
Arden whirled to look at him. "You want me to marry you?"
"Well, actually, I'd like you to pretend to want to marry me. And I'll pretend to want to marry you."
"It's a ridiculous idea. I can't pretend to be in love."
"Am I so repulsive?"
"You're a very attractive man, Griff. I just---"
Immediately, he stepped closer. "You don't have time for an all-expenses paid vacation in sunny Georgia?"
"I don't think..."
Once more, he came close, laying his warm hands on her bare shoulders.
"Is there something you want or need, Arden? Something I can give you?"
An idea popped into her mind, burrowing up from somewhere deep in her subconscious, a suggestion so outrageous that he would no doubt turn her down immediately and walk out of her life without a glance backward.
"There is something I want, Griff. I want a child."
Dear Reader,
Writers are often asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" I have a confession to make---the concept for A Convenient Proposal came to me as I read a novel by another author. My inspiration was the powerful image of a woman standing on a deserted beach with only her dog for company. When that story ended, she remained alone.
I kept the dog, but I wanted her to have a happier ending. So I created reasons for her solitary life by the ocean. Reasons different from those in the book I'd read. I brought a hero to her beach. Then I gave them a reason to spend time together, which resulted in this, my twenty-fourth book for Harlequin.
At midnight on New Year's Eve, veterinarian Griff Campbell offers Arden Burke a convenient proposal---if she spends a few weeks with him in his Georgia hometown, salvaging his pride by pretending to be his fiancée, he will do his best to fulfill her longing for a baby. Falling in love is not part of the deal. And trust is the last prize either of them wants to risk.
I hope you enjoy Griff and Arden's romance. Please feel free to contact me at my website, www.lynnettekentbooks.com, or through the mail at P.O. Box 1012, Vass, NC 28394.
All the best,
Lynnette Kent
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lynnette Kent lives on a farm in southeastern North Carolina with her five horses and five dogs. When she isn't busy riding, driving or feeding animals, she loves to tend her gardens and read and write books. This is her twenty-fourth story for Harlequin Books.
Books by Lynnette Kent
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1187---CHRISTMAS AT BLUE MOON RANCH
1217---SMOKY MOUNTAIN REUNION
1227---SMOKY MOUNTAIN HOME
1284---A HOLIDAY TO REMEMBER
1330---JESSE: MERRY CHRISTMAS, COWBOY
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
824---WHAT A MAN'S GOT TO DO
868---EXPECTING THE BEST
901---LUKE'S DAUGHTERS
938---MATT'S FAMILY
988---NOW THAT YOU'RE HERE
1002---MARRIED IN MONTANA
1024---SHENANDOAH CHRISTMAS
1080---THE THIRD MRS. MITCHELL\*
1118---THE BALLAD OF DIXON BELL\*
1147---THE LAST HONEST MAN\*
1177---THE FAKE HUSBAND\*
1229---SINGLE WITH KIDS\*
1245---ABBY'S CHRISTMAS\*
1326---THE PRODIGAL TEXAN
To Murphy, with thanks for introducing us to banjos, bluegrass and the Georgia mountains.
And, as always, to Martin, adventurer and banjo player, with love.
Contents
Cool sand beneath his feet. A salty breeze off the ocean. Midnight stars overhead and cold champagne to drink. What better way to celebrate New Year's Eve?
Not that Griff Campbell was looking forward to the new year. Or even the new week, since tomorrow morning--- New Year's Day---would see him returning to his Georgia hometown after a six-month exile. Self-imposed exile, actually.
Some people might call it running away.
For tonight, however, he'd tied his rented speedboat to an abandoned pier on the most deserted beach he could find---a little chunk of sand and live oak trees just a few miles off the Miami coastline, where nobody could find him and he could, he hoped, dredge up the enthusiasm to go home.
Two bottles of champagne down, and all he'd dredged up so far were the seashells rattling in the pockets of his shorts. Griff took a swig of Taittingers, then swiped his shirtsleeve across his chin to catch a dribble. Champagne was almost too easy to drink, sometimes. He'd popped this cork only a few minutes ago and now it was...how far gone?
Lifting the bottle as he walked along, he peered into the dark glass, trying to judge the level of liquid within. The moonless night offered no contrast to see by, but the light weight told its own tale. He'd better slow down, or he wouldn't have a toast left at the stroke of twelve.
When he let his arm fall back to his side, however, the curvy shape lingered in front of him, like a white shadow of the bottle he'd been staring at.
It was a woman, he realized. She stood about a hundred yards farther along, facing away from him. Her light-colored dress contrasted starkly with the indigo water and sky. She didn't turn around as he advanced, or seem to take any notice of his approach. He might as well be invisible.
Her obliviousness---her very presence on this deserted island---intrigued him. Griff walked up until he stood just a breath away, then tapped her on the shoulder as he said, "Happy New Year."
The woman jumped about six feet off the sand and spun to face him. "What---? Wh-who are you?" Her face was as beautiful as her slender figure and as pale as her white dress. "What do you want?"
Now he felt like a rat for shocking her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"This is a private island," she told him fiercely. "You're trespassing."
"I must have missed the sign. I just wanted someplace quiet tonight." He backed away several steps, holding up his hands, and thus the champagne, in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not dangerous. I swear."
She looked at the bottle and then back to his face. "Are you going to hit me with that?"
"God, no. I could offer you a drink---" he glanced at his watch "---in about ten minutes. I would never hit a woman." If ever he'd been tempted, it was six months ago. But the past was just that. Past.
Without warning, a glowing rocket streaked across the sky beyond the woman's right shoulder, bursting into a flower of white sparks overhead. An instant later, a loud boom shook the leaves on the nearby live oak trees.
"So much for quiet," Griff said.
"That's the fireworks in Miami." She turned away again, facing north. "They start at eleven-fifty."
But Griff's gaze lingered on the graceful length of her spine, the supple muscles in her shoulders revealed by the low-backed dress and the sweet curve of her hips.
"Nice," he murmured. If she heard, she didn't respond.
Then a series of red, green and blue explosions jerked his attention back to the horizon. Every second sent new bombs streaking skyward, splashing brilliant colors into the air and across the water. The night became filled with noise, from bass booms to whirling squeals and everything in between, as the old year received a hearty send-off and the new one arrived with rambunctious glory.
A thunderous finale concluded the program. Only trails of smoke remained, a crowd of gray ghosts drifting over the sea.
Griff's companion blew out a deep breath. "Fantastic." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I gather you're not planning to assault me, after all."
Griff shook his head. "The thought never crossed my mind. Although..."
She turned to face him. "Yes?"
He'd consumed enough champagne to say what he was thinking. "We'd better keep up the old tradition if we expect to have a good new year."
"What tradition is that?"
Griff let the champagne bottle fall to the sand at his feet, then took the two steps separating him from the woman in white. Curving one hand around her upper arm, he used the other to bracket her chin with his fingers and tilt her head to the perfect angle.
"This," he said, and bent to kiss her.
She stiffened, but didn't jerk away. Encouraged, he increased his pressure, molding their mouths more firmly together. She tasted cool and sweet, like ripe melon. After a moment, her generous lips softened, inviting him to explore their curves and the way his angles fit against them. Her hand fluttered to his shoulder and he slipped his arm around her waist. A heartbeat later, the tip of her tongue touched the edge of his upper lip.
The fireworks started up again, inside Griff this time. Desire exploded in his belly, flashed through his veins. He was breathless and light-headed and pumped up all at the same time. He could have kissed this woman forever.
And he didn't even know her name.
The thought steadied him, allowed him to slow the kisses and return both of them to ground level. There were a couple of things they needed to get straight before taking off for wonderland...paradise...wherever she wanted to go.
"Who are you?" he murmured, loosening his arms and using one hand to brush her hair back from her face.
"Arden." Her voice was as hushed as his. "Arden Burke."
"I'm Griff Campbell." He smiled at her. "Will you marry me?"
RENDERED SPEECHLESS, Arden stared into the shadowed face of the stranger she'd just kissed. Her mind reeled in delighted response to the feelings he'd stirred up, and in amazement at the fact she'd allowed him to touch her at all.
Finally, she found her voice. "Oh, of course. Right away."
His eyes crinkled as he laughed. "Excellent. Let's toast to our wedding." He surveyed the sandy beach around their feet, then danced both of them sideways two steps to pick up the champagne he'd dropped. After polishing the mouth of the bottle with the hem of his gold-and-blue shirt, he extended it to her. "You first."
Why not? Arden tilted back her head and poured a long stream of the wine down her throat. "Wonderful," she said, handing back the bottle. "Your turn."
He---Griff---tipped it in her direction. "To us." Then he took his own drink, upending the bottle. She noticed he didn't wipe off the mouth this time. "And a happier New Year."
She walked beside him as he trudged toward a trash can at the top of the beach. "Amen."
He might be drunk, but he was listening. "Has your year been unhappy?"
Arden expelled a short breath through her nose. "Some parts. Has yours?"
"I can't remember a worse one." He tossed the bottle into the can.
Neither could she, as a matter of fact. "What happened?"
Without answering, he headed back to the water's edge. He'd linked his right hand with her left, so they walked side by side like a pair of lovers. His palm was surprisingly warm, dry and comfortable.
"I was supposed to get married six months ago---June fourth, to be exact. On June first, my fiancée and my best buddy since second grade informed me they were in love and she couldn't go through with our wedding."
"That would make for a bad year." Arden glanced at him, but he was staring up, telling his story to a star. "What an awful thing to do to you."
Griff nodded. "I thought so. We'd been engaged for two years. You'd think she could have figured it out before the week of the wedding." Beneath the surface of his calm tone, pain roiled like an undertow.
Arden squeezed his hand. "Surely you didn't wait six months to take a vacation."
"Nope. I left that night and caught a fishing boat out of Tampa a few days later. I've been working my way through the islands ever since."
"The new year is supposed to be a chance for a fresh start. Are you planning one?"
"Well, I'm going home tomorrow. Does that count?"
"And home is...?"
"Sheridan, Georgia, where they like to pretend the Civil War---hell, the whole second half of the nineteenth century---never happened."
"You don't sound exactly nostalgic."
He shrugged. "It's a nice place. Just...suffocating."
"Why go back?"
"My boss, who also happens to be my dad, says he'll replace me if I don't show up this week."
"So you have family who would like to see you home again."
"Parents and three sisters, to begin with. But..." He drew a deep breath. "Zelda and Al are getting married on Valentine's Day."
"You still love her?"
"No. No, I'm over her. I think."
Arden let the indecision pass. "But being there when everyone is celebrating will be hard."
"You have a gift for understatement." His grin flashed in her direction. "There will be a slew of parties. Half the town belongs to the country club, and everybody wants to host the happy couple, even if they're only inviting the same people they saw at last weekend's barbecue and last night's open house."
He stared into the distance, as if he could see all the way to Georgia. Darkness hid the color of his eyes, but she could appreciate the strong bone structure of his face, the cleft in his chin and the curls in the hair he obviously hadn't cut for six months. He looked like a romantic poet. Arden found it hard to believe a woman would leave him for someone else.
Especially after he'd kissed her.
"Maybe you need some camouflage," she said, trying to be helpful. "Another girlfriend to prove you're over being left at the altar."
Griff halted suddenly, as if he'd run into a brick wall. He wore a bemused, amazed expression. "A beautiful woman," he said, in a wondering voice, "who I'm obviously in love with."
Arden nodded, going along with the joke she'd started. "Definitely a plus. Do you have one of those?"
He ignored the question. "And who is obviously passionately in love with me."
"That would certainly show them, wouldn't it?"
Turning toward her, he drew her close, holding her hands against his chest. His eyes, black in the night, fixed on her face. "Would you be that woman? Could you be obviously, passionately, devotedly in love with me?" He kissed one set of her knuckles, and then the other.
The touch of his mouth set off thrills inside her---a fact both enticing and embarrassing. She was desperately tempted to do exactly what he asked.
But the idea was crazy, and she shouldn't be so easy to sway. "I don't think so, Griff. Sorry."
His hands loosened and she pulled free, then began to walk south, away from him.
"But you said you'd marry me." Having him behind her muffled the words.
Looking over her shoulder, she scowled at him. "How much champagne have you had tonight?"
"Two bottles, before the last one." He came closer. "But that's irrev-irrelevant."
"It's perfectly relevant. You're too drunk to know what you're saying."
"Not true. And you said yes. 'Right away,' you said."
"I didn't mean it. You didn't mean it, either."
"I do now."
She whirled to look at him. "You want me to marry you?"
"Well, actually, I'd like you to pretend to want to marry me. And I'll pretend to want to marry you. We don't have to do anything permanent." His smile vanished. "I'm not planning on going through that hell again."
Arden knew exactly how he felt. "But won't people in your hometown want to throw all those same parties? Won't they be expecting a wedding?"
"We won't let it get that far. All we have to do is stay happy through Zelda and Al's wedding. Then we'll have a big fight, break up and never see each other again. It's a brilliant plan."
"It's a ridiculous idea. I can't pretend to be in love." Though some people could, she'd discovered in the recent past.
"Am I so repulsive?"
He stood about ten feet away, swaying as if a stiff breeze might knock him down. Hearing the despair in his voice, Arden could barely keep from going over and demonstrating exactly how far from repulsive he was.
"You're a very attractive man, Griff." She wouldn't do this. She couldn't. "I just---"
Immediately, he stepped closer. "You don't have time for an all-expenses-paid vacation in sunny Georgia?"
She had nothing but time. "That's not the problem."
"You're already involved?"
"No." She gave the word more emphasis than it deserved. "I have no demands on my time or...or my affections."
"But you won't do me this favor? I know it'll take a couple months. Well, six weeks, anyway. Maybe seven. And then you'll be free to come home. Would it be so bad to spend a little time on the mainland, eating good Southern food?"
"Of course not." Trying to explain why this was a bad idea would expose too many scars she didn't like to think about, let alone reveal to a stranger. "I simply...I don't think..."
Once more he came close, laying his warm hands on her bare shoulders. Until that moment, Arden hadn't realized how chilly she'd gotten in the late night breeze.
"Is there something you want or need, Arden? Something I can give you? I'm not filthy rich, but I could probably grant most reasonable requests. Jewelry?" He looked her up and down, then shook his head, because she wasn't even wearing earrings. "Clothes? A car? Land? My family owns some nice property on the Georgia coast and in the mountains, up near Lake Lanier. Tell me what you want. Let's see if somehow I can make it happen."
Instead of looking at his all too tempting face, Arden stared down at the sand between her bare feet and his. An idea popped into her mind, burrowing up from somewhere deep in her subconscious, a suggestion so outrageous that he would no doubt turn her down immediately and walk out of her life without a glance backward.
And that was exactly what she wanted, wasn't it?
Lifting her head, Arden kept her face stern. "There is something I want, Griff. Something I think you could give me."
His hands tightened on her upper arms. "Great. Just spare me two months of your life and I'll do whatever it takes to make your dream come true."
She hesitated again, then looked him in the eye. "What I want from you, Griff, is simple.
"I want a child."
GRIFF'S BRAIN WOBBLED inside his skull. "What did you say?"
Arden's gaze didn't falter. "A child. I want you to make me pregnant."
The champagne he'd been drinking nonstop kicked in at that moment, driving his mental wobble into a full-blown, three-hundred-sixty-degree tilt. With the world spinning, Griff stepped away, dropped heavily onto the sand, then collapsed backward to lie spread-eagle on the beach.
"Oh, man," he groaned. "I drank too much. I'm having hallucinations."
"You heard me correctly," the serene voice said from high above him. "But if you're not interested, I understand. Happy New Year."
He opened his eyes and saw that she had turned to leave. "Wait." Flailing a hand sideways, he managed to snag the hem of her dress between two fingers. "Don't go."
She could've pulled free with one step, but she didn't.
So Griff tugged at the dress. "Sit down. I can't talk to you way up there."
To his surprise, she folded her lithe body into a compact package just out of his reach.
"Thanks." He let his head drop back, and put an arm over his eyes. The whirling in his brain didn't stop. "Let me see if I understand. You want me to marry you and make you pregnant?"
"No."
"I thought---"
"I want a child. I don't want a husband."
That stopped him cold, and the gyrations in his head slowed down a little. "So...we'd be lovers?"
"Briefly. Until I got pregnant." After a pause, she said, "I would, of course, stay until the, um, favor I'd be doing for you was completed."
"Right." His mind drifted back to the New Year's kiss they'd shared. Powerful incentive, that kiss. He turned his head on the sand to look at her. "Then what?"
She lifted a shoulder. "Then I would come back here, to my home. And you would do whatever you plan to do after the wedding."
There was a problem with that scenario, but he was having trouble chasing down the specifics. A man would have to be made of stone if he failed to react to the sight of Arden Burke on the beach beside him, with hair like a fringe of black silk along her jawline, her skin as smooth and creamy as magnolia blossoms and her lips the color of a rosy dawn. She was slender but not shapeless, as revealed by the low neck of her dress and the curves of her calves and ankles.
Griff was not made of stone. In fact, at this moment his blood surged through him like waves of liquid metal---iron, maybe, heated to its boiling point, burning from the inside out.
And he was getting dizzier by the minute, sleepier by the second. "It's a deal," he said with a yawn. "We'll leave in the morning." With the decision made, he rolled onto his side, pillowed his head on his arm and gave in to sleep.
ARDEN GOT TO HER FEET and stood surveying the man snoring in the sand. It would serve him right if she left him there to spend the rest of the night. He'd be miserable enough. And that was before the crabs started to nibble.
She actually walked away, getting as far as the sea grass on the primary dunes. There, she stopped to look back.
He could hardly be seen in the darkness, just a long shape that might be a piece of driftwood or a mass of seaweed. He'd get five hours of sleep before the sun rose. As drunk as he was, he wouldn't even remember what he'd offered, what she'd said...what they'd agreed to do. And that was for the best.
So why was she going back to him? Why should she care what happened to this stranger on the shore?
He'd turned onto his back again. Kneeling beside him, she studied the strong face and neck, the muscled shoulders and chest, the narrow waist and hips and really, really great calves. Not many men had such slim, straight legs. His tan testified to six months in the Caribbean sun and his hair, probably a light brown in Georgia, was a tangle of gold and silver waves. He would make beautiful babies.
Or maybe not. Arden shook her head at her own foolishness. Maybe he was sterile. She should have him take a fertility test, not to mention other important examinations, before she committed to sex with a man about whom she knew nothing at all.
A sudden ache constricted her chest and throat. Her own ability to conceive wasn't in question. She knew she could make a baby. But could she carry it full term this time?
Shaking her head again, she got to her feet. Whatever she decided tomorrow, whatever Griff did or didn't remember, she couldn't let him spend the night on the beach.
Too bad she didn't have the violin handy. She could make some pretty awful noises, enough to wake the dead, let alone the drunk. Her music was yet another loss she'd dealt with during this last year.
So she kicked him. With the side of her bare foot, again, and again. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to irritate him thoroughly. After an amazing amount of abuse, Griff woke up, swearing and yelling even after he recognized her. He fell when she tried to help him up, and during their climb across the beach toward the dunes.
"How far?" he panted, as they stepped onto the path leading inland. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Not far. No." She barely found the breath to speak. He was leaning on her, his arm over her shoulders, and she felt as if she was bearing at least half his weight. "Just put one foot in front of the other." That was the most she could manage at this point.
As live oak trees started closing in overhead, the darkness became complete. All she could see was a swath of white sand leading into the jungle. Had she gotten them lost?
No. With relief, she saw the side trail branching off to the left and the signpost for the cottage.
"A few more minutes," she told Griff. "And we'll be home."
Home was a small stucco bungalow in a clearing within the dense grove of trees---one bedroom and one bath under a red tile roof. She'd left the porch light on during her walk to watch the fireworks. The yellow glimmer guided her back.
Griff straightened up as he saw it, and blew out a deep breath. "I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to maroon me in the wilderness."
She slipped out from under his arm and stepped up to open the door to the screened porch. "I will, if you don't behave."
He followed her inside. "I hear you." Then he swayed and yawned at the same time. "At this point, I'm too incapacitated to make trouble for anybody."
"I'll hold you to that." Arden pushed open the door into the house, then gasped as a furry shadow raced past her.
In the next instant, Igor pinned Griff Campbell against the wall.
Crouched within biting distance, hackles raised, teeth bared, the black-and-brown collie mix made no sound, not even a growl. But the grim look in his eyes promised attack.
Pressed against the wall of the screened porch, Griff cleared his throat. "Arden? A little help here?"
She took hold of the dog's collar. "What in the world is wrong with you, Igor? Is this how you say welcome home?"
Igor waved his fluffy tail back and forth. But he didn't change his stance, and his glare stayed on Griff.
"I don't usually get this reaction," he said quietly. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure. I've never seen him behave this way. Then again, I haven't seen him with another person since I took him from the shelter." Shaking her head, Arden started backing up, holding on to the dog. "I'll put him away."
"No, wait. Let's see if we can call a truce first. He's a rescue?"
She nodded.
"Let me guess...his owner was a guy?"
"Yes."
"Abusive, probably." Griff relaxed slightly. "Igor might think all men are out to hurt him."
"That could be true." She went down on her knees beside the dog and put her arm around his neck. "It's okay, Igor. Griff won't hurt you. He likes dogs."
"I don't like dogs that bite." But he said the words in a pleasant, nonthreatening tone. "I didn't hear him barking as we came up. I would have been better prepared."
"He doesn't bark. His larynx has been removed. He 'barked too much.'" Her tone made the words a quotation.
"The bastard. Sometimes I'm ashamed to be human." Moving slowly, Griff sank into a squat. "Right now, I'm ashamed to be a veterinarian."
Arden nodded. "I know what you mean." At the sound of her calm voice, Igor lowered his hackles a fraction. "Should I leave, do you think? Will he be worse or better with me here?"
Griff ran his gaze over her, from her sleek black hair to the tips of her pink-polished toes. "You won't be able to stop him, whatever he decides to do. Maybe without you to protect, he'll calm down."
"Okay." She petted the dog again, then straightened up and retreated toward the house. When Igor didn't move, she gave Griff a smile and a thumbs-up, then stepped inside and closed the door.
Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Griff made his posture as unthreatening as possible. He didn't want to sleep on the concrete floor of the porch, and the wicker chairs and love seat all looked creaky. The dog would have to let him into the house.
"Good boy, Igor. Let's be cool, okay?" He lowered his hands to hang between his knees, in full sight. "Sounds like you're a good dog. I used to be a good dog. And I guess I'm going home to be a good dog again. So we're going to be good dogs together, all right?"
As far as Igor was concerned, he might have been saying, "Blah-blah-blah." The tone mattered, though, and Griff kept it calm. "That's it," he said, as Igor's lips lowered to cover his teeth. "No threat here. Just two good dogs, hanging out."
Pottery and metal clinked inside the house, and the aroma of coffee soon filled the air. Step by step, Igor drew closer to Griff, who stayed motionless as the dog reached out to sniff at his toes, his fingers, his wrists.
"Good boy." He lifted a finger to stroke the floppy ear.
Igor scooted backward. His upper lip curled again, revealing those bright white canines.
"Bad boy," Griff told himself. "At this rate, the floor's beginning to look pretty good." The dizziness had evolved into a headache. His eyes burned and his stomach growled. "Terrific. I'm getting to enjoy the hangover without waiting for the morning after."
"This will help." Arden stepped forward and set a cup of coffee on a nearby table, along with three white pills. "I'm going to put Igor in the bedroom. Then you can come in and sleep on the couch."
"That's one way to protect your virtue," Griff muttered as she led the dog away. "I'll never get past Igor the man-eater."
Not that he had any inclination to ravish the fair maiden. At this point, he could generate sufficient passion for only one pursuit---sleep.
After swallowing the aspirin, he left the mug of coffee half-finished and followed his desire onto the cushions of the gray leather couch in the living room. A pillow covered in soft pink cradled his head and a blanket in the same shade warmed his legs and shoulders.
Should've brushed off my feet, he thought hazily. Sand everywhere...
I wouldn't dread going home, if she came with me....
ARDEN RETURNED to the living room to find her stranger passed out again, on the couch this time. There would be sand everywhere, but vacuum cleaners existed for just that reason. In the morning they'd clean up the mess, have some breakfast, then she'd point him toward the pier and send him on his way. No sense in recalling the craziness they'd talked about. He'd already forgotten.
And she would, in time. She and Igor were quite satisfied with their routine here on Chaos Key, just the two of them. Water and sun and sand, an occasional trip to the mainland and, always, the sound of the waves on the shore---the only music she wanted now, the last music she would know. The last sound of any kind.
Bringing up a baby would only complicate her life. A child needed experiences, people and places Arden had determined to avoid. She could have one or the other. Not both.
Let that dream go. She settled into her bed with Igor curled up against the backs of her knees, a little more tensely than usual. You chose this path. Now honor it.
A strangled snore reached her from the living room, and Arden sighed. Letting go would have been much easier only a day ago. Even an hour ago.
Last year, that would be. Before she'd met Griff Campbell.
HE WAS STILL ASLEEP, with the pillow over his head and the rest of him covered by the blanket, when she got up at seven. He'd roused at some point, because the coffee mug she'd given him had been emptied and set in the sink. Would a single cup be sufficient to ward off the headache he'd earned?
Arden made a fresh pot, gave Igor his breakfast and took her own mug out to the porch, where she usually spent her mornings. No doubt the smell of coffee would awaken her guest soon enough.
When an hour had passed and the growling in her stomach had begun to make Igor nervous, she went back to the kitchen for breakfast. She finished off her bowl of yogurt with nuts and honey, and Griff still hadn't stirred. Igor now sat beside the porch door, anxious for their daily walk on the beach.
Arden hesitated, then stepped outside and let the screened door slap shut behind her. This was one reason she didn't want a man in her life, let alone a husband. A woman in a relationship had to cater to his demands, his expectations and his schedule. His plans and his goals would take over, while what she wanted and needed drifted away like a leaf on the ocean. Arden had never met a male of the species who didn't think of himself first.
Walking the beach under a bright blue sky and throwing a piece of driftwood for Igor to retrieve, she saw no reason to revoke her decision. The only thing she wanted from anyone these days, especially men, was distance---even a man as seductive and engaging as Griff. Or maybe especially one as seductive and engaging as Griff.
But would there really be a drawback to doing him the favor he asked? To judge by his attitude, he still had feelings for his ex-fiancée, which would surely minimize any complications. Arden didn't doubt she could keep her own emotions under control---between them, her father and her ex-fiancé had demonstrated the utter faithlessness of men. Not only were they too much trouble, they couldn't be trusted any farther than you could throw them.
But a baby...ah, a baby would give her a reason to live. A child---boy or girl, it didn't matter---would be all she could ask as a replacement for the loss of her hopes and dreams. A year ago, her belly had just started to become rounded when her entire world came crashing down. No more music, no marriage, no connection with her mother. And no baby.
Now Griff offered her a second chance. And though she could afford artificial insemination, she preferred the old-fashioned method of procreation, especially with Griff Campbell as the official candidate---a man who, to her surprise, she liked and desired. If she agreed to his proposal, he could keep his pride intact and she would get the family she'd always wanted.
What do I have to lose?
The answer struck her like a slap in the face. By connecting so intimately with Griff Campbell, she would give away the independence she'd waited so long to enjoy. The solitude she valued. The anonymity required to cope with her new life.
"Good morning!"
She turned at the call to see him sauntering over the sand in her direction. He had a lazy way of walking, with a little bit of a slouch to his lean body, completely at odds with the energy she could see in his bright blue eyes. Though he wore the same clothes as last night, he looked neat and presentable. And far too appealing to resist.
"Good morning," he said again. "Sorry to be such a lazybones. That couch of yours is way too comfortable."
"Not a problem," she lied. Seeing him again awakened all her anxieties, as well as her yearnings. "Igor and I just followed our usual schedule."
"Stick chasing is a great way to start the day." Griff stretched down a hand to Igor, who had parked himself, stick in mouth, at her feet. "Want me to throw for you, son?"
Igor bared his teeth.
Griff straightened up. "I'm guessing that's a no."
Arden stopped herself from apologizing. "Are you feeling okay? No hangover?" No memory of the crazy plan we talked about last night?
"Nope. You make great coffee. The perfect antidote for the morning after." His grin revealed even white teeth and showed off the lips she remembered tasting last night.
"Well, you must be starving. Let's go back to the house and I'll make some eggs and toast. I don't have bacon, I'm afraid."
He held up a hand. "Not necessary. I saw you had some yogurt in the fridge, so I added nuts and honey and made a meal. Couldn't do much about my clothes except shake them out, but I did borrow a towel and take a shower." He scratched his fingers over his stubbly chin. "Not your razor, though. I look pretty rough."
"Oh. Well...well, good." Stunned by the idea of a man who ate yogurt and didn't steal her razor, Arden started up the beach toward the cottage path. "You're planning to fly back to Georgia today, is that right? From Miami?" The sooner he left, the better. Even more than last night's drunk, this morning's version tempted her into fantasies that would destroy her peace of mind. "I was. My flight left---" he squinted at his watch as they stepped under the palms at the start of the trail "---twelve minutes ago."
She walked ahead of him, preparing herself for the worst. "What will you do now?"
"That," Griff said, "is what we have to talk about."
THE SILENCE IN PLACE OF her reply said all Griff needed to know. Arden had reconsidered last night's agreement and wanted to back out. As a gentleman, he should allow her that option.
But he simply didn't want to. Standing in her neat little cottage, holding a cup of coffee to fight the headache he'd pretended he didn't have, Griff decided he wasn't ready to let this woman escape so soon.
She faced him from the other end of the kitchen, standing with her back to the window above the sink, which left her face shadowed. Now that he could see her in daylight, he recognized shadows in her eyes, too. The lady owned a troubled past.
He leaned a hip against the counter and took a long draw from his mug. "I gave you the high points of my life last night---or low points, depending on your perspective. You've got some mystery going on, though, and I'm curious. Are you on vacation down here, escaping the cold and snow up north with a few weeks in the Florida sun?"
She sipped from a delicate china cup. "I've lived here full time for the last year."
"Alone?"
"I have Igor for company." She'd left the dog outside when they came in.
Griff was grateful to be free of the canine's disapproval, at least temporarily. "So this is your own private piece of Florida?"
After a pause, she shook her head. "The island belongs to...a friend of mine. I'm the---the caretaker."
"You're here to keep an eye on the place, chase off trespassers, that sort of thing?"
"Exactly that sort of thing." She frowned into her coffee. "Obviously, I need more practice at the chasing off trespassers part of the job description."
He didn't believe her, but he let the lie pass. "My mother always said I was obstinate."
"I believe that."
"Good. Because I'm asking you again this morning if you'll come back to Sheridan with me and pretend to be my girlfriend for a couple months."
Now she frowned directly at him. "It's a ridiculous idea."
"For that reason alone, it'll work. Nobody would expect me to do something so...so---"
"Ridiculous."
"I was trying for a synonym. But okay. People won't be looking beyond how beautiful you are and how lucky I am. That's all I ask---the chance to ease back into my life without a bunch of fanfare. You can make that possible."
She gazed at him for a long moment, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking until she said, "And in return you'll give me a baby?"
Griff swallowed hard. "I can do my best. There aren't any guarantees on that kind of thing." Boy, could he do his best. He'd be more than willing to make love to her morning, noon and night, given the opportunity.
The baby part, he wasn't nearly so sure about. His head wasn't clear enough to consider the inevitable complications.
Still, how many couples actually got pregnant right away? Most of the time it was months before a woman conceived, if not years. He could even do a little cheating, figure out her monthly cycle and avoid the most dangerous times...if things got that far.
"What do you think?" Setting his mug down, he crossed to stand in front of her in the narrow aisle. "Anything I can do to help you decide?" Watching her stormy eyes, he removed the cup from her hands and put it gently on the counter. "For instance, just in case you thought last night was a figment of your imagination..."
Propping his hands on the sink rim behind her slim waist, Griff lowered his head to kiss her again. She was shorter than he'd realized last night on the beach.
Her lips were just as smooth, though, her taste every bit as potent. Forget champagne...he'd be more than satisfied to sip this ripe, mellow flavor over and over again.
She gave a little moan and slid her arms around his neck. He caught a whiff of scent from her skin, as clean and clear as the sea itself. The kisses went on and on, deeper, wilder, while her breasts nestled against his chest and her bare knees hugged one of his. A wave of lust broke over Griff. He was desperate, drowning, totally aroused and barely hanging on to the edge of sanity...and the kitchen counter.
With a gasp, he dragged his mouth free and set his chin on top of her head. "Um, yeah...I think that answered all my questions." He blew out a breath, took another one. "What do you say? Are you coming with me to Georgia?"
Stepping back, he eased his knee away from the provocation of hers, then blinked a couple of times to bring his eyes into focus.
Her perfect cameo face looked as befuddled as he felt. Her troubled green-gray eyes were the color of the ocean just before rain starts to fall. He saw need and pain and doubt chase like lightning across that horizon.
"Come with me," he urged. "You've got Igor to keep me in line."
The mischievous delight in her smile socked him right in the gut. "True." She hesitated a moment longer...or was it a lifetime?
