Weddings in Orchard Valley, page 23
“Steffie, my Princess, don’t limit yourself to the things you understand,” her father said in the gentlest voice imaginable, “otherwise you’ll miss half of what life has to offer.”
She had to leave, had to escape before she dissolved into an emotional storm of tears. Not until she was in the car, heading she didn’t know where, did she realize her father hadn’t promised one way or the other. He might well blurt everything to Charles.
By the time Steffie had reached Orchard Valley, she’d composed herself. She’d do her errands—pick up dry cleaning, visit the small local library, mail a birthday card to little Mario in Italy—before she drove to Portland. Because it was Saturday, Main Street was busy and she was fortunate to find a parking spot. Not so fortunate as she would have liked, however, since the only available space was directly in front of the newspaper office.
For at least ten minutes, Steffie sat in the family station wagon, considering whether to talk to Charles herself. Should she warn him about her father’s crazy dream, his matchmaking hopes?
She was still debating the issue when she saw him, talking to the girl at the front desk. Her heart gladdened at the mere sight of him. He’d removed his suit jacket and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled halfway up his arms. He was so attractive, so compelling. For several minutes she watched him, mesmerized.
At first glance, Steffie thought Charles might have been talking to Norah, but that was impossible. The resemblance was there, though. This young woman was blonde and exceptionally pretty. Even from inside her car, Steffie could see how she gazed up at Charles with wide, adoring eyes.
The dread that went through her was immediate and unstoppable. She was jealous, and she hated it. The blonde was probably Wendy, the apprentice Charles had mentioned, and Steffie didn’t doubt for an instant that she was in love with him. Not that Steffie blamed her; she’d once played the role of doting female herself. Was playing it even now, despite her most strenuous efforts.
Charles was still talking to his intern, his hand resting against the back of her chair. He leaned forward as the two of them reviewed something, their heads close together. The blonde laughed at some remark of his and smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes.
Steffie couldn’t watch any more. It was like looking back several years and seeing what a fool she’d made of herself. Hurriedly she got out of the car and swung her purse over her shoulder. Forcing her eyes away from the newspaper office, she locked the car door. She was about to walk down the street when Charles stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Stephanie, hello.” He sounded surprised to see her. More than that, he sounded pleased.
“Hi,” she returned awkwardly, feeling guilty, although she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she’d actually been spying on him.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, giving her business suit an appreciative glance.
“I—I was thinking about driving into Portland and visiting the university after I do some errands here. I plan eventually to rent an apartment in the city, but Dad...” She hesitated.
Charles grinned knowingly. “But your father wasn’t delighted with the idea.”
“Exactly. I promised him I’d wait another couple of weeks.”
“Why two weeks?”
“Uh...” For a few seconds, she panicked, wondering if Charles had guessed, wondering if her father had mentioned his dream, praying he hadn’t. “It seemed like a reasonable compromise.”
“Have you got a moment? I’d like you to meet Wendy. She’s the intern I was telling you about. Bart’s here, as well. You remember Bart, don’t you?”
Steffie bit her lip, feeling reluctant. The last time she’d been to the newspaper office she’d come bent on vengeance, with threats of a lawsuit burning in her eyes.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in lunch. I’ve got an appointment at one, but it’s barely twelve now.”
She was still caught in the throes of indecision, when Charles took her firmly by the elbow and escorted her inside. She felt a wave of relief; after all, the opportunity to spend time with him, even a few minutes squeezed in between appointments, was too precious to decline.
It might have been Steffie’s imagination, but the people in the newspaper office seemed delighted to see her. She wondered what Charles could possibly have said to salvage her reputation.
A couple of the reporters, one of whom she remembered from high school, welcomed her back to Orchard Valley. Bart, the pressman, inquired about her father’s health. Even Wendy seemed inclined to like her, which raised Steffie’s guilt by several uncomfortable notches.
“I’ll be back at one,” Charles said as he guided Steffie out the front door.
“But—” Bart stopped abruptly when Charles cut him off with a glare.
“I’ll be here in plenty of time,” he promised. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked, smiling down at her.
“Whatever’s most convenient for you.”
“The Half Moon’s serving sandwiches now. How does that sound?”
“Great.” When Steffie left for Italy, the Half Moon, just down the street from the Clarion, had been a small coffee shop.
Now she saw that it had been expanded and modernized. While Charles placed their order, Steffie found them a table. Several customers, old acquaintances, greeted her and asked about her father, and before she realized it, she was completely at ease, laughing and joking with the people around her.
When Charles returned with their turkey-and-tomato sandwiches and coffee, she smiled at him happily, content to shed the troubled thoughts she’d carried into town with her. At least for the moment...
“How’s your father this morning?” Charles asked, holding his sandwich with both hands to keep bits of tomato and lettuce from escaping.
“Cantankerous as ever.” Opinionated, too, and occasionally illogical, but she didn’t say any of that. Even if she decided to warn Charles, now didn’t seem to be the time. Not when they were sitting across from each other, relaxed and lighthearted, and all the world felt right.
