat down heavily into the armchair. "How did it happen, Sunny? How did Lavinia jump to such a
farfetched conclusion?"

  Groping for words, Sunny lifted her hands to explain. But no explanation came to mind. Finally she mumbled, "What does it matter? What's done is done, and—"

  "Sunny." His stern gaze demanded cooperation. "Talk."

  She bit the inside of her cheek. Considered refusing. But slowly, reluctantly, swallowed her pride. "I told her about our honeymoon."

  He stared at her, uncomprehending. "Our honeymoon?"

  "Yes. Our honeymoon."

  "But, Sunny, we didn't have a honeymoon."

  "That's basically what I told her. That we … stayed … at Windsong Place

  . She didn't realize we lived there at the time."

  "Thank you for that, Sunny. Thank you for keeping at least one of the secrets we agreed to keep."

  Stung, she snapped, "You're blaming this on me, aren't you." When Ryan didn't even bother to deny it, she pursed her lips, glanced away from him, exhaled and decided to address the real problem—his need for an attitude adjustment. Employing a counseling technique learned in the course of her management experience, she said, "You think you're angry at me, but if you breathe deeply and count to ten, you will realize that you're really angry at the Tanners. They're the ones who will only sell to a married man. So why sit here and browbeat me?"

  "I'm not browbeating you, whatever the hell that is. But we had agreed to keep our past relationship a secret. Somehow I don't think describing our honeymoon to dinner guests is quite conducive to that goal, do you?"

  "I didn't describe our honeymoon," she protested, embarrassed by the thought. Her cheeks heated with sudden guilt as she remembered saying, Oh, but it was heaven, though…

  In a voice just a trifle too smooth and bland, Ryan inquired, "Exactly what did you say about it, then?"

  Sunny stared at him, aghast. She couldn't tell him. Not when the aftershock of his kiss still quivered in the depths of her stomach, and long-ago memories of his lovemaking echoed through her very soul. "Never mind," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That's beside the point. But I did not purposely tell Lavinia about us."