Wild About Harry

by Linda Lael Miller

  A pretty receptionist greeted her from behind a tastefully designed desk when she entered the suite, and Amy felt another sting of envy. She was also more than a little nettled by the fact that she'd been going to marry the man and yet had had to call her former in-laws to find out where his office was located.

  "I'd like to see Mr. Griffith, please."

  The receptionist smiled. "I'll see if he's available. Your name?"

  Amy swallowed, feeling at once foolish and belligerent. "Amy Ryan."

  An exchange over the intercom followed, though Amy could only hear the receptionist's side.

  "Go right in," the girl said, gesturing toward a heavy pair of mahogany doors.

  Amy's bravado flagged a little, but she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders and walked boldly into Harry's inner office, closing the door behind her.

  Harry sat behind an imposing library table desk, an antique from the looks of it, and he was as handsome as ever. His ebony hair gleamed in the subdued light coming in through elegantly shuttered windows, and he had taken off his coat to reveal a tailored white shirt and a gray silk brocade vest.

  "Amy," he said. He hesitated before standing, just long enough to rouse Amy's ire.

  Eyes flashing, she stormed over to one of the sumptuous leather chairs facing his desk and sat down, practically flinging her purse to the floor.

  "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a whole week!" she announced.

  One corner of Harry's mouth tilted slightly upward, but he didn't exactly smile. Which was a damn good thing, Amy figured, because she was in no mood to be patronized.

  "Nor have I," he replied in a husky voice. Sinking back to his chair, he made a steeple with his index fingers and propped them under his chin.

  Amy's pride was in tatters, but her temper sustained her. "If you want your ring back," she challenged, "that's just tough. I'm keeping it!"

  Harry sighed. "It wouldn't fit me, anyway," he retorted quietly.

  Amy rushed on, just as though he hadn't spoken. "And the reason I'm not giving it back is because I still love you," she blurted out, "and I think what we have together is too special to throw away!"

  He rose from the chair again to stand at one of the windows, his back to Amy. "To have you for my own and then lose you," he said, "would be a thousand times worse than never having you at all."

  She felt the wrench of his words to the very core of her soul, and before she realized what she was doing, she went to him and laid her cheek against his back.

  "Harry, what if we visited my friend Debbie—she's a psychologist, and she could reassure you that I'm not crazy—"

  He turned and took her shoulders gently in his hands. "I never said you were crazy, love. I said you needed some time to work things through. Having me around would only complicate the process."

  Amy couldn't resist; she laid her hands against his smooth-shaven, Aramis-scented cheeks. "Okay, we don't have to get married next week or next month. But I want you in my life, Harry."

  Harry sighed, pulled Amy close and propped his chin on the top of her head. She was practically drunk on the strength and substance and fragrance of him.

  "You didn't say you needed me," he pointed out, after an interval of sweet, poignant silence.

  Amy laughed, even though there were tears in her eyes. "It's not fashionable for a woman to say she needs a man. I could end up with people picketing in front of my house."

  Harry kissed her forehead. "Well, I don't give a damn about fashion or any of that other rot," he said. "I'm perfectly willing to admit it, Amy—I need you, even if it's only to be my friend."

  She drew back in his arms, feeling as if he'd given her a kidney punch. "Your—friend?"

  He cupped her chin in his hand. "Yes, Amy, your friend. Things got too hot, too fast between us. I should have known better."

  Amy swallowed, feeling wretched. She wanted Harry's friendship, of course, but she also desired him as a lover. The idea of never making love in a tree house again, or on a bed of rose petals, was a desolate one. "What do you mean, you should have known better?"

  Harry smoothed her hair back from her cheek, and his smile was infinitely sad. "You're still grieving for Tyler, and I guess I am, too. It's impossible to tell whether what we feel for each other is real."

  "Harry—"

  He traced the outline of her mouth with one index finger. "Shh. We'll be mates, you and I. No need to complicate that with sex and marriage and all that."

  Amy's cheeks were warm with color. "Were you trifling with me before?" she demanded.

