Fire and Ice (The Americana Series Book 5)

by Janet Dailey

  "Zach said you'd need some shampoo," covering her mouth quickly to stifle the giggle that kept trying to bubble through her voice.

  "Christine, so help me…" Alisa trailed off threateningly.

  "I can't help it. You look so funny!" This time she laughed in earnest.

  Alisa looked down at her once white slacks, the peculiar chocolate brown paste on her bare waist, and the splattering of mud on her blue top. With a resigned smile, she had to admit that she probably did look quite funny.

  "All right–out, you little scamp!" She finally managed to speak in a more understanding voice. "I've got to get undressed before this stuff hardens on me."

  Christine succumbed to one more burst of giggles before she left the room. Alisa undressed swiftly, adjusted the water temperature, then stepped under the shower. She was busy towelling her long hair to a state of damp dryness when Chris reappeared in the room.

  "I'm supposed to tell you that dinner is ready just as soon as you're through. Zachary said you didn't need to worry about how you're dressed because it would just be a simple meal."

  Alisa said she would be out in a few minutes and that Christine should pass the information along. The door had barely shut behind her sister when Alisa again started whispering a few choice descriptive words about Zachary Stuart.

  So I needn't bother fussing over my appearance, she thought bitterly. Not that he has ever much cared what I look like. Let's just see what he thinks of wet hair dripping all over his dinner!

  She unwrapped the terry towel that had covered her and slipped on her underclothes and the lavender print caftan. Hurriedly she combed out the tangles of her golden hair, parting it in the centre so that it fell freely to below her shoulders. Slipping on her white thongs, Alisa decided to forgo any lipstick or mascara or other cosmetics. After all, the great lord and master awaited.

  Arriving in the dining-room, Alisa was informed by the housekeeper that dinner would be served on the patio that evening. She was just about to open the patio door when she looked out to see Zachary bending beside Chris's doll's pram attempting to fix a wobbly wheel. It was a curious thing to watch this earthy man displaying such concentration over a childish contraption. When it was fixed, he hoisted Christine on his shoulder and was duly rewarded with a kiss.

  Alisa made a production out of rattling the doorknob, her feet clattering on the cement patio, and the door shutting a little louder than was necessary. But if she had hoped to break up the intimate scene she had just witnessed, she was mistaken. When she had at last focused her attention on the pair, Christine was still held in Zachary's arms and they were both looking at her with ill-concealed amusement. Alisa regarded Zachary coldly.

  "Your sister's here. Looks like we're ready to eat, Peanut," he jested to Chris, slowly setting her to the ground.

  "Why do you call me Peanut?" Chris demanded, bending her head way back so that she could look up to his face.

  "Because you're about the size of one and you're as nutty as one." Zachary ruffled her hair affectionately. "Your menu is courtesy of little sister tonight," addressing Alisa. "Hamburgers, french fries, cole slaw, cokes, and ice cream for dessert. A cuisine that would turn the palate of any gourmet!"

  "And we have pickles, ketchup, mustard, onions, tomatoes, cheese, just everything to put on hamburgers. Come and see, Lisa," Christine tugged Alisa's stiffened arm impatiently.

  Alisa met Zachary's mocking gaze which told her clearly that she looked unharmed by her unglamorous fall into the mud puddle. She longed to tell him how ungentlemanly he was, except that she knew such a statement would be met with mused contempt. Instead Alisa assumed a bland air of unconcern, allowing herself to be drawn to the patio table by Christine and her innocent, festive air. As long as her attention was averted from Zachary and concentrated on Chris, Alisa found she could enjoy the meal. Eventually, once Christine's appetite was satisfied, she hurried off to wheel her newly repaired doll's pram around the house. And Alisa was left with Zachary for company.

  The evening sun cast long shadows. Those from the tall oaks gently stretched over the pair. Zachary silently offered Alisa a cigarette, lit hers and then one for himself. The breeze had died until there was only the merest tickling of movement in the air. Distantly to their ears came the trilling of birds singing the nightcalls to them. All the strain and anger that had filled Alisa was strangely whisked away by the hush of nightfall.

