by Megan Mulry
Abby called good night and thank you, then turned to look at Eliot.
“You all good?” he asked quietly, after they heard the door to his parents’ room shut.
“Great. Thanks.” Her voice sounded a little too loud in her ears. The old house, secluded on the prairie, was profoundly quiet now that everyone had settled in. Wind whipped around the place from every direction, but instead of making it feel isolated or dreary, it made it feel more cozy inside, safe from the elements. Intimate.
Abby was starting to feel off-kilter again, remembering all that talk of being corseted and how it felt to have this man’s strong hands hold her like he’d done on the plane. Then, as if he could see those hotter thoughts bubbling up in her mind, he smiled a slow, knowing smile and shook his head.
“You sleep well, Abigail.” He started to pull the door shut.
“Eliot. Wait.”
He held the door open halfway and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“What’s it going to take… I mean… I really want to…”
He widened his eyes. “Yes?”
“Why are you making this so hard for me?”
“I’m not trying to make anything hard for you. I just want you…” His words hung there between them for a few seconds, his dark blue eyes narrowing as he looked into hers, then quickly darting to her lips and back to her eyes. “I want you to feel easy, relaxed, if we do anything.” He had come closer to her and reached out to put a loose strand of hair behind her ear and let his hand linger on her neck.
If? Abby nearly stopped breathing altogether. Who was Eliot kidding? It was definitely when as far as she was concerned. He was an itch she was going to scratch. Definitely. No more if about it.
Her breath was short and she had to make a very concerted effort not to shut her eyes and lean into him, into that warm palm of his that was gently stroking her neck beneath the fabric of her shirt.
“I want you, Abigail, but I think you need to know what you want, what you’re asking for.” His fingers were pressing against the artery at the base of her neck, as if he was checking her pulse.
“I think…” Her voice was low and unfamiliar. “I think you are seducing me and trying to make me think it’s my idea.”
He let his hand fall away from her neck and she missed it immediately, with a strange spike of longing for so small a touch. “I don’t know if that’s exactly right,” he said. “I’m certainly not trying to seduce you for some temporary fling… just to get you to say yes, if that’s what you mean. But you’re right: I most definitely want it to be your idea. Sleep well, Abigail. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She huffed a little sigh. “Okay. Sleep well, Eliot…” She almost said, lots of love like she automatically did when Bronte took Wolf to bed when Abby was at Dunlear. Or when she was with Devon and Sarah and they all said good night at the bottom of the big staircase… good night… lots of love.
Eliot pulled the door shut behind him and Abigail leaned her forehead against the thick oak panel and listened to the sound of his receding footsteps.
It was just a throwaway bit, that lots of love… that wanting to say it. It didn’t mean I love you like that. She tapped her forehead against the wood a couple of times, hoping something illuminating would penetrate her thick skull, then turned to the bathroom and set about unpacking her toothbrush and getting ready for bed.
***
Saturday morning, Abby took Penny Cranbrook at her word and shambled downstairs in her pajamas and the thick robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
“Good morning, Abigail. I thought I heard you rustling around up there. Would you like some coffee?”
“Good morning. Yes, please.” Abby sat on one of the stools next to the island in the middle of the kitchen.
Penny wore a flowery flannel bathrobe that went to the floor and a pair of thick socks that looked like they probably belonged to her husband. Abby must have been staring at the older woman’s feet, spacing out as she often did when she first woke up.
“Oh! I have such cold feet… not very fashionable footwear in the morning. Eliot’s dad loves to joke that I always have cold feet… except when it came to marrying him!” She handed Abby a mug of black coffee then set a small creamer and sugar bowl on the counter near where she sat.
“I have it black, thanks.”
“I used to be so good about that, but I’m all cream and sugar all the time these days.” Penny laughed at herself. “I spent way too many years watching every calorie so I could wear all the latest things. Now I’d rather taste cream and sugar than wear a size six.”
Abby smiled and took another sip of coffee.