"Okay," Arden said, finally. "Give me an hour to pack."
"YOU PACK FASTER THAN any woman I know."
Arden eyed him with amusement as she carried her bag into the living room. "Are we talking about vast numbers?"
Griff grinned. "Three sisters and two grandmothers, one mom, assorted cousins. And the ex-fiancée who brought her entire wardrobe every time she visited me at school."
Arden picked up the dog's bowls and went to the kitchen sink to wash them. "Plus assorted friends, I imagine." Her emphasis on "friends" gave the word a different meaning.
He waggled a flattened hand. "Maybe one or two. That's ample, if not strictly vast."
"You're right." The bowls went into a duffel bag along with a small bag of food and a liter bottle of water. The dog's suitcase, Griff assumed. "I don't keep all my clothes here on the island. I'll need to stop in Miami to pick up a few more things." With her duffel in one hand and Igor's in the other, she stopped in front of Griff. "Will that lump me in with the rest of your women?"
He stared down at her a moment, considering the question. "No," he said at last, moving to close the door behind them. "No, I think you're in a class all by yourself."
At that, the bags thudded down on the porch's cement floor. She whirled to glare at him. "There are rules to this arrangement," she said in a stern voice. "We both have to remember them."
Griff crossed his arms and braced his shoulders against the door. "Rules?"
She held up one finger. "This is a business deal, not a romance."
"Okay." He had to agree. She wouldn't come, otherwise.
The second finger came up. "This engagement exists in public only. When we're alone, we don't need to maintain displays of affection."
"No?" He shrugged, looking at the bead board ceiling. "Then you won't be getting pregnant."
"That is part of the contract." The squeak in her voice told him more than she would want him to know.
Griff lowered his eyes to meet her gaze. "Last I knew, getting pregnant required a certain level of, uh, affectionate display."
She actually stood there pondering the issue, while he did his best to hide a smile.
"Well, yes," she finally agreed. "But it's just sex. No...no---"
"Feelings?" What in the hell was just sex?
"Emotions," she corrected. "No emotions involved. We're not planning a life together. This is strictly an engagement of convenience."
"Right." He lowered the shades on the porch and held the door for her to exit. Her "rules" sent a chill down his spine. But he'd worry about that after they got past the first hurdle---meeting his family.
As they walked along the path to the other side of the island, Igor darted into the brush under the tall trees, always checking back after a few moments to be sure they hadn't gotten lost. At least for now, he didn't seem to object to another male's presence on the journey.
"Does your friend who owns the island come down fairly often?" Griff slipped his fingers into the handle of her heavier bag. After a short tussle, she conceded and let him carry it.
"Never. The main house is old and falling apart. Only the cottage is livable, but it's not big enough for more than two people."
"So your friend has a family?"
An annoyed glance flashed his way. "You're being nosy, aren't you?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I call it making polite conversation."
"The kind I---your adoring fiancée---will have to parry at all these parties we'll be attending?"
"Exactly."
She nodded. "I'll be prepared."
But she hadn't, he noticed, answered the question.
As the path led them past the ruined glory of the island mansion, Griff stopped for a moment to stare. "That place doesn't need a caretaker---it wouldn't provide shelter for a drenched rat. So why does your friend want someone living on this pile of sand?"
"I think I told you last night---to warn strangers away. To watch out for the wildlife, pick up trash and take care of the cottage. That sort of thing."
From the high point where the house stood, the path began a gentle slope down toward the water. Griff cupped his free hand loosely around Arden's elbow, just in case.
"Considering I didn't see a trace of you until I'd been here several hours," he said, "and then you let me spend the night, I have to say I'm wondering about your job performance."
During the long pause following his comment, they stepped out from under the trees onto the beach, barely a hundred yards from the dock where his rented speedboat bobbed on the waves.
Then Arden put the dog's bag on the ground, unzipped a pocket on the side and withdrew a cell phone, which she held up in front of his face. "My performance, as you put it, consists of calling the police. I didn't expect to have visitors after dark last night, so I didn't take the phone with me to watch the fireworks. Most people come during the day to sunbathe and swim."
Griff raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Drug runners and smugglers might appreciate having a base on a small, out-of-the-way place like this. And they like working in the dark."
"That's why the Coast Guard patrols at random times every day. That's why there are motion detectors posted in the ruins and throughout the woods, linked to a monitoring system in the cottage and an alarm on the mainland. I don't know how you bypassed them."
"Beginner's luck---I walked along the shore. Your friend must have deep pockets."
"Plus..." Ignoring his comment, she bent to Igor's kit again, and this time came up with a shiny, businesslike pistol. "I do know how to use this, should the occasion arise."
"Whoa. That's not your standard hunting rifle." He held his hands in the air as he backed up a step. "You didn't have that at the beach last night, either. Did you bring it along today in case Igor couldn't keep me under control?"
"I thought I would put it in storage while I traveled. There's no sense leaving a weapon for someone to find."
"Good point." Griff blew out a long breath. "You're quite a puzzle, Arden Burke. And very good at avoiding questions."
She gave him a serene smile, then bent to replace the pistol and close the zipper. "I think I've just given you quite a lot of information. Besides, I should be asking the questions, since I'm supposed to know you well enough to want to marry you. For instance, can I trust you to pilot us to the mainland without sinking? How long have you been driving boats?"
"Hah." Grabbing up the dog's bag, he started toward the dock, leaving her to follow empty-handed. "I've been fooling around with boats since I was ten, maybe even younger. We have a summer place at Lake Lanier, and we always had ski boats."
He climbed onto the prow of the speedboat and transferred her bags into the bottom, then pulled the small craft sideways against the pier. "Does Igor need help?"
Arden shook her head. "Igor, jump." She pointed at the boat. "Let's go."
The dog gave her a skeptical look, but after a moment of hesitation, he hopped in.
"Good boy," she told him. "Good dog."
Griff held up a hand. "Your turn."
The boat dipped and rose slightly with the waves washing into shore, but Arden boarded gracefully, with just the slightest dependence on his hand for balance.
"I've never known anybody so good at changing the subject," he declared. "Will I ever get a straight answer from you on a personal question?"
"That's another rule. No prying." She unrolled a broad-brimmed hat and set it on her head, then took a seat at the bow, next to the dog. "Now, are you planning to bring the dock with us, or shall we untie the rope before you turn on the engine?"
In Miami, they took a cab from the marina to one of the high-rise buildings overlooking the waterfront. Igor was completely at home in the car and then in the elevator.
Griff was not. "The ride up is taking longer than the trip over here."
Arden looked at him in surprise. "Are you claustrophobic?"
"No...well, maybe a little." He hunched his shoulders, rolled his head around and then rubbed a hand over his face. "I haven't been in an elevator, or a building more than two stories high, in months. That's all."
"We won't be here long." They stepped into a quiet hallway with closed doors and a deep green carpet. Arden turned left and led him to the last door on the right, where she put her key into the lock of number 3209. "If the height bothers you---"
"Not height," he corrected, stepping in after her. "I'm just not used to being...wow."
The wall facing the apartment entrance was a panel of glass from floor to ceiling, offering a panorama of the Florida coastline and the Keys beyond. Griff crossed to the wide expanse of window. "Talk about million-dollar views!"
She stood beside him a moment, gazing out into the sunny afternoon. "You can see storms coming from beyond the horizon. I've spent whole afternoons just watching the weather change."
He turned his head to look at her, a new understanding in his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to offer you anything you couldn't buy for yourself, would I?"
Arden decided to answer the question. "Probably not."
"And the island---Chaos Key, right?---belongs to you."
"Yes." Before he could continue the conversation, she hurried toward the bedroom. "I'll just be a few minutes. Make yourself at home---there are drinks in the refrigerator and snacks in the cupboard."
She sighed in relief when the snap of a pop top and the rustle of chips assured her he'd accepted the invitation. Given what she'd learned about Griff Campbell already, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd followed her to the bedroom to pursue the conversation he'd tried to start and she didn't want to finish.
Igor claimed his usual spot on the king-size bed while she stowed the pistol and ammunition in her wall safe. Then, with a hiss of cold air, Arden opened one side of the hermetically sealed closet she'd installed for storing most of her wardrobe. Choosing casual wear to take with her posed no real fashion dilemma. A couple of cold-weather dresses, a few classic shirts and skirts, plus jackets and sweaters for outdoors... New jeans and shoes would be required, but shopping would give her something to do with her acquaintances in Sheridan, Georgia.
That plan called up yet another rule: no attachment to the natives. She would have to be friendly without developing friendships---an art she'd practiced nearly as often as she practiced the violin. In any event, the chance that she would share interests with the residents of a tiny, backwoods Georgia town seemed more than remote.
Thinking about the parties Griff had mentioned, Arden exposed the second half of the closet...and immediately wished she hadn't. Her pulse rate quickened and tension cramped her stomach as she caught sight of evening gowns covered with red or navy or emerald sequins, plus the thousands of tiny black beads sewn onto party frocks and formal dresses she'd once considered her work wardrobe.
Worse still was the corner of a white gift box peeping out from beneath a black skirt hem. She didn't have to lift the lid to remember the contents---tiny caps knitted from soft pastel wools, cotton blankets and towels in pale green and yellow, a small rattle carved from walnut. In a year's worth of free time, she'd failed to dispose of her last ties to that fragile, lost soul.
Arden squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid---she should have planned to buy new dresses rather than subject herself to this ordeal. God knew she would never wear any of these clothes again. Why call up her worst memories?
Definitely not because she intended to share them with her fiancé. "No confessions" would join the list of rules for this engagement, she decided as she closed and resealed the closet. Her past didn't affect Griff Campbell in any way.
As for her hearing loss, she would keep that a secret, too. The whole point of this exercise was to present a lovely, desirable woman to his hometown. Showing up with a deaf, unemployed musician would not create the same impression.
Anyway, Arden hated being the object of pity. She'd retired from the music business so she wouldn't have to face the sympathy of her colleagues...and the smugness her rivals.
With her choices made, she snapped her fingers at the dog. "Come on, Igor. Let's go for a ride." Alert and ready for adventure, as always, he hopped off the bed and pattered down the hallway. With the few clothes she'd chosen folded into a suitcase, Arden took a deep breath and followed. The rest would go to charity when she returned. An empty closet. A new life.
"I'm ready," she called, returning to the living room.
Griff didn't answer, because he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Again. He had certainly taken to the Hispanic tradition of the siesta.
Leaving her luggage with the other bags by the door, she crossed the room to shake him awake, but paused at the end of the sofa, observing the man to whom she was now engaged.
Though his clothes needed changing and his jaw remained stubbled, this morning's shower had revealed just how attractive he was. His clean hair was a lighter blond than she'd realized, his eyelashes longer, darker and thicker. The fullness of his mouth explained a lot about the power of his kisses.
Remembering that encounter in her kitchen this morning, she found herself holding her breath. Not since she was a teenager had she experienced such an intense, immediate desire for a man she didn't know. She'd never before indulged the feeling, as she was preparing to do now.
In the past, she had proceeded with care, slowly developing what she thought was a solid relationship. Despite such caution, love had ruined her life---one lesson she didn't want to repeat.
"Hey." The long lashes lifted and Griff's bright blue eyes focused on her face. "I didn't intend to fall asleep. You ready to head north?"
"Yes." She turned away from him to hide her blush. "I need to leave a note for the housekeeper and then we can go."
"Take your time."
When they met by the door, he shook his head at her single suitcase. "My sister Kathy needs one that size for just her shoes."
"I'm not bringing many shoes." Arden wrestled with him for a moment over who would wheel the case along, then gave in and picked up Igor's bag. "There will be shopping going on, I assure you. Most of my clothes here are out of style."
"You should let me pay for your new clothes," he said, in the elevator. "You wouldn't be buying them if I hadn't asked for a favor."
"But then I'd have to think about how much everything costs, and that wouldn't be any fun."
"You don't consider prices when you go shopping? You must be wealthier than I'd imagined, having a condo like this." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Or is it your 'friend' who doesn't think about prices?"
"I consider value before cost." She tried not to sound defensive. "If you tried to sell me a car for sixty thousand that I knew was worth only forty, I'd balk. And I don't like buying two-hundred-dollar jeans if fifty dollars buys the same comfort."
"Got it." The elevator doors opened at the garage level, and she held the door while he stepped out. "That makes me anxious to see what kind of car you do drive."
"The car was an indulgence, I admit." She led the way down the aisle of vehicles. "But I've kept it for six years now, and it still moves like there's a wild animal under the hood."
Griff stood motionless, an expression of reverence on his face, when she indicated the gold Jaguar and popped open the trunk. "I was hoping this would be yours." He set the suitcases and Igor's bag inside, along with the small bag he'd retrieved from a locker when returning the rental boat. "Do I get to drive?"
Arden held out the keys. "Be my guest."
Before he went to the driver's side, he opened the passenger door for her. But she hadn't even started to move when Igor jumped in and took his usual place on the right front seat.
Griff looked from her to Igor and back again. "I have a feeling he won't appreciate any effort on my part to move him to the back."
The warning light in the dog's eyes confirmed that assumption. "Get in the back," Arden told him. "Go, Igor. In the back."
Instead, he curled into the tan leather seat and put his chin on his paws.
"No, Igor." She snapped on the leash. "I'm riding there." She tugged. "Down. Get down."
Expressing reluctance with every line of his body, Igor climbed out of the car. Arden opened the back door and indicated the seat with her leash hand. "Get in, Igor. In the car."
He jumped in easily enough. As she started to close the door, though, he climbed over the console to reclaim his place in the front passenger seat.
Griff laughed as Arden stamped her foot. "Igor, no."
She went through the process twice more, with the same result each time. "Igor!"
"Maybe you ought to drive for a while," Griff suggested. "I'll ride in the back."
Appalled at the idea, Arden gazed at him for a long moment. "What did you say when your fiancée told you she couldn't go through with the wedding?"
With his hands in his pockets, he shrugged one shoulder. "Um...not much."
"You didn't argue? Try to change her mind?"
"I doubt that would have been worth the effort. She and ol' Al looked pretty good together." He rubbed a hand over his hair, rumpling it into curls. "I'd never noticed that before, in all the time we spent together. Maybe I should have."
"You just left town?"
"Ran away. Yeah." He avoided her gaze, turning his head to look at the cars on either side of them. "I couldn't stay to have people feel sorry for me."
Arden didn't tell him just how well she understood that perspective. Griff would want to know why. "Well, you are driving, so Igor and I will simply have to come to some kind of agreement about the other seats." Keeping a tight hold on the leash, she sat down quickly in the front, pushed a button to move the seat as far back as possible, then allowed the dog to jump in at her feet.
"We're set," she said. "Ready to go?"
"Sure." But the shadows hadn't left Griff's gaze. He closed the passenger door and rounded the back of the car, then slid into the driver's seat. "Georgia, here we come."
His rich voice conveyed no enthusiasm whatsoever.
THANKS TO THE HOLIDAY and New Year's Day football games, the lanes on Interstate 95 were practically empty of traffic.
"The only problem is holding down the speed," Griff remarked. "This baby wants to go fast."
Arden smiled. "That's why I bought it."
"Eighty feels like forty. We could be in Jacksonville in time for dinner if I let her run full throttle."
"With only two or three speeding tickets to show for the trip."
"True." He eased his pressure on the gas pedal and set the cruise control. "I'd have a hard time getting back to work with a suspended driver's license."
She turned her knees so she could sit sideways in the seat. "You said you're a veterinarian. Do you work in an office?" Igor huffed as she changed position, then wiggled himself into another arrangement of legs and head and bushy tail.
"We see small animals in the office in Sheridan. But we also see large animal clients, usually at their farms, and for those we take an SUV with the equipment and supplies we need."
"Which do you like better, dogs and cats or horses and cows? Medically speaking."
"That depends on whether or not it's raining." His cheek dimpled with a grin. "Examining a sick horse in the cold rain is nobody's idea of fun."
"I guess not. Do you have horses and cows yourself? Dogs and cats?"
"My dad and mom have about a thirty acres, and they've kept horses all my life. Lots of cats live at the barn. And there are always dogs hanging around."
"But what about you, personally?"
The answer came after a pause. "I was at school for eight years, mostly living in student housing, so I didn't have a pet. Since I've been working, there just hasn't been time. I thought, when I bought the house for us to live in after the wedding, that we'd get a dog, too. But..." Griff shrugged.
"Did you sell the house?"
"I've been living on the money." He chuckled. "Pissed most of it away, I guess you'd say. But I had a good time."
Without commenting, Arden sat straight in the seat again. The next time he glanced over, she'd put on a very big, very black pair of sunglasses, effectively shutting him out. Or herself in, depending on how you looked at things.
Griff would have preferred to continue the conversation, but he'd already said more than he should have. Arden's questions had led him into revealing how much of a coward he was, how totally he'd messed up his life at home. She probably regretted ever agreeing to this escapade in the first place, and was halfway to dropping him out on the side of the road before she turned around and headed back to her island.
Worst of all, she'd left him alone with his thoughts, a meeting he'd avoided with great success since last June. The Jag required no effort to drive, and the empty road demanded little concentration beyond staying between the lines. All he had to do was think, unless...
With the push of a button, the car's radio came on, tuned to a classical station where a solo violin screeched like a lonely bird in a deserted forest. Griff winced and used the steering wheel button to search for his kind of music, a place where the violins were called fiddles, where banjos and mandolins created that mountain sound.
The satellite system installed in the Jag gave him just what he wanted. He sat back with a contented sigh, nodding his head and tapping his fingers on the wheel to a kicking rendition of "Orange Blossom Special."
Two of Arden's slender fingers touched a button and lowered the volume. When he glanced in that direction, she was staring at him over the top of those black lenses. "This is your music preference?"
"Bluegrass? Definitely." When she didn't respond, he reached toward the control panel. "I can turn it back. This is your car---"
"No." She put her hand over his. "You're driving, so you should play whatever music you enjoy."
"Driver's choice," Griff said. "It's a deal."
But with the bargain struck, neither of them moved for a moment. The warmth of Arden's palm against his skin sent heat flaring through Griff's chest and straight into his belly. Without effort, he could imagine her stroking his bare shoulders, could almost feel those smooth palms sliding along his ribs and driving him crazy.
Breathing fast, he kept his eyes on the road, though his eyes ached with the effort.
Finally, she lifted her hand. He pulled his arm back to rest on his thigh. Time for a little camouflage.
"The musicians do have remarkable technique," Arden said after a few minutes. "Some of those passages aren't easy to play, especially at such a quick tempo."
He welcomed the change of subject. "You sound like you know what you're talking about. Do you play an instrument?"
"Oh...no." This time she turned her knees away from him, requiring the dog to move again. "Not anymore, that is." She paused barely a second before saying, "I've developed a headache. I think I'm going to try to nap a bit, if you don't mind. Then I can drive whenever you're tired."
"Go right ahead. I'm good for hours yet."
Propping her head against the door frame, she withdrew as far as possible without leaving the car. After a few minutes, Griff saw her hand, which had been tightly fisted in her lap, loosen to a gentle curve. Her deep breathing signaled that she had, in fact, fallen asleep.
But not before leaving him some interesting points to consider.
The lady had evaded nearly every question he'd asked. She denied playing an instrument---"not anymore," she'd qualified. But he'd spied a well-worn violin case leaning in one corner of the cottage.
She lived alone on a sandbar, but owned a million dollar condo across the bay. Why would she maroon herself in the middle of the ocean?
Now she was heading back to civilization with him. Because, she said, she wanted a baby. Did she really plan to raise a child by herself on the island? That sounded like a new twist on the Tarzan plot. At least the condo, with its housekeeper, would make their lives comfortable.
But that huge space had been empty of any personal touch. No pictures on the walls or memorabilia lying around to reveal who lived there. How could such a desirable woman exist all alone in the world...alone except for the mute dog she'd rescued?
As they passed Naples, Florida, Arden stirred a little in her seat. Griff glanced over and saw that the sunglasses had slipped down her nose. He reached out, carefully took them off and put them in her lap.
The monotonous miles of Interstate 95 offered few diversions, so he found himself looking back fairly often at the fan of long lashes against her rosy cheeks and the shiny wing of black hair curving against her chin. She wore another linen dress today, pale green, with the swell of her breasts just visible under the soft cloth.
Blowing a long, silent whistle, Griff fixed his gaze on the road again. The woman turned him on, no question about it. He could blame six months of celibacy, at least in part---he wasn't stupid or suicidal, and drinking his way around the Caribbean had not entailed indiscriminate sex. His ex-fiancée had been his last partner.
His body was definitely ready, willing and able to launch Arden toward her goal of motherhood.
That would make him the father of a child living more than five hundred miles away. The image didn't fit with his definition of parenthood. Could he let his own flesh and blood grow up without him in the picture?
And this might be his only chance for a kid, given his current opinion of the marriage process. Maybe Arden would let him visit, at least. But he'd promised her no ties, after this escapade....
As he drove, his brain seethed with questions, not least of which was an explanation for the isolation she had imposed upon herself. He would get the answers, too, just as soon as his Sleeping Beauty opened her eyes. He needed to understand her life, her personality. Then they could set about consummating, as it were, the second part of the program.
Satisfied with his plan, Griff turned the volume on the radio up one notch and settled back in his seat.
An hour or so later, he glanced at his passenger to find tears coursing down her cheeks. Before he could react, she threw an arm across her eyes. A sob broke free from her throat, then another, even more anguished.
At the same moment, flashing lights in the rearview mirror caught Griff's attention---flashing blue lights, coming up behind him. He looked at the speedometer and realized he'd forgotten about cruise control. "Shit."
Moving his right foot to the brake pedal, he swore for the length of time it took him to slow the Jag down and pull over.
The change in motion woke Arden. She let her arm fall and sat up straight. "What's going on?"
"Turns out ninety-five is the route we're on, not the speed limit sign."
Wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingers, she frowned. "I don't understand."
Griff rolled down his window. "I'll let the nice officer here explain it to you."
TWENTY MINUTES and two hundred dollars later, Griff eased the car back onto the highway. He had turned the radio off and they rode in silence for a few miles.
"I appreciate the loan," he said at last, in a stiff voice. "I'll pay you back when we get home."
"That will be fine." Arden wasn't sure what she could safely say---men didn't like to be reprimanded. "You might try to stay within the speed limit from now on," she ventured. "I have only three hundred dollars left."
His warm chuckle eased the tension between them. "Now, that's just about the last response I expected. Thanks for not throwing a fit. I'll be careful to stay legal for the rest of the trip."
Releasing a deep breath, she let her head drop back against the seat, and wished the drive would end so she could lie down in a dark room with a cool cloth over her face. Her temples had started to pound and her eyes felt itchy and swollen. Slipping her dark glasses on again, she was thankful for somewhere to hide.
"Why were you crying?"
She jumped at the sound of his voice in the quiet car. "I wasn't. I mean..."
Griff was shaking his head. "I was speeding because I was watching tears roll down your cheeks, and wondering what was wrong."
Arden squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together in her lap. "I---I must have been dreaming."
"Yeah, I figured that out. Must've been a sad dream. Or scary."
"I don't remember."
"I don't believe you."
She glared at him. "My dreams are none of your business."
He shrugged. "As your fiancé, I disagree."
"You're not really my fiancé."
"For the time being, I'm considering this a real engagement. Especially given what you expect as, um, payment for services rendered. So I'd like to know what sort of dream makes you cry."
Maybe he wasn't as easygoing as she'd thought. "I really don't remember much. Just an overwhelming sorrow." She added truthfully, "I didn't want to be left."
"Someone was leaving you?"
Arden shrugged. "That's what it felt like."
"I guess you've lost people in your life. Your parents?"
Damn his insight. "My father, actually. He left my mother and me when I was five." Funny how this had become the least vulnerable of her wounds.
Griff used a vulgar word to characterize the man. "But your mother stayed. She's still with you?"
"We're estranged," Arden snapped. "So I was crying about my parents in the dream. Will you let it go now?"
He didn't react to her peevishness. "I doubt it. But I'll give you a break." The next moment, he punched the radio on, then turned the dial. A Bach fugue, played on the harpsichord, flowed into the car, filling every crevice like ocean waves swirling around each shell and pebble on the beach.
Arden could hardly breathe. "Turn it off," she choked out. "Please."
The sound stopped. "Sorry," Griff said. "I thought you would like classical."
Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "I don't need music. I'm good with silence, if you are. Or...or the bluegrass." She didn't feel at all connected to such a foreign style of playing, which made it bearable. "Whatever you want."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Let's go with silence." Just as she started to relax, he said, "We can tell each other our life histories. That's what engaged people do, right?"
Arden reached for the radio. "I'd prefer bluegrass."
The whining vocals and jangling instruments created an excellent barrier between the two halves of the front seat. Arden sat with her eyes closed and her head back, hoping to relax and dull the knives stabbing through her skull. By the time they'd reached Daytona Beach, however, she could only surrender.
She turned the radio off. "Could we stop for the night? I really don't think I can ride much farther without being sick."
Griff flashed her an assessing glance. "No problem. There's a good place to stay just two exits from here. Give me ten minutes and we'll have a room."
"No speeding," she reminded him.
"Strictly under the limit," he agreed. "And it'll still be ten minutes."
She stumbled across the grass beside the parking lot with Igor while Griff registered, then followed the Jag on foot as he drove around the building to the space nearest a door.
"I'll bring the bags in," he said, when she stopped beside the trunk. "I want you inside and lying down."
"But---"
"No arguments." He clasped her arm with one big, warm hand and drew her toward the door. "My ten minutes are almost up."
Arden abandoned the argument because the afternoon sunlight jabbed viciously at her eyes. Even the elevator lighting seemed too bright. In the room, she unclipped Igor's leash, then headed for the double bed nearest the air-conditioning unit.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, crawling to the center of the mattress. "I would help..." The pillow muffled her voice as she buried her face in its softness and succumbed to agony.
When she opened her eyes again, the world---though still painful---had become at least bearable again. She was lying on her side, covered by a soft blanket in a very cool room, with Igor curled in his usual place along the backs of her legs. The only light came from behind a mostly closed door, and the only sound was the soothing hum of air-conditioning. Focusing on that monotonous drone, refusing to ask herself any questions, Arden fell back into sleep.
A slight clink of glass woke her the second time. "Sorry," a man whispered nearby. "I thought you might want something to drink when you woke up."
Memory flooded through spaces vacated by the headache. Griff. The engagement. A baby. "That sounds good," she murmured. "A cold drink would be wonderful."
"Water or tea?"
She moved her head slightly, and it didn't hurt too much. "Tea?"
"Coming up."
Propping herself against the pillows required more effort than it should have, but she managed the feat in time to accept the glass of iced tea Griff offered. "Thank you so much." The first taste was heaven. "Perfect."
He hovered between the beds, as if he couldn't decide whether to sit or stand. "I bought pain medicines, if you want something."
"Right now I'm just thirsty."
After she'd downed the glass and he'd brought another, Griff asked, "Do you get migraines often?"
Arden sipped, sighed, then frowned at him. "Do you always ask so many questions?"
"An occupational hazard, I guess. The animals can't tell me what's wrong, so I have to get as much information from the owners as I can. And that usually means asking questions."
"Could you bring me my bag? I have some pills...."
"Sure."
With the tablets swallowed, she set her empty glass on the table between the beds and slid down to rest her head on the pillows. She remembered that she hadn't answered his question. "I haven't had a migraine in months. But before I moved to Chaos, I was enduring at least one a week. Stress, the doctors said."
"I'm sorry." Griff sat down on the other bed, propping his elbows on his knees. "I didn't intend to bring stress and pain into your life with my proposal."
"Of course not." The medicine was beginning to take effect, making her sleepy and a little drunk. She stretched out her arm to drop her hand onto his wrist. "I'll be fine tomorrow. Just need...sleep."
She wasn't sure, but she thought she felt him kiss her fingers before the world faded away.
ONCE CONVINCED THAT ARDEN was fast asleep and would stay that way, Griff left Igor on guard and went to the hotel lobby to make a phone call. His first act upon reaching the ocean six months ago had been to throw his cell phone as far as possible---and considering he'd played right field for his high school and college baseball teams, that was far enough to be sure the phone never washed up on shore.
Now, he had to call collect. Fortunately, his mother answered. "Yes, of course we'll accept the charges. Griff? Is that you?"
"Hey, Mom. Happy New Year." Hearing her Southern belle accent exposed a soft place in his chest. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. We're all just fine here. When are you coming home?"
Somewhere in the house, his sister Dana screamed, "Griff? Griffith Major Campbell, you get your butt home right now!"
He chuckled. "That was clear enough. As a matter of fact, Mom, I guess I'll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh, Griff, that's wonderful." Now she sounded a little teary, too. "Can we have the family over for dinner? Is that too much for your first night back? Where are you planning to stay? I'll air out the guest cottage---no one's lived there since last summer, but I can have it ready in a jiffy."
"That would be great, Mom." The moment was on top of him before he'd planned how to deal with it. "Um...I'm bringing someone with me."
"That's nice, son. You know friends of yours are always welcome." Her words slowed, then stopped for a second as she interpreted his tone of voice. "Do you mean a girlfriend?"
"That's right. Arden Burke is her name."
"Is this an important relationship?"
"As a matter of fact..." He took a deep breath. "We have been talking about getting married."
Which wasn't a lie---he and Arden had discussed pretending to be engaged to be married.
A long pause followed his announcement.
"Mom? You still there?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm here. Just surprised, is all. You haven't mentioned meeting someone. When you called." Which wasn't nearly often enough, her tone implied.
"It happened pretty suddenly." Now he felt guilty. His family didn't keep secrets more important than surprise parties, or birthday and Christmas presents. "But I'm sure you'll like her. She's terrific." He sounded like the dumb hero in a two-star romantic comedy. "I thought Arden could stay in the guest house and I could sleep at the house, in my old room."
"Of course. That will work out perfectly." Her voice had cooled from its usual warm tone. "Here's your dad. I'll see you tomorrow, son. Oh, I'm so glad to be able to say that!"
In the next instant, his father said, "It's about time you called to say you're coming home."
Griff grinned, at the same time shaking his head over the familiar, irascible voice. "Better late than never."
"You're way past late. I'm too old to be working this hard."
"Right, Dad. You're so ancient."
"Without a second vet in the practice, I'm feeling ancient. Be prepared to do some serious overtime, 'cause as soon as you get home, your mother and I will be taking a long vacation."
"I'll believe that when I see it. But we'll show up tomorrow afternoon sometime."
"We?"
"Mom will explain. See y'all then."
"Griff---"
"Kiss the girls for me. Bye." He hung up without letting his dad get another word in. Jake Campbell always knew when his children weren't telling the truth. Griff didn't want to risk blowing his cover before he'd even crossed the Georgia state line.
Walking back to the hotel room, he endured second thoughts about his "brilliant" plan for going home. Could he and Arden convince his family that they had fallen in love and decided to get married? Exactly what kind of charade had they agreed to perform?
He entered the room as quietly as the lock would allow. Igor's hackles raised as Griff came near, but subsided when he stretched out on the empty bed. Turning onto his stomach, Griff studied the woman across from him, now curled on her side and smiling slightly---sure signs she'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. The thought allowed him to relax, too.
He wouldn't have any trouble demonstrating physical attraction to his "fiancée." Even knowing she needed her rest, he could easily have become aroused enough to wake her up to make love. And he had a feeling she'd be fun to talk to, if she would ever answer his questions.
But she obviously wanted to keep her life---past, present and future---a secret. Griff had to wonder why. Was she a criminal, hiding from the law? Did all that money come from a bank robbery or an investment scam? Embezzlement?
More likely, Arden was a victim hoping to avoid pursuit, perhaps even threats against her life. That would explain the pistol and the dog. Had she witnessed a crime? Or was a jealous ex-boyfriend---husband, maybe?---refusing to let her go?
Griff flopped onto his back. Jeez. He was going to have to get a few answers from the lady, if only so he could stay alert and protect them both.
During tomorrow's drive they would have to talk about the information lovers tended to share, so they wouldn't be surprised when questions popped up. With his mother and three sisters at the dinner table, an interrogation would definitely be on the menu.
Meanwhile, Dr. Jake would scan their faces with his sharp blue eyes and register every hesitation, every panicked gulp, every blank-minded pause. Griff might not reveal his thoughts right away, but he had never successfully lied to his dad.
He was pretty sure tomorrow wouldn't be any different.
THE NEXT MORNING, Arden swore she had recovered completely, and left Griff no choice but to believe her when she downed a huge country-style breakfast.
"I'm always famished after a migraine," she said, spreading jam on a corn muffin. "And we didn't really eat yesterday, did we?"
"I had a sandwich last night. But I'm glad you feel better." Griff had done a reasonable job of finishing his own platter of food. "So we're ready to go?"
Her nod set her hair swinging. "Definitely."
They stopped for lunch at an outlet mall just over the Georgia--Florida line. "First we eat," Arden declared. "Then we shop."
Seeing the excitement in her face, he chuckled. "Lead the way."
