BETH ANN FINALLY looked back at Glenn, who waited patiently for her to answer, one ear cocked for any sounds of disturbance downstairs.
“I can’t imagine why Carrie’s husband is here,” she said slowly.
“Really?” Glenn’s speculative look made her turn her back to him, knowing he could read her like a book.
She shook her head and then guilt pulsated in her stomach. She didn’t want to lie to her dearest friend. She concentrated on rewashing her unused paintbrushes and then said, “He might have mentioned something about Bernie owning a software company, but that didn’t seem to be the reason he’s here. He damn near ran Iris down.”
“He said something about what?” Glenn asked, his voice incredulous.
“A software company,” Beth Ann whispered with a grimace.
“A software company?”
“Yeah, uh, one called DirectTech.”
Glenn was silent for so long that Beth Ann looked up. His handsome, dear face was extraordinarily pensive.
Eventually he said slowly, “That’s not good, is it?”
Beth Ann blinked back tears that had somehow filled her eyes. It was that damned headache. “It can’t be good.”
“Does he want Bernie?”
Beth Ann shrugged and then turned the water on full blast, scrubbing her wash brush. “He can’t have her. I’m going to tell him what he can do with his software company.”
“He didn’t seem particularly interested in her.”
“Do you think he knows?”
Glenn thought for a minute before saying, “I don’t think he does. And if he doesn’t, you probably should tell him.”
“Are you nuts?” Beth Ann whirled around, spraying Glenn with residual water. She promptly burst into tears, the thought of exposing Bernie to Christian sending terrible waves of dread down her back. What if he wanted her? She’d never be able to fight him in court. With his money, his clout, he’d cream her. Then another thought swept through her. What if he didn’t want Bernie? What if Bernie was no more important to him than she was to Carrie? Once the papers were signed, Bernie would be forever tied to the Elliotts, but only as some sort of awkward addendum.
Glenn swiftly crossed the room and enveloped her in a warm hug. Beth Ann buried her face in his chest, feeling as if Glenn’s comforting squeeze was the only thing keeping her from exploding into tiny pieces of emotional debris. Glenn was indeed a good friend.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to tell him, Bethy,” Glenn whispered. “He’s got to know. Tell him now while you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Beth Ann pulled away and sniffed loudly. “I have everything to lose. I could lose Bernie.”
“You might,” Glenn admitted frankly. “But, you’ll lose her anyway when he finds out. And he will find out. He’s on some kind of mission and I’m not even sure he knows exactly what it is. He doesn’t know who Bernie is, but I saw him stare at her. I’m sure he sees the resemblance to Carrie.”
“We’re sisters.”
“Half sisters. You two don’t even look alike. Carrie was the spitting image of her father.”
Beth Ann gave Glenn an annoyed stare. “I hate it when you play Jiminy Cricket.”
Glenn laughed. “That’s why I’m here.” He glanced at the work that appeared to be drying around the studio. Beth Ann bit her lip as she watched him examine the painting, not realizing she was holding her breath. Glenn was an enormously talented and highly productive muralist, who traveled the globe painting both interior and exterior walls. So talented and so sought after, he was booked several years in advance. Unless he developed some artist’s block, his next ten years would be filled with interesting projects, different places. But Beth Ann couldn’t be jealous of his success. He deserved it.
Glenn studied the backdrop of a grove of newly pruned almond trees. “I like that.”
“Party Girls.”
“What?”
“I’m going to call that Party Girls,” Beth Ann ad-libbed, feeling like the biggest fraud of the century. “Don’t they look as if they’re dressing in their pink blossoms, as if they’re going to an afternoon cotillion or something?”
“Nice.”
“Too much burnt sienna?”
Glenn studied it. “No. Shades that hillside, nicely. Good job with the light.” He looked closer. “Though you might want to play with the value on the right. Seems too dark, you need something else sort of dancing back there.”
Beth Ann peered with him, then nodded her agreement. “I see what you mean.”
“But very nice. I like the direction you’re taking.”
Beth Ann frowned in concentration, staring at her palette of colors.
“The photo came out a little dark and I haven’t found a way to lighten the whole scene.” It was amazing how she could sound as if she had just painted that yesterday, rather than over a year ago.
“Did you hear from the hotel about the show?”
Beth Ann felt her cheeks burn as she lied to her good friend. “No, not yet.” She just couldn’t admit to Glenn that she was afraid to open the envelope. Glenn had no experience with not painting, hating painting, having painting torture his very soul. Glenn always painted so he never lost the ability.
“Funny.” Glenn shot her a quick glance. “Fred said they’d told him they mailed out the results last week. Should’ve arrived by now.”
