“I met a woman at the springs,” Clay told Sloane, although Sloane hadn’t asked about his day. As a small child, Clay had learned that if he wanted to talk about himself, he had to initiate the conversation and pick an adult who would be receptive. Since Sloane was the only adult available, he would have to do, even if his expression was shuttered and his arms crossed firmly in front of his ribs as they walked down Faith Street. Clay, a master at reading body language, gave the conversation no more than a fifty percent chance of success. But it was worth a try.
“Good,” Sloane replied.
Clay tried again. “She teaches English at the high school.”
Sloane nodded but the length of his step increased. Clay, who was tall for his age, had to hurry to keep up.
“Her name’s Elise Randall or something like that.”
“Ramsey. Elise Ramsey. And yes, I know her.”
“I hope I’ll be in her class.”
This time Sloane didn’t even nod. He hadn’t been close enough to get a good look at the woman sitting beside Clay on the bench, but his gut level reaction had assured him that it was indeed Elise Ramsey talking to his son. He had had a perfect opportunity to approach her, say a casual hello and permanently loosen the knot in his stomach that formed every time her name was mentioned. Elise Ramsey, for God’s sake. Seventeen years had passed, and he had lived the equivalent of several lifetimes since then. So why was he behaving like an anxious adolescent, letting his reactions build and submerge his common sense?
All it would take was one simple conversation, one short series of pleasantries to put Elise in the proper place in his psyche. The longer he waited the harder it was going to be. She was nothing to him, just a woman from a small Florida town, a schoolteacher whose idea of fun was probably dinner at one of the two local restaurants and a drive to Ocala to take in a first run movie. She had undoubtedly absorbed Miracle Springs’s value system, and now that she was finally free of her mother, she was probably hunting a husband with the frenzied tenacity of a spinster who sees her biological time clock winding down.
Sloane backed up mentally and shook his head. Why was he trying so hard to convince himself that Elise was anything other than the warm, intelligent, sensitive woman he had known? Of course, she hadn’t quite been a woman seventeen years ago. She’d been poised on the razor’s edge between adolescence and maturity. He had gone that far with her himself, and by now the years would have completed the transition. There was no reason to believe that all that had been wonderful about Elise had changed.
Nor was there any reason to believe that all that was not wonderful about Elise had changed, either. Underneath the warmth, the intelligence, the sensitivity had been a woman too weak to stand up for herself. In the end she had taken the easiest road. And with a flash of insight, Sloane realized that he had never forgiven her for doing so.
“Sloane?”
Sloane grunted, too lost in his own thoughts to pull himself out of them easily.
“I asked you if you used to go to the springs when you were a boy.” Clay’s tone was patient. Adults didn’t like petulance. In that way he was sure Sloane was no different from any of the dozens of adults who had taken care of him throughout his fifteen years.
Sloane realized he was leaving Clay behind, and he slowed his pace a fraction. “I practically lived there when I was your age. Did you enjoy the water?”
“I didn’t go in.”
“Why not?”
“I never learned to swim.”
Sloane flinched. There was so much he didn’t know about this boy, this son who was a stranger. “I guess you didn’t have much of a chance to learn in the desert,” he conceded. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before, Clay.”
Clay heard the genuine regret in Sloane’s voice and it surprised him. “What could you have done about it?” he asked curiously. “Besides, I always figured I’d learn how to swim once I got the chance.”
“I’ll see about getting somebody to teach you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll teach myself.”
In spite of himself Sloane was intrigued. “How do you propose to do that?”
“I’ve taught myself to do lots of things. I have a system.” Clay paused. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“Go ahead.”
Encouraged, Clay began. “First you have to divide everything into parts. Take swimming, for instance. You have to decide exactly what part of swimming you want to learn. If you want to learn more than one part, then you have to decide what order you want to learn the parts in.”
“Go on.” Sloane realized that Clay was communicating more than a personal theory of learning. He was telling his father about his upbringing, and Sloane wasn’t sure he could handle the revelations to come. But how could he explain that to Clay?
“Well, then you have to observe someone swimming. You have to concentrate only on the part you want to learn and tune everything else out. Then, when you can verbalize exactly what that person is doing and memorize it, you try it. But not before, otherwise you can get yourself in trouble.”
“What have you learned to do that way?”
Clay hesitated. The conversation had gone so well that he hated to spoil it by talking much longer. “Lots of things. Baking bread, riding a horse …”
“No one taught you those things?”