He followed her into the most upscale stores and watched her browse the racks with a critical eye. Then she would disappear into a dressing room with an armful of clothes, finally emerging with a select few items.
Only once did she ask for his help. "Stay there," she told him, heading in with a pile of jeans. "I'm going to want a second opinion."
Slouched in a chair near the dressing area, Griff waited with the resignation of a man who had spent too many hours watching sisters try on clothes, and who had all too often been asked for his appraisal, only to be told he didn't know what he was talking about.
He would just tell Arden she looked great in everything, then let her choose. No sense getting into an argument over jeans.
Then she walked out in the first pair. "Wow," he said sincerely. "Those look great." The jeans rode low on her hips and fit tight in all the right places. She had put on a snug T-shirt, which revealed her slender waist and rounded breasts. Griff wholeheartedly approved.
Arden frowned as she examined her mirror image. "Not bad. Maybe a little wide in the leg?"
He tilted his head and considered. "Don't think so."
She nodded. "Right. I'll be back."
He shook his head when she reappeared. "Too big." By which he meant not tight enough.
"Comfortable," she replied. Then she pulled at a fold of fabric over her hip. "But you're right. Too big."
In the end, she chose the first jeans he'd liked, plus an even slimmer, tighter pair that left him shifting in his seat.
"Nice," he managed to say. "Very nice." He doubted she would appreciate being told those jeans were "hot."
In the next store, Arden browsed through the coats and jackets while Griff went to the men's department for clothes and shoes he could wear to dinner at his mother's table. As he changed in the dressing room, an announcement came over the sound system. "Shoppers, be aware that we have a lost child in the store. If you see a little girl wandering alone, please inform a salesperson immediately. Thank you."
As he left the changing area, Griff checked behind each door, but all the booths were empty. With his old clothes in a shopping bag, he went back to the women's department.
He couldn't see Arden anywhere. Lingerie, dresses, sportswear, makeup...no slim, dark-haired beauty was to be found. Returning to the coat section, he walked slowly among the displays, wondering if he should stay put and allow her to find him. Had she decided to ditch the plan, after all?
In the end, he almost tripped over her where she sat on the floor, head bent to look beneath coats hanging from a rack.
"Can you come out now?" Her low, sweet tone made the words sound like a lullaby. "Your mommy is wondering where you are."
The child didn't answer.
Arden extended her hand a short way. "I can take you to your mommy, if you want." Still no response. "Or your mommy can come to you."
Griff took the hint and notified the nearest saleswoman. Then he went back to serve as a marker for the child's location.
Moments later, a blonde woman with a tear-streaked face dropped to her knees beside Arden. A crowd of security officers, store managers and salespeople hovered behind them.
The mother stretched out her hands. "Kristy? Kristy, honey? Come to Mommy."
The little girl spoke this time. "Unh-uh."
"Sweetie, you can't stay here. We have to go home."
"No."
The mother's cheeks flushed, and annoyance replaced some of her panic. "Come on out, sweetheart. We'll go get that ice cream you wanted."
Arden looked up at Griff. "We need a toy," she said softly. "Can you find one?"
A glance around showed him the children's department across the store. "Be right back."
He sprinted as if he'd hit a double, grabbed a stuffed duck off a shelf and raced back like he was stealing home. Panting only slightly, he dropped the toy in Arden's lap.
"Quack, quack," she said immediately, sounding like an authentic bird. "Quack, quack, quack."
She made the duck waddle forward, as if taking a peek at the little girl, and then retreat, still quacking. The second time, a small hand followed. Finally, a child's head emerged from among the hanging garments. Kristy reached for the duck as her mother reached for her.
"There you are." The woman got to her feet with her daughter in her arms. "Naughty girl, hiding from Mommy."
Arden had released the stuffed duck into the little girl's hold. Kristy put the toy under her chin and hid her face against her mom's neck.
"Thank you so much." The mother gave Arden a grateful look. "We'd been searching for an hour when they made the announcement. I was so afraid someone had taken her." Tears spilled onto her cheeks again. She kissed Kristy's forehead. "So afraid."
Arden set a hand briefly on the child's back. "I'm glad I could help. I just happened to hear her singing to herself." She gathered her shopping bags and backed up as she spoke. "Let her keep the duck as my present."
"Oh, no--"
But Arden turned at that moment and began to walk away. Catching a glimpse of her face, Griff pulled a couple of twenty dollar bills from his pocket and dropped them beside a register, then hurried after her.
He caught up in time to open the outside door before Arden could. Once they'd cleared the exit, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"
Tears sparkled in her long lashes as she looked up at him. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."
"Forgive me for saying so, but you don't look fine. You look...devastated."
"Not at all." Setting down her bags, she wiped her fingers over her eyes and cheeks. No mascara smeared, proving that her long lashes were natural. "Really, I'm okay."
Griff took the opportunity to pick up the shopping bags himself. "She was a cute little girl."
"All those blond curls." Arden sighed and nodded. "But evidently a handful for her mother."
"Most kids are, at one time or another. I'm sure my mother will tell you stories about my escapades. One of the drawbacks to this charade, I guess. You'll know more about me than you ever wanted to."
"And we should be on the road, shouldn't we?" Arden started walking briskly toward the parking lot. "We wouldn't want to be late for dinner."
Surprised that she hadn't argued about carrying the bags, Griff followed. Igor greeted them at the car windows, and Arden took him for a brief walk in the chilly fresh air before they resumed the trip.
With her sunglasses back in place and her face turned toward the window, she couldn't have signaled more clearly that she wasn't in the mood to talk. Griff left her alone and even left the radio off as he wrestled with his own thoughts.
Arden had said she wanted a child as her "price" for doing him this favor. The expression on her face---part grief, part yearning, he decided---indicated more than just the ticking of her biological clock. He'd seen grieving pet owners wear that look.
Had Arden lost a child? Would she tell him if he asked?
Griff snorted to himself. Not likely.
Not yet, anyway.
THEY HAD THEIR FIRST lover's quarrel as they passed through Macon around four o'clock.
"I am not a short-tempered man," Griff said through set teeth. "But you're testing my limits."
Arden stared out the side window. "You know as much as you need to. My past is finished and of no interest to anyone, including me."
His fist thudded on the steering wheel. "Lovers---people who are thinking about spending their lives together---share their histories. Childhood days, teenage years and college...all of it contributes to the person you've become. Your memories matter."
Most of Arden's childhood memories involved windowless rooms containing a music stand and a violin. "We aren't spending our lives together. Just a few weeks."
"Why are you threatened by my questions? Wait---you're in the Witness Protection Program, right? If I discover who you really are, they'll find you and kill you."
She couldn't repress a chuckle. "I wish I could use that excuse, because you might actually let this rest."
"You won't say where you were born?" He sounded almost discouraged.
Perhaps if she gave him a few details, he'd be satisfied. "Okay, you win. I was born in New York City and lived there with my mother until I was nine."
He turned his head to give her a big grin. "Not so hard to say, was it? What happened when you were nine?"
"We moved around quite a bit." Because she was performing in Europe and Asia.
"Where did you graduate from high school?"
"I was homeschooled."
"Ah. And college?"
Now she'd reached her limit. "New York."
"Does that meant New York State University? New York University? Or a college which shall remain nameless in the city of New York?"
"Does it matter?"
"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" With a twist of his wrist, bluegrass music blared into the space between them, painfully loud.
But Arden endured it without comment, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting it bothered her. Griff drove for an hour without changing the volume or glancing in her direction. Though she regretted the hostility between them, she couldn't bring herself to admit more.
Because admitting that she'd attended Julliard would lead him to ask about her musical career. If she told him the truth, he'd pry into the reasons she wasn't playing now. She'd have to reveal her approaching deafness, and from there move on to her gullibility and foolishness. As hard as she'd worked to bury those memories, telling Griff about them would bring everything back to the surface.
Why put herself through that?
Finally, he turned down the radio volume. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said. "Maybe I'm not as even tempered as I claimed to be."
"I can understand your frustration." She turned slightly toward him. "Just believe me---nothing in my past matters today, and none of it affects you in the least. As far as we're concerned, history started on New Year's Eve."
"I'll try." He swallowed hard. "So what details shall we concoct for the benefit of the nosy people in Sheridan? Let's make up a really good story, so they'll be suitably impressed."
Arden hadn't even begun to think of a story when Griff snapped his fingers. "I've got it. How about we say you're a lost relative of the last Russian czar?"
WITHIN AN HOUR OF THEIR arrival, Arden decided that her current predicament made press conferences look like quiet time at the public library.
The Campbell family proved to be huge, comprised of not just Griff's parents and three sisters, but their husbands and children, too, all of whose names she was supposed to remember. Plus his cousins---at least five of them, with their own spouses and kids.
"I'll make you a cheat sheet," Griff whispered shortly after they arrived. "You can study in bed tonight."
Was it his breath on her ear that sent a shiver up her spine? Or just the prospect of having to know this many people by tomorrow morning?
Seated at the long table in the Campbells' dining room, Arden managed to taste, chew and swallow exactly one bite of a delicious potato casserole before the questions started.
Griff's oldest sister, Dana, sat on her right. "So, where did the two of you meet?" She resembled her brother, with the same curly blond hair, pinned into a loose knot at the back of her head, and those beautiful blue eyes. Both of them were the image of their father, whose piercing gaze had already flustered Arden more than she wanted to admit.
"We met in Miami." Arden took a sip of iced tea, trying to recall the story they'd decided to tell. "On the beach, actually."
Dana's eyes narrowed. "Most people don't talk to strangers on the beach."
"My dog had slipped his leash." They'd introduced Igor to the crowd, then put him in the laundry room with a blanket and his dinner. "Griff caught him and was walking along the shore looking for his owner."
"Sounds like him."
Arden gave a silent sigh of relief.
"But Igor still isn't too friendly with Griff, is he? I mean, he doesn't try to play with him or anything."
"I'm afraid not." Time for improvisation. "But you'll notice that Igor isn't friendly with men in general. The shelter where I found him said his previous owner was, to put it mildly, abusive, and had left Igor with a real grievance against males." She offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "We're working on it, though. I think Igor will come around in time."
The youngest Campbell sister, Kathy, spoke from across the table. Arden turned to watch her lips, but the competing conversations in the room muddled the beginning of her comment.
"...love Griff," Kathy said. "I've seen him coax foxes and deer to eat from his fingers."
"That's a good way to get rabies," Dr. Campbell pointed out from the end of the table. His forceful voice would be audible no matter how high the level of background noise.
"Which is why I've had my rabies vaccinations." Griff turned from talking to his mother, on his other side. "Why don't y'all let Arden eat some of this delicious food? There's plenty of time ahead for answering questions."
She sent him a grateful glance.
"So take your own turn, bro." Lauren, the middle sister, resembled her mother and Kathy, with soft, curling brown hair and green eyes. She, too, sat across the table. "How long have you two been dating?"
"That was July," Griff replied promptly, "when we met on the beach. The fourth, to be exact. We were watching fireworks and Igor bolted because of the noise."
"You've been in Miami all this time?" Mrs. Campbell's question sounded loud in the sudden silence around the table. "But I thought you said---"
Griff held up a hand. "I did say. I spent most of the time I was gone traveling around the Caribbean. I hit the Bahamas, Turk and Puerto Rico, then Montserrat, Barbados, Tobago and most of the islands in between. But..." He raised his wineglass in Arden's direction. "I went back to Miami more and more often. For a little longer each time."
Arden had to admire his acting ability. He didn't betray the lie with so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
"And you live in Miami all the time, Arden?" Mrs. Campbell's reaction had so far been the most reserved in the family. "On the beach?"
Now everyone at the table had stopped talking to listen, so she could hear easily enough. "I have a condo there."
"In a high-rise," Griff added, "with an amazing view. Watching a storm come in over the horizon is better than any Hollywood movie."
"And what kind of work do you do in Miami?"
She turned toward Dr. Campbell to answer his question. "I---"
But Griff spoke at the same moment. "I'm going to make Arden eat in the kitchen from now on," he declared. "She'll starve to death out here."
"You're right." His dad pretended to look sternly around the table, but his eyes twinkled. "No one is allowed to talk to Griff or Arden again until they've left their seats."
Arden gave another silent sigh as the focus of attention became more scattered. Even Griff addressed his food, rather than her.
But when she put her hand into her lap for her napkin, he reached over, grasped her fingers and squeezed.
As appeared to be their custom, the family sat late around the table, drinking wine and carefully avoiding asking Arden more questions. Her offer to help with clearing the dishes was met with a small smile and a shake of Mrs. Campbell's head.
"No, thank you. Just sit there and relax." Her three daughters and several cousins did get up, however, leaving Arden at the table with the men. She might have found that relaxing enough, but Griff hitched his chair close to hers and put his arm around her shoulders.
"This is what I'd do if we were authentic," he murmured, taking her hand off the table and twining his fingers with hers. "Thanks for putting up with all this. I know it's not easy."
She smiled, trying to look as if he'd said something sweet and romantic. "It's not exactly hard. You have a very nice family."
"Too nice, sometimes." He leaned close and kissed her cheek.
"What does that mean?" Her face felt hot where his lips had touched.
"Not my dad---he's your usual gruff, grumpy, take-care-of-yourself old guy. But being the only boy with three sisters and a mom is like trying to swim in a pool filled with feathers. Soft, sweet-smelling feathers."
Arden laughed. "That sounds awful."
Griff gave her a dire look. "Exactly."
People began getting up from the table, and Griff stood to pull her chair out so that Arden could, as well. Unfortunately, the end of dinner signaled the resumption of questions. As Arden surveyed photographs of the family displayed on the bookshelves framing the fireplace in the den, she felt Mrs. Campbell's presence at her shoulder.
"Does your family live in Miami, as well?"
The subtext to that question came through loud and clear: Did they know about Griff before we knew about you?
"My mother lives in New York." Arden turned halfway around, so she could see her inquisitor without a direct confrontation. "My dad left when I was five, and we haven't heard from him since. I don't have any brothers or sisters, or cousins, that I know of." No matter how many times she told it, the story never sounded less pitiful.
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Campbell said. "We're so used to having lots of family around, I forget that not everyone is so lucky. Do you visit often with your mother? New York to Miami is a long way to travel."
The usual javelin of anger and pain stabbed through Arden. "We..." She cleared her throat. "We had a---a disagreement about a year ago. I haven't seen her since."
For the first time since they'd met, the reserve in Mrs. Campbell's eyes melted. "That's terrible. I hope the two of you can resolve your differences soon. I can't imagine not speaking to one of my daughters for a year---or even a day! I had a hard enough time when Griff vanished. He was out of touch for several months, and I went nearly crazy with worry."
Arden turned the rest of the way around. "He didn't tell you he was leaving?"
Griff's mother nodded. "He did, but no one anticipated that he wouldn't call or even send an email. It's not like him to cut himself off from everybody."
Arden looked across the room, where Griff was playing rock, scissors, paper with the eight children circled around him. "Being betrayed by the person you expected to marry changes you in ways you don't understand. Or even recognize, at first."
Mrs. Campbell followed her line of sight. "You sound as if you've experienced that kind of pain yourself."
Having revealed more than she intended, Arden hoped her dismay didn't show on her face. "Um...I was engaged. Then I discovered he was unfaithful, so I broke it off. But I haven't mentioned that to Griff. If you wouldn't mind---"
"No, of course I won't tell him. But I can promise you that my son wouldn't hurt a woman."
"I know." Somehow, Arden did. Part of Griff's appeal derived from his courtly behavior. He was a gentleman in every sense of that old-fashioned word. "He's different from any man I've ever known."
"We're certainly proud of him." Rosalie Campbell smiled as she watched him lose the game. "We never again want to see him suffer as he has this last six months."
"Believe me, the last thing I want is to cause trouble for Griff. Or anyone."
That meant she couldn't afford to stay too long or get too close to the family who loved him. Otherwise, there would be pain all around when she returned to her solitary existence on Chaos Key---with, perhaps, a child of her own to cherish.
And these people would hate her for taking that baby away.
So they simply couldn't find out. She would have to leave before anyone even suspected she might be pregnant, Griff included. Judging by his family, and by what she knew of him so far, he was not a man who would let go of his child.
Unfortunately for them all, Arden had remade herself into a woman who refused to share. Not her child, not her life...and definitely not her heart.
GRIFF GAVE EACH OF the kids a high five hand slap, then looked around in time to see his sisters advancing toward Arden with more questions on their minds. After enduring a chat with his mom, the last thing his fiancée needed was another round with the Campbell interrogation team.
He arrived just in time to head them off. "Nope, no more tonight," he declared, stepping between the inquisitors and their victim. "Arden and I are taking Igor for a walk and then she's going to get some rest. It's been a long couple of days."
"Why, Griff, whatever do you mean?" Dana fluttered her eyelashes at him in her best Gone with the Wind imitation.
"We just want to make Arden feel at home." Kathy usually played Melanie to Dana's Scarlett.
Lauren twirled an imaginary mustache. "And worm her life history out of her." She finished up with a wicked laugh.
"Tomorrow," he promised, and put his arm around Arden's shoulders to guide her toward his parents. "Tomorrow's another day."
As they said good-night, his dad held Arden's hand for a moment. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk to you, young lady. I'll look forward to that in the days ahead."
Arden smiled widely, as if she wasn't terrified. "I will, too, Dr. Campbell. Griff's told me how much he admires you."
Griff didn't remember saying anything like that. But it sounded good.
Then his dad looked at him. "With the holiday over, office hours are back to normal, but I'll give you tomorrow and Tuesday off. We'll expect to see you bright and early Wednesday morning."
"Yes, sir." If not for the weight of his dad's hand on his shoulder and the brief squeeze from those strong fingers, the words would have sounded like punishment. Reading between the lines, though, Griff knew Jake was glad to have him back.
"'Night, Mom." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for the terrific dinner. Best food I've had in, oh, about six months."
"Yes, well." She gave him a hug, then stepped back. "Arden, I'll be back in my classroom at seven-thirty tomorrow morning, but I'll leave some breakfast at the house for whenever you're hungry. There is a coffeepot with supplies in the cottage, and a few snacks if you should get hungry tonight."
"Thank you, Mrs. Campbell. I'm so glad to be here."
Griff expected his mother to invite Arden to call her by her first name. But as the pause lengthened, he realized she wasn't going to do that.
"Let's go rescue that dog of yours," he told Arden. "'Night, everybody," he called to the room at large.
Then, finally, they were outside in the cool, crisp night, with Igor sniffing his way through the rye grass his dad always put down to keep the lawn green through the winter.
"The fresh air smells good," Griff said. "That was a long time to be closed up inside the house. After eight hours inside the car."
Beside him, Arden nodded. "Island life is different, isn't it?"
He nodded in turn. "There's always a breeze."
"And clouds scudding across the sky, night or day."
"The splash of waves on sand and birdsongs in the trees."
"True." She drew an audible breath, then blew it out in a cloud of white. "Still, your family is happy to get you back. They'll be glad to support you through the ordeal of the wedding. I don't think you really need me here at all."
"Oh, but I do." He moved ahead of her onto the small porch of the guest cottage, pulled the screen door back and then pushed the front door open. His mother had left a lamp on the hall table switched on, so they didn't have to step into darkness. "I couldn't face my family, let alone the rest of the town, if you weren't here."
Arden had shut the door behind her, and now leaned back against it. "But why, Griff? Your family knows how badly you were hurt when Zelda canceled the wedding. You don't have to camouflage your feelings."
As Igor disappeared down the dark hallway on a sniffing expedition, Griff walked through the front of the house, turning on lights. "Living room, dining area, kitchen. I don't want them feeling sorry for me."
She had followed him into the hallway. "Sympathy isn't pity."
"I don't want sympathy, either. This is the bedroom." The lamplight showed pink and peach where he'd been expecting green. "Mom's redecorated since I was here. That's her stress reliever---wallpaper and paint. There's a full bathroom attached." He walked over to open the door.
Arden stayed by the doorway into the hall. "She said she was very worried when you left. That you didn't call or email."
Griff thrust his hands in his pockets. "What was I going to say? 'Having a miserable time, glad you aren't here'?"
Shaking his head, he joined her in the doorway. "Tonight, because of you, I wasn't the prodigal son, coming home to be forgiven and taken care of." He set his hands on her shoulders. "Instead, I came home proud, bringing with me a lovely woman who, as far as they know, is crazy about me. We're deeply in love and planning a perfect life together. I may have left town a failure, but I came back a winner."
She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. "They're not completely convinced, you know. Your sisters, your mother and dad---they're still suspicious."
"So we'll convince them." Griff bent his head to breathe in the citrus scent of Arden's hair, then lingered to kiss her smooth forehead. "If I stay here for a while, that should help." He brushed his mouth over her temple, her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw. "How would you like to spend the time?"
Her breathing had changed. "Parcheesi? Backgammon?"
"Right." He released her and started down the hallway. "I think there's a set in the living room---"
"You're not going anywhere." She gripped his elbow to stop him, then pulled him around to face her.
Not that Griff made it hard. He'd only been teasing.
So she was smiling as her arms circled his neck. "How about spin the bottle?"
He folded his arms around her waist. "Let's skip the bottle part."
"Good idea."
Still he paused a moment, studying the flecks of green in her gray eyes and anticipating the pleasure promised by her soft, rosy mouth...until, with a desperate little sound, Arden dragged his head down and pressed her lips against his.
Relief swamped him first---he wasn't in this thing alone, thank God. Then desire surged through him and he drowned in it, pulling Arden tight against him to indulge all of his many fantasies about kissing her. Her sweet mouth surrendered and he took full advantage, tasting and stroking, groaning with pleasure as she made her own demands, satisfied her own needs.
She wore an ocean-green cashmere sweater that seemed to disappear beneath his palms...but not quite, so he slipped one hand underneath to find her skin every bit as silky as he'd anticipated. The new jeans he'd admired because they were tight meant he couldn't do the same at her waist, but he smoothed a hand over the curve of her hip and the swell of her bottom and was rewarded when she pressed her belly even closer to his. Then she lifted her knee to the outside of his thigh and he pretty much lost his mind. The sane part of it, anyway.
Strong and hard and sure...he felt like an anchor to Arden, a rock she could cling to while her head spun and her knees dissolved. His hands moved on her body, a glorious, intimate pressure she wanted to feel on every inch of her skin. Or that might be his mouth, instead, exploring the arch of her neck and the curl of her ear.
Clearly, they both had too many clothes on, because she couldn't get his shirttail out of his jeans fast enough to satisfy her craving for the feel of his flesh beneath her fingertips. She needed him closer, needed his weight on top of her to bear down against the aches he was creating there, down low, with just the press of his palm over her breast....
"Ow!" He jerked away, staggering back against the other wall of the hallway. "Damn it, what is your problem?"
Dropped all the way to ground zero, Arden sagged against the door frame, panting and staring. "Wh-what?"
Griff paid no attention. He was shaking his leg, trying to detach the dog's jaws clamped around his calf.
"Igor!" She grabbed his bright green collar and pulled. "Bad dog, Igor. Release. Stop it."
"Ow!" Griff put out his hands. "He's got his teeth in my leg. Don't shake him anymore. Talk to him calmly. Try coaxing him away."
"Igor." Arden knelt beside the dog, stroking his sides and back. "Igor, let go. Good boy, come on, good boy. You made him stop. That's a good doggy, Igor. Let's get a treat."
Though it seemed to take forever, once Griff stood still, Igor finally backed off.
"Now follow through," Griff told Arden. "Give him a treat."
"Are you all right?"
"Sure." He straightened and took a deep breath. "But maybe I should head back up to the house."
"Um...okay."
He gave a half smile. "Maybe Igor could stay in the kitchen while I make my getaway?"
Arden took the dog to the kitchen and gave him a chew bone, then made sure both doors to the room were shut.
"I am so sorry," she said as she joined Griff at the front door. "He has had all his vaccinations." She eyed the rip in Griff's jeans. "Maybe you should see a doctor tonight, though. Dog bites---"
He straightened up from leaning against the wall. "Are an occupational hazard for veterinarians. Don't worry about me." With a knuckle under her chin, he lifted her face to his for a restrained kiss. "I'm just sorry we were interrupted. You pack a powerful punch, Ms. Arden Burke."
She felt her cheeks heat with a blush. "So do you. I hope..." Taking a deep breath, she finished quickly. "I hope we'll pick up where we left off. Soon."
Instead of smiling, as she expected, he gave her a serious, searching look. "Me, too. G'night," he added, giving her a last caress. "Sleep as late as you want and come up to the house when you're ready."
"I will."
She closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. Those moments in Griff's arms had amazed her---outside her music, she'd never before been so lost in the pleasure of the moment. Her mind had been completely overcome by her body's reaction to Griff's touch.
That reaction, she hoped, would burn itself out once they'd made love a few times. She couldn't afford to become dependent on him for sex, or for anything else---his consideration, his gentleness, his encouragement and protection, for instance. She'd be living her life alone, fending for herself and, she hoped, a child.
Griff Campbell was simply a pleasant---well, more than pleasant---means to an end. As she released Igor from the kitchen and got ready for bed, Arden promised herself she would remember that fact.
Because if she didn't, this entire effort would become yet another exercise in despair.
GRIFF LIMPED AROUND the yard for a while, letting the frigid darkness serve as tonight's version of a cold shower. He visited the near pastures, but the horses stayed away, unsure of his identity in the dark. When the throb in his calf had overcome the unsatisfied ache in his belly, he allowed himself to head back to the house.
Wearing his shirt and boxers, he was sitting on the side of the tub in the downstairs back bathroom, scrubbing Igor's teeth marks with soap and hot water, when his dad appeared at the doorway.
Jake leaned against the door frame. "Run into a wild coon outside?"
"Just an overprotective canine." Griff turned off the water. "Can you hand me a towel?" When his dad reached for the pale peach one hanging within his reach, Griff shook his head. "You know Mom doesn't want blood on her good linens. I need one of the everyday towels."
"Right." His dad stepped into the laundry room and came back with the appropriate cloth. "Doesn't look too deep. You might want some antibiotics, though, since it's more puncture than scrape."
"Yeah. He had a pretty good hold of me, even through the jeans. Which are now useful for painting in and not much else. Brand-new, too."
"The world well lost for love."
"Right." With his skin dry, Griff applied antibiotic ointment and gauze pads, then rolled tape around his calf to hold things in place. "I suspect I'll survive."
"Love, or the dog bite?"
His dad, Griff realized, had stayed up to investigate. Time to be careful about what he said. "The dog bite. Love is always fatal, I believe. Don't we all die still loving somebody?"
"If we're lucky. You seem to have found a replacement for Zelda pretty fast. Sure it's not just a rebound romance?"
"Oh, yeah." His dad didn't need to know exactly why he was so sure. "Arden is a fantastic person. I think you'll realize that as you get to know her."
He wasn't lying with that one, but he felt as if a huge bell had rung inside his chest, and the vibrations just kept going and going....
"I hope so. She's certainly beautiful. A little quiet, I thought. Not comfortable in a crowd."
"I'm sure Mom told you she's not from a big family. Our hordes of cousins would scare anybody."
"True. They're mostly your mother's family." They shared a grin, because that was the standard line. Anything wrong always happened on the other side of the family. "Well, I'll look forward to the quieter times when we can get to know your Arden better."
Griff picked up his ripped jeans and dirty towel and followed his dad out of the bathroom. The shadowed hallway provided good cover for anything his face might give away. "Me, too."
"So did you get to do any real work while you were down in the islands? Or did you drink the time away?"
"I volunteered for different clinics and rescue groups, when I could find them. There are some marine animal facilities scattered around, all still dealing with the aftermath of the oil spill and the last few hurricanes."
"Not a total waste of time, then." Jake headed toward the master bedroom.
Griff watched the door close behind his dad, knowing he shouldn't let that last comment go unchallenged. But why start an argument his first night home?
He climbed the stairs to his room, instead, and settled into the bed he'd slept in since he was ten, where he'd hidden magazines of various kinds under the mattress and dreamed about everything from hot cars and hot music to hot women.
Apparently, he had one of those on his hands right now. Under Arden Burke's cool exterior burned a fierce fire. After so long alone, Griff had a pretty good inferno going, himself. Together, they could burn up the night. Many nights, he hoped.
With the dog locked away somewhere else.
As he punched his pillow into shape, though, Griff reminded himself to be careful. The lady wanted something from him---that's why she'd come along. This wasn't a friend doing him a favor. Arden wanted him to make a baby for her. Quid pro quo.
So getting too involved would leave him in the same place Zelda's defection had. But he didn't want another woman to miss, or a relationship to mourn. Good times, salvaged pride and an easy goodbye---surely that wasn't too much to ask.
And if it was, he was tired enough that even his doubts couldn't keep him awake tonight.
OVER BREAKFAST the next morning, Griff offered to take Arden into town. "I can show you off to the populace, in line with our agenda, and you can tour the booming metropolis of Sheridan, Georgia."
"Can we walk?" She took a deep breath of crisp air when they stepped outside. "It's a beautiful day, not too cold at all."
He squinted, as if measuring the distance. "Depends on how long you want to walk. We're about three miles from the middle of town."
A glance down at the knee-high boots she'd bought just yesterday dampened her enthusiasm. "Um, maybe not this time."
"So, we can drive the Jag. Or..." He lifted a questioning eyebrow.
"Or?"
"We could ride my bike."
Arden took a quick breath, hardly daring to hope. "As in motorcycle?"
"As in Harley."
She clapped her hands. "Oh, yes. Please?"
Griff pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. "I hoped you'd say that."
In a matter of minutes, she was straddling the motorcycle at his back, arms around his waist and the wind in her face. "This is glorious," she called over his shoulder. "I've always wanted to ride a Harley."
"Glad I could be your first," he yelled back, with that mischievous, slanted grin she was beginning to look for.
Griff piloted them to the center of town and found a parking place along a tree-lined street with quaint storefronts on each side. At one end stood an impressive brick courthouse with white columns and a white steeple on top. At the other end, long stretches of lawn and huge, leafless trees surrounded the statue of a mounted soldier.
"Here we are," Griff said, removing his own helmet and holding a hand out for hers. "Beautiful, anachronistic Sheridan, Georgia. Population eight thousand, give or take a few. Home to the last remnants of the antebellum South."
"Lovely." Arden noticed the live pine garlands swagged across front porches, the wreaths made of real magnolia leaves and holly sprigs, all of them tied with red bows. "I'm sure it's wonderful at Christmas."
"Of course. The different church choirs come together on Christmas Eve to sing carols on the courthouse lawn." He motioned up and down the street. "Folks stroll around with hot cider and cookies, greeting their neighbors. It's a scene straight out of---"
He broke off, then swore under his breath. "I don't believe this. Not first thing."
Arden looked around. "What's wrong?"
She didn't see anything dangerous, or unusual. Just a pair of women walking toward them on the sidewalk. Mother and daughter, judging from appearances, busy in conversation. Both of them were pretty blondes, well-dressed and with perfect makeup. They didn't notice Griff until they almost ran into him.
The younger woman looked up at that moment. Her face went white and her jaw dropped. "Oh, my God," she whispered.
"You know I hate it when you use that expression," her mother said, still focused on a notepad in her hand. Then she, too, looked at Griff. Arden worried for a second that she might actually faint.
Griff nodded to the older woman. "Hello, Mrs. Talbot. Happy New Year."
Then he took a deep breath and looked directly at the daughter. "I have somebody I'd like y'all to meet." Reaching out, he drew Arden close to his side. "This is my new fiancée, Arden Burke."
His arm felt like iron around her shoulders. "Arden, this is Mrs. Talbot. And my former fiancée, her daughter Zelda."
"How do you do?" Arden realized that the phrase really didn't make much sense in this day and age. But at least she'd said something. "Nice to meet you" really wouldn't have worked.
Griff's ex-fiancée was having more trouble. Her gaze had not left his face, except for a brief flicker in Arden's direction. Her mouth kept opening and closing, reminding Arden of her one visit to Sea World.
Zelda cleared her throat. "Where have you been?" Her voice remained hoarse. "Your family has been worried sick."
"Thanks for your concern, but we're all doing well." Griff's half smile---in fact, his whole face---seemed frozen. "I understand you'll be walking down the aisle on Valentine's Day."
"That's right." Zelda lifted her chin. "We're mailing the invitations this week. I'll be sure you get one."
"Don't forget to write 'and guest' on the envelope. I wouldn't want Arden to sit home by herself that night."
"Of course not." Zelda flashed a brittle smile. "I'll have to tell Al you're back in town. He'll be watching out for you." She took hold of Mrs. Talbot's arm. "Now, if y'all will excuse us, we've got a dress fitting."
With a tug, she started her mother along the sidewalk at a fast march. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "Nice to meet you," but turned away quickly before Arden could reply.
Keeping his arm around her shoulders, Griff began walking in the opposite direction. Arden had no choice but to go along, almost jogging to keep up with his long, fast strides.
As they approached an intersection, she thought he might plunge blindly into the street, so she leaned backward and planted her feet, hoping to slow him down, at least.
"Griff," she said at the same time. "Griff, stop."
To her relief, he did. After a couple of seconds, his arm fell to his side and he turned to her. "Sorry about that. Are you okay?"