“Maybe this week,” Beth Ann replied, annoyed that her voice was so chirpy.
“So Carrie’s husband only came to deliver the news that Bernie inherited DirectTech?”
Beth Ann shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
“Nothing else?”
She shook her head and took a deep breath. “No.”
“And are you going to tell him about Bernie?”
Beth Ann gave him a look and her chin started to quiver.
“You’ve got to tell him.”
“Well, I’m not going to be dishonest—if he asks me straight out,” Beth Ann said, placating herself. “However, if the topic doesn’t come up, why in the world would I want to tell him? It can’t be for anyone’s good—”
“Least of all yours,” Glenn inserted.
“She’s mine,” Beth Ann said stubbornly. “In two months the adoption will be finalized and she’ll be mine.”
“But if he’s the father—”
“He’s not the father,” Beth Ann interrupted. “If he were, wouldn’t Carrie just have told him?”
“She never told you who the father was,” Glenn said. “Maybe she simply didn’t want to have any kids.”
“Then she should’ve had an abortion.”
There was a stunned silence between them.
“You don’t mean that, Bethy,” Glenn said with reproof.
Beth Ann had the grace to look abashed and replied, “You’re right, I don’t.” She then said fiercely, “Bernie is mine. What Christian Elliott doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’ve got to change.”
ON THE WAY TO Los Amigos, Beth Ann felt terrible. She hated squabbling with Glenn. He and Fred were the kind of friends who took it upon themselves to be like annoying older brothers—never letting well enough alone. If she had answered that lawyer and claimed DirectTech for Bernie, then Christian Elliott wouldn’t be sitting at Los Amigos, waiting for her, wanting something from her she didn’t know she could give him.
She glanced at her watch. She’d be a few minutes late. And her eyes were red. One look at her and he’d know she’d been crying. When she got out of the car, she saw with dismay that he was waiting for her. His back was toward her as he faced the horizon, his hands shoved into his pockets, a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm. But he wasn’t impatient, which surprised her. Rather than checking his watch every few seconds, he actually seemed to be enjoying the coolness of the evening, gazing at the sky as if he needed to see every last remnant of color fade.
Deliberately, she slowed her walk, just to give him a moment to absorb the changing light and color, offering him plenty of space to immerse himself in the wonder of the night sky, the brightness of the stars that appeared from nowhere. He looked oddly alone, almost sad, standing there in his tailored clothes, his figure darkened by the onset of night. Beth Ann shook herself. Christian Elliott had access to one of the most spectacular evening views in California. His office overlooked the San Diego harbor, after all. What made her think he never really saw the stars?
“Hello,” she called.
When he turned, her heart beat harder, apparently not understanding this wasn’t that kind of dinner. But, Lord, he was handsome. His face was perfectly proportioned, sharpened by the austere demeanor that seemed to be second nature. Her eyes were drawn to the most vulnerable part of his face, the curve of his bottom lip, held rigid even though he appeared relaxed. She felt her cheeks grow hot when she realized she was staring, fantasizing almost, about whether the tight lines of his lips would soften under a kiss. She shifted her eyes to the rest of him. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn that morning, but it looked as if he’d had them pressed.
“Hi,” he said and opened the door to the small restaurant for her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she began.
He dismissed her apology. “It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a big crowd.”
“Well, it’s Tuesday,” she said in explanation.
He nodded, then, remembering the roses, thrust them at her.
“For you.”
This was awkward. She told her heart to slow down as she accepted the beautiful apricot and pink bouquet. They weren’t for her. They were just a means to get her signature so he could close this chapter of his life.
“Well, thank you,” she said and sniffed. “Did you have any problems finding the place?”
“No. I passed it on the way back to the hotel. I just remembered that it was close to the propane store.”
“That’s Mercy Springs.” Beth Ann chuckled, surprised when he helped her off with her coat and then pulled her seat out for her. “Thank you.”
She watched him as he carefully pushed her chair in and then draped her coat over the unoccupied seat.
It was an odd sensation being out. It was an even odder sensation being out with a person who had such manners. Well-bred manners. She just wished the occasion was real, that she was out on a real date with a man who looked like Christian and who wasn’t her dead sister’s husband. She felt a pulse in the base of her throat throb and squelched the niggle of anticipation. It irritated her that this acute, uncomfortable awareness had decided to rear its dormant head right now.
“Hey, there, Beth Ann. How’s it going?” The waitress came up and handed them well-used menus.
“Hey, Claudia. The same old, same old,” Beth Ann replied, welcoming the distraction.