“Let’s go sit in the sunroom. I made some zucchini muffins, and we can read the papers out there. Eliot and Will went into town to pick up some shotgun shells. They thought you might want to go pheasant hunting before we head over to Grandma Cranbrook’s later this afternoon. What do you think?”
“I’d love that.” Abby looked up at the gray winter sky through the slanted glass ceiling. “Is this a British conservatory? It feels wonderfully familiar.”
“It is. After Eliot’s dad sold his company, it was our first real extravagance.”
Abigail realized she didn’t have a clue about what Eliot’s father did for a living. She figured it would be rude to inquire.
“Has Eliot told you about his father’s business?”
Well, that answered that. Abigail smiled. “No. I mean, Sarah said that Eliot’s father and her father had been business associates for many years, but I never really knew the specifics.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Penny smiled over her mug of coffee. “Isn’t it considered sort of rude in England to ask what do you do? What a perfect example of our cultural differences.” Penny leaned forward and picked up one of the muffins, then tucked her feet up under her and got more comfortable in the large wicker chair with the big down cushions. “Here in the States, we pretty much want to be known for what we do, rather than who our parents were or where we came from. It’s what we make of ourselves that we want to be known for. Don’t you think?”
“I think you might be right. Whereas in England, I suppose it seems, well, I don’t know, this will probably sound elitist or something, but people would rather be known for their ideas, not what they do for money.”
Penny laughed. “Oh, you sound like Sarah’s grandmother. Have you met her?”
“Yes, I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s extraordinary.”
“She is. I remember Sarah telling me how appalled her grandmother was that Sarah had decided to go into trade! Isn’t it funny that there are still people who think like that? Trade!” Penny laughed at the sound of it.
Abby smiled but she was a bit ashamed to admit that her own mother had raised her with the same contradictory set of values. One, especially if one happened to be female, was meant to be productive but never money-grubbing, busy, but never truly obligated to an employer. It was an impossible balance to strike.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong, Abigail?”
“Oh, no, nothing.” She looked up and saw compassion in the woman’s eyes—just like Eliot’s. Something sweet and concerned that made Abby want to cry. “Really nothing. Just how we all sometimes get mixed messages from our parents.” Abby smiled again, trying to change the subject.
“Oh! I know all about that!”
“Really?”
“Yep. This was my parents’ house.” Penny gestured around her head. “I was born in this house. That’s why I sound like I’m from a farm and Eliot sounds like he’s from… Harvard. That boarding school bred the farm right out of him. Anyway, my people were what was known as upstanding. Methodists. Hardworking farmers. No nonsense. And I went and fell in love with the boy in school whose father was a truck driver. His people were from Kentucky no less.” The way she said Kentucky made it sound like a plague on both their houses. Which it probably was at the time.
“So�
�� you and Will were star-crossed lovers, then? How romantic!”
Penny took a bite of her muffin and stared at Abigail. “It sounds romantic now, when you say it like that, but we eloped and it was more like the end of The Graduate than anything else. So scary.”
“Oh dear!” Abby brought the palm of one hand to her cheek. “That bad?”
“I know! Can you imagine? My poor mother. Bless her heart. Those few weeks were probably the worst of her life. I was her only child and my father swore he’d never speak to me again.” Penny gave a quick laugh. “He was always one for blowing his top on Monday morning and then making amends by the weekend. But they were long weeks, I’ll tell you what.”
“My mother can hold a grudge for months. Years even. You’re lucky.”
Penny tipped her head to one side. “I’ve never met your mother, but Eliot mentioned she is… formidable.”
“That’s an understatement! But go back to your mother and how you worked it out.”
“Oh. My father came around eventually. What else could he do? He’d raised me to be honest and trustworthy and all that, and Will was the man I loved.” She shrugged as if it had all been out of her hands. “So there really wasn’t any way around it. I had complete faith in Will Cranbrook. He promised me he would always love me and that he was going to take his father’s one truck and turn it into a hundred trucks.” Penny took a slow sip of coffee. “And that’s just what he did. He started shipping for all of the department stores in the Midwest, and that’s when we met Sarah’s parents. And they were so sweet. Sarah’s mother especially. You know how some people are just good? I remember Elizabeth James like that. I only met her a couple of times when we went to Chicago for a treat, but she was a doll. Just like Sarah. So sunny.”