"Are you?"
He wiped a hand over his face. "I could use a drink, but I'm not going to find one in this town until after noon. How about more coffee---or tea, hot chocolate, whatever---and a big dose of something sweet?"
"Lead the way."
A few steps took them to the door of the shop on the corner, which he opened. "This is Patty's Place. As a little kid, Miss Patty started baking goodies with her parents. Now she runs the shop, along with her daughters, Pam and Peg, and her husband Pete."
Arden gave him a skeptical look. He crossed his heart with a finger and then held up his hand. "I swear. Their last name is Pierson."
She followed him to an empty table, where he pulled out a white wrought-iron chair for her. "I suppose Patty and Pete couldn't help falling in love. Or that his name was Pierson."
Griff nodded as he sat down. "And once it's gone that far, why not have fun?"
"True." Glancing around, Arden noticed the curtains on the windows, printed with purple and yellow pansies on a background of purple stripes. The walls of the shop had been painted a pale lavender and hung with large flower posters in which one color predominated. The menu, clipped into a holder in the center of the glass-topped table, had been printed and bordered in that same color.
"Purple," she said, looking at Griff. "Patty, Pete, Peg and Pam like purple."
His true, relaxed grin finally appeared. "When life hands you lemons..."
"Make grape juice?"
He laughed. "Exactly."
Before the echo of his laughter had died away, a young woman scurried up to their table. "Griff Campbell---welcome home!" She leaned over to give him a hug. "When did you get back?"
"Just yesterday." He hugged her in return, mouthing "Pam" over her shoulder to Arden. "You're growing up too fast. What year are you in now?"
"I'm a junior." She straightened her apron, made from the same fabric as the curtains.
"Majoring in...?"
She rolled her eyes. "Chemistry, but don't remind me. I've still got pages of problems to work on before school starts back next week. It's so good to see you, though. Mom only had to bake half as many pumpkin cheesecakes as usual last fall. She didn't know what to do with herself."
"I'll try to catch up this year. Hey, Pam, let me introduce you...." He gestured toward Arden. "This is Arden Burke. Arden, Pam Pierson."
They nodded to each other. "Glad to meet you," Pam said. "What can I get for you this morning? We just pulled some pumpkin bread out of the oven and glazed it with cream cheese icing."
"That sounds terrific." Griff looked at Arden. "What would you like?"
They ordered coffee, tea and two servings of the pumpkin bread, which appeared almost as soon as Pam had left the table, carried by Patty, herself.
"Griff Campbell, stand up and give me a proper greeting." She was very tall, big-boned and full-bodied, with a braid of blond hair wrapped around her head and the signature pansy apron. "You don't take off again without saying goodbye, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled from somewhere deep within her embrace.
In the next moment, Peg---also aproned---and a man as tall and big as Patty---Pete, of course---joined them at the table. Introductions and catch-up took several minutes, until Patty shooed her family back to the kitchen.
"Ten pound cakes," she said, pulling a chair over and sitting down between Griff and Arden. "For the dinner dance at the club this weekend kicking off parties for Al and..." Her voice trailed off. "Sorry, Griff."
"No problem, Miss Patty." He took a sip of coffee. "We just ran into Zelda on the street, as a matter of fact, and no tragic gestures ensued. We'll all be polite and get through this thing just fine. Besides..." He reached across and took Arden's hand. "I've got myself a winner right here. You won't hear any sour grapes from me."
Patty's plain face broke into a smile. "I'm so glad. The town was really torn apart when you left. Zelda had her supporters, of course---mostly her mother's friends and their daughters---but lots of folks were mad as anything that she'd treated a good man like you so wrong. Some folks gave her a really hard time about it."
Griff frowned down at his plate. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"The bitterness faded," Patty assured him. "Folks are back to normal, more or less." She looked at Arden. "Dr. Griff is a favorite around here. As is Doc Campbell, who has saved the life of a pet for just about everybody in town. We were all pleased to have his son come back to work with him, after watching him grow up and all. He was here most afternoons after school for twelve years, always asking for a peanut butter cookie and a glass of milk. Got so I'd just run a tab, and his dad would pay it at the end of the week. 'Course, my Queenie got sick then---heartworms, the nasty things---and Doc treated her and kept her for me for six weeks until she could come home and be herself again. After that, the Campbell kids got their cookies for free."
She slapped the pansy-covered apron across her thighs and surged to her feet. "They probably forgot about those cakes and I'm gonna have to start all over again. Good to see you, Griff." Her hand fell heavily on his shoulder. "And I'm so glad to meet you, Miss Arden. Come back as often as you can."
Patty made her way across the room, speaking to other customers as she went, before vanishing behind the tall display cases of pastries and baked goods at the back. Arden sipped her tea and enjoyed every last crumb of the delicious pumpkin bread, but Griff, she noticed, simply played with his.
"You're not eating," she said. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm not sure. This last hour was..." He shrugged without finishing the sentence.
His reaction confirmed for Arden the extent to which he still cared about Zelda.
"You handled yourself well, especially since you didn't have any warning." She could only imagine how she would react if she ran into Andre, her ex, on the street. "I would probably have run screaming in the opposite direction."
"Well, I didn't scream, anyway." A rueful smile curved his mouth briefly. "I could have been more---what's a good word?---nonchalant."
"She was upset, too. I doubt Zelda or her mother noticed your tension."
He sat for quite a while without speaking, turning the handle of his coffee mug from one side to the other. Finally, he stirred. "I hate to hear that folks gave her a hard time."
"You would expect your friends and family to be upset on your behalf, wouldn't you?"
"Well, Al and Zelda were my closest friends." He shrugged. "Did they need to be punished for falling in love?"
Arden sat forward. "That's the price they pay, isn't it? Should they hurt you so deeply and have no repercussions?"
His surprised look made her aware of how agitated she sounded. "You're quite fierce about it. Almost as if you've been in the same situation."
Now she was the one staring at her plate. "Well, yes, I have been. I was engaged. He was unfaithful. So I broke it off."
Four teenagers came in the door at that moment. Giggling and chattering, they arranged themselves at the table next to Arden and Griff.
"Be right back," he told her, and went to the register. He tried to argue when Peg refused to allow him to pay for their order, but gave up gracefully in the end. "Free flea spray," he promised over his shoulder as he walked back to Arden, "for that long-haired princess of yours."
He pulled her chair out as she stood up. "They have a Pekingese," he said as they walked out. "So I'll just have to pay for the pumpkin bread in kind."
"That's nice of you." She glanced back at the door as it closed, and laughed. "I didn't notice when we went in---the door is purple." A delicious, eggplant hue.
"Yep." With a hand at the small of her back, he indicated they should cross the street. As they arrived at the opposite curb, he glanced up and said, "That's new."
Arden followed his gaze, but not his train of thought. "What's new?"
"Hear that chirp? Since I left last summer, they've added sound to the crosswalk signals."
She hadn't heard anything. But she could pretend. "Oh...yes. I think that's supposed to assist people with impaired vision." The deaf, like her, would be able to see the flashing Walk and Don't Walk signs.
"Right. There's always something new to spend tax money on. Anyway, since the worst has already happened, let's get this tour started and enjoy the morning. What do you say?"
"Excellent." Especially if that meant she didn't have to reveal any more details about her past. Griff had taken her statement about Andre at face value, then moved on. He didn't pursue the issue, which was exactly what she wanted.
The less he knew about her, the better. And the less she depended on him, the easier she would find her return to Florida.
Because no matter how pretty the town of Sheridan might be, Arden didn't intend to stay one minute longer than she absolutely had to.
GRIFF PLAYED TOUR GUIDE for the rest of the morning, recounting as much town history and as many anecdotes as he could remember about the buildings and the people. Sheridan was a pretty place in the spring, with masses of azaleas and dogwoods in bloom, or in summer with the crape myrtle trees blooming pink on Main Street and pots of flowers on every doorstep and porch. They were close enough to the mountains that autumn could be gorgeous, once the leaves began to change.
Winter seemed austere in comparison, with the grass turned brown and only the pine trees providing any green. Of course, there were many, many pine trees.
But without the decorative plants, the architecture of Sheridan came clearly into focus and, as a result, Griff preferred this time of year in his hometown.
"The first settler arrived in 1764," he told Arden. "And by the 1800s a thriving little town had been built. According to local mythology, General Sherman passed within twenty miles on his way to Atlanta, but since the town was named for another Union general, he marched by without doing any damage.
"So we've got some nice antebellum houses still standing." He halted in front of the iron gate guarding the Statler mansion. "This one dates to 1846. Tobacco brought in a lot of money, even in those days."
Arden nodded. "Beautiful. Hard to maintain, but lovely."
"Nowadays the family lives in New York most of the time. Watch out," he said, catching her around the waist as she stumbled. "This sidewalk is rough in places."
He started to move on, keeping his arm around her, but noticed that she glanced back at the big house.
With a deep breath, she turned away. "You're quite the history buff, aren't you? Is that your hobby, when you're not doctoring animals?"
"I can't help soaking it in." They crossed the street to the entrance of City Park. "I've been hearing these stories all my life. And, yeah, when I do have time to read something besides vet journals, I tend to choose history."
A bench stood beside the footpath not far from the gate and Griff steered them in that direction. "Would you like to sit down?"
Arden smiled. "Perfect timing. My new boots are still stiff." She perched on the seat at an angle, looking out over the park. "I can imagine this view in summer---the trees leafed out and the flower beds full of blooms, the fountain in the center...it must be glorious."
"Sheridan's pride and joy." He stretched both arms along the back of the bench. "This whole side of town used to be part of the Statler estate, and they donated the land for City Park."
"Does it ever snow here?" She gestured to the downhill slope before them. "That looks like a great hill for sledding."
"About once every ten years we get a snow deep enough to build snowmen and use a sled. Hasn't happened in quite a while."
"Maybe it will snow while I'm here," she said, turning in place to lean against his arm. "Living on the ocean, I do miss snow, sometimes."
Griff curved his body toward hers. "Judging by that condo of yours, you could take long vacations in Switzerland, if you wanted to."
Arden shook her head. "I'm not much into traveling these days. Certainly not that far."
He took her left hand in his. "And does that reluctance have anything to do with the cheating fiancé and the broken engagement?"
She stiffened in his arms.
"I know, you figured I would let it drop. But we've been engaged three whole days. You should know me better by now."
"I..." Her exasperated breath was a puff of steam in the cold air. "I thought you had learned to respect my privacy."
"I grew up in a small town. Nosiness is part of my genetic makeup. Are you going to tell me about this jerk?"
She hesitated a long time. "He was twelve years older, very handsome," she said eventually. "I really wanted to be careful, not risk too much in the relationship until I was certain, but...almost before I realized, we were involved...intimately. Getting engaged seemed like the right thing to do. But then I---I found him with someone else. Someone I'd trusted." She paused again. "I threw a huge tantrum, he retaliated by telling me how many other women he'd betrayed me with and asked for his ring back."
Griff couldn't resist the urge to chuckle. When she looked at him indignantly, he said, "I can't imagine you in a temper tantrum."
"Not pretty, I assure you." She drew a deep breath. "We were at a hotel in...in Italy. I threw his ring in the pool and wished him good luck finding it. Then I left and flew home."
"Good move! Your reaction to being dumped was much stronger than mine."
Her cheeks flushed bright pink. "It was childish. But, really, he deserved to lose something for treating me so badly."
"I agree. Did he find the ring?"
She shrugged. "I haven't heard."
"What about the person you caught him with---did you deal with her?"
"We had a...discussion. But we haven't spoken since."
Her voice reminded him of one of their earlier conversations. What was it...?
Then he remembered. After the dream that had caused her to cry, she'd said, "We're estranged." About her mother, in that same tone.
Griff sucked in a quick breath. "Your mother? He cheated on you with your mom?"
In the next instant, Arden was on her feet and walking away.
Catching up, Griff didn't try to stop or even slow her down. He walked along, hands in his pockets, as they traversed the entire length of the park---about a mile. And when she finally slowed, he did, too.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That's more pain and insult than one person should ever have to bear."
"Yes."
"You didn't deserve such treatment."
She jerked to a stop and stared up at him. "Why do you say that?"
He shrugged. "I blamed myself for Zelda dumping me. I'm guessing you wondered at least once if you'd done something to provoke the way he behaved."
As he watched, her gray-green eyes filled with tears. "I tried to be what he wanted..."
Griff put his arm around her shoulders and turned her so they could walk back toward town. "Lucky for you, he showed his true colors before you married him. You don't have to try anymore, because you're all any decent man could want. And you should believe what I'm saying without question."
"Why?"
He stopped under the bare branches of an oak tree, shifted to stand in front of her, and cupped her face with his palms. "Because I am your fiancé. I know what I'm talking about."
She managed a small chuckle. "I guess that's as good a reason as any." Then she clasped his wrists with her own strong fingers. "And what about you? Have you decided to believe that you didn't deserve being dumped a week before your wedding?"
"Well..."
"And that you didn't do anything to drive Zelda away?"
"No fair, turning my own advice around on me."
"Oh, yes, it is fair. Zelda could have been honest with you much sooner and made the entire issue less painful. Maybe she couldn't help falling for Al. But she didn't have to wait so long, either. Do you see that?"
Arden's fierce gaze and the determined set of her chin were pretty convincing. "I might be able to see that."
"Good." Her mouth softened into a smile.
Griff couldn't resist taking the chance to sample the curves of that smile with his own lips. He'd always thought smiling kisses offered a special kind of pleasure.
What he hadn't bargained for was the way even the lightest touch from Arden's mouth could stir the coals of desire into an open flame. One minute they were sharing light caresses, smooth and easy...but the next minute, smooth and easy got buried under a hot flow of need.
And then a runner breezed past them. "Geez---get a room, why don't ya?"
Griff loosened his arms, which had somehow gotten wrapped around Arden's body, and allowed her to back up. She spent a few seconds releasing her grip on his sweater in the process.
"We'll keep walking, instead," he said. Hearing the roughness in his voice, he cleared his throat. "Though I like his basic concept."
Arden nodded. "Walking is good."
They returned to the Harley, and Griff was just pondering the best place to have lunch when his cell phone vibrated.
The number on the screen was his dad's private cell phone.
"Excuse me," he told Arden, then answered the call. "What's up?"
His afternoon plans got shot to hell with three sentences.
He nodded, though Jake couldn't see it. "I'll be right there."
Arden gave him an inquiring look as he closed the phone.
"Dad's in surgery with an emergency and an office full of clients," Griff explained, handing her the smaller helmet. "And he just got a farm call that's also an emergency, of the life-threatening kind. I'm going to have to go out there."
"Of course."
He blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't even have time to take you back to the house. I could call Kathy---"
"Let's just go where you need to be," Arden said. "Don't worry about the extra baggage."
Grinning, he climbed onto the bike. "Yes, ma'am."
A five minute ride got them to the clinic, where Toni, one of the vet techs, was standing by the back door. "Your truck is loaded," she told him, after a curious glance at Arden. "Stacy Winfrey got the horse to the barn and she's waiting for you."
"Thanks." He took the keys she offered. "Toni, this is Arden Burke. Can you show her into my office, get her something to eat and make her---"
Arden put a hand on his arm. "Could I come with you? I'll stay out of the way."
Griff frowned. "This is not a good call. It'll be messy. We might lose the animal."
She straightened her shoulders. "I'll be okay. I won't make a fuss."
He didn't have time to dither. "Get in. I'll phone," he told Toni, and slid behind the wheel.
"Not the first case I would choose to come back on," he muttered, more to himself than her.
But Arden had heard him. "What happened?"
"This is a breeding farm with about fifty mares and a bunch of stallions, including this one---Rajah, a Thorough-bred. They paid well over a quarter of a million for him."
"Dollars?"
"Oh, yeah. The handsomest guy you'd ever want to see, but on the high-strung side. Today, he decided to go through a board fence."
She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, no."
"Now he's got a piece of board in his chest. My job is to get it out and sew him up good as new."
"Do you think you can?"
"Maybe." He pulled in a deep breath. "If we all pray hard enough."
Arden didn't know what to expect as she followed Griff into the barn. She only hoped she didn't do anything to distract him from the problem at hand.
A woman stood waiting in front of a stall, her face as white as the T-shirt she wore.
"Thank God." She grabbed Griff's arm with both hands. "I gave him the ace, like you said. But he's been pretty quiet overall. Didn't give me any trouble about walking up here."
"Good." Griff slid back the bolt on the stall door. "Let's take a look."
The stallion stood in the center of the large space, motionless except for an occasional flick of his tail. He was huge and muscled, with a glossy, dark brown coat, black mane and tail, and white on his feet and nose. Right now his head hung low and his eyes were nearly closed. His breathing sounded loud in the silence.
A large towel had been clipped around the horse's neck and chest. Griff removed it, and Arden clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. There wasn't much blood, but the exposed muscles and the ragged end of a board protruding from the stallion's chest made a gruesome sight.
Griff, however, surveyed the injury with a calm detachment, squatting in front of the animal to get a close look. He lifted the stallion's lip and pressed a finger to the gum, put a stethoscope against his side and listened to several different places for quite a long time. Then he left the stall.
"He's doing okay," he told the owner. "His vital signs are good and he hasn't lost much blood. His lungs and heart don't appear to have been touched. But I don't want to subject him to a forty-five minute trailer ride with that board in his chest. So we'll just take it out here."
The woman nodded. "I scrubbed the walls and floor of the wash stall with bleach while I was waiting for you."
"Excellent. Walk him down there slowly while I get some equipment."
Unlike his usual lazy strides, the steps Griff took back to the SUV were quick and purposeful, as were his movements when he got there, selecting the equipment he would need.
"It's better than it could have been," he told Arden as she stood to one side. "But that board's in deep. The real challenge will be to remove it without leaving any splinters behind."
"I can't believe the horse is so calm. Doesn't it hurt?"
"Horses can be amazingly stoic, especially when their legs aren't involved. But the owner gave him a sedative while she waited. That's the 'ace' she mentioned---acepromazine."
"Ah." Arden couldn't resist asking the next stupid question. "Is there anything I can do?"
He glanced up, his blue eyes smiling. "Thanks, but I think we're okay. I'll let you know if I need something."
The stainless steel tray holding his equipment rested on a stand with wheels, allowing him to push it down the barn aisle to a large, well-lit area where Rajah now stood on black rubber mats.
"I'd like to keep his head up," Griff said. "So we'll put on this padded halter and link it through there." He nodded toward a chain suspended from the ceiling. "I don't think he'll notice, as zoned out as he is."
In another few minutes, Rajah stood nearly upright, with sheepskin lining around his nose holding his head in a more natural position.
"Ok." Griff rubbed his hands together, then picked up an oversize electric razor from the tray. "Time for a haircut." He bent and began to shave Rajah's chest.
Arden took the moment to glance along the barn aisle, which looked as clean and neat as a human dwelling. She noticed a low bench against the wall near the end, and went to bring it back.
"Perfect," he said, sitting down without pausing in his work.
"I should have thought of that," the owner said, standing with her hand on Rajah's back. "Sorry."
Arden shook her head. "You've got enough on your mind."
The drone of the shaver seemed to go on forever, as Griff cleared a wide area of hair around the puncture, coming closer and closer to the torn edges. Finally he bent in and, with small, deft strokes, clipped hair from the jagged rim.
"Whew." He sat up at last, turned off the clipper and stretched backward. Then he stayed motionless for what must have been five minutes, studying the wound.
"I need another pair of hands." He looked at the owner and then at Arden. "And what I want you to do is not nice."
They both stared at him without speaking. "The board has to come out. I want to be ready to deal with bleeding, if it happens. Can one of you handle the board?"
The owner moaned and put her face against Rajah's side. "I can't," she whispered.
Arden took a deep breath. "How?"
"Good girl." Griff got up and went to the tray to pick up a couple of paper-wrapped packets, handing the largest to her. "Surgery pack. Sterile. I'll need you to open it for me in a few minutes." Another pack contained sterile towels and the third, gloves. "I'm going to scrub up and get into the gloves. You'll open the packets for me and lay them out. Then you'll pull out the board---slowly, straight as you can without twisting or turning it."
"Do I need gloves?"
"You don't have to be sterile---the board certainly wasn't. But you can wear gloves for your own comfort, if you want."
Swallowing hard, she looked directly at the wound. The point of what looked like a wooden stake stuck out from Rajah's chest about six inches.
"How much is inside?" she asked.
"Don't know," Griff replied. "His vitals are stable, so his chest cavity is intact. I think. I hope. With luck, there's only a few inches, and it'll be an easy fix."
Arden nodded. "Okay. I'll take some gloves."
"They'll be a little big." Griff picked up a thin package, fingered the edges apart and pulled them open, revealing a pair of latex gloves. "Don't worry about keeping them sterile."
While Arden pulled on the gloves, Griff went to a sink in the corner. First, he scrubbed a stainless steel pan and rinsed it thoroughly. Then he began washing his hands, scrubbing all the way to his elbows with a foamy orange soap.
As they waited, Rajah's owner looked over at Arden. "Hi. I'm Stacy. Sorry we haven't had a chance to be introduced." She stroked the horse's neck near his mane. "I'm a little preoccupied."
"I'm Arden, and I understand. I'm sure I'd be hysterical if something happened to Igor, my dog."
"I'm just so glad Griff could come." Stacy glanced at the corner, where he was still scrubbing. "He's always so calm and reassuring. Knows exactly what to do." She drew a deep breath. "Even when a horse has been this unbelievably idiotic."
Griff joined them beside the animal, his hands held in the air, still dripping. "You'll need to get the faucet, Stacy." Then he stepped toward the tray. "Open the middle-size packet, like I did the gloves---by pulling the edges apart," he told Arden. "The towels inside are sterile, so I'll use one to dry my hands, and I'll spread another one on the tray. Then I'll need another pair of sterile gloves."
She did as he asked, easily opening the package and holding it steady while he took out a towel. "Good job," he said. "You didn't fumble at all."
Arden hadn't expected to fumble. Her arms were strong and her fingers nimble, thanks to twenty-five years of violin work. Her ears were the problem, not her hands.
Griff pulled on the sterile gloves before opening the largest packet on the tray---a set of surgical tools, including scissors, and thread for stitching.
Then he blew out a quick, hard breath. "Okay. Raj here's still looking good, so we're gonna do this thing. Ready, Arden?"
"Yes."
"Start with one hand, thumb and two fingers holding the board. Move it slightly back and forth. Yes? Easy? Good."
Step by step, he gave her directions in a clear, quiet tone. Arden fixed her eyes on the board but kept her mind still, allowing Griff's voice and thoughts to flow through to her hands, as if they were his own.
"Okay, that's good. Yeah, pull---gentle, slow. Right. Keep pulling...yeah...yeah. Oops. Probably shifted a little when he moved afterward. Just back up a little, side to side. Okay, maybe a tiny twist, a little more twist... Right. Good, keep on, just slow, slow, slow. Good. Yes...okay, back up again, wiggle, a little twist, then pull, yes, yes, you're doing fine. Okay, okay, okay---yes!! Throw that damn board in the trash."
He grinned at her, and Arden grinned back, holding the wretched piece of lumber between her hands.
Then he shouldered her out of the way to step in front of the horse. "Stacy, get that big bottle of sterile saline on the floor and pour it into my pan. I'm gonna scrub the chest area, clean out this wound and get our boy here back to business."
By the time Griff retreated and stripped off his gloves, Rajah had started to wake up. Stacy loosened the rope to the halter, freeing his head, and he looked around, eyes still half closed, but brighter and more aware than Arden had yet seen them.
"He is gorgeous," she said.
"And he makes beautiful babies." Stacy smiled for the first time in the last three hours. "His reputation as a quality stud is getting around---we even had a couple of inquiries from Europe this year."
Then she looked at Griff, whose shirt and slacks were liberally stained with red blood and orange soap. "You, however are not beautiful."
"The near future includes a shower and change of clothes," he promised. "I just have to get the mess I made cleaned up."
Arden stepped forward. "I can help with that."
"Thanks." He sounded tired. "Just throw the instruments into the basin, then wrap everything else up in the biggest drape. We'll tape it up and throw it all out. Careful of the needles and blades---see 'em?"
"I do." She followed instructions, listening as Griff explained how Stacy should treat the wound, what kind of adverse signs to look for and when to call him.
"I'll be back out tomorrow afternoon, unless I hear from you before that." He put a hand on Stacy's shoulder. "I really do think he's going to be fine and go on to sire at least two Triple Crown winners."
Stacy actually laughed. "I hope you're right."
"Always," he told her. "Keep him in the stall but don't worry if he lies down. I'd be thrilled if he felt like rolling, so don't worry about that, either. Take his temperature every three hours or so, unless he seems punk, then take it right away. Most important of all..."
He looked at her, frowning, and Stacy's eyes widened with alarm. "What? What should I do?"
"Get yourself something to eat. Get some rest. Don't stand up all night watching the horse."
She allowed her whole body to sag in relief. "Yes, sir. I'll do that."
"Good." He glanced around the area, but Arden had checked to see that she had gathered everything they came with. "I think we'll do the same ourselves, for now."
Stacy walked them to the truck, thanking them profusely. "I'm so glad you were here to help," she told Arden. "I don't think my brain started working until that board went into the trash can."
"I'm glad to meet you and Rajah," Arden replied. "Do give yourself a chance to relax."
"I will." Stacy closed her door and backed away as Griff started the engine. She was still waving when they went down the hill and out of sight.
At the bottom of the slope, Griff braked and put the truck into Park. Then he slumped in the seat, letting his hands drop to his sides and his head fall back.
"Man," he said, with a long sigh.
"Tired?"
He put his palms to his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes. "I haven't focused that hard, that long, on anything this last six months."
"That's quite a case to come back to."
"I would have chosen a nice, easy dog spay my first day back. But you don't get to pick and choose. That's what keeps the work interesting." He paused. "More or less."
She wondered at that addition, but didn't comment. "Would you like me to drive? If you stay awake and give directions, I don't mind."
"No, I'm fine." He straightened and shifted back to Drive. "Again I have to say that you are a woman of many mysteries. I could almost believe you've taken nursing training of some kind. You were a big help, and I know Stacy appreciates that as much as I do."
"I'm glad I could contribute to the process of getting Rajah healed."
"Have you spent time with horses? Done some riding?"
She shook her head. "Not at all."
"Are you interested in trying? We could take a couple of the horses for a walk tomorrow, see the rest of the farm. We've got an older mare who can be trusted with the greenest of greenhorns."
"Does that mean me?"
"Yeah---somebody who doesn't know what they're doing."
"I'm not sure. Let me think about it." Sports had never been part of her life. She rarely exercised, other than her walks with Igor. And horses...what if she fell off? She'd never had a broken bone in her life, not even a sprained ankle.
Really, though, what did she have to lose? Her hands, once insured for a million dollars, were now worthless. She'd been sitting on an island for the last year doing absolutely nothing...except being bored.
"Let's do it," she told him. "I'm ready to try something new."
THE AFTERNOON SHADOWS HAD lengthened by the time they picked up the bike and got back to his parents' house. But the house itself was empty.
"Dad's still at work, of course." Griff had called the office during their drive. to make his report. "Mom's classes end at two-thirty, but she could have had a faculty meeting. Or gone to the gym, the grocery store, or to one of my sisters' houses. Who knows?"
He looked down at himself. "I need a shower and new clothes. Come upstairs with me." When she looked dubious, he smiled. "There's a sitting area where we all kind of hang out. You can wait there while I change."
Arden followed him up the steps. "This is a very large house. Did your parents build it?"
"My grandparents did the building." He flipped switches as they climbed, bringing light into the darkened house. "They had six kids---all meant to help with the farm work, of course. But Dad went off to college, the four girls got married to business types and my uncle went into the army. So Granddad gave up farming and moved with my grandmother to a retirement community in Tampa."
"Did you visit while you were there?"
He shook his head. "I didn't know what I'd say to this crusty old guy who spent most of his life wrestling food out of the red Georgia clay." Yet another example of his overall failure this last year. But Arden didn't need to bear that burden. He gestured to the U-shaped arrangement of recliner couches. "Have a seat. I'll be back in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable."
Once in his room, he started to unbutton his shirt and then stuck his head back out the door. "You can peek at my room, if you want to."
She looked so shocked and appalled at the idea, he couldn't help chuckling all the way through his shower.
After taking the time to shave again, he dried off and pulled on his jeans, but was still carrying his shirt with two fingers when he returned to his bedroom and found Arden staring at him from across the room.
"You said I could look," she said, her cheeks turning bright pink. "I didn't hear the water cut off."
Grinning, he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "No, the plumbing is pretty quiet. Be my guest."
She turned back to the bookshelf. "You really are a history buff. Churchill's history of World War II, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, and all these other thick tomes full of facts. No comic books for you?"
"Are you kidding?" He went to the chest in the corner and pulled out the first drawer. "What's your pleasure? Batman? Spiderman, Fantastic Four, Daredevil...and these are only the early issues. I've got more boxes in the attic."
Standing beside him, she laughed. "I understand. Looks like you read almost anything you could get your hands on."
Griff closed the drawer. "That would be correct. I can't remember a time when I didn't read."
"I don't see much in the way of sports trophies." She leaned back against the chest. "But surely you were an athlete."
"Why would you say that?"
He watched her gaze travel down the length of his body and up again, only then remembering he was standing there without a shirt on.
"You're in great physical shape." She spoke slowly, her voice a little deeper than usual. "You have a long stride and big hands."
His whole body tightened, belly and thighs and chest, arms and rear end, the muscles growing thick with tension. He cleared his throat. "Thanks. I, uh, played basketball, baseball. I've been on horseback since I was four or five. Swimming, running. Whatever seemed interesting at the time."
Only one physical activity, however, could possibly interest him at this very moment.
"Did you work construction on your six months off?" Arden had, incredibly, taken a step closer. "You've got a good tan."
He wasn't sure his brain retained enough blood supply to answer even simple questions. "I volunteered at some, uh, animal clinics on the islands. Most of them needed structural repairs. So, yeah, I worked construction."
Her hand alighted on his arm. "That doesn't sound like the wastrel you first implied you were." She stroked up to his shoulder. "I'm not the only one with mysteries, Dr. Campbell."
"Let's clear this one up right away. Are you by any chance seducing me?"
She watched as her other hand came to rest on his chest. "I think so." Then she looked into his face. "Yes."
"Glad to hear it." His shirt fell to the floor as he shaped the curve of her waist with his hands. "For a second there, I was afraid I'd wake up and discover you're just a dream."
"No dream." On tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his mouth. "No Igor."
"No complaints."
In the next instant, he pulled the cranberry-colored sweater she wore over her head, letting it fall somewhere behind her. Underneath, she wore a silky beige camisole and bra. He ached to get those off her, too.
But he couldn't concentrate because Arden had her hands all over him---his chest, his stomach, the bones of his ribs and the muscles of his back. Kneading, stroking, lightly scraping her nails over his skin, she had a good grasp of exactly what to do to drive him crazy.
And then she started using her mouth.
Griff bore it as long as he could, until his knees wobbled and his thighs shook and he knew he wouldn't be standing in another minute. Wrapping his arms tight around her, he walked both of them to the bed.
Sitting almost immediately became lying, and then Arden moved on top of him, with a knee on either side, to continue the torture.
"You have to know," he panted, because he couldn't resist saying it, "that this is the ultimate fantasy for most teenage guys in the universe."
Arden sat up and looked down at him. "What's that?" Her hands didn't stop their teasing.
He groaned. "Lying in your own bed in your own room, making love with a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly hot woman like you."
"You used to think about it?"
"Oh, yeah."
"And how did it end?"
"Messily."
"We can do better than that."
"Yeah?"
For an answer, she bent to kiss him again. There were no words then, because neither of them had the breath to speak. Clothes slid off, dropping to the carpet. Skin to skin, body to body, Griff investigated the beautiful shapes and textures, tastes and scents, sharing his own in return. Time and again they approached the summit, but backed away, slowed down, allowed trembling fingers to relax.
Until finally there was no backing down, no retreat, no stopping either of them. He fitted himself inside her and began to move, breathless with pleasure, until a rush of heat stunned him and a light erupted behind his closed eyelids, like fireworks and sunrise and starburst all at once, the most magnificent explosion he'd ever experienced.
And even though he didn't deserve it, because he hadn't been thinking about much of anything but how she made him feel, he heard Arden give her own strangled cry of pleasure. Her body stiffened beneath him, around him, and he knew she had reached the same glorious place.
Thankful for that gift, Griff rolled to his side, because he was bigger than she was, but kept her cradled against his body, her head pillowed on his arm.
"You're fantastic," he mumbled, smoothing hair back from her damp, flushed face. "I will never be the same."
Her sleepy smile widened. "I was inspired by the company I'm keeping."
"Thank you, ma'am." He kissed her forehead.
"Mmm. You're most welcome."
The day had ended pretty well, he concluded, after the disaster of meeting up with what's-her-name on the street. The stress of the surgery had added to his fatigue, though, and if he had his choice, he'd fall asleep right this minute. Maybe he should reach down to the bottom of the bed for a blanket first. Even with their shared warmth, Arden might get chilled---
"Griff?" His mother's voice came from the foot of the staircase. "Griff, are you up there?"