  "These lazy summer evenings are the most peaceful times of all," Zachary mused softly. His onyx dark eyes glanced swiftly at Alisa as if apologizing for breaking the stillness. "It's the time you rest up before the harvest season. Once you've been here at harvest time, it's hard to believe it was ever as serene as it is this evening."

  "You're a strange man," Alisa murmured.

  "Am I?" This time his gaze settled on her face, mocking, inspecting, and yet somehow Alisa got the feeling that he was interested in her answer.

  "You don't seem like the kind of man who would own or operate a vineyard except as a hobby that you could indulge in whenever it suited your mood."

  "What kind of man do you believe I am?" This time he studied the white puffs of smoke curling from the end of his cigarette.

  "I see you as an entrepreneur, a speculator, involved in wheeling and dealing, and manipulating others to do your bidding. The image of you as a vintner doesn't seem right. I just can't picture you being dictated to by the sun and the wind and the weather. Why didn't you follow in your father's footsteps, pick up where he left off?"

  "Yes, my father was an important, powerful man. What you don't know is that it was my mother's wish that he be that way. His happiest times were spent here at Stuart Vineyard. It was a rundown, shabby place when he bought it. His dream was to make its wine nationally renowned. There is no lasting joy in dominating other people, but the challenge of Mother Nature is profoundly enduring." Zachary smiled a twisting smile of an adult to a child, of one who knows to one who is learning.

  "Then why do you try to dominate me?" she thrust, irritated by his knowing attitude.

  "All I'm doing is seeing to it that you don't dominate me." He spoke smoothly, without any suggestion of rancour in his voice. "And you do try, so pathetically hard, Alisa."

  Seized by a restlessness brought on by his subtly probing gaze, Alisa rose and walked to where a spreading oak tree stood at the edge of the patio. Yes, she was always testing, trying to see if he would allow her to dominate him. If he would be as weak as the others and cater to her needs. She stared at the purple sky infused with a brilliant fuchsia pink, aware that Zachary had risen, too, and had halted a few steps away from her. She turned her troubled blue eyes towards him.

  "You look curiously vulnerable right now," Zachary said. "Not much older than Christine, with your hair tumbling over your shoulders and your face scrubbed clean of make-up peculiar to the female artifice."

  Alisa did feel vulnerable. She didn't know how to handle this gentleness that Zachary was displaying. It frightened her, the way some of her defences were breaking down. She turned her back to him and stared into the sky at the silvery slip of moon that hung so precariously.

  "You try so hard to be independent and strong." His hands slipped under her hair and began gently massaging the tense muscles in her neck. "You pile your hair on top of your head, cover your face with sophisticated cosmetics and wrap your heart in coldness. You've taken the world on your shoulders." His voice was a soft, caressing whisper that was oddly soothing and hypnotic. "You've made Chris your sole responsibility and refuse help from everyone. Haven't you ever wanted anyone to take care of you?"

  As much as she wanted to, Alisa couldn't admit to him any such feeling. Instead she came as close as she could to saying the same thing. "I've often wondered what my father was like. If he was kind and gentle, or strong and powerful…" She paused. "I was only a child when he died, and my mother remarried so many times after that." She wasn't aware of the slight drooping of her shoulders or the fact that she was resti
ng against Zachary's broad chest. His hands had moved to knead the upper portion of her arms.

  The languid summer night, the tender massage of Zachary's hands, and the soft, gentle murmur of his voice combined to drift Alisa away into a world partly made up of the reality of the warmth of his hands on her and the lure of security and safety for a father she had never known. How wonderful it would be to have a father you belonged to, to know that he would always be there whenever you needed him, Alisa thought, to be loved just for yourself, not because you were beautiful or talented or rich.

  "Come out of your dream world, Alisa. Your father was no paragon of virtue." His voice, though still soft, sounded harsh in the still air. "Every human being's feet are made of clay. Your father could have been one of the world's all-time losers."

  "How can you say that!" Alisa cried, springing forward to be free of his hands while turning to see his face. "You didn't know him! You didn't know what he was like!"

  "Neither did you." Zachary studied her with a hard and thoughtful gaze. "You're a beautiful and desirable woman. I just want to be sure you don't get a man's attentions confused with fatherly affection. There's not a man made who could look at you and have paternal concern on his mind, including myself."