  He chuckled. "Trifling? You've been reading too many Victorian novels, Amy." He paused, seeing her ire, and cleared his throat. "It's because I love you," he concluded solemnly, "that I refuse to take further advantage of your emotional state."

  She stepped back, because being so close to Harry made her ache in ways that would not be relieved in the foreseeable future. "I guess that's better than nothing," she concluded, speaking more to herself than to Harry. She turned and moved toward the door, as if in a daze.

  Amy wondered how she was supposed to feel now. Happy? Sad?

  She hadn't lost Harry exactly, but she hadn't really won him back, either. They were going to be friends.

  Instead of going straight home, Amy drove across the Mercer Island bridge and made her way to her in-laws' gracious Tudor-style house. Louise met her at the door with a joyful hug.

  "I'm relieved to see you're still speaking to me!" The older woman laughed. "After I let Ashley and Oliver buy you that awful Kansas ashtray, I thought your affection might cool a little."

  They were in Louise's living room, about to have tea in delicate china cups that had belonged to Tyler's great-grandmother, before the older woman's expression turned serious.

  "That's a very nice suntan you have," Louise said. "You didn't get that in Seattle."

  Amy cleared her throat and looked away for a moment. Tyler was gone and she was an adult, free to do as she chose, but Amy still felt as though she were confessing to adultery. "While you and John and the kids were in Kansas," she finally said, "I went to Australia. With Harry Griffith."

  Louise's smile was thoughtful, speculative, but not condemning. "I see."

  Suddenly, without warning, Amy began to cry. She snuffled, and when Louise presented her with a box of tissue, blew her nose industriously.

  "I take it you're in love with our Harry," Louise said with no little satisfaction. "Well, I think that's wonderful!"

  Amy plucked a fresh batch of tissues from the box and blotted her mascara-stained cheeks. "You do?"

  "Of course I do," Louise replied, reaching out to pat her daughter-in-law's hand. "You've been alone too long. All the better that it's Harry you've taken up with—for all practical intents and purposes, you'll still be our daughter-in-law."

  "He wants to be my friend," Amy informed her gloomily. "He thinks I'm not ready for a new relationship."

  "What gave him that idea?" Louise inquired in a calm tone, pouring more tea for herself and Amy.

  Amy fidgeted in her chair. "It's—well—I just don't know how to tell you this!"

  "How about just opening your mouth and spitting it right out?" Louise prompted matter-of-factly. She'd always been a proponent of the direct approach.

  "I've seen Tyler—since he died, I mean. Several times."

  To her credit, Louise didn't scream and run. She just drew her beautifully shaped eyebrows together for a moment in an elegant frown, then replied, "Oh, dear. I don't think that's very usual."

  Amy shook her head miserably. "No, it isn't. But my neighbor used to see her late husband cleaning the bird bath, and Debbie says I'm not dealing with a ghost at all, but some projection from my deeper mind."

  "Hmm," said Louise.

  "Anyway," Amy went on, "Harry happened to walk in on one of my conversations with Tyler and now he thinks I haven't adjusted. For a whole week I didn't see Harry, and he didn't call. Now he wants to be—" she began to cry aga
in, "—buddies."

  "I think things will work out, dear. You and Harry just need a little time, that's all."

  "You don't think I'm weird for seeing Tyler?"

  Louise smiled sadly and shook her head. "There were times when I thought I caught a glimpse of him myself, just out of the corner of my eye. When you love someone, they leave a lasting imprint on your world."

  Amy wanted to tell Louise there might be a baby, a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who would one day run Harry's empire, but she figured she'd done enough soul baring for one day. Besides, if Tyler was really a figment of her imagination, then the baby was nothing more than wishful thinking.

  "You've been a big help," Amy said, gathering up what seemed like a square acre of crumpled tissue and carrying it to the wastebasket.

  "Why don't you bring the kids over for dinner tonight?" Louise said eagerly. "I'll be all alone if you don't come."