Arden gasped. They both sat straight up on the bed. Both totally naked. In flagrante delicto, indeed.
"Y-yeah, Mom. I'm here. Arden and I are both up here."
She glared at him, shaking her head.
"I'll come up," his mother said.
Griff went to the door, which was open, for heaven's sake. "Don't bother, Mom. We were just coming down. Really. We'll be right there."
A pregnant pause followed. He could practically visualize his mother as she interpreted the situation.
"Fine," she said, in a cool, reserved voice. "I'll make tea."
"Sounds good," he called. "See you in a minute."
He reached for his shorts and jeans and looked over to see Arden pulling up her own. He'd seen her embarrassed before, but never had her cheeks blazed so bright a red.
"I am not going down there," she whispered. "I refuse."
"What are you going to do? She knows you're here."
"Because you told her so!" Picking up her sweater, she fought her way in, realized it was inside out and swore as she took it off again. "How stupid could you be?"
Griff fought the urge to laugh. "It'll be okay, Arden. We're all adults. We'll get past this."
"I will not get past being caught in your bed---naked, of all things---by your mother, of all people."
"So you're going to..."
"I'm leaving by the front door." She pulled the sweater down to her waist and smoothed her hair. "Then I'm packing my suitcase and my dog and going back to Florida, where I will never have to face your mother, your father or your family ever again!"
Arden did exactly as she'd threatened. Storming into the guest cottage, though, she realized Igor needed to go for a walk.
She took him out the sunroom door and tried to stay behind the building as much as possible, in case Griff's mother might be able to see her through the kitchen windows of the main house. And if Griff came after her, perhaps he wouldn't search near the forest, where Igor liked to explore.
The sun lingered just above the ridges of the mountains, and the air had chilled considerably since noon, so Arden found herself getting cold long before Igor had satisfied his curiosity. She wasn't used to temperatures in the forties, of course. And she wasn't used to leaping straight from sexual satisfaction to a state of panicked embarrassment.
"Come on, Igor. Let's go." Tugging on his leash, she forced him to abandon an interesting fallen tree to walk back with her across the small lawn. "I'll make your dinner before we leave."
After mixing the canned and dry food she fed him, she refilled his water dish. Then she went into the bedroom to pack. But her hysteria had spent itself, and instead of pulling out her suitcase, she simply sat on the bed with her head in her hands.
Much as she wanted to, she couldn't blame anyone else for the disaster that had occurred. The entire situation had been her fault. She'd intended to stay in the sitting area upstairs, had even picked up a magazine to read. But then Griff had put his head out the door, sent her that troublemaking grin and invited her to peek into his room. His unbuttoned shirt had revealed a tanned, muscled chest and the strong column of his throat---images she couldn't get out of her mind once he disappeared again.
And she had to admit to being curious. What did a boy's room look like? She'd never seen one, never visited a family where she was encouraged to play in the children's rooms. A peek wouldn't hurt.
But she was always fascinated by the books in any room she entered. And so she'd been drawn to his collection...and then he'd walked out of the bathroom without a shirt. How was she supposed to keep her distance, seeing his chiseled shoulders, his strong forearms covered with golden hairs, and the flat plane of his stomach? When they stood close, he'd smelled of some tangy soap and fresh air. Seeing the droplets of water sprinkled across his chest, she'd simply given in to every impulse she'd managed to control over the past three days.
With a moan, Arden fell sideways and curled up on the bed. Three days. She'd just had sex---wild, joyful and totally wonderful sex---with a man whom she hadn't known existed before New Year's Eve.
And his mother had caught them...or near enough. How could Arden face Mrs. Campbell with that knowledge in both their minds? Surely this qualified as a horrible abuse of her hosts' hospitality. Arden wouldn't be surprised if Griff's parents asked her to leave. She should really save them the trouble and take off.
But she had promised Griff she would stay until the wedding, and she hated to go back on her word. The look on his face today as he'd confronted Zelda had revealed the depth of his pain. Some people wouldn't understand how much courage such a gesture required. For them, returning to the place where you'd been exposed and mortified might not seem so hard.
Arden knew differently. In Italy, she'd walked on stage three nights in a row to play the Bach D Minor Concerto for Two Violins with the top violinist in the local orchestra---one of the women with whom Andre had betrayed her. After each performance, she had held hands with that woman as they took their bows and accepted a kiss on each cheek. The other woman had only smiled, but Arden had read the truth in her eyes.
And in her dressing room that last night, Arden had lost the baby---Andre's baby. Within weeks, she'd abandoned her career and the life she'd always known. How could she sentence Griff to a similar emotional desolation?
Leaving now would also mean abandoning her hope of having a baby. This wasn't the right time in her cycle---she needed another week, at least, to be truly fertile. If she didn't fulfill her part of the bargain, Griff couldn't be expected to complete his. Everything they'd done so far would have been for nothing.
Nothing, that is, except the pure physical ecstasy of making love with a man unlike any she'd ever known. Arden admitted her experience was limited---she'd lost her virginity to Andre and hadn't been with another man until today. But she'd slept with Andre for two years without coming close to the exquisite sensations of this afternoon. The earth had, indeed, moved. Now she wanted to experience that earthquake again. And again.
Blowing out a deep breath, she sat up on the bed and pushed her hair out of her face. Staying meant confronting Mrs. Campbell and the situation. She would have to brazen it out, she decided, leaving the explanations and reparations to Griff.
They were his family, after all. This was his home.
She was just passing through.
GRIFF WAS SPREADING garlic butter on slices of French bread when a shy tap sounded on the kitchen door.
"Come in," he called, gesturing with the knife in his hand. "Welcome to Italian night."
Arden stepped inside, shutting the door quickly behind her.
"I'm the sous-chef," he told her, going over for a quick kiss. "She gives me the menial tasks. And lets me eat the food when it's ready, which is the important point."
"I hope you'll join us," his mother added. "I always make more pasta than any of us need to eat."
"That sounds delicious." Arden cleared her throat. "Can I help?"
Griff looked at his mother and saw that she was about to refuse...but then, in a split second, she changed her mind. "I've put vegetables by the sink." She brought a big wooden bowl and tongs out of the cabinet. "Would you toss together a salad?"
Arden smiled. "I'd love to."
His dad came in the door from the garage about seven-thirty. "Viva la pasta!" he shouted, after he'd kissed his wife. "Just what a working vet needs---besides a glass of wine. Anybody else?"
Griff exchanged looks with his mother and with Arden. They all said, "Me" at the same moment.
"Right." Jake nodded. "It's been that kind of day."
Talk over dinner covered the emergencies at the clinic---a Chihuahua having trouble birthing her puppies, a Labrador that had eaten a bath towel and, of course, Rajah's surgery.
"Sounds like that turned out pretty well, considering," Jake said. "I called Stacy on my way home. She said the horse is bright-eyed and eating. She also talked about how fabulous you and your assistant were. Who went with you?"
"Arden."
His dad sent a surprised glance in Arden's direction. "The surgery didn't bother you?"
She shook her head. "I thought it was fascinating. Although Griff did most of the hard work. I just wiggled the stupid board loose." She hadn't said much else during the cooking or eating process.
"I thought I'd go out there again tomorrow and check up on him." Griff took a second helping of pasta and tomato sauce. "Stacy was a little squeamish about packing the wound."
"Enough." His mother held up a hand. "No graphic details at dinner."
Griff and his dad rolled their eyes at each other.
"Besides," she continued, "I have a slight dilemma we should deal with."
"And what's that, darlin'?" His dad used his second glass of wine as an excuse to thicken his slight Georgia accent. In the family's ongoing Gone With the Wind drama, he took the role of Ashley Wilkes.
"Dee Patrick called me this afternoon. She wanted to assure me that the invitation we received for her cocktail party Friday night, in honor of Zelda and Al, included Griff and his fiancée."
Griff continued to twirl his linguine around his fork, watching the process closely. He could feel Arden's gaze on his face.
"I wanted to tell you two so you could decide what to do about that. There's also a dinner party next Saturday at the club, hosted by Trip and Kayli Morgan. I expect I'll hear from her tomorrow."
Carefully chewing his pasta, Griff didn't respond right away. He realized his mistake when his dad zeroed in on the important detail.
"Your fiancée?" He looked from Griff to Arden and back again. "It's official, then? You're getting married?"
Words failed him. Fortunately, Arden came to the rescue.
"We've talked about it," she said calmly. "And Griff did introduce me to Zelda as his fiancée this morning. But since we haven't known each other all that long, or spent a long period of time together, we'd like to wait before making a public announcement. Right now, it's more of a family affair."
"Including Zelda," Jake said. "And her mother. Which means the whole town." He frowned at Griff. "You let your pride get the better of you, I'm thinking."
Griff relaxed his clenched teeth. "I guess I did. No harm done. I don't mind the whole town knowing about Arden. She's not something to hide under a barrel."
"The explanations are awkward," his mother murmured.
His temper surged. "Too bad."
"You'll be polite to your mother." His dad got to his feet, looming over the table. "Or you'll answer to me."
Griff stood as well. "Yes, sir." He looked down at his mother. "I apologize, Mom. I didn't mean to snap at you. If anybody wants an explanation, just refer them to me. I will politely explain the situation to everybody in town, one by one by one, if necessary."
She nodded. "All right."
"Now, if you'll excuse us, I'm going to walk Arden to the cottage. I'll return shortly and I'll be happy to clean up the kitchen." Not that there was much to do. His mother had always been an avid proponent of "clear as you go."
"That's fine," his mom said.
But Griff, still furious, hadn't waited for permission. He had pulled Arden's chair out and was opening the back door.
"Good night," Arden said quietly, with a nod to each of his parents. "A delicious dinner, Mrs. Campbell. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," slipped through just before he shut the door with a sharp push. Grabbing Arden's hand, he headed across the lawn.
"You walk very fast when you're angry," she commented. "I'm going to have to start wearing jogging shoes all the time."
"Sorry," he growled, slowing down. "I'm just tired of being treated like a kid---a little kid with behavior issues."
"Parents develop habits of thought, I suspect, that can be difficult to change."
"You're too generous. My dad needs to control every situation. My mother wants everything to go smoothly. Running counter to either of those expectations causes friction."
"We're all adults. We can deal with it."
He stopped dead and turned to look at her, aided by the full moon overhead. "I recognize the source. But what are you trying to say?"
The cold wind whipped around them as she hesitated. "You were so casual, when I was upset about the...the situation earlier. Why not apply the same standard to this problem?"
Griff crossed his arms. "Go on."
"Your parents can hold whatever expectations make them happy. But what you decide to do is an entirely separate issue."
"Easy enough to say."
"And very hard to do?" She shrugged. "I guess that depends on whether you're an adult or an overgrown adolescent."
"That's harsh."
"That's truth, Griff. Independence comes with a price, usually a painful one." She turned toward the cottage. "Now I'm freezing and I'm going inside."
He followed her. "You sound like you've had experience."
"Yes." When she tried to close the door, he slipped past her and shut it behind him. She glared up in exasperation. "What are you doing?"
"I want to hear about your declaration of independence."
"The details aren't important."
"To me they are. What happened?"
"I told you this morning. I broke off my engagement."
He thought for a moment. "Because you discovered him with your mother. From whom you are now estranged. So you broke up with her, as well. You kicked them both out of your life?"
"I couldn't live with either of them."
"And you went to Chaos Key. Alone."
"Yes. Until Igor."
She looked so forlorn, he couldn't resist putting his arms around her. And he breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't resist.
"You're a strong lady, Arden Burke." He stroked his fingers lightly through her hair. "And you're right. The decisions I make don't have to meet parental expectations." Lifting her chin, he kissed her delectable lips. "I demonstrated that this afternoon, I believe."
She smiled against his mouth. "Definitely a rally for independence."
The magic between them flared again and Griff could easily have surrendered to the flow. A whole night in bed with Arden, a chance to drift into sleep and then wake with her warm body against his...
"I have to clean up the kitchen." He kissed her cheeks, nose and forehead. "You can get a good night's sleep."
"Not what I wanted," she complained, with her arms locked around his neck.
"Me, neither. But I offered."
"You talk too much," she told him, opening the door to the wind.
One last kiss and he walked out into the cold. "I know."
THE MORNING DAWNED WET as well as cold. Arden awakened early after another deep sleep, and had just poured herself a second cup of tea when the phone rang.
"Lousy weather for a horseback ride." Griff's voice carried an early morning growl. "So I suggested to Dad that I come to work today and take Friday off for our ride. What do you think?"
Her first thought was panic---what would she do for a whole day without him?
Sanity returned with the thought that she'd only known him four days altogether. "That sounds like a good plan. Enjoy your first day back."
"I'll do my best."
As the morning progressed, Arden couldn't deny the relief of being by herself again, not having to consider someone else's opinion on what she ate for breakfast or what to do afterward. A long bubble bath and a conditioning treatment for her hair consumed several hours, along with a romance novel by a favorite author she found in the shelf-lined room designed as a library.
Coming out of the bathroom after the last hair rinse, she heard the answering machine switch on.
"Hey, Arden, this is Kathy. Um, Kathy Burton. Griff's sister. Anyway, since he went to work today, Dana and Lauren and I thought maybe you'd like to do some shopping this afternoon. There's the cocktail party on Friday and the dinner dance on Saturday, and I don't know about you but I don't have a stitch to wear. We thought we'd meet at Pirouette for lunch at one. Call me and I'll come pick you up."
Shopping with the sisters. Of all the events she'd encountered so far in Griff's hometown, this, at least, she was prepared for.
When a vintage red Volkswagen Bug stopped in front of the cottage at twelve-thirty, Arden ran through icy rain to get inside.
"Not quite our usual winter weather." Kathy smoothly shifted gears as they chugged along the highway toward town. "I'm glad you had a chance to see Sheridan in the sunshine first."
Arden had stopped wondering how everyone knew everything about her day with Griff. "I enjoyed the tour very much, especially the park. I---" She almost said "I wish" but managed to catch herself. "I want to see it in summertime, with all the flowers blooming."
Kathy winked at her. "The way I heard it, you and Griff weren't spending your time there observing the scenery." Everyone knew everything. "Do you live in town," Arden asked, "or near your parents?"
"Right now we're in a little bungalow in town. But we're looking for a larger place we can afford. We'll need more room soon." She patted her waistline. "About June eighteenth, we think."
Arden tried to breathe, but felt as if her lungs, heart and belly had shriveled inside her skin. "You're expecting a baby?" She swallowed hard and struggled to smile. "Congratulations."
Kathy's grin brightened the gray day. "Thanks. We're excited."
A black cloud of envy filled Arden's head. What else should she say? How could she hide her own despair? "Does Griff know? He hasn't mentioned it."
"I haven't had a chance to tell him since he got home."
"He'll be pleased, I'm sure." Realizing her hands had balled into fists, Arden stretched out her fingers, though relaxing any part of her body didn't seem possible at this moment.
"Yeah, he does like kids. He's the only one of the four of us who actually earned money babysitting in junior high. He'll be a great dad one day."
Assuming he knew he was a father. Could Arden change the subject now? "I love your car---not many people have the original model. Where did you find it?"
"My husband works on old cars as a hobby. This one was my wedding present."
"What does he do when he's not working on old cars?
"Didn't Griff tell you? He's a minister. Sermons every Sunday, Wednesday night services, always on call---that's my Jim."
Arden sat in silence for a few moments, grateful that the heavier traffic in town had claimed Kathy's attention. The prospect of spending the weeks until Valentine's Day with a family anticipating its first grandchild was enough to send her straight back to Chaos Key right away. She wanted her own baby. Not the vicarious pleasure of someone else's pregnancy.
And the thought of a minister as a close member of Griff's family worried her. He would have strong opinions about children conceived without benefit of marriage. His ideas would be probably be heeded by the rest of the Campbells. If he discovered she was pregnant and planning to leave, she doubted he would remain silent.
And she was beginning to wonder if keeping a secret of any kind was possible in the town of Sheridan, Georgia.
"Here we are." Kathy pulled the Bug into a parking space in front of an outdoor shopping center. "It's still raining and I didn't bring an umbrella, so we'll have to make a run for it. See the lime-green door straight ahead? That's Pirouette."
They left the car and began walking quickly across the slick, wet asphalt. Arden had worn black leather boots for just this sort of situation, but Kathy had chosen high heeled pumps in a bright red.
She laughed as she drew attention to the fact. "I won't be wearing these kind of shoes in a couple months. I have to take advantage of every chance I get."
A moment later, she cried out. Arden, a couple of steps ahead, turned just in time to see her drop to the pavement.
Rushing back, she knelt by Kathy, who was now on her knees. "Are you okay? Should we call an ambulance?"
"No. No, I'm fine. Just give me a hand to stand up."
A man joined them, and helped out with a hand under Kathy's elbow. "You watch yourself, Miss Kathy," he warned. "You don't want to be falling like that in your condition."
Griff's sister rolled her eyes as he walked away. "You can't keep anything quiet in this town."
"I believe you." Arden offered her own elbow. "Hold on to me until we're out of the rain."
Inside the restaurant, their wet shoes slipped on the marble floor tiles, so Kathy kept a grip on Arden until they reached the table. Seeing them, Dana and Lauren jumped out of their chairs. "What's wrong?"
"What happened? Are you all right?"
Kathy shushed them as she sat down. "Yes, yes, I'm okay, except for scraped knees and a huge case of embarrassment. It wasn't that bad a fall. See?"
As they stared at her, she swept her thick, curling hair back from her face and ears. "I didn't even lose my hearing aids."
By the time Kathy dropped Arden off at the cottage, the cloudy day had given way to darkness. Standing on the porch surrounded by shopping bags, Arden watched the Bug's rear lights travel up the drive and past the Campbells' house. Then she opened the door and shifted her purchases to the floor of the front hall before going to fetch Igor for a predinner walk.
Listening to him sniff among the wet leaves and grass, Arden finally had time to consider the afternoon and its implications. Lauren, Dana and Kathy could be as funny as Griff and were just as easy to talk to. After a delicious lunch, the four of them had prowled through every dress shop in Sheridan, and there were quite a few. The Campbell sisters had teased each other, but also complimented and critiqued when necessary. Arden had received what she recognized as a gentle version of the same sisterly treatment. She had enjoyed the sense of family immensely.
And therein lay the danger.
She could like them too much for her own peace of mind. Depending on Griff's sisters for opinions and advice---or just for the pleasure of their company---would be all too easy.
The revelation of Kathy's hearing problems further complicated the issue. Arden hadn't asked for specifics and no one had volunteered. The sisters might think Griff would have explained to his "fiancée." Kathy didn't seem to have the smallest difficulty understanding conversation, even in a crowded restaurant setting. On the other hand, Arden had found herself losing the clarity of voices even more frequently than she had at dinner with the Campbell clan. Perhaps the clatter of dishware had made the situation worse. Or her condition might have deteriorated.
She wasn't sure whether Kathy's pregnancy announcement or the reminder of her own impending deafness had been the low point of the day.
With Igor walked and fed, she carried her shopping bags into the smaller bedroom to sort through her purchases. Dresses for day parties and dances and the wedding, plus some clothes for horseback riding soon hung from a rack on the closet door. She'd also indulged in a new outfit simply because she loved it---dark gray leggings and a silvery cashmere sweater to wear over them would be warm and cozy on cold rainy evenings in Georgia.
The doorbell sounded just as she slipped the sweater over her head. Igor ran down the hallway ahead of her to stand guard at the door. Through one sidelight window she could see Griff on the porch.
"Back to the sunroom," she told Igor, clipping the leash to his collar and leading him away. "We're going to have to work on peace negotiations between you and Griff. But until we do..." As she shut him in, she was pleased to see the dog settle on his bed, apparently content to observe life through the windows.
Then she hurried back to the front door. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, pulling back the panel. "I..." She hesitated, because he held a big carton in front of him, which gave off a tantalizing aroma. "What do you have there?"
"Dinner from New Moon, the best Chinese food in Georgia." As she stepped back, he came in sideways and headed for the kitchen. "I decided the weather discouraged taking you out, so I'd bring the restaurant here." He set the box on the kitchen table.
"Also champagne, because..." He shrugged. "Because we like champagne."
"Excellent planning." Arden moved toward the cabinets. "I'll get plates---"
His arms came around her from behind, and his warm mouth pressed against the curve between her neck and shoulder, revealed by the wide cowl of the sweater. "I thought we could reheat the food later," he murmured, stringing kisses over her skin. "What I'm really craving wasn't on the New Moon menu."
Romance novels spoke of thrills---Arden now understood the sensation, like tiny streams of excitement coursing over and through her body from the places where he set his lips. She wanted so much to surrender and let desire flood through her.
But the revelations of the day tied her to sanity. Her doubts and worries about the situation refused to be shut off.
"Mmm," Griff said, bringing his hands to her shoulders. "You're tense tonight." He kneaded gently, finding all the tight spots between her elbows and the nape of her neck.
Arden almost whimpered. "That feels so good." Tears burned her eyes at the intensity of the relief.
"My dad let slip the big news today." He wrapped his hands around her head, massaging a different place with each finger.
She could barely think for the pleasure. "About...?"
"Kath's baby." His fingers shifted, resumed their magic. "I'm gonna kill her for not telling me." Annoyance edged his tone.
"She wanted to." Arden couldn't believe she was playing peacemaker between brother and sister. "You've only been home a couple of days."
"That should have been the first thing she said. 'Welcome home, bro. I'm having a baby.'"
"Perhaps she didn't want to distract attention from...um...me."
"Maybe. Stupid." His hands settled quietly on her shoulders. "Feel better?"
"Much." She was tempted to suggest they eat now and gradually recover the mood for sex with champagne.
Sex with Griff was, however, the only way to reach her goal. She'd agreed to this crazy plan in order to get pregnant. The more often they had sex, the more likely she would be to conceive.
And so she turned in Griff's arms, raising her face to his. "Now, what can we do to satisfy your appetite?"
AFTER THREE DAYS OF RAIN, Friday served up sunny skies and warmer temperatures. Griff woke early, with anticipation, and puttered around the house for several hours until he could legitimately show up at the cottage at nine to take Arden riding.
She met him at the door wearing breeches, boots and a heavy sweater.
"You look great," he said, admiring the fit of those tight pants and the line of her legs in riding boots. "But I thought you said you'd never done this before."
Her smile was sheepish. "I haven't. Kathy suggested I'd feel more comfortable in the right clothes, and be safer with boots instead of sneakers. She took me to a tack shop and helped me find what I needed."
Griff shook his head. "That girl is an expert when it comes to shopping and spending money---other people's money, especially." Then he grinned. "But I love her. I'm not complaining, as far as you're concerned. You will enjoy the ride more without a pair of jeans chafing your legs. And the gloves are a good idea---you have soft hands. So, are you ready?"
"I'm ready," she declared, then swallowed hard. "I think."
"You'll do fine." He led her to the pasture behind the cottage, took a couple of halters off the rack by the gate and handed her the red one.
"This is for Dorsey. She's the quietest, gentlest mare on the planet and pretty much goes on autopilot. All you have to do is sit there and look beautiful." He winked at Arden. "So you've got this covered."
She smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"That's what I'm hoping." To prove it, he leaned in for a quick kiss.
And then lingered, because the truth was he could have kissed her all day long, could have turned both of them around to go back to the cottage and its warm, cozy bed. Every minute he spent holding her, every hour they spent making love, left him completely satisfied, and at the same time hungry for more---an unsolvable, delicious dilemma.
But he banked the fire she'd ignited and called up a grin, instead. "Let's get those horses."
The animals, of course, had decided to spend their morning in a sunny spot at the corner of the field farthest from the gate. They looked up from nosing the ground as the humans approached.
"Dorsey is the dark one," Griff told Arden, "the bay with the white moon on her forehead. Cowboy is brown and white and black---a tricolor pinto, we call him. Or paint." He demonstrated with Cowboy how to put on a halter. "Nose through here, pull up behind the jaw, then buckle behind the ears. That's all there is to it. Now you try on Dorsey."
After just a couple of false starts, Arden got the halter in place. She grinned at Griff in triumph and he nodded.
"Good job. Now we lead them to the barn." He pointed in the general direction. "Back across the field, through the gate on the other side and then to the left behind those trees."
A quick study, Arden followed his instructions about brushing and hoof cleaning without a problem, thanks in part to Dorsey's patient nature. The saddles and bridles followed quickly, then they went back to the stable yard to mount.
"There's nothing to hold on to," Arden said, staring at the English saddle on Dorsey's back. "How do I stay on? For that matter, how do I get there?"
"That horn you were expecting just gets in the way," Griff assured her. "Come around here, to the mounting block." Leading Dorsey, he positioned her beside the low set of steps. "Climb to the top," he instructed Arden. "Put your left foot in the stirrup...yep. Grab her mane with your left hand---no, you won't hurt her. Hold the saddle with your right. Now just swing that right leg up and over. Up, up...and over. Then sit. See? Not so hard."
"Whew." She looked scared and excited at the same time. "It's farther from the ground than I thought." Wiggling a little, she settled in. "And the reins?"
"Like this." He showed her how to position the leather straps through her fingers. "Just leave them loose for now. Dorsey won't go anywhere until Cowboy does. So I'll park you right here---" he led her a few steps ahead "---until I get on, and then we'll ride."
He mounted Cowboy without using the block, and found Arden staring at him when he sat down.
"How do you do that from the ground? He's so tall."
"Practice---I've been doing this since my head only came to the bottom of the stirrup." He brought Cowboy alongside Dorsey. "The hard part's done. Now we just sit and look at the scenery."
Griff couldn't have asked for a nicer morning. The horses behaved, and Arden gradually relaxed until she looked as if she belonged in the saddle. He'd missed the farm in his months away, so reacquainting himself with the nooks and crannies, the hills and dells and groves, was a pleasure all in itself.
Arden didn't talk a lot, but a woman who lived alone would not, by nature, be a gabbler. He didn't know any of her habits very well, although sometimes he felt as if she'd always been part of his life. Their minds seemed calibrated to fit together, so he wasn't always explaining his jokes or why he'd made a particular comment. She simply understood.
And though many mysteries remained hidden behind that beautiful face, they bothered him less and less. He didn't need to know everything about her. What she brought to the here and now was enough.
Not even considering the fantastic sex. If she wasn't pregnant now, it wasn't because they hadn't tried.
The thought cast a shadow over his sunny morning. Arden had come to Sheridan because they'd made a deal. He would get to show her off and she would get pregnant. Whether or not they enjoyed their time together was, in fact, irrelevant.
Griff had a hard time remembering that detail. He liked her more with each meeting, in private or in public. He craved making love to her the way an alcoholic craves liquor. She could become very necessary in his life, very fast. Except she would be planning to leave town once Zelda and Al had left for their honeymoon.
"I think you've run the gauntlet this week," he said, distracting himself from the prospect of a future without Arden Burke. "First, a family dinner---though not every relative we could call on was present."
She laughed. "Oh, heavens. How many more could there be?"
"Hundreds. Then the ultimate embarrassment with my mother and a family argument."
"Let's not go there."
"You survived lunch and shopping with the sisters, even meeting the ex. Plus horse surgery and Miss Patty's reminiscences."
"There's this weekend still to come, though."
The cocktail party and the dinner. "Let's not go there today, either. As far as I'm concerned, we've crossed the first set of hurdles, and you cleared every single one."
"I'm glad you think so."
"Has anything come up that I need to fill you in on? Any questions or comments we should cover?"
She rode in silence, letting Dorsey choose her footing across the steep slope of the hill as they headed toward Cripple Creek. Once they'd crossed the stream, with Dorsey stepping carefully across the rocks, Arden stirred in the saddle.
"I was surprised to learn that Kathy wears hearing aids."
He hadn't expected that comment. "Since babyhood, as a matter of fact."
"Can I ask what happened?"
"She caught bacterial meningitis, though we never figured out how. We were just lucky we didn't lose her. When she finally did recover, our parents gradually realized she couldn't hear well. The hearing aids help, and she's a whiz at lip reading. All of us learned sign language, thinking we'd need it, but we almost never use it with her."
"I wouldn't have guessed." Arden stared straight ahead. "She seems to understand even when she's not looking at you."
"Her hearing is about forty percent, I think. So if the surroundings aren't too noisy, with too many voices, she makes out pretty well."
"I see." Arden nodded, but still didn't look at him. "So she won't pass her...problem...on to her child."
"Nope. Purely an accident. They might have a few qualms about the vaccine, but I suspect Jim will convince her to go for it. Homeschooling is all well and good, but even colleges still look at your shot record before they let you in the door." He'd expected to provoke a laugh, or at least a smile, but Arden didn't seem to hear. Or just didn't get it.
After a minute, though, she returned from wherever her mind had been wandering. "So what's the secret to going faster with Dorsey, here?"
Griff grinned. "That's the first step. I never offer to speed up until a new rider asks. Now, for the trot, what you're gonna do..."
Within a few minutes, Dorsey and Cowboy were trotting along the level stretch of road, with Arden posting as if she'd invented the practice. Cheeks pink with the wind, hair flowing and eyes bright, she was a picture of health and happiness that smote Griff in the heart.
I'd be happy to call Sheridan home, he thought, if Arden Burke would stay here with me.
THAT EVENING, Griff pulled the Jaguar into a line of cars snaking up to the front door of the Patrick home.
"Valet parking," he said. "Of course." Instead of his usual relaxed driving position, he sat upright with both hands gripping the steering wheel. He hadn't smiled even once since picking Arden up at the cottage.
"Tell me about the Patricks," she suggested. "What should I know to make this ordeal easier?"
"Ted Patrick practices law---personal injury and malpractice cases, mostly. Hence the huge house. His wife, Dee, is Zelda's mother's closest friend, president of the Garden Club and the Women's Club and the Junior League. She pretty much runs the town. Their son works for his dad and their daughter married more money. I think she also does room decorating."
"Interior design, I believe it's called."
"Right." He tapped the wheel with his fingers. "If we could move on, actually leave the vehicle, then we could get this thing over with."
Arden shifted in her seat, feeling slightly smothered even in her beautiful, spacious car. Her stomach hadn't been feeling good all afternoon, and now her muscles ached, no doubt from the two hours she'd spent on Dorsey's back. Griff had gone to visit Rajah after their ride, so she'd taken a nap, thinking she'd wake refreshed and ready for the party. But she still felt tired.
Perhaps the stress of the situation had made her nervous. She'd been a victim of stage fright occasionally in the past, at especially important concerts. Once she was involved with the music, her nerves and her twinges had always disappeared.
So she agreed with Griff wholeheartedly---they would be better off if they could just get into the house.
They reached the head of the line, finally---the spot in front of the steps, where the car doors were opened by a young man on each side.
"It's showtime," Griff muttered, and reached over to squeeze Arden's hand. Hard.
"Hey, Dr. Griff." The redhead on the driver's side shook his hand.
"Hey, Rusty." Upon emerging from the car, Griff assumed his usual friendly demeanor. "Good to see you."
"Thanks. Hey, remember my hound, Bo? Thought we'd lost him to distemper, but you pulled him through? You oughta see him these days---ninety pounds of muscle, fit as a fiddle."
"I'm glad to hear that. You're keeping him vaccinated now, right?" Coming around the car, Griff put his hand at the small of Arden's back as they started up the steps.
"Sure thing, Doc. I learned my lesson. And don't worry--- I'll take good care of your car here."
"Thanks. There are a few advantages," he murmured into Arden's ear, "to having everybody in town know your face."
"I'm glad you think so." She was grateful she couldn't say the same.
Just inside the front door, a man and a woman greeted the guests. "Griff Campbell. Good to see you, son." From his short, stylish salt-and-pepper hair to his custom-made suit and Italian loafers, everything about Ted Patrick whispered money.
"You, too, Mr. Patrick. Let me introduce you to Arden Burke."
The attorney's hands were soft as they closed over Arden's. "I'm glad to meet you, Arden. Please enjoy yourself this evening."
Like a stage curtain, Arden's public persona fell into place without effort. "I'm sure I will. You have a lovely home, Mr. Patrick."
"All the credit belongs to my wife," he said, passing them along to the plump blonde woman on his left. "I just make the money. She spends it. Look who's here, honey. Griff and his friend."
"Griff!" Dee Patrick's squeal turned several heads in their direction. Standing on tiptoe, she threw her arms around his neck. "It's so good to see you home again."
His face reddened---from embarrassment or lack of oxygen, Arden wasn't sure which---and he stepped back as soon as she released him. "Thank you, Mrs. Patrick. This is---"
"Arden." Dee's look was coy and her hands were cold. "But I've heard there's a little more than friendship going on with you two. I expect we'll be having another nuptial party here real soon, won't we? Now, y'all go get yourselves something to drink and something to eat. I'm sure everybody here will want to talk to you, once they've seen Zelda and Al."
To Arden's dismay, she seemed to be correct in that prediction. As soon as she and Griff moved away from the reception area, two friends he knew from high school stepped up to talk to them. A married couple of about the same age joined them, but then the two men were replaced by an older man and woman whose daughter Griff had dated. As his date, Arden couldn't move from the spot, hemmed in as they both were by a constantly changing barrier of busybodies.