“Who’s your friend here?” Claudia gave Christian a speculative glance, then saw the flowers and grinned broadly.
Beth Ann blushed.
“Christian Elliott, Claudia Ramirez. Claudia, Christian. Claudia’s family has run the Los Amigos for two generations.”
“Ricky’ll be the third,” Claudia said proudly.
“Ricky’s Claudia’s son. How old is he now?”
“Nearly seventeen.”
Beth Ann shook her head, tsk tsking. “Time flies, doesn’t it?” She turned to Christian. “We went to school together.”
“Mercy Springs High.”
“Go Gophers,” they said in unison before Claudia asked, “You guys know what you want?”
“Give us a minute.”
“Sure thing. It was nice meeting you.” Claudia gave Christian a quick wink and walked away.
They lapsed into silence as they studied the menus.
“What’s good?” Christian asked.
“Depends on what you want,” Beth Ann replied, trying very hard not to look at him, not to feel drawn to him. “If you like fried food, they make excellent chimichangas. The enchiladas are good. The burritos are huge.”
“Caroline hated fried food.”
“Carrie had a thing about getting fat,” Beth Ann corrected him. “She loved fried food.”
Christian fixed his silver gaze on her, and she felt a flush creep up her neck. Then he asked quietly, “How do you know?”
“She was my sister.”
“She was my wife.”
“Are you ready to order?” a just-returning Claudia asked with a chirp in her voice.
After ordering, the silence continued. Christian stared at the paper-lace placemat, attempting to control the emotions churning through him. He didn’t have much experience with people like his sister-in-law, but he still couldn’t figure out where her animosity came from. Surely, she didn’t think he was responsible for the fact that Caroline had never visited? An even more pressing question gnawed at him.
Why had Caroline left DirectTech to her niece in the first place?
It wasn’t as if Caroline had really been interested in the company. She sat on the board but never attended the meetings. She simply collected the dividends. By the end, he wasn’t sure Caroline was aware she owned anything. Her financial needs were so great he’d had to channel several other funding sources into her account.
“I’m here,” Beth Ann reminded him.
Christian looked up, his eyes falling on the top of her curls, reminding him again how short Caroline’s sister was. It took Christian a split second to figure out she was teasing him, an irreverence he found very attractive, almost comforting. As they waited for their order, Beth Ann nursed an unseasonal melon margarita. After a few minutes, Christian realized she wasn’t going to initiate the conversation. She glanced at him and then looked intently at the table. So different from Caroline’s almost nonstop chatter. The same thing that had stirred inside him earlier—when she’d been torn between Bernie and Iris—stirred again. He cleared his throat and searched for a neutral topic.
“So how old is Bernadette?” he ventured, and wondered at the guarded look that came into her eyes.
Beth Ann answered carefully, “Twenty-three months. She’ll be two in June.”
“Is it normal to be potty training this early?”
Beth Ann shrugged. “It’s less about age and more about readiness. She started showing signs she was ready about six weeks ago, so I decided to try it. We take it easy. I still let her wear a diaper most of the time. I just put her on the potty in the mornings and after meals when I know she usually has something to do.”
“She’s quite a character.”
“Yes, she is.”
Another silence fell and lengthened until Claudia came back with steaming plates of food. Christian eyed what Claudia set before Beth Ann. She’d ordered the special combo, which consisted of a taco, chicken enchilada, beef tamale with rice, beans and salad. He doubted he could eat that much. And while he wasn’t consciously comparing Beth Ann to Caroline, he couldn’t imagine that Caroline would have even attempted such a meal. His plate looked anemic in comparison, even though he had ordered a burrito grande.
He stared at his dinner and then looked around in puzzlement, wishing he had ordered something that could be eaten more conventionally. How did one eat a dish that resembled a small torpedo?
“It doesn’t matter,” Beth Ann said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter how you eat it. You can either pick it up or cut it with your fork or knife. Anyway, nobody cares.”
Christian glanced around him again. She was absolutely right. No one did care. No one was staring at him, trying to figure out which wine he’d decided to drink, what he’d ordered. Around him were a half a dozen family groups, and not one person was even looking at him, except a small baby who had no choice because of the way she was propped up on her mother’s shoulder. She belched loudly and then gurgled.
“You want to know what I’d do?” Beth Ann asked, as she swallowed, a curiously attractive glimmer in her dark eyes.
“What?”
“I’d do both. Cut it in half and then pick it up. The best foods are the ones that use fingers. Burritos, barbecue ribs, cold fried chicken legs. Don’t you think?”