  "You're a pompous, arrogant…!" Alisa spluttered. "I didn't get to be twenty-four years old without learning that lesson!"

  "I'm glad. I'd hate to see you get your dreams mixed up with reality."

  "Zach, there's a phone call for you!" Nora called from the house.

  "That must be Renée. Did you miss another rendezvous?" Alisa asked spitefully.

  "I told you once that you didn't know what you're talking about. But since you don't choose to believe me, I insist that you keep your opinions to yourself!" His eyes flashed fiery warning signals at her which she shrugged off aloofly. Zachary hesitated as if to argue the point with her, before finally turning sharply on his heel to the house.

  Zachary returned a few minutes later to inform Alisa that the phone call had been from his mother. He added, sarcastically, that his mother would be driving from San Francisco to have dinner with them a week from Sunday and to meet his wife. After relaying his message, Zachary started to leave. Inadvertently Alisa asked where he was going.

  He looked her up and down thoughtfully. "I'll be back later this evening," was his only reply.

  It was nearly one o'clock in the morning before Alisa heard the car pull into the driveway and she knew that Zachary had returned. Sleep had escaped her. The books she had picked up couldn't hold her attention. Finally she had just lain in bed waiting subconsciously for her husband to return. Only after she had heard him come up the stairs, the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing, did she finally turn over in her bed and fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  That following week Christine had been cranky and out of sorts, demanding more and more from Alisa. Several times she slipped away, going up to the winery in spite of orders from Alisa to the contrary. But Christine had ignored the scoldings, regaling Alisa with tales of men taking the temperature of the wines, sipping out of different glasses and talking about what the wine tasted like. Alisa silently envied her sister's escapades, but she couldn't find the way to halt her wanderings or curb Chris's headstrong and precocious attitudes.

  One evening Zachary had finally stepped in and ordered Christine to bed. Alisa had stood silently by while Chris stomped up the stairs before Alisa flew at Zachary in a rage. But he had been adamant. If Alisa couldn't discipline the child then he would. And he had no intention of letting a seven-year-old child rule his house with her whining and tantrums.

  Alisa had known he was right, although she absolutely refused to admit it. She had pampered Christine too much, trying to make sure she didn't miss her parents more than was necessary. Zachary had dismissed her sentimentality, saying that children were more resilient than adults and could adjust quicker to a change in their environment. What had been harder to take was Christine's attitude. Alisa had gone up to her bedroom when her argument with Zachary had reached a stalemate. Christine had got ready for bed and was busy saying her prayers. After her usual "God bless Mommy and Dad who are in heaven and tell them I love them," came "God bless Alisa and God bless Zach." It was the first time Alisa had ever heard her include Zachary's name in her prayers.

  Gently, trying to hide her curiosity, Alisa had asked, "Aren't you angry with Zachary any more?"

  "No. I wasn't angry with him before. I just wondered if he put up with me because of you, or whether he really liked me," the auburn-haired child replied sagaciously. "Now I know he likes me."

  "How? Because he ordered you to your room?" Alisa frowned.

  "Yes." The simple statement was accompanied by a wide smile as she crawled under the covers of her bed. "You only yell and get mad at the people you like."

  With that explanation Alisa had to be satisfied. Although it was contradictory, it made sense. But it also made her wonder if she should delve into her own feelings on the subject, something she was loath to do.

  Alisa had difficulty making up her mind what to wear to the dinner with Zachary's mother. After removing half the clothes from her closet, she finally decided on a featherlight crêpe suit of ivory tan with a bright red and gold silk blouse in a paisley print. As she was adjusting the collar, a knock came at her bedroom door. Impatiently she called out permission to enter, thinking it was Christine again, who was not looking forward to the day at all. But it was Zachary.

  "I just suggested to Chris that she eat in the kitchen with Nora," he said, looking very impressive in a summer weight suit of light brown. "She isn't quite old enough to be included in an adult dinner."

  "She'll be happy about that," Alisa replied, ignoring his gaze that sought hers in the mirror.

  He walked slowly across the room to lean against the wall beside Alisa's dressing-table. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a small black box, flipped it open and removed the ring inside. He reached down and clasped her left hand, slipping the ring on her finger.