Across the room, however, the official stars of the evening drew an even bigger crowd. Zelda wore a fitted red dress that brought highlights to her honey-blond hair and depth to her blue eyes. The diamond on her left hand flashed under the lights, but was not remarkable for its size. Her smiles seemed genuine, and when she looked up at her groom-to-be, Arden felt her throat catch. Their locked gazes blatantly conveyed love and trust.
Al McPherson was not the brawny type Arden had expected, but slender instead, even bony, with a long, serious face, deep-set eyes and a sheaf of straight dark hair falling over his forehead. He wore a plain charcoal suit and a nondescript tie, and though he smiled easily, he never released his grip on Zelda's hand.
The crowd around Arden and Griff shifted again, but when she focused on the new faces, she was relieved to recognize Kathy and Lauren.
"We thought you looked trapped," Lauren said in a stage whisper, as Griff remained captured by an older gentleman who would not be dislodged. "So we brought you some punch."
"Wonderful." Arden took a sip and closed her eyes in relief. "I didn't realize how thirsty I was."
"You two are a sensation," Kathy said. "Zelda's probably jealous that you've taken over her party."
The thought made Arden even queasier. "I hope not. I certainly didn't intend to." Turning away from Griff slightly, she drew the sisters closer. All the noise in the room made following the conversation difficult enough. She didn't want Kathy and Lauren to speak loud enough to be overheard---especially by their brother.
"Don't be so dramatic," Lauren told her sister. "Zelda's not the jealous type and you know it."
Arden looked at her in surprise. "She isn't?"
Kathy pouted but Lauren shook her head. "Zelda's a nice girl. We were all ready to call her sister until she dumped Griff."
Giving in to her own curiosity, Arden asked, "You didn't have a clue that she might not be committed to marrying him?"
"Nobody knew," Lauren replied.
"I did," Kathy said at the same time.
Arden and Lauren both stared at her. "You did?" her sister demanded.
"I saw her with Al once, up in Clarksville, in the mountains. They were sitting at a table, holding hands, talking. Neither of them looked happy. I knew it was serious."
"And you didn't tell Griff?"
"I'm not a snitch. And I didn't want to hurt him...or make it any easier for her."
"For who?" Griff said at that moment, pivoting to join them. "Or whom, maybe?"
Lauren and Kathy seemed to have been struck dumb, so Arden supplied an answer. "Dana. We were discussing our shopping trip the other day."
"Was everybody as successful as Arden?" he asked his sisters. "Because the dress she's wearing is a scorcher."
Arden smiled, glad to think that she'd made the right choice with her clinging, strapless black dress and finely woven stole.
Before Lauren or Kathy could respond, though, he looked over their heads in the direction of the guests of honor. "The crowd has shrunk to a manageable size. Shall we pay our respects?"
"Have a drink first." Kathy held out the punch she'd brought for him.
Griff took the glass and tossed back the pink liquid in one swallow. His face contorted. "Bleh. Pink lemonade and champagne? What a foul idea." He slipped his hand between Arden's elbow and her ribs. "Here we go."
His grip got tighter as they approached Zelda and Al, driving Arden's tension higher in response. Somehow, as they joined the receiving line, the dynamics of crowd movement brought them to the guests of honor right away.
Zelda's eyes widened when she saw them. "Hi, Griff. And...and Arden, right?"
"Yes," Arden said, extending her hand. "We didn't get to talk on Monday morning. You have my best wishes on your upcoming marriage."
"Th-thanks." Zelda's hand shook her as fingers brushed Arden's. "It was nice of you both to come tonight."
"It was nice of your mother to ask Dee to invite us," Griff said, his voice unusually deep.
All at once, they seemed to be the only people standing with the happy couple. Arden felt as if a bank of stage lights highlighted the four of them.
"Al, honey." Zelda tugged on the hand holding hers. "Look. It's Griff and---and his friend, Arden."
Al turned to face them. "I'm pleased to meet you, Arden. Welcome to Sheridan."
Then his stony brown gaze met Griff's steel blue one. Al's right hand lifted, wrist stiff and straight, at the same time as Griff extended his. The two hands, one light-skinned and the other bronzed from the sun, met and gripped until both sets of knuckles turned white. Each man spoke one word.
"Al."
"Griff."
In the next instant, as if struck by a hammer, the two hands broke apart. Al felt for Zelda's grasp. Griff's fingers clenched Arden's elbow.
He spoke into the silence. "We're out of here."
Before the collective gasp had died away, he swept her past the Patricks and out the front door.
The downside of valet parking was that you couldn't make a quick getaway. You had to wait for the attendant to notice you, find your ticket and then bring the right car back. You had to scrounge in your wallet or your pockets for a tip---or borrow from the woman you came with, which was a total embarrassment. Only then was escape possible.
Griff blew out a huge breath when the doors finally shut on both sides of the Jag and he could put his foot on the gas pedal. After a few minutes of driving blindly through the Patricks' upscale neighborhood, he brought his brain back on track.
"How about a real dinner? Somewhere my suit and your dress fit in? We do have a fancy French restaurant in Sheridan, it's called---"
"I don't think so, thanks." Arden's voice sounded tight, rigidly controlled.
"What's wrong?" He moved his hand to cover hers on the seat, but she slipped her fingers away. "Arden?"
He heard her sharp breath in the darkness. "Are you going to ignore what just happened? What you did?"
Griff pulled his hand back. "Sounds like a good option."
"You investigate the behavior of others---you want to know every detail of my past, my---my motivations and my reasons, my plans for the future. But you don't stop to examine your own?"
Jaw clenched, he took whatever turns became available, heedless of direction. "I'm aware of my own faults. Believe me, I know exactly where I come up short."
"This is not about failing, Griff. This is about facing your life and making it work."
"Which you, living like a hermit on a deserted island, know so much about?"
"I made my choice deliberately and was quite...satisfied, thank you very much."
"That's not true, Arden, and you know it. You're happier after a week in Sheridan than you ever were on that pile of sand."
"And you are an expert at evading the issue. But I won't allow it this time. What you just did, in the middle of a very nice party, was rude and immature."
"I shook their hands. I said hello."
"And you stalked out as if you'd shaken hands with the devil himself."
"Well..."
"Are you still so in love with her that you can't bear to see her happy?"
He opened his mouth...and then closed it again because the automatic answer he'd started to give surprised him so much.
When was the last time he'd thought about Zelda as...well, as the woman he wanted to be with for the rest of his life? For six months, he'd been laboring under a sense of rejection and loss, but was he missing her---or simply the habit of being half of a pair?
Because these days, when he saw a woman in his mind's eye, when he thought about who to talk to, spend time with...make love with all day and night...the face was Arden's. The body in his dreams, the voice in his head, the laugh he wanted to hear when he encountered something funny---they all belonged to Arden Burke.
His foot had eased off the gas as he pondered, and the car had slowed almost to a stop. He braked and shifted into Park, then turned to face her. "Arden---"
But now she sat with her head against the back of the seat and her eyes closed.
"Honestly, Griff, I'm really not feeling well. I'd like to go home---" She stopped short, then continued after a pause. "That is, to the cottage. To bed. If you don't mind."
"No problem." He made the turns that would take them back toward the farm. "Are you just tired, or really sick?"
"Both, I think."
"I'm sorry to hear it." He stayed close to the speed limit as he drove, torn between avoiding trouble and making Arden comfortable as soon as possible.
"Why don't I make you some tea," he offered as they stepped into the cottage, "while you get into bed?"
She shook her head. "Igor needs a walk first."
Griff suppressed a wince. "I'll take him out."
For the first time since leaving the party, their eyes met and held. "Neither of you will like that."
"We'll manage." He gave her a gentle shove down the hallway. "Get into your gown, crawl between the sheets. I'll multitask in the kitchen."
Her shoulders lifted on a sigh, but she did as he directed. With a cup of water heating in the microwave, Griff took the dog's leash and opened the door to the sunroom.
Igor had been lying with his nose on his front paws, but when he saw Griff, he came immediately to an alert stance. Even without a voice, this canine could growl.
"Want to go outside?" Griff showed him the leash. "I'm here to do the honors."
Igor's hackles rose as he approached.
"Oh, come on, son. Your mom doesn't feel good. Let me take care of both of you without a hassle. Tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, you can resume the hostilities. I, by the way, am a totally neutral party where you're concerned."
Igor glanced toward the sunroom door and then toward the kitchen. Griff could almost see the dog considering his options.
Then the hairs standing up along Igor's back smoothed and his ears relaxed. If a dog could look resigned, this one was.
"So I clipped the leash to his collar," Griff reported to Arden a short time later, "staying as far away from his chops as I could manage. We took the prescribed constitutional and now we're in for the night. You have a cup of tea. What else can I do for you?"
Propped against the head of the bed, she looked nearly as pale as his mother's white cotton sheets. "I can't think of anything. You should go find yourself something to eat."
"I won't starve." Unsure of what she was thinking, still marveling at the discovery he'd made only a few minutes ago, he went down on one knee beside the bed.
"Maybe I should stick around, in case you need help during the night." He set his fingertips lightly on the back of her hand, thought it felt cold, a little damp. Her cheek, when he rested his knuckles there, was just as cool. "You don't seem to have a fever."
"I don't." She set the tea mug on the bedside table. "My stomach is upset, that's all. I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow. Have dinner. See a film. Go back to the party and talk to your friends---you can blame your sudden exit on me."
"I don't think so. Remember, you're my camouflage."
She gave a slight smile. "That's right. We agreed."
The idea came from out of nowhere, but hit him hard.
She could be pregnant. Maybe Arden's queasy stomach signaled a baby. His mother always said she knew the morning after she got pregnant.
The idea drove him to his feet. "I guess I will get some dinner. Maybe I'll check in on you later, before I hit the sack. And tomorrow morning, early." Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. "I hope you feel better. Call the house if you need me."
Her fingers fluttered against his cheek. "Of course."
Outside on the front porch, he stared at the Jaguar, trying to figure out what to do next. Not the party. He'd atone for his sins at the dinner dance next weekend, if Arden was up to going.
And not the bars. He needed to think, not drink. An idea concocted with champagne insights would have to be completed cold stone sober in order to succeed. These next few weeks might be trickier than he ever could have imagined.
A baby would mean he'd fulfilled his part of the bargain. Arden could stay until the wedding, then leave, and they'd both have gotten what they wanted.
But she would be taking his child with her. Faced with the existence of a son or daughter he would never meet---without the veil drawn across his reasoning skills by champagne---Griff's conscience cringed. His gut cramped. A man didn't abandon his own flesh and blood to be raised by a woman alone. Not if he could prevent it.
Considering flesh and blood, his family would be devastated to discover the existence of a child they knew nothing about. Jake and Rosalie Campbell had been looking forward to grandchildren since their kids left college. Was he going to deprive them of that joy?
Most important, Arden should not be allowed to resume the solitary life she'd "chosen" for herself. He couldn't begin to guess what had driven her into isolation, although a philandering fiancé who slept with her mother would be a good start. But the lady was meant for life and love and happiness as part of a family. His family.
Somehow, Griff decided over peanut butter sandwiches, he would have to change her mind about leaving. Surely, given enough time, she would come to love him. But he had only five weeks till the wedding.
Five weeks would have to be enough.
WAKING UP, Arden kept her eyes closed while she assessed her state of health. Curled up underneath the featherlight covers, warm and relaxed, she felt well enough. Especially if she ignored the emptiness beside her, a space Griff usually filled quite nicely.
Igor jumped onto the bed and came to lick her face, his usual signal to go outside in the morning.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Wait just a second." She turned to her side to get up.
Instead of landing on her feet, though, she found herself on her hands and knees on the floor, as the room spun around.
Folding her legs to sit against the side of the bed, she closed her eyes and tried to make the world stand still. Igor nosed at her face again.
"I know, Igor. I'm trying." Poor dog. He'd been inside all night long.
She undertook a harrowing journey, lurching from the bedpost to the door frame to the hallway wall, then the kitchen table and counter, all the while feeling as if her brain were sloshing around inside her skull.
Only when she opened the back door did she remember that this was Georgia in January, not the Florida Keys. The temperature hadn't yet reached forty degrees at 7:00 a.m. Walking outside in bare feet and her nightgown was not a good idea.
At this point, Igor started pulling at the leash, anxious to get into the grass for his morning exercise. Given the state of her equilibrium, he quickly jerked her onto the frost-coated lawn. She squealed at the contact of ice with skin, and pulled back, trying to retreat.
At the edge of the woods, something moved, something fairly big. A deer, she guessed, squinting in that direction. She'd watched them grazing behind the cottage on other mornings.
Igor, however, was not satisfied to watch. Obeying his instincts, he surged into the chase, sprinting toward the animal and yanking the leash free from Arden's grasp.
The deer whirled and vanished into the woods, with the dog at its heels.
"Igor! Igor, come! Come on, Igor. Breakfast," she called. But her dog had decided to hunt his own meal this morning. Arden stood out on the stone terrace until her feet were quite numb, but Igor did not return. She would have to dress, get shoes, go find him...
Her stomach chose that moment to revolt. Arden was sick on the grass and then, when she had stumbled drunkenly into the house, sick again in the bathroom. When the spasm passed, she was tempted to simply lie on the floor and go back to sleep. Anything else would be too hard.
But instead she got to her feet and managed to splash her face with cool water. Back in the bedroom, she dragged her nightgown off and pulled on the gray leggings and silver sweater, because they were easiest. Then, exhausted, she sat on the bed and picked up the phone.
As if he'd been waiting, Griff answered on the first ring. "Arden? How are you this morning?"
At the sound of his voice, she burst into tears. Whether or not he understood what she tried to say between sobs, he waited until she paused.
"Hold on," he said. "I'll be right there."
She'd barely hung up when the front door opened. In the next minute, he was beside her on the bed, picking her up and setting her on his lap.
All Arden could do was cry.
He pressed his mouth against her forehead and cheeks. "Still sick? You feel hot."
She nodded.
"You need to be in bed." But when he started to put her there, she shook her head.
"Igor," she managed to say, trying not to cry. "He's in the woods. After---" she hiccupped and sniffed "---a deer. I dropped the---the leash."
Griff nodded and folded her tight against his body. "It's okay, honey. Igor knows where you are, and he'll get himself back just fine."
"He's n-never been in these woods." Her teeth were starting to chatter. "There might be bears."
"Bears are hibernating this time of year. And they mostly eat plants. Plus, Igor's faster than any old bear." Griff rocked back and forth. Despite herself, Arden felt soothed.
When she had calmed down, he pulled back the bed-covers and placed her on the sheets, then tucked the blankets over her. "You stay right here. I'm going to get my mom to come down with a thermometer to take your temperature. We'll scare up some medicine to make you feel better. Then I'll go out and find Igor the man-eater. But you don't move, understand?"
Exhausted, Arden nodded. Her eyes wanted to close, and she let them, now that Griff was here. She could trust him to take care of everything.
The day passed like a soft-focus dream. Mrs. Campbell floated in and out, offering pills and water. At some point, Arden came awake to find a woman she didn't know pressing a stethoscope against her chest.
"Hello there," she said, her voice deep and mellow. "I'm Dr. Loft. I practice general medicine here in Sheridan." She moved the stethoscope to a different place. "How are you feeling?"
Arden took stock. "Cold," she whispered, with a shiver. "Dizzy. Sick."
"You have a fever." Dr. Loft put the stethoscope in the pocket of her white coat. Her fingers, warm and firm, pressed on the sides of Arden's throat and under her jaw. "We've got a nasty virus going around and I suspect you're playing host this weekend."
She pushed up the sweater to poke at Arden's belly in various places. "Does this hurt? This? Breathe in and hold it. Again. Okay, I'm done."
As Arden straightened her sweater and pulled the covers back up to her shoulders, the doctor dragged a chair over to sit by the bed. With her dark skin and long, elegant neck, she looked like an Egyptian queen.
"I don't have a medicine that will chase this virus away," she said, making notes on a clipboard in her lap. "You can take regular pain pills for the fever and muscle aches. I can give you a prescription for the dizziness and for nausea. You'll just have to ride this out, but in three or four days you should be pretty much back to normal.
"Eat what you can, and drink---we don't want you dehydrated. If you're not feeling absolutely well in a week, I want to see you in my office." She set a business card on the bedside table. "Any questions?"
"Do you..." Arden pulled in a deep breath. "Do you deliver babies?"
"For uncomplicated pregnancies, yes. I refer high-risk patients to a specialist." Her eyebrows drew together over dark brown eyes. "Are you pregnant?"
"N-no. I don't think so."
"Are you trying to become pregnant?"
Despite the chills shaking her, Arden thought she could feel herself blush. "Um...yes."
Dr. Loft got to her feet. "In that case, I definitely want to see you in a week, even if you're feeling terrific. You should be taking vitamins and eating a balanced diet. Let's make sure you're in the best possible health for this adventure."
As she picked up her medical bag, Arden cleared her throat. "I didn't know doctors made house calls anymore."
Her throaty laugh filled the room. "This is a small town. We do favors for each other. Dr. Jake came to my place when our Great Dane puppy got into a fight with a stray dog. I couldn't manage my eighteen-month-old daughter and an injured animal. So when he called, I was glad to return the favor."
"Igor." Arden sat up suddenly, then fell back with a groan as the room whirled. "Did Griff find him? Is he back?"
The doctor put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll find out. You stay in bed and keep calm."
Mrs. Campbell came in a few moments later. "Griff is out looking for Igor," she said, smoothing the pillows and blankets. "I'm sure he'll be back any minute now."
"But it's late, isn't it? What's the time?" Arden wanted to see the clock, but her head was too heavy to lift.
"Don't worry, sweetie." A soft hand brushed the hair off her forehead. "Everything will be okay. Just relax."
"I can't lose him," Arden fussed. "He's all I have...."
GRIFF'S THIRD TRIP into the woods felt like an exercise in futility. After eight hours, Igor could be anywhere in the county. And Griff would prefer to be sitting with Arden, watching her sleep.
As his mom had pointed out, though, Arden would feel better when the dog came home, virus or no virus. So here he was, fighting brambles, tramping through mud and wearing out his voice calling for the truant animal.
"Igor. Igor, come home, buddy." His dry mouth couldn't send out much of a whistle. "Damn it, Igor. Come. Now."
He heard his dad's voice, over to the south, and an echo from Kathy's husband, calling off to the north. They could cover the ground faster this way. What would happen if they didn't find the dog, though, would be his responsibility alone.
The Campbell portion of the forest ended on a ridge above a deep, brush-filled ravine. The wooden fence marking the boundary line wouldn't have kept a deer or Igor on the property.
Griff stood on the edge, staring down into the gully, as his dad came up beside him. "I haven't been down there. The sides are steep."
"That's Fletcher property," Jake said. "They do some trapping."
Jim joined them. "The little guy could have stepped in one."
"So could we," Griff pointed out. "But I guess there's no other choice."
Soil had washed down the walls of the narrow valley, leaving slippery rock and gravel exposed. The trees seemed to grow just far enough apart to avoid being used as handholds. Only a few steps down, Griff found himself on his butt, sliding sideways into a thorn bush.
"You okay?" his dad called.
"Yeah." Braced on his downhill leg, Griff wiped his scraped and bloody palms on his jeans. "Be careful, though."
At the words, he heard Jim fall in turn. Moments later, the sound of tumbling rocks came from the other side. "Dad?" There was no answer for way too long. "Dad, are you there?"
"Hell, yes," Jake growled.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. But I'm too old for this."
"We're all too old for this," Jim yelled back.
They reached the bottom without breaking any bones. Griff turned to look back the way he'd come. "And we thought getting down here was the hard part."
The afternoon sun had passed beyond the rim above, leaving the bottom of the ravine in twilight. Stepping carefully, peering at the ground in order to see a trap before he tripped it, Griff continued to call for Igor. But as the minutes passed, then an hour, his hopes began to die. If they hadn't found him by now...
He hated the image in his head of Igor, voiceless, stuck or trapped or somehow unable to travel, marooned all night in the woods. Not too many hunting animals would be out this time of year. But a hungry coyote would be glad for easy prey.
"Getting dark," his dad called. "We'd better start back."
"Agreed," Jim yelled.
"But..." Griff sighed. "Okay. Let's shift about a hundred feet to the left as we go, to cover different ground." For him, that meant more difficult traveling, including a minigulch or huge ditch, depending on your definition. Visibility decreased to almost zero, which he didn't realize until he walked into a tree.
"Ow." He stumbled to the side, stepped into a hole and landed flat on his face. "Aw, hell."
He lay there for a minute, glad just to be off his feet, even if that meant lying on the damp ground with bugs wriggling around underneath him.
Then something wet and slimy crawled over the nape of his neck.
He swore and sat up, swiping at the back of his head. Through the darkness, a pair of bright eyes gleamed at him. Panting breaths created puffs of smoke in the cold air.
A wet tongue slathered across his mouth.
"Well, hello again, Igor." Laughing, Griff wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Fancy meeting you here."
After spending Sunday and most of Monday in bed with a freshly bathed Igor at her side, Arden did, indeed, feel almost back to normal.
How could she be otherwise, with the amount of attention and care she'd received? Mrs. Campbell had checked in several times a day, bringing soup, tea, books and even music---a portable disk player and a variety of CDs. She hadn't, fortunately, insisted on actually turning the thing on, and Arden had ignored its presence in the bedroom.
Kathy had stopped by with more books and stayed to chat, then took Igor for a long walk. Lauren brought a loaf of homemade bread and a jar of strawberry jam---the first food Arden felt like trying once her appetite began to resurface. Dana's chicken soup made a wonderful first meal.
Though he had to go to work Monday morning, Griff had remained within her reach most of the time, once he'd brought Igor home. He and Dr. Campbell and Jim recounted for her their "safari" into the "dangerous jungle" beyond the farm's border, making her laugh even while she still felt sick.
She tried to thank them for the return of her precious Igor, but they refused to acknowledge anything out of the ordinary.
"Happens all the time," Griff's dad said, with a shrug. "He just needs to learn the boundaries, is all."
"You can walk him out there, once you're well." Jim had ventured only as far as the bedroom doorway. "Show him where to turn around and come home. He's a smart one---he'll learn in no time."
"I'm not so sure about that," Griff said later, as he sat in the armchair he'd pulled over so he could put his feet up on the end of the bed.
Arden frowned at him. "Are you saying he's not smart?"
"Just the opposite. I think he knew where he was and what he was doing. He probably enjoyed his day as a wild thing in the forest."
"Would he have come back on his own?" Her eyelids tended to droop---the medications for dizziness and nausea made her sleepy.
"I expect he would have tried, but they get distracted, you know, by this scent or that leading off in another direction. I'm just glad he found me."
"Oh, so am I." She reached out to pet Igor's head, then let her hand fall on the part of Griff she could reach---his sock-covered ankle. "Thank you so much."
He was still there when the medicines wore off in the wee hours of Sunday morning and she ran for the bathroom.
"Here," he said, when she'd finished. "Let me wipe your face."
Sitting on the side of the tub, Arden sighed. "I am so sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for." He patted her face with a dry cloth. "Everybody gets the flu."
"I don't." She opened her eyes to see his skeptical smile. "Honestly, I haven't been sick like this in years. Since college, at least. Except for the migraines. And even those had stopped."
"Interesting." Keeping an arm around her shoulders, he walked her back to bed. "I don't know what you did before you went to Chaos Key. But maybe coming into contact with people again has introduced you to illnesses you haven't encountered before. Pathogens are constantly mutating, you know, to avoid the immunity their hosts develop."
"I keep forgetting you're a scientist." With a gulp of lukewarm tea, she swallowed the pills he offered. "When do you see Rajah again?"
"Monday afternoon will be my last visit. He's doing great and I think Stacy can handle him from now on."
"Miracle worker," Arden murmured, snuggling in and closing her eyes as he tucked the covers around her. "Hero."
"I'd better call the doctor. You're obviously delirious."
"My hero," she insisted, then fell deeply asleep.
THAT WORD STAYED WITH Griff all day Sunday and through the work week.
Hero. What did it say about Arden's feelings? Had she started to love him?
Or was he setting himself up to take another fall? Had he found the right woman...or made a fool out of himself once again? He couldn't just ask her outright. Not while she was sick, and once she recovered, not just any old time---with his parents listening at dinner, or when Arden brought a huge, specially ordered lunch to the office on Wednesday as a way of saying thanks to Jake for helping find Igor.
And even though he and Arden spent the evenings together, Griff---for once in his life---didn't want to push too hard. With a month to go before Valentine's Day, he would prefer not to know if she thought of their relationship in terms of room, board and terrific sex. Not while he was doing whatever he could to transform their contract into commitment.
The weekend after Igor's great escape presented them the perfect opportunity to show off their "romance" at the Morgan's dinner dance, held in the country club. Griff was determined to be on his best behavior. No veiled insults or smart comments, no stalking out. No dagger-sharp looks. Just a polite evening spent being attentive to the woman he came with. The woman he loved.
Arden made that a simple task. She opened the door at the cottage wearing a close-fitting dress the color of thunderclouds, sprinkled with crystal beads like raindrops. "You look gorgeous," he said, after swallowing hard. "I'll be the envy of every man in the room."
She inclined her head with the grace of a princess. "Thank you, kind sir. You're dressed quite nicely as well. A dinner jacket becomes you."
"Maybe we'll win a trophy for Best Couture," he joked. "Or they'll name us king and queen of the ball."
She cleared her throat. "I think that position's already taken."
Griff snapped his fingers. "Oh, right. Zelda and Al are the guests of honor. We'll have to settle for second place."
Arden gazed at him for a moment. "I guess we will." A click of toenails at the end of the hallway advertised Igor's approach. "I'll put him in the sunroom and then I'm ready to go."
"He's holding a grudge," Griff said when she returned, wearing a black wool coat over her gown. "I still can't get near him without those lips curling."
"I know, and I'm sorry." She waited on the sidewalk as he opened the door of the Jag. "I guess he's just possessive."
It occurred to Griff to wonder how Igor would react to a baby as part of their household, but that would be the wrong question to ask at the beginning of the evening. And since the doctor had diagnosed Arden with the flu, there didn't appear to be anything to worry about on that score. Yet.
He had timed their arrival at the club a little on the late side, to avoid the possibility of encountering Zelda and Al without other people around. The line for valet parking moved smoothly tonight and they pulled right up to the entrance staircase.
"Trip Morgan was only a couple of years ahead of me in high school," Griff told Arden as they climbed the steps. "He's a big wheel with insurance, has an office in Atlanta and another one in Charlotte. His wife and Zelda are best friends."
The Morgans stood at the door to the ballroom. "Hey, Griff." Trip had a strong grip, which he practiced several times a week on the golf course. "Glad to have you back in town."
"Thanks. This is my friend, Arden Burke."
Trip's sandy eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Arden. Thank you for coming. Kayli, it's Griff and Arden Burke."
Ice coated his wife's greeting. "Welcome, Griff." Kayli offered her fingertips, but he'd barely touched them when she jerked her hand away. "It nice to meet you, Ms. Burke." Before Arden could smile, Kayli turned to the next person in line.
"Ouch," Arden said, moving away. "I believe I've developed frostbite."
"We could leave." Griff halted just inside the door. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment."
She shook her head. "We're here to show off, remember? Let's dance."
Her reference to their arrangement left him feeling cold, but he managed a bow. "Your wish is my command."
When they stepped onto the parquet dance floor, though, Arden melted into his arms and the world became a perfect place. "We'll just keep dancing all night," Griff said, putting his mouth close to her ear and inhaling the luscious scent she wore. "Maybe I can bribe the band to forget about their break."
Her silent chuckle rippled through him. "There are union rules, you know."
He hadn't, actually. "Mandatory breaks?"
"And Broadway shows are supposed to end before 11:00 p.m. It's in the actors' contracts."
"Now, why do you just happen to have these esoteric pieces of information in your brain?" Drawing back a little, he looked down at her. "Are you a former chorus girl? A closet stripper?"
"Nothing like that." This time, she laughed out loud. "Nothing at all."
They got two dances in before the dinner bell rang. Griff saw Kathy waving wildly at them from a table in the back corner. "I think we're sitting with my family." He walked Arden in that direction, noticing more than one appreciative male glance follow them. "One big happy family, isolated in the rear to avoid trouble."
"Shush," his mother told him, overhearing. "I'm assuming you're on good behavior tonight."
"I am." He seated Arden and then took his own chair. "Are we sure there won't be hemlock in the mashed potatoes?"
They all survived the meal, despite his dire expectations, and he raised his glass with goodwill for every single toast made to Zelda and Al. They could have a great life together, as far as he was concerned.
He'd intended to resume his nightlong dance with Arden when the band returned to the stage, but he looked around to see his dad pulling her chair back.
"Wait a minute," Griff protested. "She's my date."
Jake nodded. "And I'm cutting in, son. That's the way these social things work."
"Don't pout." His mother put her hand on his arm. "Dance with me instead."
"Nothing to pout about in that," he said, meaning every word. "After all, you taught me the steps. At least I'm tall enough to lead now."
Out on the floor, they glided past Arden and Jake.
"She looks beautiful," his mother said. "So elegant and graceful."
Griff steered past Jim and Kathy with a nod. "No arguments from me."
"And I might be mistaken, but you seem quite happy."
"I can't say no to that, either."
"Because of Arden, I gather?"
Griff grinned. "Ready for a dip?"
His mom smiled up at him and he bent close, supporting her back as she arched away. When they straightened again, a few bystanders applauded.
He grinned in that direction but continued dancing.
"Quite an evasive maneuver," his mother said. "But I won't forget the question just because you sent the blood rushing to my head. Is Arden Burke the woman of your future?"
Turning his head, he found her on the other side of the room, laughing at something his dad said. Could he trust in a future with Arden Burke? Could the desire they'd discovered blossom into something more for her, as it had for him?
"That's the plan, Mom." He prayed he was hiding the uncertainty chilling his insides. "Forever is what I'm shooting for."
DR. JAKE CAMPBELL DANCED like a professional.
Arden knew she did not. "I apologize for stepping on your toes," she told him. "Dance lessons never showed up on my list of classes." In fact, band and dance music had played such a small part in her life that she could hear them without emotional qualms.
"What did you study?" Dr. Campbell's blue eyes, more incisive than Griff's, seemed to probe her soul.
"The usual," she said, trying to cover her mistake. "Math, science, history..."
"And did you specialize in college? Griff mentioned you attended a New York school."
"I didn't finish---didn't earn a degree." Which was the truth; her concert commitments had prevented her from completing her last year's course work. Her Julliard diploma had been an honorary award.
They danced in silence for a minute, and she began to hope the interview had ended. Knowing Griff, however, she wasn't surprised when his father didn't give up.
"So what exactly do you do with your life?"
She drew back to look into his face, which had much the same grooves as Griff, just more pronounced. "I'm sorry?"
"You don't have to earn a living." He eased her through a turn. "You live alone, except for the dog. Why do you get up in the morning?"
The breath she drew was shaky, but she fought to keep her voice steady. "I don't owe you an answer to that question."
"I'm curious," he said, still in the calm tone he'd been using, "since my son seems to be planning a future with you. What do you see yourself doing in a year, or five or ten?"
Tonight, she might be the one who walked out on the party. "I haven't thought that far ahead, Dr. Campbell. Griff and I are still getting to know each other." Would this music never end?
"I'm not sure he's been thinking much at all, lately."
Arden had finally caught her breath. "Or perhaps you simply dislike the fact that he's not following the path you laid out for him. That he's thinking about something other than what he can do for you."
Dr. Campbell grinned. "You have claws, I see. What's wrong with wanting to work with my son, taking care of the animals belonging to our friends and neighbors?"
"Nothing...unless Griff's interests lie in a different direction."
"And do they?"
"That's a question you should ask him."
He tilted his head, acknowledging that truth. "You're beautiful and intelligent, Arden Burke. But are you good for my son? Can the two of you create a successful partnership?"
At long last, the music slowed and crescendoed into a final chord. Arden stepped backward, almost surprised and definitely relieved when Dr. Campbell released her.
"Griff thinks so," she said, in answer to the last question. "Nothing else matters. Thank you for the dance."
Then she turned and left the ballroom, seeking what little privacy the restroom could offer.
GRIFF SAW ARDEN BACK AWAY from his dad. She crossed the dance floor with quick steps and disappeared through the door to the restroom.
When Jake returned to the table, Griff nudged Kathy out of her chair and took her place next to their dad. "What did you say to her?"
He shrugged. "I asked the standard father-in-law questions. Where are you from? Where are you going?"
"Nothing you say in this kind of situation is nearly so harmless. I don't want you threatening her, Dad. I won't stand for it."
From Jake's other side, Rosalie Campbell made a sound of protest. "You make him seem like an inquisitioner."
"Yes." Griff nodded. "I've talked to my brothers-in-law, if you haven't. He gave all three of them a pretty hard time, simply for having the temerity to want to marry his daughters."
"I have a responsibility to keep my kids safe," Jake said.