The hour passed quickly. This kind of pure, simple happiness never lasted, she told herself. But, oh, how she wished it could. Charles seemed equally reluctant for their visit to end.
Steffie walked back to work with him. “Thanks for lunch,” she said, standing on the sidewalk in front of the office.
“I’ll call you,” Charles promised as Bart came out, looking anxiously at his watch. “I’ll be right there,” Charles told him, a bit impatiently. He turned back to Steffie. “Sometime tomorrow?”
“Sure.” She nodded eagerly.
Sometime tomorrow. A few short hours and yet it felt like a lifetime away.
* * *
Valerie was leaving.
Steffie did try talking to her. She’d tried to explain that running away from love wouldn’t help; it would just follow her wherever she went. Her sister had listened, then quietly packed her bags.
Sunday morning, when Valerie was about to go, Colby showed up unexpectedly. Steffie was thrilled; it was as if everything she’d read about the power of love, everything she’d always secretly believed, was true. Colby would prove it. He’d come to declare his love and sweep Valerie off her feet.
It soon became clear, however, that Colby wasn’t there because of Valerie. He hadn’t known she was catching a flight that afternoon, and when he heard, he seemed to accept it as inevitable. Furthermore, he had no intention of stopping her. No intention of asking her to stay. If anything, he seemed almost relieved at her imminent departure.
When the moment came for Valerie to go, Steffie thought she might burst into tears herself. She’d so desperately wanted to believe in the power of love, in its ability to knock down barriers and leap over obstacles.
Valerie hugged them all farewell, and with shoulders held stiff and straight, walked from the porch to her rental car. Then, just before she left, she turned and looked at Colby.
Steffie would always remember the tenderness she saw in her sister’s eyes. It was as though she’d reached back, one last time, to say goodbye...and to thank him. At least, that was how it seemed to Steffie. She’d never been so affected by a mere glance. That look of Valerie’s was full of love, but it also expressed dignity and a gracious acceptance.
Steffie was trying to sort out her mingled emotions of anger and pain as Valerie drove away. She turned to Colby, who still stared after her sister’s car. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to scream at him. Only the anguish in his eyes prevented her from lashing out, and when she recognized the intensity of his pain, her own anger was replaced by a bleak hopelessness.
“She’s gone,” he whispered.
“She’ll be back,” her father said with the same unquestioning confidence that had driven Steffie nearly mad with frustration.
“No,” she insisted, her voice quavering. “She won’t. Not for a very long time.”
Then, unable to face either Colby or her father, she dashed back into the house. Norah followed soon afterward, and Steffie realized that her younger sister was crying.
“She’s going to marry Rowdy Cassidy,” Norah wailed. “What’s so terrible is that she doesn’t even love him.”
“Then what makes you think Valerie would do anything so foolish?” Steffie asked calmly. Valerie might be unhappy about losing Colby Winston, but she was too sensible to enter into a loveless marriage.
“You don’t understand,” Norah said as she continued to sob. “He’s in love with her. He’s called nearly every day and sent flowers and...and Valerie’s so vulnerable right now. I just know she’s going to make a terrible mistake.”
“Val’s not going to do anything stupid,” Steffie reassured her sister. Valerie wouldn’t marry her boss on the rebound—Steffie was confident of that. Deep down, she knew exactly what her sister would be doing for the next three years—if not longer. She knew because she’d done it herself. Valerie would try to escape into her work, to the exclusion of everything else. Because then she wouldn’t have time to hurt, time to deal with regrets and might-have-beens. She wouldn’t have time to look back or relive the memories.
An hour later, Steffie took a glass of iced tea out to her father, who stubbornly refused to leave the porch. He sat in his rocking chair, anxiously studying the road. “They’ll both be back,” he said again.
Steffie didn’t try to disillusion him. By nightfall he’d be forced to accept the truth without her prompting.
Within ten minutes of Valerie’s departure, Colby had left, too. He hadn’t raced down the driveway in hot pursuit or given the slightest indication that he was going anywhere but back to town.
“Mark my words,” her father said confidently. “Valerie and Colby will be married before the end of June.”
“Dad...”
“And you and Charles will follow a few weeks later. All three of my daughters are going to be married this summer. I know it in my heart, as surely as I know my own name.”
Although she nearly choked, Steffie swallowed her words of argument.
Needing some physical activity to vent her frustrations, she saddled Princess. She knew better than to try her luck with Fury again. But the mare, who was generally docile, seemed to sense Steffie’s mood and galloped down the long pasture road and across the rocky field until they reached the bluff. The same place Fury had taken her.
Holding the reins, Steffie slid off the mare’s back and sat on the very rock she had before. She lost track of time as she sat looking out on the valley, thinking about Valerie. And Colby. Remembering her own disastrous relationship with Charles, and how her willful behavior had destroyed any chance they’d had three years ago. Now there seemed to be a fresh beginning for her and Charles, however fragile it might be. Not for Valerie, though... Life wasn’t fair, she thought, and love didn’t make everything perfect.