“Not those things. Mostly no one wanted to bother. They said if the environment was right, we’d learn without being taught.” Clay recited the last words as if he were mouthing sacred doctrine.
“Page twenty-two of the counterculture bible,” Sloane said, trying to keep anger out of his voice.
“It wasn’t a bad life.” Clay defended his past. “I was happy.”
Sloane clenched and unclenched his fists as they walked in silence the rest of the way home. Discussion of Destiny Ranch and what the community of people who lived there had and hadn’t done for his son shortened his fuse to the point where it was almost nonexistent.
How had it happened that a son of his—a son he hadn’t even known about—had been sentenced to fifteen years of exile in the New Mexican desert with a continually revolving community of dropouts from American society?
Of course Sloane had to take some of the blame himself. He had fathered Clay, never considering the fact that Willow, Clay’s mother, wasn’t using birth control. He had been nineteen at the time, blissfully unaware of the most important fact of life: one always reaps what one sows. He had been drunk on freedom, drunk on the number of women who were his for the taking, drunk on the thought of a life without the fetters of Miracle Springs.
And now he was paying the price. No, that wasn’t quite true. Clay had already paid the price. Sloane himself would be witness to that for the rest of his life. Somehow, he’d have to find a way to ease the growing burden of guilt and, yes, fury that threatened to overwhelm him every time he thought about his son.
Now he turned down Charity Street, oblivious to the curious looks of his neighbors as he and Clay passed.
“I’ll take you swimming myself,” Sloane said gruffly as they reached the steps of the house he had rented for the next year. “Tomorrow morning, first thing.”
Clay watched his father enter the house and disappear. “That’ll be fine,” he said, although there was no one to hear his answer. Then he followed Sloane inside.
Elise had washed her hair and parted it neatly in the middle. As she lay outside on a blanket thumbing listlessly through an old magazine, the late-afternoon sun was her hair dryer. The backyard was beginning to show signs of the drought that had lasted for more than three weeks. Elise considered turning on the sprinkler, then thought better of it. It would mean moving her blanket, and that seemed like too much trouble.
“Go ahead and burn up,” she muttered to the surrounding foliage. “I’ll just plant cactus.”
The elephant ear plant nearest her nodded in the light breeze, and Elise shut her eyes in exasperation. Talking to plants was bad enough; having them answer meant she had hit bottom.
She hadn’t felt this low, this abandoned, since the hours immediately following her mother’s death. Then she had cried, and the release had been welcome. There were no tears today.
How could she cry for something that had ended almost two decades before? Sloane had been out of her life for years and with him had gone possibility. Now possibility had returned, and so had Sloane. There was a message here somewhere, but it was in a language she obviously didn’t understand.
Rationally she knew that Sloane’s return to Miracle Springs at this crucial time in her own life was a coincidence. What else could it be? She had lived her thirty-five years in this little town that had been founded around a miracle—or so the story went—but Elise had never believed in miracles. At least not for herself.
Somehow, whether she believed in miracles or not, she still felt as if the hands of fate had reached down to pat her on the head. She couldn’t believe that she and Sloane were being brought together by unseen forces. That was too sentimental to be palatable. But it did seem that she was being given a chance to put her past in order, to de-mythologize it so that she could begin to imagine a new future for herself.
A future far away from Miracle Springs. A future with only the silences I want.
Even the thought of that much freedom shot ripples of fear through her body. The thought of facing Sloane again had the same effect.
Elise rolled over and then stood, lifting the blanket to shake and fold it. Inside, the house seemed cooler as she busied herself getting ready for her dinner with Bob. But nothing could keep her from remembering that she had purposely avoided Sloane at the springs today. And that memory triggered another memory of an evening at the springs when she hadn’t avoided Sloane at all.
Sloane Tyson had been a remarkable young man. At least that was the way he was described by the few people in town who saw beyond the cynical smile and the saber-sharp tongue that flayed anyone who crossed his path heading in the wrong direction. Sloane had always been absolutely certain about the right direction. For everyone.
Still, Elise had known, even at sweet sixteen, that there was more to Sloane than intelligence and cynicism and arrogance. He was the only son of a widowed mother who had no talent for or interest in controlling him, and Sloane had always run wild with only the occasional firm hand of an uncle or two to keep him in line. But underneath his wayward exterior Elise had sensed a gentleness that only needed a chance to grow, a sensitivity that had to be hidden behind the facade of a rebel without a cause. She had also known that in order to recognize these parts of Sloane and treat him like the young man she instinctively knew him to be, she would have to face the wrath of her mother who was sure “that Tyson kid was going to ruin his family’s good name.” She would also have to face the scorn of her goody-goody friends and most of the population of Miracle Springs.