Christian paused and nodded absently, still strategically studying the burrito. He remembered those things from the years he’d spent in boarding school. They’d always had a big barbecue on the last day of spring semester. The chicken legs were made by Max’s mother. She always made extra for him. Max was one of the lucky boarding school kids who saw his amicably divorced parents often and went home for every holiday and got lots of care packages during the in-between times.
“Yes, I do think,” Christian said suddenly.
“What?” Beth Ann looked up midbite. She seemed startled by his sudden return to the conversation.
He stared at her plate, amazed she had already worked her way through the taco and tamale and was embarking on the enchilada. Half of the beans and rice were gone. The salad was decimated.
“Are you going to eat all that?” he asked curiously.
Beth Ann glanced down at her plate in surprise. “Yes, I think I am. Do you want some? This is very good.” She proceeded to separate a portion of her enchilada. “Burritos are nice, but they’re not the same as the gooey cheesy stuff.” She lifted her plate and slid half her enchilada next to his burrito. She indicated the burrito, still untouched. “You should eat. Just cut it in half and pick it up. Here.”
She reached over and sawed it in half, then wrapped the bottom with a paper napkin and presented it to him. “Problem solved.”
Christian was stunned. In his thirty-six years, no one had ever assaulted his food in such a way. Years of training made him take it graciously, and the growl of hunger in his stomach made him take a bite.
It was delicious.
He took another bite and realized he was very hungry. They worked their way through the rest of the meal in silence. Between bites of his burrito, he studied Beth Ann as she ate, unable to pinpoint why his heart seemed to be beating a little faster. She wasn’t beautiful. Not like Caroline was beautiful.
In fact, it would never occur to him to date someone like Beth Ann. But it was more than politeness that had prompted him to visit the only two florists in Mercy Springs to find the exact roses he imagined. And despite the fact their conversation seemed to alternate between territorial skirmishes and almost intimate teasing, there was something that made the silence between them comfortable. That was only one of the things Christian found unique about her.
Her appetite was another.
He had never seen another woman put away so much food. The women he knew usually picked like birds. Salads, cucumber sandwiches. He couldn’t remember Caroline eating anything with her fingers. Beth Ann looked delicate, but ate like a horse.
When their meal was done and coffee ordered, Christian decided it was safe to broach the topic again.
“So I need some kind of confirmation from you about Bernadette’s inheritance.”
“We don’t want it,” Beth Ann replied simply.
It was such an easy solution! Beth Ann wondered why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. Good old denial. By refusing DirectTech, they could go back to the way things were. He’d probably be relieved because he could keep the company and his family would make more money. It was a truly perfect answer to what seemed to be a complicated problem.
“What?”
Beth Ann met Christian’s stare as directly as she could.
“We don’t want it,” she repeated and took a sip of coffee. She tore open three packets of sugar at one time and dumped them all in.
“You mean you don’t want it,” he corrected her, his voice very low and flat.
Beth Ann felt a small chill run along the inside of her shoulder blades. Why did his voice sound so menacing, when he looked perfectly civilized, even slightly smiling at her with very square, straight, white teeth?
“No,” she replied. “We don’t want it.” Then, she said hurriedly, “I’m sure your family will be relieved you get to keep the company. Of course, I’ll sign any papers that need to be signed to make it happen.”
“The company isn’t yours,” Christian said quietly.
Beth Ann flushed at his observation.
“Don’t you think you ought to give Bernadette the chance—”
“Bernie,” Beth Ann interrupted him.
“What?”
“Bernie. We call her Bernie. We never call her Bernadette. Just like Carrie. Carrie was always Carrie. She wasn’t Caroline.”
Christian was silent for a long time, his eyes unreadable. His voice was very controlled when he spoke. “I never knew Caroline as Carrie. She never let me know she preferred Carrie.”
“Oh, she didn’t prefer Carrie. She wanted to be Caroline. But she was Carrie,” Beth Ann said for emphasis. “My mother called her Carrie, her father called her Carrie. I called her Carrie. She was Carrie. She became Caroline. She made up Caroline. Bernie’s going to be Bernie. Not Bernadette, even if she does own a software company. She’s not going to have to reinvent herself to find happiness.”
“Is that what you think Caroli—er, Carrie did?”
Beth Ann nodded. “I know that’s what she did. She was very unhappy living in a town this small. She loved reading magazines about the rich and famous and was forever telling me some day she’d be part of that world.” Beth Ann gave him an assessing stare. “I guess she did that.”
“Through me, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“I loved her.”
Beth Ann turned away, feelings about Carrie and Christian and Bernie churning inside her. Or maybe it was just the taco, tamale and half an enchilada with rice and beans and salad.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“I know you don’t. Which is why I’m telling you. I loved her.”