She rode slowly back and had just finished rubbing down Princess and leading her into her stall when Charles appeared. “I thought I heard someone here.” He stood by the stable door, hands on his hips, smiling.
“Charles.” She shouldn’t have been so surprised to see him. After all, he’d made a point of telling her he’d be in touch.
“Your dad figured you’d gone out riding, but he seemed to think you’d be home soon.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Not really. Your father’s kept me entertained.”
“Is he still on the front porch?”
“He hasn’t moved since I got here.”
Dispirited, Steffie looked away. “That’s what I was afraid of. Valerie’s gone, and he seems to believe she’ll come back if he sits there long enough.”
Charles frowned heavily. “Is something going on? A problem?”
“No,” she answered quickly, perhaps too quickly because Charles’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I mean, nothing you need to worry about. Dad desperately wants to believe Colby and Val will kiss and make up—that’s the reason he’s being so stubborn. By dinnertime he’ll have to recognize that it simply isn’t going to happen.”
It might’ve been because she was nervous and flustered, or maybe she just wasn’t watching where she was going, but Steffie tripped over a bale of hay.
Although she threw out her arms in an effort to right herself, it was too late. She fell forward, but before she completely lost her balance, Charles caught her around the waist. He twisted his body so that when they went down, he took the brunt of the fall.
It was as though the years had evaporated. They’d been in virtually the same position on that previous occasion, with Steffie sprawled over him, her heart pounding. Only this time she hadn’t manipulated the circumstances. This time she wasn’t in control.
They were both breathing hard. A tumult of confused emotions raged within her, and she braced her arms against him, ready to get up and move away. Instead, his arms, which were around her waist, held her firmly in place.
“It seems we’ve been here before,” he said, his eyes gazing into hers.
“I—” She stopped abruptly and nodded.
“Do you remember what happened that day?”
Incapable of speaking, she nodded again.
“Do you remember the way we kissed?”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t allow him to read the answer in her eyes.
He held her fast for another long moment before he gradually eased his hold. “Let’s talk about that time.”
“No!” she cried. The instant she was free, she rushed to her feet, not realizing she must have sprained her ankle. But when she placed her weight on her left foot she experienced a sharp stabbing pain. She couldn’t suppress a whimper as she leaned against the stall door for support.
“You’re hurt,” Charles said, immediately getting to his feet. He slipped his arm around her waist.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve just twisted my ankle—it hardly hurts at all,” she lied.
Without another word, Charles effortlessly scooped her into his arms.
“Charles, please,” she said, growing angry. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s a minor sprain, nothing more. There’s no need for this.”
He didn’t reply but began to carry her out of the stable.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“The kitchen. You should put ice on it right away.”
“I want you to know I don’t appreciate these caveman tactics.”
“That’s too bad.” He was short of breath by the time he reached the back door, which infuriated Steffie even more. “Put me down this instant,” she snapped.
“In a minute.” He managed, after some difficulty, to open the door, then deposited her unceremoniously in a chair—like a sack of flour, she thought with irritation. He was pulling open the freezer section of the refrigerator and removing the ice-cube tray.
She rested her sore foot on her opposite knee and was about to remove her shoe when he stopped her. “I’ll do that.”
“Charles, you’re being ridiculous.”
He didn’t answer, but carefully drew off her shoe and sock. His fingers were tender as he examined her ankle, and it felt strangely intimate to have him touch her like this.
“I told you already—it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she argued. “I might have gotten up too fast or put my foot down wrong. I don’t feel a thing now.”
“Try standing up.”
Cautiously she did. His arm circled her waist as she gingerly placed her weight on the foot. “See,” she said, feeling both triumphant and foolish. “There doesn’t seem to be any damage.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Try walking.”
The floor felt cool against her bare foot as she took a guarded first step. There was barely a twinge. She tried again. Same result. “See?” she said. “I’m fine.” And she proceeded to prove it by marching around the kitchen.
“Good.” Charles replaced the ice-cube tray in the freezer, but he was frowning.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” she teased as she pulled on her sock and shoe.
He glanced at her, then smiled slowly, sensually. “I’ve heard of some inventive ways to avoid kissing a man, but...” He let the rest fade as he sat down beside her, then pulled her chair toward him until they sat face-to-face, so close their knees touched.
Steffie shut her eyes as his hands came to rest on her shoulders. His breathing grew ragged and he whispered her name. “Stephanie,” he said, leaning forward to touch her lips with his own.
Steffie was afraid—of his kiss and of her own response. But she felt a thrill of excitement, too. He must have sensed that, because the quality of his kiss changed from gentle caress to fierce desire.
Charles groaned, and she slid her hands up his chest, delighting in the feel of hard, smooth muscles as she gave herself fully to his kiss.
Suddenly he broke away, his shoulders heaving. Steffie let her eyes flutter open and for a long silent moment they stared at each other.