Even then Elise had known herself to be weak. While other teenagers were cheerfully using emotional blackmail to get what they wanted, Elise always swallowed her resentment and did as she was told. She was a dutiful daughter, a fact that brought her little recognition, and she succumbed time and again to pressure from her mother on almost every issue.
The exception had been Sloane Tyson. Years later she could recognize her fainthearted rebellion for what it was: a last-ditch attempt to stand up for herself, even if she had to do it in Sloane’s sheltering shadow. But at the time it had been the most significant act of her adolescence. At the beginning of her junior year she had simply decided that the entire population of Miracle Springs could be damned. There was something about Sloane Tyson that she liked, and she had set out to discover exactly what it was.
It hadn’t been easy. Sloane himself had shown no interest in her attempts to draw him out. He’d sneered at her friends, made fun of her interests, asked if he was the September selection for her charity-of-the-month club. But once committed, Elise had refused to accept his hostility at face value. More and more she wondered if his reaction to her was fear that she might not turn out to be genuinely interested in him.
Not that Sloane didn’t have girls interested in him. Half the female student body at Miracle Springs High—the wrong half—was rumored to have fallen prey to his restless vitality. In a school where getting close enough to unhook a girl’s bra was an occasion for locker room rejoicing, Sloane was known to have moved to a new level of expertise without having to lift a finger. Some of the girls had loved Sloane, had loved his sardonic good looks and his ability to make hash out of every teacher who crossed swords with him. It was the others, Elise’s friends, that amorphous group known as the “good girls,” who wouldn’t give him the time of day. And Sloane would no more have asked them for anything than he would have joined the Marines.
By late fall of her junior year, Elise realized her plan—Be Nice to Sloane and He Will Respond—was not going to work. His only response had been ridicule, and she was wearing down under his barrage of insults. In one final attempt to make him realize she really wanted to be his friend she had decided to switch tactics. With her heart in her mouth, and her reputation on the line, Elise had asked Sloane to be her date at the Miracle Springs homecoming dance. The invitation had been especially meaningful because she was one of two junior girls elected to the homecoming queen’s court, and they would be spotlighted at the dance.
Sloane’s reaction had been devastating to a girl whose riskiest act up to that time had been to pet a stray dog during rabies season. He had laughed at her. He had laughed so hard that he couldn’t even answer, and Elise, to her chagrin, had burst into tears and run all the way home.
Her romance with Sloane had begun that night. The sensitivity she had sensed had actually existed. He had called to ask if she would see him, and Elise had agreed because he couldn’t hurt her any more than he already had. They had met at the springs so that Elise wouldn’t have to argue with her mother about the company she was keeping.
Sloane was late, a habit that never changed in all the months they spent together, and Elise had become increasingly nervous as she waited. Had he set her up, hoping she’d come while he was off somewhere laughing about her interest in him? More and more certain she was being played for a fool, she had decided to leave when she heard his voice behind her.
“I’m glad you came.”
Afraid to turn around, she’d sat motionless on the green bench at the edge of the beach and waited for him to join her.
“I really didn’t expect you to be here,” he said, sliding into place beside her.
“I told you I’d come.”
“And I’ll bet your word is sacred.” There was only a faint hint of cynicism in his voice.
“It is,” she agreed. “I like people to know they can trust me. Is trust one of those things you think is silly, Sloane?”
He hadn’t risen to the bait. “No.”
Mollified, she tried to smile. “I’m glad.”
They sat in silence as the night breeze warmed them. Finally Sloane shifted his weight to face her, and Elise could feel his eyes on her. “What kind of Girl Scout game are you playing with me, Elise? I’m not your type, and I sure don’t need to be rescued.”
He might not need rescuing, but she did, and on some level, she had realized it, even then. “I know we’re different,” she said cautiously, too nervous to meet his eyes, “but there’s something about you I like, Sloane, although today I’ve been having trouble remembering what it could possibly be.”
“My good manners?” he asked helpfully.
Elise sighed. “I thought I saw something buried deep inside you that obviously isn’t there.”
“And like the good girl you are, you felt compelled to go for a treasure hunt.”
“I’m going home.” Elise stood and shook out the full red skirt of her dress. “We’re wasting time.”
In a moment she was back beside him and his fingers were locked around her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve been hounding me for weeks. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I have not been hounding you!”