“Then why’d you let her die?”
“I didn’t let her die.”
“Sure you did. You let her do anything she wanted, even if it was bad for her.”
Christian stared at Beth Ann in disbelief. How dare she talk to him like he had something to do with Caroline’s death? He felt a sting of guilt, even though he understood her words were spoken from the pain of losing her sister. He met her dark eyes, black tonight in the low light of the restaurant and saw the grief and the loss—felt the sensations as acutely as when Max had come to tell him.
It was interesting that Max was the one to tell him about Caroline’s death and not the police. That hadn’t occurred to him before. At the time he had thought it meant that Max believed the news would be easier to hear coming from him rather than an officer. Now, he wondered why Max had known before him. Had the police contacted Max first? Then he remembered. Max was at the party with Caroline. But he took no comfort from that thought. He focused his attention on the woman before him and spoke succinctly. “I was not Caroline’s father. I was her husband.”
“And as her husband, maybe you should have said enough is enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” He couldn’t help the sharp tone in his voice.
“You weren’t at the party where she died, were you?”
“I had to work.”
Beth Ann threw him an appraising look. “Did you go to any of the parties with her?”
How would she know? He refused to answer.
She nodded. “Did you go on those cruises?”
He stayed silent.
She nodded again. “Then how in the world would you have ever known what your wife was doing?”
“Maybe that’s what she ran away from,” he said smoothly, turning the tables on her, and was satisfied when Beth Ann blushed.
“Maybe she lived in a place with a sister so controlling she couldn’t breathe and all she wanted was a little freedom.”
“Maybe,” Beth Ann conceded.
“And maybe that sister is doing the exact same thing with her daughter and Caroline knew it and willed her niece the company so Berna—uh, Bernie at least had a fighting chance.”
“A fighting chance at what?” Her eyes grew big at his implication.
“At life.” There. He had got her.
His triumph faded abruptly when Beth Ann did not look defeated. Instead, she was silently shaking her head. When she met his eyes, he saw a completely different woman. This one was educated, cultured. Her voice lowered an octave, as she said, “I guess that depends on what you call life. In this life, what matters is what’s being nurtured in that tiny body and head of Bernie’s. She’s got no need for a software company. She’s fed, she’s loved, she’s given every bit of attention I can give her—”
“She looks like a boy.”
Beth Ann shrugged. “She doesn’t know that. When it makes a difference, I’ll find appropriate clothes for her.”
“At a garage sale or secondhand store.” He couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.
“Repair, reuse, recycle. Things don’t have to be new to be valuable.” Beth Ann’s eyes flicked over him. “But I guess you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
“All our companies adhere to the very strictest of environmental standards,” he said stiffly.
“I’m sure they do.” Beth Ann looked at the check and picked it up. “I think I’m ready to go now.”
Christian took the check from her. “I’ll get it.”
Beth Ann paused for a minute and said graciously, “Thank you.”
As they walked out, the night air just starting to have the hint of summer to it, he informed her, “This still isn’t over.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Sure it is. Have your lawyer draw up whatever document we need to return the company back to your family. You can let me deal with the fallout when Bernie turns twenty-one and discovers I gave away her inheritance. Thanks for the flowers.”
Christian shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. You just need to be a little more open-minded. It’s Bernie’s company. You don’t really have a choice. Anyway—” he couldn’t resist adding “—it seems as if you could really use a couple of months of dividends.”
Beth Ann’s smile died. “Why would you say that?”
There was no way to put it tactfully, so he said, “It’s obvious you need the money.”
Beth Ann didn’t flinch as he’d expected.
She nodded in thoughtful agreement. “We do need the money. But we don’t need it this way.”
“What do you mean this way?”
She shrugged. “Through intimidation. You’re rich and we’re poor. You have everything and we have nothing. For some reason, we’re supposed to take money or software companies at whatever the cost.” She poked a slender finger gently into his chest. “I’m going to keep the flowers, because they’re so beautiful and because I believe you gave them to me sincerely. I don’t want the software company because somehow I think the cost is going to be too great. Bernie’s just going to get hurt.”
“Bernie?” Christian softened his voice.
She looked away too quickly.
“Or you?”
“I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” For the first time since they’d started this conversation, Beth Ann sounded vulnerable.
Christian didn’t know what he was talking about either. He was merely fishing. But years of business training told him Beth Ann’s reasons for not signing the papers had less to do with the welfare of her daughter and more to do with herself.
“I think you do,” he said shortly. “And I think you’re hiding something.”