  Assuming her father-in-law was out of town playing golf or overseeing some investment property he and Louise owned in the eastern part of the state, Amy didn't question Louise's statement. "Sure," she said. "Why not?" "See you at seven," Louise replied, "and dress pretty."

  When Amy returned to Mercer Island that evening, wearing her green suede and silk jumpsuit with a lightweight white jacket, she was surprised to find Harry's van parked in the Ryans' driveway.

  "Harry's here!" Oliver crowed, bounding out of the car a second after Amy had brought it to a stop.

  Ashley was more circumspect, but Amy could see that her daughter was just as pleased.

  As for Amy, well, her mother-in-law's final words were echoing in her ears. Dress pretty.

  "I should have known you were up to something," Amy accused pleasantly, when Louise answered the door. "Did you call him up the minute I agreed to come to dinner?"

  After hugging their grandmother, Oliver and Ashley rushed inside in search of Harry.

  "As a matter of fact, yes," Louise answered.

  When Harry stepped into the entry way, wearing gray slacks and a blue summer sweater, Amy could have sworn the earth backtracked on its axis for a few degrees before plunging forward again.

  "Hello, Amy."

  She resisted an urge to smooth her hair and her jacket. "Hello," she replied.

  "I'll just leave the two of you to chat while I go and put the chicken on the grill," Louise announced busily. A moment later she was gone.

  Amy just stood there, as embarrassed as if she'd crashed a private party. Ashley and Oliver appeared behind Harry, anxious for his attention.

  Harry held his hands out to his sides, and Ashley and Oliver each took one, on cue. "We're going for a walk down by the water. Want to go along?"

  Since her emotions were as raw as an exposed nerve, Amy opted out. "I'll stay here and help Louise with the chicken," she said.

  Harry's ink-blue eyes swept over her once, in a way that used to precede a session of lovemaking. "You're not exactly dressed for barbecuing, but I guess that's your choice."

  Having made this cryptic pronouncement, Harry turned and walked back through the big house, taking Amy's children with him.

  Amy took an alternate route to the big deck overlooking the water and found Louise there, busily brushing her special sauce onto the chicken pieces she'd already arranged on the grill.

  The elder Mrs. Ryan looked at her daughter-in-law quizzically. "Didn't you want to join Harry and the children on their walk?"

  "I think Ashley and Oliver need to have him to themselves for a little while," Amy answered.

  Louise smiled, watching with a wistful expression in her eyes as the three figures moved down the verdant hillside behind the house. "Tyler was a good father," she said. "It's not surprising that his children miss the presence of a man."

  "They have their grandfathers and their uncles," Amy pointed out.

  "That's not quite the same," Louise said, meeting Amy's eyes, "and we both know it. Children need a man who not only loves them, but loves their mother as well. And Harry loves you passionately."

  Amy went to the deck railing, helpless to turn away, and stood watching, listening to her children's laughter on the evening breeze. Watching Harry and shamelessly wanting him.

  "Harry's not sure what he feels," Amy mused. "He told me that himself. He thinks we need time."

  "Harry may very well not be sure what he feels," Louise replied without hesitation, "but he's wildly in love with you. He might as well have the fact tattooed on his forehead."

  Amy smiled at that image, though she felt more like crying. It seemed to her, in her present fragile mood, that love should be simpler than it was. With Tyler, romance had been as natural as breathing, and their relationship had progressed without a hitch.

  Finally remembering her original plan to help with the chicken, Amy turned and started toward the grill.

  "Stay back," Louise warned, brandishing her barbecue fork. "You're not dressed for this."

  The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon when Harry, Ashley and Oliver climbed the wooden stairs behind the house to join the small party on the deck. Amy's heart started thumping painfully the minute Harry was within a dozen feet of her, and she wondered how on earth she was ever going to stand just being his friend.

  Ashley and Oliver chattered non-stop, all through dinner, and Amy was relieved because that saved her from having to make conversation. The moment the meal was over, however, Louise enlisted the kids to help clear away the dishes, leaving Amy and Harry alone at the redwood picnic table Ty and his father had built one long-ago summer.