“What do you call it?”
“I wanted to be your friend. I was being nice to you, just like I would be to anyone I wanted to be friends with. Now let go of me.”
“Just friendship, Elise?” He had moved closer, pulling her arm around his neck as he inched forward. “Or were you hoping the rumors you’d heard about me were true? Were you hoping you’d get a chance to live dangerously?”
She had opened her mouth to protest and in a split second, he had covered it with his own, kissing her with a thoroughness that left her gasping for breath when he withdrew.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked.
It had been, although she had not known it before. But she hadn’t wanted to be kissed with Sloane’s taunts still between them.
“Maybe it was,” she said, stumbling over the words. “Maybe I have wanted you to kiss me, but I’ve wanted more, too.”
“We can arrange that,” he said pulling her closer to kiss her again, his hands beginning to wander over her slender curves.
Elise had begun to cry.
“Scared, Elise?”
She had managed to shake her head. She wasn’t afraid of Sloane. It had never entered her mind that he might try and force her to do anything.
He had loosened his hold on her and of her own volition, she had rested her head on his shoulder until she could calm herself. “I’m not scared of you,” she said finally. “I’m just tired of your insults. I want to get to know you, and all you do is push me away.”
“I was doing exactly the opposite.”
“No you weren’t.” She straightened and slid a safe distance to the other side of the bench before standing. Sloane didn’t try to stop her. “I’m going home.” She had almost reached the street when Sloane called after her.
“Do you still want me to take you to the dance?”
She could have exacted retribution with a haughty no. Instead she shrugged helplessly. “Only if you’ll call a truce for the evening.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She had turned to give him a watery smile, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she did. “I’ll be waiting.”
After that she was always waiting for Sloane, sometimes on her front porch, more often on the same green bench at the springs. She had waited for more than his appearance. She had waited for him to kiss her again; she had waited for him to touch her, and finally to make love to her. She had waited for him to tell her he wanted her to come away with him, and at the end, when she couldn’t go, she had waited for his understanding.
The last wait had been without end.
Now, as she dressed for her date with Bob, Elise realized that she was waiting for Sloane again. And what did she hope would happen when they were forced to confront each other with the barriers of seventeen years firmly in place between them? Forgiveness? A chance to ventilate anger? The realization that the chapter of her life entitled Sloane and Elise had truly come to a close?
She didn’t know. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was scared. And the thing that scared her the most was that Sloane might not even remember her name.
“You look lovely as usual, Elise.” Bob bent to kiss her cheek and then straightened slowly as if his back might be thrown out of shape by the subtle movement.
“Thank you.” Elise took the bouquet of exotically hued zinnias that Bob handed her and automatically began to strip off the lower leaves to place them in water. “These are beautiful. I’m surprised they’ve made it through the drought.”
“Amy waters them every day. She sent them for you.”
“That’s my girl.”
“She might as well be. You’re the only mother she’s ever known.” Bob followed Elise into the kitchen as she got a vase out of the cupboard.
“Amy’s very special to me,” Elise said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes I think you wouldn’t even bother with me if I didn’t have a daughter.”
Bob’s comment was uncharacteristically revealing. Elise felt a flutter of surprise. After thirteen years of a relationship that could only be described as placid, were she and Bob finally going to talk about their feelings?
“Well,” she said tentatively, “sometimes I think you wouldn’t bother with me if you didn’t have her. I’ve been a handy mother-substitute, haven’t I?”
“You could have been more. I’ve offered marriage more than once.”
“Yes, you have.” Elise ran water in the vase and waited while it filled.
“And you’ve always said no.”
“And you’ve always been glad I did.” Elise turned off the faucet and began to arrange the zinnias.
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t love me. And I don’t love you.” Elise’s tone was still matter-of-fact. “We both tried to make love happen. As lovers, we were complete failures.” Without wanting to she thought of the nights in Bob’s arms when she had found herself thinking of Sloane Tyson. Those nights had ended years before. A mutually agreeable but unspoken pact had put a stop to them trying to force feelings that weren’t there. Elise wondered why Bob was discussing matrimony now. She wondered why she was, too.
“Maybe we don’t love each other the way you mean, but I care about you. I respect you,” Bob insisted. “Good marriages can be built on less.”
Elise was surprised that the word “marriage” had crept into the conversation again. “What are you trying to say?” she asked, curiosity aroused.