  "They'll expect to see something other than the gold band," he said in answer to Alisa's surprised glance. A deep red ruby gleamed brilliantly at her from its setting encircled with diamonds. "A blue sapphire would have more suited your nature," sarcasm in his voice, "but I chose to include the fire you lack in the ring."

  "It's very beautiful." Her eyes glimmered coolly up to his. "But you didn't have to go to this extreme just to keep up appearances."

  "You don't believe I spent my money for this?" he mocked.

  Alisa ignored his taunt, her mind flitting back to his first statement that "they" would be expecting a ring.

  "What did you mean when you said 'they' would be expecting me to wear a ring?"

  "Didn't I tell you? Mother is staying with the Gautiers. I decided that we might as well have them over as well. They're our nearest neighbours. This dinner will stave off any further need for a get-acquainted party in the future." His eyebrows raised as if Zachary was surprised by her question. Then he smiled. "I invited Paul and your cousin Michael, too, which should make you happy."

  "It's so thoughtful of you to inform me of this ahead of time." With jerky, angered movements, Alisa picked up her lipstick case and reapplied the mocha tint to her lips. "I hope you don't intend to subject our guests to any of your contrived, intimate scenes."

  "Let's just say that as long as you appear the model wife, I'll be the model husband, solicitous, but not overly affectionate."

  Alisa glared coldly at his jeering expression as she rose from the dressing-table and walked to the bed to slip on the matching jacket to her skirt.

  "What time is this entourage supposed to arrive?" she asked.

  Zachary glanced at his wristwatch. "In about a half hour to an hour. Are you coming downstairs to welcome them with me, or are you planning a grand entrance after they've arrived?"

  Stiffened momentarily at his biting sarcasm, Alisa finally turned to smile maliciously, "I'll be at
my husband's side, of course."

  "I'm glad you said that," smiling that lazy smile that never ceased to remind Alisa of a Cheshire cat. "I wouldn't have liked to start an argument by insisting on it."

  Michael was the first to arrive, gazing at the decor in open assessment. He was a bit overawed by Zachary, which didn't dim his curiosity a bit. It only gave him a sort of furtive air. Taking a glass of sherry from Alisa, he winked and whispered, "How's the old married lady doing? You've got quite a handful with him, don't you think?"

  Alisa had laughed off his "I-told-you-so" smirk with ease, hoping to shatter Michael's assumption that the war was tilting in Zachary's favour. Zachary answered the door alone when the second bell rang to announce the arrival of Paul. He was escorted into the living-room where Alisa and Michael were seated. By the time Zachary had given him a glass of sherry, the bell rang again. This time it was several minutes before he returned to the room. Alisa hid her nervousness behind a bright smile as an older couple entered the room. The man was slender, of medium height, with a distinguishing touch of white hair at his temples amidst an abundance of dark curling hair. The woman on his arm wore a dark blue dress which was very becoming despite her plumpness. Her hair, too, was very dark, but it was streaked throughout with grey which her coiffure accented.

  Behind them walked Zachary. The woman on his right was the first to come into Alisa's view. She was very petite and slender, dressed in an elegant pink chiffon dress that strangely complemented her chestnut brown hair. Only when she stepped closer could Alisa see the betraying lines of age around her eyes and neck. Zachary had begun the introductions of Louis and Estelle Gautier when Alisa saw the girl on the other side of him, whom he drew forward gently to include her as the daughter of the Gautiers, Renée.

  Alisa knew a chill had come over her features as she extended her hand to the girl. But it was mild in comparison to the glaring hatred in the brown eyes looking back at her. Alisa couldn't help studying this girl who met secretly with her husband. Her hair was long and black; she was easily four inches shorter than Alisa, slender though still with provocative curves well displayed in a tangerine silk dress. Her lashes were naturally long and thick and framed large wide eyes that now stared at Alisa hostilely. The heart-shaped face contained a widow's peak on the smooth forehead, a button nose to match her petiteness, and full, sensuous lips outlined in an orange-red to match her dress. At last, after Renée had murmured with false enthusiasm how pleased she was to meet Zachary's new wife, Zachary stepped forward with his mother.