"You have a responsibility to allow us all to grow up. Stay out of this, Dad. Arden and I are doing fine without interference. If you've upset her in any way, I'll..."
His dad gave a tolerant---and somewhat condescending---smile. "You'll do what?"
Griff stood up. "I'll start thinking seriously about where else in the country Arden and I will be spending the rest of our lives."
He heard his mother's gasp, but walked away without looking back.
INSTEAD OF PRIVACY, Arden found Lauren and Dana sitting in the lounge area of the ladies' room.
Dana looked up as she came through the door. "Oh, no. That bad, was it?"
Lauren, on the sofa, slid to the side. "Come sit," she said, patting the cushion beside her. "Dana, pour a glass of champagne."
Arden widened her eyes as Dana went to a sideboard along the wall and took a bottle from the wine cooler sitting there.
"Zelda's smart," Lauren remarked, holding out a glass for her sister to refill. "She knows we come here to relax away from our men."
"God bless them," Dana added, just as Kathy came through the door. "They're sweet and necessary, but sometimes they drive you nuts."
"Dad's special." Kathy dropped into the armchair and put her feet on the matching ottoman. "Where Jim can be annoying, even frustrating, Dad is..."
"Brutal?" Lauren suggested.
Dana shook her head. "That's a little harsh."
Lauren sipped her champagne. "Demanding isn't quite right."
"Arrogant, impertinent and intrusive." Arden swallowed a gulp of her champagne. Then caught her breath in case she'd insulted the man's daughters.
But the three sisters nodded. "That covers it," Kathy said. "You can be comforted by the fact that you haven't suffered alone. Jim didn't call me for a week after Dad had a talk with him."
"I had to track Gary down at his mother's house in Tennessee." Dana rolled her eyes. "He wasn't sure he wanted to come back."
Lauren put a hand on Arden's arm. "My Steve was a Marine, so he stood his ground. But he did say he'd never been so scared, and that I'd better be a good wife after what I'd put him through." She winked. "I proved it to him on our wedding night."
With champagne bubbles easing her tension, Arden was able to laugh with the other women. "I'm sure your dad is concerned about Griff's happiness." She got to her feet along with them. "But the decision belongs to Griff." A thought struck her. "Did your father interrogate Zelda, too?"
The Campbell sisters didn't know the answer to that question. As she prepared to return to the ballroom, Arden had to wonder if Jake Campbell's interview with Zelda had anything to do with the broken engagement.
Stepping through the door into the hallway, she found Griff waiting just outside. "Are you all right?" He looked her over, took her hands in his, then released them and cupped her cheeks with his palms. "Did he give you a bad time? Tell me the truth."
She could tell him only some of the truth---as usual. "He was...inquisitive. And intimidating. But I'm fine, and we're wasting the music." Clasping his hand, she walked toward the ballroom. "Come on."
Before they could reach the dance floor, however, they encountered Zelda and Al, sharing what must have been a rare moment alone. Their romantic pose---she was straightening his tie as he brushed wisps of hair back from her face---daunted Arden.
But she and Griff couldn't turn back, couldn't change direction. She didn't even get the chance to glance at him to see his reaction.
"Hello again," Zelda said warily. Tonight's dress was pink. "Thanks for coming."
"It's a lovely event," Arden told her. "The champagne in the ladies' room is a brilliant idea."
Zelda's laugh sounded like treble bells ringing. "I think so. I've always wished someone would do that---so I did."
Al frowned at his fiancée. "What's the point of champagne in the restroom?"
"I don't get it, either," Griff said.
"It's a girl thing." Zelda patted Al's arm. "Don't worry about it. Let's go dance." She gave a little wave and led him toward the front of the room.
Arden looked at Griff, just behind her.
"Lead on," he said. "At least till we get the rhythm."
He wasn't as good a dancer as his father, but his arm fitted exactly right around her waist, and their hands clasped like two halves of a whole. Their steps blended and their bodies swayed with the same timing, the same feel.
Arden sighed and rested her head on Griff's shoulder. If she could trust, without reservation, only one person in the world, it had to be Griff Campbell. Honorable, conscientious, considerate and kind...what more could she ask of a man?
Great sex, she supposed. And Griff managed that feat, too.
As the evening wore on, they stopped occasionally to drink champagne or to chat with someone he knew, but never for more than one song. Older guests started to leave, but the younger crowd stayed on to dance. Fast numbers and slow ones, waltz, swing or rumba, Griff and Arden tried them all.
Until, around midnight, she had to admit her feet were giving out, and he confessed his bow tie was choking him. Leaving the dance floor, they found Trip Morgan and thanked him for his hospitality.
"One of the kids got sick," he told them, finishing off the last of what looked like a glass of bourbon on the rocks. "Kayli went home to take care of him. The story of my life." He poked a finger into Griff's chest. "Beware, my friend. The good days only last for a little while."
"That was either very profound," Griff said, once they were in the car, "or totally absurd."
"I vote for absurd." Arden wound his tie between her fingers. "Your days are what you make them, good or bad."
An echo of Dr. Campbell's question came back to her. What do you do with your life? Why do you get up in the morning?
The man had a point. What had she accomplished in the last year? What would she accomplish in the years ahead?
Parking on the gravel drive in front of the cottage, Griff said, "Stay right there. Don't move."
Then he came around the back of the Jaguar, opened Arden's door and bent down. "Put your arms around my neck."
"You don't have to carry me in," she protested, laughing. "I can slip my shoes back on."
"Just wrap your arms around me." He scooped her up and lifted her out of the car. To save them both a fall, Arden did as he asked.
She also turned the doorknob so he could push through into the house. He shut the door behind them with one foot, but didn't set her down.
"I'm heavy," she murmured as he stood there. "You can't hold me forever."
"I think I could," he said quietly. "I want to." He kissed the top of her head, her temple, her cheekbone. Then Arden turned her face up so their lips could touch.
His arms tightened around her as he walked steadily down the hallway. She clung to his shoulders and gave herself up to the mouth plundering hers.
In the bedroom, he eased her bare feet to the floor. His hands moved over her body and her dress disappeared. Jacket, shirt, shoes, socks and pants followed, every layer between them stripped away.
"You are so much more than I imagined when we met," Griff said, stretching her arms above her head as she lay beneath him. "I never dreamed this would happen to me."
"Ah, Griff." She wanted to say the words, to share the feelings that seemed likely to tear her apart.
But the wildness took over then, and she could only gasp. Fireworks couldn't begin to describe the magic shooting through her. Exploding suns came closer to the mark.
When she could finally think again, when her body had relaxed and her brain reassembled, she turned her head to tell Griff what she felt.
Eyes closed, mouth open, he snored into her face.
But, thinking of champagne in the ladies' room, Arden simply smiled.
As ordered, Arden visited Dr. Loft on Tuesday. She'd never thought about the need for vitamins before she got pregnant. Like most women, she wanted to do the best for her baby.
Whether that included keeping the child a secret from its father and other family members was a question she had begun to ask herself more often than was comfortable.
Dr. Loft's receptionist required her to fill out information forms, including past medical issues and current health. Arden found some of the questions painful to answer, but she told the truth. Doctors couldn't be lied to.
The exam was as careful and complete as Arden had expected. After giving her time to dress, Dr. Loft returned to the room and sat down on the rolling stool, then thumbed through the papers in her hand.
"You seem to be in good shape," she said. "No more dizziness or nausea?"
"Not at all."
"Good." Again, she referred to one of the forms Arden had filled out. "According to your history, you had a miscarriage a little over a year ago."
"Yes."
"That's too bad." The doctor followed up with other clinical questions. "And now you're trying to get pregnant again?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, I'd like to make a recommendation. Not a requirement, you understand. A precaution, at most. I'd like to refer you for an ultrasound exam of your abdomen."
"Why?"
"Since you've had one miscarriage, I'd like to be sure there are no problems with your reproductive system as you try to conceive again."
After scheduling the appointment for Friday, Arden left the office, but then sat in the car for a long time, trying to think.
Dr. Loft had been reassuring as she explained her reasoning. The fact remained that she believed there might be something wrong.
And the possibilities for Arden's future---dreams she'd just begun to believe in---had suddenly been called into doubt.
SATURDAY'S BRUNCH for the bride and groom took place at the Sheridan Fine Art Museum.
"Remarkable," Griff commented as they arrived, "for its total lack of any fine artwork."
Arden gave him a reproving glance. "Kathy brought me here earlier in the week. I thought there were some nice paintings and a couple of good sculptures."
"Exactly. 'Very nice' and 'good.' But not 'fine.'"
"This isn't New York, after all."
"You would know." He opened the door for her. "I'm still wondering about your mysterious past, by the way. Don't think I've forgotten."
"I wouldn't be so naive." Arden smiled at him, but he thought he saw shadows in her eyes. She'd been a little tense this week, distracted. He wondered what she could be thinking about. And he felt a little hurt that she still wouldn't confide in him. What did he have to do to prove she could trust him?
Standing in yet another receiving line, Griff congratulated himself on the plan to bring Arden to Sheridan as his fiancée. Once word got around, thanks to Zelda, and once his family had appeared to accept her, he hadn't had to deal with questions or sympathy. The plan they'd concocted together, on that beach four weeks ago, was working perfectly.
After waiting ten minutes, they finally stood near their hostess, Mrs. Hilary Crumpler.
"Zelda's great-aunt," Griff whispered. "Sheridan's social arbiter."
Arden frowned at him. "Thanks for the advance warning."
"I am simply devastated," Mrs. Crumpler was saying to the older lady in a pink dress in front of Arden. "Thirty minutes before my guests are due to arrive, the pianist calls to say he cannot perform---he has smashed his fingers in the car door. Can you imagine?"
"Oh, my dear." The woman pressed Mrs. Crumpler's hand with both her own. "Such a tragedy. What will you do?"
"My husband is trying to set up some sort of recorded music, but..." She gave a disdainful shrug. "Not at all what I wanted." Then she turned toward Arden. "And how are you--- Oh, my stars!"
Her gasp echoed off the marble floors of the museum entry hall. "I can't believe this." Somehow, she had grabbed Arden's hand and now held it tightly. "Arden Burke? The Arden Burke?"
"Yes." Arden stood as if paralyzed.
Griff stepped closer. "This is my fiancée---"
Their hostess brushed him away with a wave of her fingers. "I know who she is. I just never imagined, when I issued you an invitation---much against my inclinations, I must tell you, because I don't believe an ex-fiancé has any place at a bride's celebration of her wedding---as I say, I never could have imagined that your guest would be such a renowned young lady. I am so honored to meet you, my dear. I've attended many of your concerts, in New York and Washington and San Francisco."
Griff's stomach dropped into the soles of his feet. Concerts? San Francisco?
Mrs. Crumpler made a show of releasing Arden's hand. "I shouldn't hold your fingers so tightly, should I? We wouldn't want to damage these priceless instruments."
Arden took a long step back. Griff had never seen her so pale, even when she was sick. "Thank you for inviting me---"
"Oh, my dear, thank you for coming." A flirtatious look came over Mrs. Crumpler's face. "Can we dare ask you to play for us? What a delight, what an honor that would be, to hear an Arden Burke performance right here in Sheridan."
Arden shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't."
"Oh, please, Miss Burke, it would be the highlight of my entire year." The old bat actually had tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I don't have my---my violin with me, Mrs. Crumpler."
Griff's memory flashed on the violin case he'd seen in the corner of the beach cottage. Then he heard an echo of Arden's denial that she was a musician.
Mrs. Crumpler sighed deeply. "Ah, such a tragedy. However, I have also heard you play the piano, and we do have one of those. Would you favor us with a few pieces?"
A resigned smile settled on Arden's face. "Of course."
The next hour tested Griff's patience and his temper. He called upon every ounce of good manners he possessed to refrain from biting people's heads off. He did not want to talk or eat or drink champagne punch. He certainly did not want to answer questions, accept compliments or, God forbid, make explanations.
He wanted to listen.
Seated at the piano, Arden paused for a few moments with her hands resting on her thighs, staring at the keys. When she lifted her head, she met Griff's gaze with an expression he couldn't read.
Then the music began. He didn't recognize the flood of notes pouring from the piano, but he knew a master composer when he heard one. Knew, as well, that Arden's performance was close to flawless. She didn't have a piano at the beach, in the Miami condo or here in Sheridan, so she couldn't have practiced for weeks. The woman had to be a musical genius.
He could only imagine what kind of artistry she would demonstrate with a violin.
Each time she came to the end of a selection, the audience applauded wildly. Cries of "More, please," came from every direction. Arden consented---first with a slow, dreamy piece followed by something fiery and brilliant---but then turned around and held up her hand.
"I'll play awhile longer," she announced, in a voice that carried throughout the museum, "but this is not a concert. Please feel free to enjoy the lovely brunch Mrs. Crumpler has provided and your chance to chat with the guests of honor, Zelda Talbot and Al McPherson, the bride and groom-to-be."
No one moved or spoke for a couple of seconds. Arden stared at them, frowning, and finally made a shooing motion. "Go talk among yourselves," she ordered.
With a general laugh, the guests broke into groups and conversation resumed, with a piano accompaniment. Now Griff recognized the tunes as popular ballads and show pieces---"easy listening music" played by a virtuoso.
"I can't believe it." Lauren came up on one side of him.
On the other side, Dana pinched his arm. "You never said a word."
Griff didn't look at either of them.
"Oh, my gosh," Dana whispered.
Lauren gripped his arm. "You didn't know?"
He didn't confirm or deny, and eventually they abandoned him to talk to the rest of his family.
But that left him prey to everyone else, and he couldn't refuse to talk, though he said as little as possible.
"Yes, she's terrifically talented."
"I'm very proud of her, of course."
"She, uh, wanted to remain incognito, since this is really the time we should be thinking about Zelda and Al. Have you talked to them today? They make a good couple. No, no hard feelings at all. Things work out for the best, don't they?"
When Al and Zelda came over, the conversation got stickier.
"She's quite a star," Zelda said, her eyes a little bright, her voice a little harsh. "Aunt Hilary's been filling me in."
Griff stayed silent, to avoid fueling the fire.
Al put his arm around his fiancée. "It's not that big a deal, Zel."
"Yes, it is." She clasped her hands together. "International concerts when she was nine years old. Julliard. Multiple recordings in the stores. Quite a phenomenon, Griff. You should have said something."
Hearing details he'd never known felt like getting slapped across the face. "I---"
But Zelda had more to say. "I was happy for you, knowing you'd found somebody to love after I canceled the wedding. You could have made me truly jealous, though, with this kind of news. Why wouldn't you want a...a superstar like Arden Burke? You must be so relieved I didn't hold you to our wedding."
This time it was Zelda leaving the room, brushing through the crowd without a word as she escaped.
Griff looked at Al. "Sorry."
"Yeah, sure." The groom took off after his runaway bride.
Arden stopped playing soon after that, and was immediately surrounded by the nosy and the purely complimentary. Griff retreated to the food table, consoling himself with smoked salmon sandwiches and lemon bar cookies.
"This is quite a surprise," his mother said, joining him. "Why do you suppose Arden didn't tell you any of this?"
"That," Griff said between gritted teeth, "is what I intend to find out."
GRIFF SEEMED HIS USUAL smiling self as they said goodbye to Mrs. Crumpler and suffered through her fulsome gratitude for the music.
As soon as the museum door shut behind them, however, his clasp on Arden's elbow turned to stone. A glance at his face showed her a steely glint in his eyes. She defined the way he closed her car door as a slam.
Well, she'd known for the last two hours this wouldn't be easy. "Griff---"
He held up a hand. "I'd rather not talk while I'm driving."
"Too bad," she told him. "I'm not a child who will be seen and not heard."
"That's pretty obvious."
"Why don't you just say what you're thinking?"
"Because I don't like to use that kind of language in front of females."
"Don't hesitate on my account."
"I'm not. I like to think of myself as a gentleman, that's all."
Arden decided then that she didn't want to talk to him, anyway.
But when she faced him on the cottage porch, planning to suggest they talk later, he shook his head.
"We're not putting this off any longer. It's time for the truth."
They confronted each other again across the living room, both standing behind a chair, both holding onto the back.
"So you're a violinist," Griff started. "A major talent, doing concerts all over the world when you were a child. Recording artist. Famous. You've eaten dinner and performed at the White House."
"Once. Ten years ago." She smiled, but he didn't.
"Why the big secret? Did you think I was too stupid to appreciate the facts?"
"No!" She pressed her fingers against her lips for a moment. "All of that is in the past, Griff. I retired at Christmas, a year ago. I don't perform, record or even practice anymore."
"Why?"
"Can we sit down?"
After a long moment, he dropped into the chair in front of him.
With a sigh, Arden eased into the armchair. Her back muscles had stiffened as she played. By now the stiffness had given birth to cramps. "About two years ago, reviewers of my performances started saying I was off pitch in the upper register. I wasn't hitting the highest notes exactly in tune."
He didn't comment, so she took a deep breath and continued. "I practiced more, tried different violins, took lessons, without results...until the day my teacher said, 'Hear that? It's terribly flat.' I realized I didn't hear the note at all. Except in my imagination.
"To make a long story short, I went to a specialist who determined I was...am..." She still hated the word. "I'm going deaf."
Leaning forward, Griff propped his elbows on his knees. "There's no solution?"
"Not in terms of the music. Hearing aids or cochlear implants can't restore the kind of acuity I need." Arden braided her fingers together. "The broken engagement occurred at the same time. I found myself a place to hide---Chaos Key---and I've been there ever since."
She couldn't tell him the rest. Not until she'd seen the doctor on Monday. She might have miscarried because she was defective. If babies were never going to be possible for her, that was something Griff should know.
"How long will you be able to hear?"
"I've lost most bird sounds in this last year, like that traffic chirp you noticed. I can't hear it at all. Crowds confuse me more than I remembered." She shrugged. "I probably have a few years of hearing left, perhaps not that long. Or perhaps I'll only lose a percentage, then stabilize. The doctors don't know and can't predict."
He fell back into the chair. "But why hide who you are? I don't understand that part."
She opened her hands in a helpless gesture. "I really didn't think it mattered. I'm not that person anymore---I don't perform or record or have anything to do with music. So why bring it up? Besides..." She owed him this much, at least. "Talking about the music would require explaining why I don't play. I didn't want to reveal that part."
"Why would it make a difference? Especially after you found out about Kathy, I would think you'd see it's not a problem."
"Kathy's hearing loss had a cause. Mine could be...genetic. They don't really know."
"But what..." Griff frowned at her for a minute. Then his puzzlement cleared. "A baby. You thought..." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "You thought I wouldn't want you to have my child if I knew you were...were going deaf."
Arden couldn't look at him any longer. She nodded, staring at her hands twisting in her lap.
"I guess that makes sense. We did have an agreement. You wouldn't want to jeopardize your payout." He dropped his own hands to the arms of the chair. "This has all been about making a baby for you. I should've remembered." Shaking his head, he gave a harsh chuckle. "Instead, I've made a fool of myself. Again."
THREE WEEKS BEFORE Zelda's wedding, the Campbell clan gathered for dinner on Sunday night---just the immediate family---to celebrate the first ultrasound of Kathy's baby. Seated around the big dining room table, they passed the print of the scan from hand to hand, making comments that ranged from the ribald to the ridiculous. Rosalie wiped tears from her eyes with her napkin. Jake brought out champagne to toast the new Campbell son. Kathy's baby was, very definitely, a boy.
Griff had escorted Arden from the cottage, of course. They were, in the eyes of his family, an engaged couple with a shared future ahead of them. And they'd become very good at keeping up the pretense. In public.
In private, their relationship had taken a long step backward. Those rules they'd talked about in the beginning---no prying, no confessions---were back in full force.
Tonight, Arden seemed even quieter than usual. She held the ultrasound print for about five seconds before passing it on to Dana, on her other side, without comment. Then she looked down at her plate again.
Following her gaze, Griff saw that she only toyed with her roast chicken. He put an arm along the back of her chair and leaned close to speak into her ear. "Feeling okay?"
She nodded without looking at him. "Fine."
He couldn't confront her about that lie in front of the family. Later, when they walked out to the cottage, he tried.
"What were you thinking," he asked, as they lingered on the porch, "when you were looking at the ultrasound?"
"I don't know." She glanced away from him. "Cute, sweet...the usual."
Griff turned her around with a hand on her shoulder. "I don't think so. More like, 'How will I survive the next hour until I can be alone?'"
"Not at all."
"You wore that exact same look when we left the little girl with her mother at the mall. The one you found under the rack of coats. It was as if something terribly precious had been taken from you."
She walked to the end of the porch. "I want a child, you know that. Seeing other people's babies, I---I have to work hard not to be jealous."
Griff went to stand behind her, and couldn't resist closing his arms around her. "You'll have a baby of your own soon enough." His laugh sounded harsher than he intended. "We're working on it. That was part of the deal, remember?"
She moved, turning to face him. Her expression was a portrait of despair. "Yes. I remember."
Then her hands linked behind his neck and pulled his head down. Their mouths met, fused, consumed.
Once they made it inside the house, the sex was hotter than ever.
ARDEN ARRIVED AT Dr. Loft's office with time to spare, but then had to wait for an hour, due to the doctor's attendance at an emergency. Between trying not to think about the reason she was there in the first place and worrying about what the doctor might have to say, she had reached a high state of tension by the time her name was called.
Waiting another thirty minutes in the small examining room didn't help, even though she didn't have to take off any of her clothes this time. Arden couldn't read, couldn't concentrate, couldn't relax. She could only sit and fret.
Finally, a knock on the door preceded the doctor's entrance. "Hi, Arden." Dr. Loft smiled widely. "I'm glad to see you because I have good news."
Arden sat up straighter. "Really?"
"The ultrasound looks great," she said. "No adhesions or blockages, no inflammation, nothing that should prevent a normal pregnancy from coming to term."
"What...what about the other baby?" Arden asked in a low voice.
"We often don't know why a baby is lost. Stress, or a defect in the fetus itself...there's no easy way to tell. But what I can say is that you're in good shape, and I see no reason you shouldn't have a healthy baby soon. It's just a matter of time."
Arden lifted her shoulders, making room for the deep breath she pulled in. "I'm glad to hear it."
"I'm sure you are." The doctor rose from her stool. "I'll get you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and you can call to set up a test when you think you might be pregnant."
"One more thing." Arden clenched her hands into fists.
Dr. Loft turned with her hand on the doorknob. "What's that?"
"I'd like to get fitted with a diaphragm. For birth control."
It had been one hell of a week.
Now that Griff had returned, his dad increased the surgery load at the clinic and okayed a heavier appointment schedule on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with farm visits set up for Tuesdays and Thursdays. Emergencies, as always, got fitted in immediately.
As a result, the workday stretched until seven-thirty or eight, or even later if a patient needed supervision or a farm emergency required more time. Griff spent all Tuesday night at the clinic, treating a collicking pony. If the pony hadn't cleared his intestinal blockage by noon on Wednesday, the owners would have had to take him to the state university for surgery. Wednesday included two spays and three castrations, plus six regular appointments every hour.
Griff called Arden on the drive home, explaining that he'd sleep in his own room at his parents' house rather than disturb her. But he hadn't made it past the couch in the den before collapsing, asleep before he hit the cushions.
Tonight, Friday, his sisters had abducted Arden for the evening, citing "girl stuff." Griff hated to think what that might mean, other than he wouldn't be able to spend the evening making love to his "fiancée." Sex was the only way they could really communicate anymore.
And he hated to waste the whole night at home alone. He wasn't in the mood for a bar or a restaurant filled with strangers, so he decided to check in at the country club. Not his usual hangout, but he would probably see somebody he knew to talk to.
Wearing the required jacket, though not the optional tie, he strolled into the club as if he spent every Friday night there.
"Good evening, Dr. Campbell." The manager, who'd been there as long as Griff could remember, stepped out of his office to shake hands. "We're glad you stopped by. Can I get you a table in the dining room?"
"Thanks, Harris. I thought I'd just eat in the lounge, if that's okay."
"Of course. I'll send Thomas in to take your order."
The General's Den, as the lounge was called, had once been the bastion of the male members of the club, a center of social intercourse on evenings and weekends. There wasn't much of a crowd these days, but Griff said hello to the three patrons present, all of them his dad's age, then settled into a secluded corner seat with a view of the basketball game on TV, and a tall, cold beer.
As he ate, he gradually picked up on the unmistakable sounds of a party coming from down the hallway.
"Hey, Vince, what's going on?" he asked, when the bartender brought a refill for his beer. "Sounds like a frat mixer."
Vince rolled his eyes. "More or less the same thing. It's a bachelor party for Al McPherson, in the club room. Open bar plus kegs of beer. We'll be hauling them out in wheelbarrows."
Griff didn't comment. To himself---and to Arden, if the subject arose---he would admit that he missed his best friend and hated knowing that he couldn't be Al's best man. Not that they'd ever thought in those terms...until Griff and Zelda had gotten engaged.
But maybe Al was already in love with Zelda at that point, and hated the assumption that he would be the best man. When had things changed among the three of them? How, Griff wondered, had he missed the signs?
As he indulged in the club's signature dessert---banana bread pudding---he watched a giant cardboard mock-up of a wedding cake roll past the door of the lounge, complete with lacy "icing" on the sides, plus a pair of dolls in wedding dress on top.
"The strippers," Thomas said, taking away Griff's empty plate. He was only about seventeen, still young enough to grin when he added, "Wish I could be in there when they jump out."
"You'll get your chance." Griff made a mental note not to attend his own bachelor party, should there be one. There was only one woman in the world he wanted to see naked, and she didn't jump out of cardboard cakes. Thank God.
Inevitably, Al's party spilled out of the club room. Inebriated revelers, most of them friends or acquaintances of Griff's, wandered into the lounge to watch the ball game and harass the bartender. The older patrons soon abandoned the scene, but Griff couldn't resist remaining as an observer. None of the drunks had noticed him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't get into trouble.
Then Al wove his way into the room. He patted a few backs, called for a double whiskey, neat, then turned around and fixed his bleary gaze on Griff's face.
"You," he said loudly. "What're you doin' here?"
Griff got slowly to his feet. He kept his voice down, as he did when he talked to Igor. "Leaving."
But his old friend stepped in front of him. "Runnin' away again?"
"My specialty."
"No, your specialty is screwing up my life."
"Don't do this," Griff begged. "Let it go."
That wasn't going to happen. Al had always brooded over his hurts, then exploded to release the pressure. "Do you know how long it took her to get over you leaving? Huh? It was six weeks before she'd talk to me on the phone."
Leaning against the wall, Griff folded his arms. Maybe the solution was to let him talk it out.
"Then I finally got her to say yes, plan a wedding, get started on our life together and what happens? You show up again. Only this time..." He wiped a hand over his face. "This time, you bring another woman with you...one who has every guy in town panting over her."
Behind Al, the lounge had gone quiet, except for the TV. So they all heard Griff when he said, "Shut up, McPherson. Not another word."
But Al wasn't listening. "And Zelda goes crazy. Absolutely insane. 'He wants me to be sorry,' she says. 'He's trying to make me jealous.' And damn if it didn't work. I couldn't---"
"That's enough." Griff grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him toward the door. "The party's over for you, buddy. You're going home."
They got as far as the entry hall before Al recovered his balance and his instinct for self-defense.
"Oh, no, you don't. I'm not lettin' you order me around." He pivoted, then started swinging.
Griff ducked, but didn't hit back. "Give it up, Al. You never could beat me in a---"
He saw the last punch coming, but reacted a second too late. Knuckles slapped into flesh. Pain bloomed on the side of his head from ear to nose.
What he hadn't counted on was the shove in the chest that followed, and the crack of his skull against the floor.
Or the black hole he fell into after that.
ARDEN HAD ACCEPTED Kathy's invitation to join the Campbell sisters' "girls night out" for only one reason---by going, she could avoid an entire Friday evening alone with Griff.
His hectic week at the office had worked to her advantage, because he'd been too tired in the evenings to do much more than eat dinner and go to bed. He certainly hadn't been his usual eagle-eyed, perceptive self.
She believed she could hide the truth from his sisters, too. Especially since Kathy had promised champagne as the drink of choice for the evening. A glass or two would keep Dana and Lauren from noticing anything off in Arden's mood. And she figured she'd get a boost of her own from the bubbly, at least enough to evade Kathy, who would be staying sober because of her baby.
Then she walked into Kathy's charming bungalow and found that girl's night included Griff's mother, which created a much more dangerous situation. She might not be as insightful as her husband, but any hint of a threat to Griff's welfare would put her on alert.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Arden said as she gave Kathy her coat. "I missed a couple of turns." Because she'd been musing over her deception with Griff rather than watching where she was going.
"Arden." Rosalie Campbell caught her hands and squeezed. "I just got here myself. I'm so glad you decided to come."
"Champagne," Kathy said, offering a glass to each of them. "Dana and Lauren are already ahead of you. Drink up."
Once they were all seated in the living room, the conversation developed in a predictable direction.
"I haven't had a chance to talk to you this week," Rosalie began. "Semester exams are as onerous for the teachers as they are for students. And I haven't seen Griff at all. But I'm still fielding questions about you from everybody in town. You're a concert violinist, and you never said a word? I'm just so amazed. And delighted, of course."
Arden took a gulp of champagne. "Mrs. Campbell, I know you must feel I've been deceptive---"
Dana nodded. "Dad stomped around all day Sunday, muttering, 'I knew she was hiding something. I knew it.'"
Rosalie gave her daughter a disapproving glance. "That's overstating the case. But...why, Arden? Did you have a reason for keeping your career a secret?"
She explained about her retirement. "You saw what happens when people learn that I play," she said. "And, really, it's pretty painful to have given up what was once my entire life."
The four women nodded in sympathy.
"I avoid most music," she told them honestly. "I'd rather not have to think about what I can no longer do. It's not a good coping mechanism, I admit. Perhaps I can improve with time."
Lauren, sitting beside Arden on the couch, put a hand over hers. "I do understand. I used to play basketball---I had a college scholarship and just knew I could lead a championship team. Then I blew out my knee in a skiing accident. I haven't watched a basketball game since. It would hurt too much."
"Exactly." Arden breathed a sigh of relief. Her story had been accepted. "Keeping the secret avoids situations like last weekend, where I can't get out of performing."
Then Kathy spoke up. "But why did you stop playing? What caused you to retire?"
After drawing a deep breath, she explained about her hearing loss.
"Now I understand." Griff's mother nodded. "And I'm sure Jake will, as well. There have been times when he asked me not to mention his profession at a party or in a crowd. People try to get him to deliver a diagnosis in the middle of dinner."
"You play the piano beautifully, of course." Rosalie brought up the subject again as they gathered around the dining room table to fill their plates from a buffet of Kathy's favorite appetizers. "Couldn't you have continued your career with that instrument?"
The question required more creative truth telling. "I don't have a professional repertoire on the piano." Pretending a calm she didn't feel, Arden spooned artichoke dip onto her plate and added crackers. "I couldn't compete at the same level as before."
"But you would still have your music."
"Perhaps I can move in that direction. But my retirement occurred at the same time as my broken engagement. There was just too much to deal with."
"How awful." Griff's mother folded her into a hug. "You went through a terrible time, didn't you? And call me Rosalie," she whispered. "It's past time I said that."
Blinking back tears, Arden set her plate on the table and rested her hands on Rosalie's shoulders, gingerly returning the embrace. She couldn't remember the last hug she'd received from her own mother.
While they ate chicken Kiev and wild rice for dinner, the conversation became more general, and Arden found herself diverted for minutes at a time from her preoccupation with a barren future. The champagne did seem to help, and she allowed herself to drink more freely than usual. After all, she didn't have to worry about harming a baby anymore.
Once they'd each had a substantial helping of Kathy's "better than sex" cake, they relaxed again in the living room with refilled glasses of wine.
"I had an ulterior motive for asking y'all over tonight," Kathy announced.
Dana groaned. "I am not scrubbing your kitchen floor."
"And don't put me down for the bathrooms, either," Lauren said.
"Of course not." Kathy frowned at her sisters. "You two wouldn't get anything clean enough to suit me."
A sisterly pillow fight ensued, as the girls threw couch cushions back and forth, while Arden and Rosalie ducked, laughing.
Kathy stockpiled the pillows thrown at her behind her chair, where no one could reach them. "Mom, could you bring out the books?"
Rosalie went to a closet, returning with large, flat volumes of wallpaper samples, plus thick piles of fabric swatches.
Kathy looked at Arden. "My Jimmy is totally color-blind. Ask him how a room looks, and he says 'Fine, darlin'. Do these socks match?' And of course they don't, because one is blue and one is green. So when I decorate, I have to solicit other opinions. And now that I'm getting into the fourth month with Junior here---" she placed a hand on the slight mound at her waist "---I thought I'd start getting ideas on the nursery. So tonight we're havin' a decor orgy, so to speak. Dig in, girls, and show me what works for you."
With cries of delight, Lauren and Dana slid from their chairs to the floor and began leafing through wallpaper pages. Rosalie started with fabrics. The samples, mostly from children's collections, featured animals of every description, toys, clouds, clowns, castles and farms, cities and parks, fields and mountains, printed in colors from pastel to bold and bright, in every imaginable style and design.