“What I’m trying to say is that now that your mother’s gone, Elise, I want you to marry me.” Elise turned to face him and watched Bob anxiously smooth back his hair. “I can’t stand the thought of you alone here in this big old house. When Jeanette was alive, I didn’t worry about you. You had her, and I knew she’d watch out for you.”
Elise was amazed that Bob had ever believed that Jeanette Ramsey had watched out for her daughter. In reality, Elise had spent the last seventeen years of her life watching out for her mother. Everyone in Miracle Springs understood that. Everyone except Bob.
“What do you think is going to happen to me?” she asked.
Bob avoided her gaze. “I just think you’d be better off married to me. We’re both getting older. We can take care of each other in the years to come.”
“I’m not exactly decrepit.”
“Of course you’re not,” Bob tried to soothe her. “You’re still a lovely young woman. But…”
“But I won’t be for long?” Elise tried to decipher Bob’s blank expression. Was there a flicker of fear behind the horn-rimmed glasses? Was Bob afraid for her? Elise abandoned the thought immediately. Bob was not the type to worry unduly about others. He was a good man, but he was tied up in his own little world. And she had always refused to share that world with him.
“If we marry, neither of us will have to be lonely,” he said flatly.
“Do you really think marriage can prevent loneliness?”
Bob seemed startled by her words. He recovered quickly. “Obviously this isn’t the right time for this conversation. I know you’re still getting over your mother’s death.”
“I’m fine, Bob.” She tested his understanding. “In some ways Mama’s death is a relief. I’m free for the first time in my life.”
His look was disapproving. “You never seemed to mind taking care of her.”
“I minded a lot.” The strength of her words even surprised Elise. Not because they weren’t true, but because she had finally spoken them out loud. Since her tongue seemed to be properly loosened for the first time, she continued. “My mother was never sick a day in her life until the day she died. But I spent seventeen years waiting on her hand and foot, catering to every little whim. Now that she’s gone, I feel like a tremendous burden has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“She was your mother, Elise.”
Elise nodded. “She was. And I gave her a big chunk of my life. But I’m not going to waste any more of it wallowing in sorrow I don’t really feel.”
“You surprise me.”
Since she had surprised herself, too, Elise could only nod.
Bob looked at his watch. “We can continue this later. I made reservations at the Inn for seven.”
“I’m ready.” Elise set the zinnias on the kitchen table and led the way to the front door.
As they drove in silence, Elise wondered about the spurt of courage that had allowed her to say things to Bob she rarely even allowed herself to think. At least part of her reason had been to keep him at bay. She didn’t want to marry Bob Cargil, but neither did she want to lose his friendship and, more importantly, the friendship of his daughter. Perhaps if he realized she was someone other than the selfless martyr he believed her to be, Bob would think twice before trying to push her into marriage.
They parked in front of the Miracle Springs Inn. The inn bordered the Wehachee River, whose source was the crystal-clear springs further down the road. The inn itself was a century-old ramshackle hotel with Victorian gingerbread outside and a mural in the lobby depicting the legend that had given Miracle Springs its name. It was a story of Indian lovers and untimely death, and the local Chamber of Commerce exploited it without a shred of guilt, as did the inn. It was terrific for business.
Bob and Elise ignored the fading painting as they walked directly to the dining room to claim their reservation. As always the room was crowded, and they were seated before Elise could scan it for friends. This would be an unusual night if she didn’t know at least two-thirds of the people around her. She nodded to acquaintances and waited patiently while Bob went to greet one of the town’s matriarchs. It was only as she turned idly to examine the rest of the room that Elise realized that Clay and a man in a brown suit were sitting two tables away. The man was staring at her.
He had to be Sloane. So much was the same, and yet so much was different, too. Elise could almost feel her mind whirling as it adjusted to this new image of the boy who had never matured in her mind. Seventeen years. He was thirty-five, not eighteen anymore. His hair was still the same abundant golden brown, his body—at least what she could see of it—still hard and fit. Perhaps when he stood she’d see a protruding belly, but she didn’t think so. He had kept himself in shape.
The face was very different. The cynicism had hardened into harsh lines. He had a mustache now, a luxuriant one that drooped over the brooding lines of his mouth, giving him the appearance of a hard-boiled private eye. His nose seemed slightly off center as if he’d had it broken once. Elise didn’t find that surprising. Sloane had always been the kind of man who could push others to the boiling point without even trying.