Abby had a slight twinge of something resembling jealousy, that Sarah had made such a good impression on Eliot’s mother. Not that anything had ever developed between Eliot and Sarah other than a professional friendship, but Abby still felt like she was a bit un-sunny by comparison.
“Oh. That’s awkward, I’m sorry—” Penny blurted.
“No,” Abby interrupted, embarrassed that her twinge of something-or-other must have shown on her face. “No—”
“Silly me. I just meant that you’re lucky to have Sarah as a sister now. And her mother was just all sweet and smiling, like Sarah was when I met her last year. But,” Penny inhaled, then continued in a lower voice, “I never thought she was the right type of woman for Eliot.”
Abigail blushed, silently damning her fair complexion for giving her up.
“Oh silly me. I’d better stop talking before I say anything else ridiculous.” Penny took a sip of her coffee and tried to stay quiet. But it just wasn’t her way. “You are the right type of woman for Eliot,” she whispered, just as the back door flew open and drew their attention toward the kitchen. Penny winked at Abby as the two Cranbrook men strode into the sunroom.
Eliot’s father walked straight to his wife and kissed her hello, right on the lips. She reached up one hand and placed it on his cheek as he pulled away.
“How are you this morning?” he asked, as if he really wanted to know.
Again, Abby felt like she was being exposed to something too personal, that she wasn’t meant to see. She looked away, to give them privacy or something, and turned toward Eliot by accident. He was watching her watch his parents and he gave her a small sad smile, as if to say, Now do you see why I think people are meant to be loving and kind to one another?
“How are you this morning, Abigail?” he asked, echoing his father’s kindness to his mother.
Abby lifted her mug. “Excellent. And you?”
“Great! Perfect day to walk the ditch. No trumpets or fancy horses and hounds here, but we still manage to bag a few birds. You up for it?”
“You know I am!” She stood up and felt all hot and bothered as Eliot watched her head toward the kitchen in the frumpy robe. “I’ll just have a quick shower and we can head out.”
“Okay. See you in a few.” His eyes narrowed and he watched her even more closely.
“Okay.” She bounded off, suddenly thrilled at the prospect of shooting a rifle at some small innocent creatures in order to blow off a little pent-up sexual frustration.
***
Later that night, the January wind whipped in behind them as Eliot opened the door to the saloon and gave Abby a little shove to hurry her along. She laughed as he pushed her into the crowded space and steered her toward the back of the bar near the pool table.
One of the guys playing pool raised his cue and called out, “Hey! Eliot! Over here.”
Abby loved seeing Eliot in this world, surrounded by childhood friends who knew him as the nerdy straight-A student and track star. Of course, they knew he had gone on to make piles of money and was a successful international businessman, but he was the same person he’d always been when he was back in town. He was the same to everyone—whether he was chatting with one of his private jet pilots or the checkout girl at the Kum-and-Go.
She smiled at the memory of the Kum-and-Go. When they’d pulled into the convenience store to get gas that afternoon, Abby nearly fell out of the car laughing. “The Kum-and-Go? How can you keep a straight face?”
Eliot smiled that sweet, knowing smile that was starting to drive Abigail to sexual distraction on a minute-by-minute basis. “It’s just the name of a chain of gas stations. What?” But his smile was wider and she imagined all sorts of suggestive, exciting, promising ideas crossing his mind. He was seriously going to stick to his guns about this whole making-her-profess-what-she-really-wanted nonsense, and she was beginning to think she wouldn’t mind downright begging if he’d just give her a tumble already.