  "I'm sorry," Amy said. She gazed at the city lights and their aura of stars because she still wasn't bold enough to look straight at Harry. "Louise seems to be throwing us together."

  Their knees touched under the table, and Harry drew back as if he'd been burned. "She's a matchmaker at heart."

  Amy swallowed. She'd made love with this man in a tree house, for heaven's sake, not to mention the bedroom of a fancy jet and on her own living-room floor. For all of that, she felt nervous with him, vulnerable and shy.

  "Thank you for paying so much attention to the kids," she choked out. "They miss having a man around."

  "It isn't an act of charity, Amy," Harry said quietly. She sensed that he was about to take her hand, but when she looked, he withdrew. "I love kids. I've always wanted a whole houseful of my own."

  Amy considered telling him she might be pregnant, but decided against it. Her crazy confessions had gotten her into enough trouble. Besides, as much as she loved Harry, as much as she yearned to share her life with him, she didn't want him to marry her as a point of honor. When Harry became her husband, it had to be by his own choice, not by coercion.

  "Let's go in," he said, when the silence grew long and awkward. "It's getting chilly."

  "I noticed," Amy replied ruefully, but she wasn't talking about the weather.

  For the next month Amy saw Harry only when she went to dinner at her in-laws' house, or when he could be sure Ashley and Oliver would be around to act as chaperons.

  Right after Labor Day, school started, and Amy told herself it was time to start concentrating on her real estate deals again. Instead of putting on a power suit and going out to meet with a potential client, however, she jumped into the car and headed for the nearest drugstore the minute the school bus turned the corner.

  In the end, though, Amy didn't have the nerve to go into that familiar neighborhood establishment and buy what she needed. She drove on until she found another one, where the proprietors were strangers.

  Even then, Amy wore sunglasses and a big hat while making her purchase.

  At home again, she tore open the box and rushed into the downstairs bathroom to perform the pregnancy test.

  The process took twenty minutes, and the results were positive.

  Amy sat on the edge of the bathtub, unable to decide whether she should mourn or celebrate. Her relationship with Harry was clearly over, except for his playing doting uncle to the kids, and nobod
y knew better than Amy did how hard it was to raise a child alone.

  On the other hand, she had wanted another baby for a long time. In fact, she and Tyler had planned to have at least two more little ones—until fate intervened.

  Amy needed desperately to talk to someone. After throwing away the paraphernalia from her test and washing her hands, she wandered out into the living room.

  "Tyler?"

  Nothing.

  Struck by another impulse, Amy brushed her hair, applied fresh lip gloss and snatched up her purse and keys. Within minutes she was on the road again.

  When she reached the cemetery where Tyler had been buried, she parked the car and sat behind the wheel for a while, straggling to contain her emotions.

  Finally she walked up the hill to Tyler's grave. His grandparents and another Ryan son who'd died in childhood shared the well-maintained plot.

  After looking around carefully and seeing nobody but a gardener off in the distance, Amy touched Tyler's marble headstone lovingly, then sat down on a nearby bench.

  Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Amy wiped away a tear with the back of one hand.

  "Oh, Ty, what am I going to do? You were right about the baby—I'm pregnant, and Harry's going to know the child is his. He'll insist on doing the honorable thing, and we'll have one of those terrible, grudging marriages—"

  A breeze, warm because it was still early in September, raffled the leaves of the trees and wafted through Amy's hair.

  "Tyler, you started all this," Amy went on. "You've got to help me. You've got to tell me what to do."

  There was no answer, and yet Amy thought she could sense Tyler's presence. Maybe it was only a silly fancy.

  "I'm open to suggestions!" Amy said, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of acceptance.

  An older couple stopped to look at her, probably wondering if they should scream for help, then hurried on, hand in hand.

  "You're no help at all!" Amy whispered, bending a little closer to the headstone so her voice wouldn't carry. But it did help to sit there, talking to Tyler. Only when she was driving away did Amy realize that she'd said a goodbye of her own, final and complete.