His eyes were unfathomable. Elise could feel their probing even though a table separated her from him. He was examining her intently, but his expression was so distant that she couldn’t tell if he recognized her. Her gaze flicked to Clay. His expression was unguarded and surprisingly warm. He, at least, knew who she was.
Her reaction took only seconds, yet it seemed to her as if she had sat there for years allowing Sloane his examination before she forced herself to stand and walk to his table. She could feel her hands perspiring, and she wiped them on the full skirt of her dress as she moved toward them.
She spoke to Clay first. “It’s good to see you again, Clay,” she said with a smile that took a surprising amount of energy.
“Hello, Elise.”
She smiled again and then turned slightly to face the man she had not been able to face at the springs. “Hello, Sloane. It’s been a long time.” Silently she thanked Clay for having said her name. At least she didn’t have to introduce herself to Sloane. That would have been more than she could bear.
Sloane stood, dwarfing her as he always had. “Hello, Elise.”
Elise inclined her head. They stood quietly examining each other. Elise wondered what he saw. Did he see the same woman he had known, older but not so old as to be unattractive? Did he remember the things about her that only he knew? Could he read the turbulence of her feelings in the black eyes he’d written poetry about?
“You’ve hardly changed at all,” he added finally. The words were said with no warmth. Elise suspected that no compliment had been intended.
She shrugged. “We all change. Even in Miracle Springs.”
His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Funny. I’ve never been sure that’s true.”
“I know.” She stepped back a little. If she’d had any doubts that Sloane didn’t remember her, they’d been put safely to rest. Their simple conversation was charged with unspoken energy. Yes, Sloane remembered, and he’d never forgiven her. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly.
“How?”
She examined his stylish haircut and expensive clothing. “You’re more civilized somehow.”
“It would be a mistake to think I’m much different,” he said, a warning clear in the deceptively soft-spoken words.
Elise nodded. If she’d hoped for a simple conversation to destroy her memories, she had been mistaken. “I’d better get back to my table,” she murmured politely. “It’s nice to see you again.” She turned to Clay. “Have a good dinner.” After a nod to them both she made her way to the table where Bob was seated once again.
“I see you’ve rediscovered Sloane Tyson,” Bob said dryly as Elise stared with unseeing eyes at the menu.
Elise heard the disdain in his voice. “What does that mean?”
“You two were a couple in high school, weren’t you?”
Elise nodded. Denial was useless in a town that remembered everything. “But I haven’t seen him since the day we graduated.”
“Well, I knew he was back.”
And Elise understood that those five words explained Bob’s latest marriage proposal. At least they explained some part of it. She probed for further understanding. “Does it bother you that seventeen years ago I went steady with Sloane Tyson?”
“You did more than go steady.” Bob’s words were an accusation.
Elise carefully closed her menu and laid it next to her plate. “Why that should bother you now is beyond my understanding.”
“It’s always bothered me.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t think so.” Bob snapped his menu shut and without it to shield him, Elise saw that he was pouting.
“Seventeen years ago you were a twenty-eight-year-old married man with a wife who adored you. What does any of that have to do with today?”
“My wife isn’t sitting in this room.”
“Your wife is dead.”
“I don’t want Sloane Tyson making a fool out of you, Elise.”
Elise counted the heartbeats throbbing in her neck. Twelve passed before she took a deep breath to answer him. “I don’t think Sloane Tyson is the man in this room who’s trying to make a fool out of me, Bob.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Bob picked up his menu and buried his face in it again.
Elise folded her hands in her lap, swallowing angry words. Unwillingly her eyes were drawn to the man two tables away. Sloane was staring into space, his eyes carefully veiled. Elise studied him for a moment before she forced herself to look away.
She wanted to believe Sloane wasn’t unaffected by their meeting. She wanted to believe that he, too, had felt the hidden energy coursing between them. They would never have a relationship again; the days of their love and their lovemaking were over. But suddenly, irrationally, it was important to know that Sloane was not oblivious to her.
She risked another glance, and this time she found his eyes on her. There was self-mockery in his stare, as if he could not believe that he was being drawn into this intimacy. But he didn’t look away.
Defiantly, Elise stared back. She was not afraid of being hurt or of being made to appear foolish. She was not afraid of Sloane Tyson or even of herself. If she had a fear now it was that the years had wiped away all traces of the girl Sloane had once loved and with them, the one love affair of her life.
As if to reassure her, Sloane slowly lifted the glass of wine in front of him and held it out to her in a sardonic toast. Without thinking, Elise responded with her water tumbler. And for a moment, they were the only two people in the crowded little room.