But she kept veering away at the last minute, seeing the intensity of something deeper in his eyes, something she just didn’t think she could provide. Of course, she was tempted to risk going deeper with Eliot, but it felt like a devil’s wager, the kind you accept because you are so sure you can’t lose—when, in reality, you don’t have the collateral to make good on your debt. It was better for both of them if she kept it light.
“Oh, nothing,” Abigail said. “Kum-and-Go. Shag-and-Dash. The usual.”
Eliot burst out laughing and stepped out of the car to put the gas in his dad’s station wagon. This whole trip had initially seemed a little strange—joining Eliot for his grandmother’s birthday in Iowa—but ultimately, Abigail had wanted to satisfy her curiosity, to see what type of world created a man like Eliot. A good man. So she’d come to the middle of America to have a look.
So far, the two of them had bagged a few pheasants (a form of shooting that was locally known as “walking the ditch”) and tried on an assortment of Carhartt overalls at the local tractor store. Abigail was charmed. Now, after a four-hour meal with Eliot’s parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and great aunts and uncles and the ninety-year-old birthday girl, tradition dictated that the two of them head into the tiny town near where Eliot had grown up, in order for him to have a drink at the local watering hole and reconnect with his old middle school buddies.
They continued to snake their way to the rear of the bar, Lynyrd Skynyrd cranking in the background, and several people calling, “Hey, Eliot!” or “How you doin’, Eliot?”
When they got back to his friends at the pool table, one guy gave Eliot a big bear hug and then pulled away. “How are you, man?”
“Good. You?”
“Good.” He smiled then turned to Abigail. “And who are you?” He reached out his hand to shake hers.
“Abigail Heyworth.” She gave him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lady Abigail Heyworth,” Eliot added.
“Feck off,” Abigail said, punching him on the upper arm.
“Nice to meet you too, Lady Abigail. I’m Jason Mercer.” He had a great smile, kind of shy and hesitant.
“It’s just Abigail. Don’t listen to Eliot about any of that lady-nonsense,” Abby said.
<
br /> “Why not?” Eliot asked as he flagged down a waitress. “Two Buds and two shots of Jack, please.” Then turning back to Jason and Abigail, he said, “She always introduces me as Eliot Cranbrook, head of Danieli-Fauchard.” He turned to face Abigail. “See how it feels?”
“Okay, okay,” Abby laughed. “I won’t introduce you that way anymore. Just Eliot, all right?”
Jason took a sip of his beer and watched the byplay between them. “So, how long have you two been going out?”
They both froze.
“We’re not going out,” Abigail replied way too fast. Then she put an arm around Eliot’s shoulders and gave him a collegial squeeze. “Just great friends.”
Eliot smiled at Jason. “Right. Just friends.”
“Yeah, right.” Jason said, then chalked his cue and took his shot. The other guy playing pool had been listening to their conversation and looked up at Eliot with a smile. “How you doing, Eliot?”
“Great, Mike, how about you?”
“All good. Just in town for a couple of nights to see my mom, then back on the road.”
They spent the next hour getting foxed. The Budweisers and the shots kept coming. Abby settled into the rhythm of the place, sitting on a stool next to Eliot as his old friends came and went, listening to how easy and sure he was. He was good. What was her problem? She wanted to be with him and he wanted to be with her.
His friend Mike was standing at Eliot’s left and they were laughing about their friend from fourth grade who always used to trip when he was getting off the school bus. Abby was staring at Eliot; after a few drinks, she didn’t care about the propriety or impropriety of just staring at Eliot.
Feeling her attention upon him, he turned slowly and looked right into her eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” She looked away and took a swig from the beer bottle.
“Really nothing? Or something that you wish was nothing?”
She took a deep breath and faced it head on. Mike was still standing there, sort of half part of the conversation, smiling at her over Eliot’s shoulder. It was probably a really bad idea to dive into the relationship pool, right in this tiny Midwestern bar surrounded by a bunch of Eliot’s childhood friends. On the other hand, the discussion was less likely to get out of hand with an audience. “I feel like you’re trying to best me somehow, and I don’t like it.”