Arden reached for a wallpaper book, then drew back her hand and finished her glass of champagne instead. She tried looking over Rosalie's shoulder, but her heart twisted at visions of fluffy lambs printed on pale aqua cotton, bunnies on pink, bears on yellow.
The cover of the book at her feet caught her attention---a fully decorated nursery, all white furniture with red, yellow and blue striped fabrics on the bed and at the windows. Above a white chair rail, the wallpaper featured balloons in those same colors floating merrily through the sky. Below the rail, a wallpaper mural depicted a little town with shopping district and offices, neighborhoods and churches, a big park and outlying farms and fields with horses and cows---a child's world on the walls.
And in the center of this perfect room sat a happy, dark-haired mother holding a little boy with blond curls and blue eyes.
Arden stared at the picture, losing awareness of anything happening around her as she drowned in what-might-have-been.
"Honey, are you okay?" Rosalie set a hand over the fists Arden had clenched in her lap.
Looking up, Arden found the three sisters staring at her, too.
"What's wrong?" Kathy crouched in front of her. "Are you sick?"
In the next moment, the phone rang, and Arden was saved by the bell.
ONCE HIS DAD ARRIVED at the hospital, Griff wasn't surprised to see his mother show up.
But he was somewhat startled when, one after the other, his sisters, their husbands and Arden entered the emergency room cubicle.
"You all didn't have to come down here," he protested. "I told Dad he shouldn't have called. I was out for only a few seconds."
"More like ten minutes," Jake growled. "The folks at the club called the ambulance."
Lauren, Dana and Kathy took up one side of the bed, with their men and his parents on the other. Arden stood at the end, looking pale and frightened.
He ached to get his arms around her and chase the shadows from her eyes.
First, he had to answer all the questions, including what happened? Who did this? Why? What did you say? What did he say? Why didn't somebody else stop him? Why did you try?
And he had to deal with his dad's anger. "I'm going to tan that boy's backside when I get hold of him."
"You're going to stay away from Al if Mom has to tie you in a chair," Griff told him. "Leave him alone, all of you. Zelda, too. We need to stay out of their way until the wedding."
His mother nodded in approval, but the girls took more convincing.
Kathy propped her hands on her hips. "She dumped you, and I think a little suffering is good for her."
"She's suffered," Griff said. "At least as much as I have. And Al's had the worst of it."
"They could have let you know sooner," Dana said. "They embarrassed all of us, waiting till the last minute."
"Not to mention how hard you worked on the house, only to sell it." Lauren shook her head. "I painted and wallpapered. I put a lot of work into those walls."
"I know you did." Griff grabbed her hand. "But it's over and done, and we need to forget. Let's think about the future." He looked at Arden as he said that, but she avoided his eyes.
"So, can you leave now?" Kathy asked. "You don't have to spend the night, do you?"
"Waiting on test results," his dad said. "Then they'll let us know."
The doctor did a double take when he came in a few minutes later. "Did I miss the reunion announcement?"
"Just the standard family conference," Griff announced. "So, can I leave?"
"The CT scan looks good. Do you have someone who can keep an eye on you overnight?"
Nine people in the room nodded.
The doctor surveyed the group of them, then turned back to Griff. "I guess you're covered. I'll sign your release papers."
"Thanks," he said, offering a handshake as his sisters hugged each other and everyone else. "I told you I was fine."
"Better safe than sorry." The doctor waved as he left. "Enjoy the reunion."
The argument over where he would spend the night might have lasted until dawn if his mother hadn't spoken up.
"Griff has a very capable woman to look after him tonight. He doesn't need his sisters---"
"Though he loves them," Griff interjected.
"---or his parents. Arden will make sure he's alive and kicking tomorrow morning."
Jake was still protesting as Rosalie pushed him out of the room. "You're the one who sent him to the woods at age fifteen to live off the land for two days. Don't try to coddle him now."
She came back to the bed and bent over to kiss Griff's cheek. "I'm glad to see you've learned so much in these last six months," she said quietly. "I'm proud of you."
And she stopped by Arden as she left. Griff couldn't hear what she whispered, but saw Arden nod.
Then, finally, they were alone. "Come here," he said, sitting up on the side of the bed and holding out his arms.
After hesitating a moment, she walked over to wrap her arms around his waist.
Griff sighed. A truce, of sorts.
"I'm glad you're okay." She rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. "I can't believe Al pushed you like that. Isn't that dirty fighting?"
"I think it's mostly called drunk and disorderly." Griff took a deep breath, drawing in crisp, floral perfume, creamy shampoo, almond lotion and lavender sachets, plus the unique essence of the woman herself. "Let's go home."
At the cottage, he insisted on taking Igor for a walk while Arden got ready for bed. "Fresh air cures everything," he said, when she argued with him.
"Except frostbite," she retorted.
Griff found himself grinning at her. "I won't be gone that long."
When he returned to the bedroom, the lights were already off---not Arden's usual style. The bed was empty, but a crack of light showed under the bathroom door. Not sure what message he was supposed to be getting, he donned his sweatpants and a T-shirt before climbing between the sheets.
She turned the bathroom light off before opening the door, and crossed the room in darkness. When he reached for her, she didn't turn away.
"Arden," he whispered, tracing the contours of her waist, her hips and thighs with his palms. "We don't have to be so angry."
"No." Her lips played with his earlobe. "We don't."
Saying "I love you," though, was simply too hard. Using the words, even in a pitch-dark room, required more pride than he could risk.
And so they spent another wordless night together, connected in every way...except the one that mattered most.
Arden spent the two weeks before Zelda and Al's wedding playing her part as Griff's devoted fiancée---it was, she knew, all she would ever have of him.
They went to church together, to the movies and to the local flea market on Saturday morning. They rode Dorsey and Cowboy on Sunday afternoons. Frequent invitations for dinner with some of his friends and their wives filled their evenings, until they could return to the cottage and spend the dark hours making love. Those nights might have been why Griff was so tired most days at work. Neither of them would have traded sex for sleep.
They were getting along better, on the surface, at least. They could laugh together, and share jokes. Of course, Arden was all too aware of the secrets she continued to keep from him. And despite his efforts, Griff obviously couldn't forget the secrets she'd revealed. With such distrust between them, Arden sensed she wouldn't be staying in Georgia much longer.
Her last lunch with the Campbell sisters took place on the Wednesday, before Zelda's wedding, again at Pirouette. No slippery asphalt marred the occasion---the sun shone and a temperature above sixty degrees allowed them to sit at a table on the terrace.
Arden did her best not to think of this as a farewell luncheon, though she didn't expect to see any of them in private again. The four of them laughed throughout the meal, and she thought she'd been keeping up appearances quite well.
Once Lauren and Dana had left to return to work, however, Kathy leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her fists. "I've been dying to talk to you for days. I'm so glad I finally got the chance."
Arden had wondered if she would have to account for the way she'd broken down at Kathy's "decor orgy." She was surprised when none of the Campbell women had brought up the subject.
And Kathy had evidently moved on. "Since you told us about your hearing loss, I've wanted to share some thoughts with you. There are programs that provide assistance for partially or completely deaf kids so they can go to regular public schools. You would make a terrific volunteer---an example of what can be accomplished despite this disability."
Arden tried to be polite. "Thanks, but---"
"Another idea I had was music appreciation classes for children with partial deafness---you could help them experience the sounds to the extent of their ability, help them physically sense the vibrations, that sort of thing. What do you think?"
Arden thought she might faint, because she couldn't get a decent breath. As Kathy spoke, some kind of weight seemed to have settled in Arden's chest, compressing her lungs.
In all the months since she'd first heard the word deaf applied to herself, Arden had tried to distance herself from that fact. She'd arranged her life so she didn't really need to hear to get along. No one spoke to her, the dog didn't bark---the world could become totally soundless without affecting her in the least.
Then Griff had arrived, bringing with him relationships and conversation and music, damn him. She'd learned to talk to people, to enjoy them, to actually forget the defect that had so diminished her existence.
And now Kathy wanted her to use that flaw? To celebrate her disability as a model of how to cope? To pretend she didn't wake every morning in despair because she couldn't hear the birds sing?
"I---I'll think about it," she managed to say without screaming. "It's an...an interesting idea." She grabbed the check off the table. "I'll take care of this, but I have to be...somewhere in just a few minutes." Leaning in, she kissed the air beside Kathy's cheek. "Take care."
That was one lesson Griff hadn't needed to teach her, Arden decided, driving out of Sheridan at a speed considerably over the legal limit.
How to run away.
ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON, Griff found himself returning to the office from a farm call on the same side of town where the house he'd once owned was located. Out of curiosity, he took the still-familiar turns leading to his former address. He intended just to see the place and how it was being taken care of, and then drive on.
The first change he noted was color---he'd painted the siding a soft yellow and the shutters bright blue, but the new owner had wanted a mellow green with white. Even in winter, he could tell the landscaping had been improved, with trees and shrubs enhancing what had once been a plain grass lawn. But then, he'd planned for Zelda, with her green thumb, to design the plantings after their wedding.
A car sat in the driveway, a silver compact similar to the make Zelda drove. As Griff approached, he realized it wasn't just similar---it was the exact car Zelda drove. Then he glanced at the mailbox---a bigger and prettier style than the one he'd put up. Lettered on the side was the last name of the residents: McPherson.
Griff slammed on the brakes and stopped the SUV beside the driveway, shut off the engine and stalked to the front door. Pushing the bell with one finger, he didn't release the pressure.
As the door opened, an irritated woman's voice said, "I hear you, I hear you. My goodness, what is your---" Zelda stood on the other side of the screen, staring at him. "What do you want?"
At that moment, he saw honest fear in her eyes. Zelda, the girl he'd known since grade school, could actually believe he might hurt her.
His anger leached away. Shoulders slumped, he blew out a breath. "I drove by to see the place, then realized you were living here. I only want to talk, Zelda. Can I come in?"
Because she knew him, she could recognize the change in his feelings. "Sure, Griff. Come on in."
The living room contained furniture---some of which he recognized from Zelda's old apartment---and boxes. "We're still moving stuff in," she explained, gathering wrapping tissue off a chair so he could sit down.
"You haven't been living here since...June?"
She sat down on the coffee table, the paper clutched in her lap. "No. I---I couldn't."
"I see." No wonder Al had been so worked up. "I didn't know the name of the buyer. I just got a check from the lawyer. So I was surprised when I saw the mailbox."
"Your family didn't tell you?"
Griff shook his head. "Maybe they thought I knew. Maybe I should have---I wasn't paying too much attention back then."
Zelda nodded. "I didn't tell people around here for a long time."
"But why would you and Al want to live here? Why not get a house I had nothing to do with?"
She hugged the paper in her arms a little tighter. "We missed you, Griff. Both of us, all the time. We betrayed you, and yet we still loved you and wanted you in our lives."
Hard stuff to hear. Griff gripped his hands together between his knees, staring at the floor.
"Al found the house first, saw it was for sale and told me about it. I came by myself and I just about died, seeing all the work you'd done for me. So Al and I decided we owed it to you to live here."
Griff looked up. "You do know that's weird, right? I mean, you came here to tell me you wouldn't marry me, and now you'll be living here with the guy you dumped me for. It doesn't really make a lot of sense."
"Probably not." Zelda's smile was sad. "I always loved you, Griff. I always loved Al, too. You asked me out first, he stepped aside, and everything just kind of flowed from there. I flowed with it."
"So what went wrong?"
She sighed. "Being with you, Griff, takes so much energy. Mental, emotional, physical---I always felt like I was falling behind. Always running to catch up. It's nothing you do or say---just the way you are. Al and I move at the same pace. We're not so brilliant, not as dynamic or exciting as you are. But we fit." Her smile was a little bit wicked. "Boy, do we fit."
"I'm glad," Griff said, from his heart. "I want you to be happy."
"I know you do." She let the paper fall to the floor and came to stand in front of him, holding out her hands. "I am sorry we hurt you so badly. I should have known my own mind a long time before I did. But weddings take on a life of their own---you get so wrapped up in the process you don't look ahead to the final result. I didn't, anyway, until almost too late."
Grasping her hands, Griff stood up. "What happened?"
"Your dad came to see me one afternoon."
"My dad?" Griff released her and started to pace. "My dad is the reason you broke up with me?"
"No. Well..." Zelda flushed when he stopped to stare at her. "He just talked, Griff, about marriage being a big challenge, needing all that two people can give to each other. And when I thought about it, I knew I wasn't enough for you."
"That's not what I thought."
"But I did, and so it would have mattered one way or the other. Then Al caught me speeding one day, out on Old Orchard Road. He actually gave me a ticket!" She laughed, still obviously delighted. "On the ticket form, he wrote, 'It's not too late. Marry me, instead.'"
Griff laughed, too. "Good for Al. He knew what he wanted and he went for it." Then Griff looked down at her. "You have my best wishes for a happy life, Zelda. God bless you both."
"Thank you." She pulled his head down. "Here's your kiss from the bride."
Her lips touched his briefly, with absolutely no sparks. He hugged her, recognizing the rebirth of friendship from the ashes of a romance.
The front door slammed open. "Get your hands off my wife," Al declared. "You can't have her."
Griff did as ordered. "I don't want her." He glanced at Zelda. "With apologies, you understand."
She stood with her hands on her hips, facing her fiancé. "I understand someone's being a jerk. Stop it, Al."
Al wasn't listening. He headed for Griff, hands up and ready to grapple.
"Not this time, buddy." Griff sidestepped. "The back of my head still hurts."
A couple of quick moves he'd learned in the islands swept Al's feet out from under him and dropped him hard onto his back, knocking the breath out of him.
"I owed you that," Griff said. "Be grateful for the carpet. You can apologize in the receiving line at the reception." He stepped over Al on his way to the door. "Congratulations, by the way. You've got a beautiful bride." He pulled the door closed behind him on the way out.
"I wish I could say the same," he muttered to himself. And then sighed.
ARDEN AWOKE SMILING on Valentine's Day, thinking of the sensuous night just past and inhaling the delicious aroma of coffee.
"Happy Valentine's Day." Griff sat down on the bed beside her and leaned over to give her a coffee-flavored kiss. "Don't get up. I'm ready to leave."
"Too bad. We could have breakfast in bed. Again." They'd spent all of the rainy Sunday just past exactly that way. "Is the weather better?"
"Still raining, and spitting snow. Not quite what you hope for on your wedding day." He kissed her again and stood up. "I'll see you this afternoon. Dad kept the surgery schedule light and there are no appointments after three, so I have a good chance of actually making it to the wedding by six."
His well-laid plans fell apart when a prize mare on the far side of the county had trouble giving birth. Griff called Arden on his way out, predicting he would return in plenty of time to dress and drive her to the wedding.
He called again with twenty minutes to spare, telling her to go on without him.
Finally back at the cottage, he hurried into his dress pants, then went to the bathroom to shave. Arden must have waited until the very last moment before getting ready, and she'd left more of a clutter than usual---her makeup bag, cosmetics and hair tools littered the counter.
Griff pulled out the electric razor to give his jaw a smooth finish, surveying the feminine disarray as he worked. A rolled up tube---obviously not toothpaste---caught his eye.
The label stopped his heart for several seconds.
Spermicidal lubricant.
He flipped off the razor and looked at himself in the mirror. "Now why would you be trying to kill the little buggers if you wanted to make a baby?"
AFTER WAITING AS LONG AS she dared, Arden reached the church just before the grandmothers of the bride and groom were to be seated. The Campbells filled up an entire pew, so she sat alone, farther back, leaving space for Griff on the aisle.
When she'd confessed that she'd never attended a wedding, Griff had enacted for her, in hilarious detail, the traditional Southern marriage service. She now felt quite prepared to enjoy every aspect of Zelda and Al's ceremony.
Especially since she would not be having one of her own.
The church, dating from before the Civil War, was lit by candles and filled with large arrangements of white lilies and gladiolas accented with red roses. The customary tune of Wagner's "Wedding Chorus" played quietly as Zelda's attendants came down the center aisle, each dress a slightly deeper shade of pink than the last, until Kayli Morgan appeared as the matron of honor, wearing a true, deep red. The five of them made a lovely gradient effect at the front of the sanctuary, balanced on the other side by Al's friends, all wearing black tuxedos with red and pink roses in their lapels.
Zelda's entrance was heralded by trumpets from the organ and a sudden crescendo. She wore a lovely, fullskirted dress, with a long veil over her face, and carried a trailing white bouquet.
Griff slipped into the pew beside Arden a moment before the minister started to speak. He gave her a tired grin, then took her hand and directed his attention to the bride and groom.
So here they were. They'd accomplished what he'd set out to do six weeks ago---project the image of a successful and satisfied man as he returned to his hometown. She'd fulfilled her side of the agreement and given him an adoring girlfriend to show off. No one had expressed the least doubt about their relationship. She could go back to Chaos Key with pride in a job well done.
And if her heart was broken, that wasn't Griff's fault. He'd done absolutely everything a man could to make her happy. The flaw was hers. And she would bear the cost alone.
The marriage ceremony took only minutes, which seemed odd given the amount of time spent planning and anticipating it. Al and Zelda faced each other, holding hands, as the minister asked the standard questions. "Do you take this man...for better or worse, richer or poorer...as long as you both shall live?" After the vows, Al and Zelda lit a candle together, then knelt while the minister prayed. And then came the official pronouncement: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present to you Alexander and Zelda McPherson."
Mendelssohn's triumphant recessional rang through the church. Audience members rose to their feet as Al and Zelda returned along the aisle, smiling widely and greeting people on either side. The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed, creating a brushstroke effect of red against black, which would produce a lovely image to treasure through the years.
Griff turned to Arden. "Are you okay?"
"Are you?" He'd told her about talking to Zelda and Al at their new house, with a humorous slant that seemed to prove he'd recovered from the betrayal.
"I'm great." They made their way outside through the press of people, sharing the standard "Wasn't it a lovely wedding?" comments as they went.
On the front steps of the church, however, the conversations changed abruptly. "Look at that," Griff said. "There's your snow, Arden."
After a cloudy day of cold rain mixed with ice and a few snowflakes, nightfall had brought about a change in the precipitation. In the short time they'd been inside the church, a thin layer of white had coated the grass and shrubs. Like a heavy fall of powdered sugar, snow coated the bare tree branches and the individual needles of the pine trees.
She clapped her hands in appreciation. "Beautiful. What a breathtaking scene---everything draped in white for the wedding."
"Except the roads," Griff pointed out. "Safe driving and a winter wonderland. That's the advantage of a Southern snowfall. No shoveling."
They were the only people still standing on the steps; the rest had hurried through the falling snow to their cars, heading toward the wedding reception at the country club. A limousine pulled up at the curb to collect the bridesmaids and groomsmen, and in the general confusion, Arden and Griff headed for the Jaguar.
"We'll party for a little while," he promised as they drove. "But I want a few minutes alone with you during the evening. We need to talk."
"Yes," Arden said quietly. "We do."
"One thing you can always count on at the club," Jake Campbell announced at dinner. "Decent food."
Arden smiled, and the rest of the family signaled their agreement. They had all been seated together again, but not at a table tucked into a corner this time.
"A ringside seat," Griff had commented as they sat down. "Right on the dance floor and with a direct line of sight to the head table. I guess it pays to be nice to the bride and groom."
The wedding reception was everything Zelda could have hoped for, Arden thought---beautiful, delicious and crowded. Red and white flowers emerged from tall vases on the tables and a red rose lay across each dinner plate. Confetti made up of tiny red and white foil hearts had been sprinkled across the white tablecloths. The new Mr. and Mrs. McPherson had given all their guests a memorable Valentine's Day evening at no charge. Their wedding would, Arden suspected, be remembered for years.
She knew she would remember laughing with the Campbell family all during the meal, dancing with Griff and pretending---just for a couple of hours---that she could share the rest of his life.
Her final dance with his father would not be easily forgotten. He had asked and she had hesitated.
"Afraid of me?" he said, with a challenge in his eyes.
"Of course not." But she was, and he probably knew it when she put her cold fingers into his warm hand.
He didn't say anything for a few minutes, leading her with his expert grace through some fairly complicated steps. Then he drew back so they could see each other. "You've improved."
"There have been several dances since that first one," she reminded him. "Griff and I have practiced."
"And, of course, you have a natural sense of rhythm. You would have to, in order to play so well."
"Yes." Here we go, she thought.
"I'm sorry to hear you're losing your hearing," he said. "That's a tragedy for your fans, as well as a personal loss."
"Thank you." She looked over his shoulder, trying to hide her surprise.
But he could read her as easily as Griff did, it seemed. "Didn't think I could be human, did you?"
"I wasn't sure. But Rosalie married you, so I knew you must have a soft spot somewhere."
"Touché." He sent her into a spin and brought her back again. "You've been good for Griff."
"I'm glad."
"I know he's been restless. Small town veterinary practice isn't the most exciting life path, being composed of hard work and never enough time off."
"But there are rewards in helping the animals and their owners." She had driven with Griff out to check on Rajah one afternoon. Though the stallion's wound was still healing, he was back to his energetic, magnificent self.
"I like it. Griff thought he might want something different, I think. Or somewhere different. That was one of the issues between him and Zelda. But since you've been here, I'm getting the feeling he sees himself settling down."
Arden blinked hard. "I think he's seen his hometown in a new light. Less of a burden, more of a blessing."
"His mother and I would like that." The song came to a close and Jake slowed their steps to a halt. Then, to Arden's surprise, he bent low over her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "And we thank you," he said.
Speechless with astonishment and emotion, Arden returned to their table with her dance partner this time, instead of running off to the restroom. Jake made sure she had champagne, then solicited his wife's hand for the next dance, and they left her alone at the table for a moment. As she scanned the crowd, she couldn't find Griff. But his sisters were mingling at different places around the ballroom. Dana, in her bright orange gown, was talking to friends whose sons played soccer with her own. Lauren, wearing bright blue, was deep in discussion with her best friend, probably about a new cooking venture they hoped to launch on the internet. Kathy seemed to be showing off her elegant maternity evening dress in green silk to a circle of mothers-to-be. Not that she had much of a bump to accommodate.
The sight of women with round bellies foretold of the babies to come drove a knife through Arden's heart. She had known this evening would be hard---and the worst was yet to come. But maybe she could go to the restroom for a few minutes, while the rest of them were occupied, and regain some measure of strength and self-control.
She met with a number of delays on her way to the ballroom doorway, as people she'd come to know stopped her to comment about the wedding, the gowns, the food.... Arden felt more desperate with each encounter, but forced herself to stay calm. Finally, she did cross the threshold and, with a last glance over her shoulder, turned toward the restrooms.
Only to run straight into Griff. "I was just coming to get you," he said. He wasn't smiling. "Would you like to sit down for a while in relative peace?"
Calm poured over her like cool water. "That sounds nice. I'm hoarse from talking."
With his hand at her waist, he walked down the hallway---past the lounge and the restrooms, all the way to the end, where he opened a door. "I think we'll be safe in here. Most folks aren't interested in the sunroom after dark."
Arden stepped in and gasped. "They don't know what they're missing." Furnished with wicker chairs and ceiling fans, the room had been constructed with huge windows taking the place of walls. The sills were low enough to be stepped over, leading guests out to the garden beyond.
Of course, tonight that garden was covered with snow. An inch more had fallen since they'd left the church, and the landscape illumined by the tall outdoor lights resembled New England more than the sunny South.
"Add a sleigh and some reindeer and we could make our own Christmas card." Griff spoke from somewhere off to the side. "I've never seen it quite so pretty."
She looked at him and he came toward her and took one of her hands in his, holding it lightly.
"I've never known such a beautiful woman." He kissed the back of it and then, to her surprise, released her and turned away.
"Griff?"
He stood staring out one of the windows. "Most of all, I have never allowed myself to be duped by anyone the way I have with you."
She realized all at once that the room was ice-cold. "What do you mean?"
"You've been a woman of mystery from the beginning. That was part of your charm, I guess, especially after I'd been dumped by a girl I'd known since grade school."
He looked over his shoulder. "Is this a game you play with every man who wanders into your life? Or am I just really stupid?"
"Don't say that. I've never been with another man like...like this."
"I should be grateful for that, I suppose. If it's true." He turned to her, grim-faced, his spine straight and stiff. "You have kept so many secrets, I don't know if I can trust even one piece of information you've given me."
"Everything you know about me is true."
"Ah, there's the justification. I get it---you simply lie by omission. That's a fine line you walk, Ms. Burke."
"What are you talking about?"
"Were you ever planning to have a baby? I can't figure out what you had to gain from this little charade, otherwise. Whatever, you're clearly not expecting to have one now." He sent her a humorless grin. "Spermicidal jelly doesn't make good babies."
Arden put her hand to her mouth. She'd been rushing...it must have fallen out of her bag.
At this point, she could only end the entire episode with dignity. "No, it doesn't. I decided that...that I wouldn't have a baby. We obviously weren't staying together."
"We were never staying together, remember? Why would you think otherwise?"
"Because I---" She caught herself before she could make the one irretrievable mistake. "I decided it wasn't fair to take a child from its father and grandparents, to deprive your family of the baby they would have l-loved."
"You didn't think I might want a part in this decision?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, but felt tears escape, nonetheless. They slid down her face and dropped off her chin, no doubt making spots on the raw silk of her dress.
With his hands in the pockets of his slacks, Griff shrugged. "I guess you'll find some other fool to give you a baby. A guy with fewer family obligations to consider."
"No. I've decided I won't have a child by myself. A baby needs a family."
A long silence stretched between them. Griff stood motionless, as if he'd turned to ice.
Arden took a deep breath. "I lost a baby last year. Andre's baby. I learned I was pregnant only a few days before I...found him with my mother. Then I---I miscarried. When you wanted me to come here, I thought I could replace that baby. Fill the empty place inside me with another child. But I wasn't thinking about that little person, about what he or she would need. Now I am."
She cleared her throat. "That's my last secret, Griff. If there's anything else you want to know, send me a letter. I'll answer any question you ask."
Turning on her toe, she forced her stiff legs to move, ignoring the pins and needles in her feet as she walked over the stone floor. She thought he might say something, might try to stop her at the last moment.
But even though she hesitated, holding the door open for endless seconds, Griff's pride made the final choice.
Letting the door close behind her, Arden fetched her coat from the checkroom and waited for the valet to bring the Jag around. At the cottage, she made sure her note for Mrs. Campbell could be seen on the kitchen counter.
Then she and Igor headed south.
"IT'S A LITTLE CHILLY in here for a nap."
Griff hadn't heard his dad open the sunroom door.
But he didn't reply, or move from his slouch in one of the wicker armchairs, even as Jake approached across the stone floor.
Tall and slim in his tux, the elder Dr. Campbell crossed his arms and propped his shoulder against a window frame. "Where is Arden? Your mother and the girls have searched the ladies' room. This was the last place in the club we hadn't checked."
"Gone." Griff cleared his throat. "Home."
"Alone?"
He managed a jerk of his head. "Florida."
Jake pulled up a bench and sat down. "What happened?"
His quiet, concerned tone broke through Griff's defenses. "It was all a sham," he confessed, keeping his gaze on the icy world outside. "I brought a beautiful woman home with me to avoid looking like a loser. We agreed she would stay through Zelda's wedding, then we'd have a fight and go our separate ways." A chuckle escaped him. "Mission accomplished. In record time."
"You lied, in other words. To your mother and your sisters."
"Yes. And to you. Hell, to the whole town."
"When did you cook up this scheme?"
"I met Arden on New Year's Eve. On the beach."
His dad gave a long, low whistle. "She's quite an opportunist."
Griff erupted from the chair to stand over his dad, hands fisted at his sides. "That's complete bullshit. The plan was mine alone. I had to convince her to come with me."
"And what does she get out of this collusion?" Jake didn't appear to feel threatened. "Not cash, I gather."
As fast as his anger had surged, it drained away. Griff let his shoulders slump. "A baby," he said roughly. "She wanted a baby."
"Dear God." The wicker bench fell over as Jake straightened to his full height. "You let her leave when she was carrying your child?"
A jangle of pain in his dad's voice connected Griff to that moment, six weeks ago, when he'd glimpsed a vital repercussion of his plan but failed to follow through. Now he could see the detail he'd ignored all too clearly.
He'd brought Arden to his family, thinking she might take away a baby they would love. That careless intent was bad enough. But he'd also given them the woman herself, asked them to accept her as a member of the family. To love her, worry about her, plan a future with her. And then just let her go.
He had fallen in love with Arden Burke. Why wouldn't his family do the same?
"I'm sorry," he said, for the first time looking his dad in the face. "I was drunk that night and scared to come home. Arden seemed like the answer to a prayer---I wanted her the moment I saw her." He shrugged. "Maybe I fell in love with her at first sight. Maybe I thought I deserved some payback for what Zelda put me through.
"But she's not pregnant." He answered his dad's skeptical glare with a nod. "She changed her mind and started using birth control. I guess she didn't want any ties to me at all."
"Well, that's something to be grateful for." Jake's shoulders relaxed. "Now all you have to do is face your mother."
Rosalie cried, once the whole family was back at home and sitting in the den, but not for the reason Griff expected.
"Poor Arden," his mother said, wiping tears and her makeup onto the tissues her husband offered. "No wonder she's been so unhappy these last few weeks."
When Jake snorted, she fixed him with a fiery stare. "Don't be so harsh. Arden has never had a family or people to love her. I can only imagine how hard it must be for her to give that up."
"She didn't have to go," Griff pointed out. "All she had to do was tell the truth. I would have accepted anything she'd done to keep her."
"Evidently not," Kathy said. "You couldn't accept that she hadn't told you everything." When he frowned, she only shrugged. "That's just logic."
"She hasn't had much experience with forgiveness," Jim pointed out. "Maybe she didn't know how to ask."
"And you didn't offer." Dana's icy stare rivaled Jake's for its paralyzing effect. "Did you?"
The discussion proceeded with a thorough dissection of Arden's emotions, motivations and needs, a comparable analysis of Griff's psyche and enough tears to drown a dinghy.
But he removed himself mentally and emotionally from the process. They were his family, and they'd forgive him eventually. Whatever punishment they inflicted in the meantime would be no less than he deserved.
Finally, with various gestures of sympathy or displays of disappointment, his sisters and their husbands went to their own homes. His parents went to bed without saying much at all, which meant more deliberation to come.
Griff sat on alone, staring at the fire. His thoughts had dwindled to a mix of sadness, longing and, yes, some anger.
Mostly, though, he simply missed her. She couldn't be more than a hundred miles away, but it might as well be a thousand. What could he do to bridge the distance?
Arden's last words came back to him. "If there's anything else you want to know, send me a letter. I'll answer whatever you ask."
He was at the secretary desk before he realized he'd moved, with a sheet of thick note paper in front of him and a black pen poised and ready.
"Dear Arden..."
A MARCH VISIT WITH her audiologist documented the continued decline in Arden's hearing.
At the front desk, a woman who reminded her of Rosalie Campbell wanted to set up the next appointment.
"I'll call," Arden told her. "When I'm ready."
"But---but..." Distress wrinkled the secretary's forehead and widened her eyes. "You should maintain a regular schedule of examinations. The doctor says so."
Arden smiled. "I don't need the numbers to know my deafness is getting worse. I'll come back if I have doubts. Thank you." Waving away the continued protests, she left the office and stepped out into bright Miami sunshine.
Her mother waited nearby on a bench under a palm tree. She looked up from her newspaper crossword puzzle as Arden sat down. "How did it go?"
"As expected." Arden shrugged, hardly bothered by the news. Compared to losing Griff, losing her hearing didn't matter much. "My acuity is down to about fifty percent. I've lost most of the high frequency tones." She paused as a thought struck her. "Maybe I should play the cello."
"Or the tuba." With the puzzle folded into her purse, Lorraine Burke lifted her pale face to the breeze. Her bright blond hair, barely an inch long, didn't stir. "Contrabassoon? I always enjoyed the bassoon."
"Bass drum." Arden pantomimed the sideways strokes. "Boom, boom, boom." As her arms dropped, she caught sight of her watch. "We have fifteen minutes to reach the clinic."
Lorraine sighed. "My favorite part of the day."
"At least you get to sit in a comfortable chair."
Arden's mother laughed. "Now, there's a bright side. Five hours in a recliner."
Rosalie Campbell would probably have offered a hug with the laugh, but Arden's reconciliation with her mother hadn't progressed quite so far. Still, they were living in the condo together until this round of treatments ended, and managed to communicate without arguing most of the time. If Arden had taken the first step---a phone call made one stormy night in late February, when she thought the loneliness might kill her---Lorraine had responded with grace and gratitude.
The daily visits to the chemotherapy clinic, where Arden occupied a folding chair while her mother mostly dozed in the big recliner, had allowed them time together without confronting the past. Knitting had become a new pastime for them both, inspired by posters at the hospital requesting blankets for children and newborns. Arden had already donated the box items from her now-empty closet. So far, she'd knitted and unraveled at least two blankets' worth of faulty rows. Today, she would start once again.
First, though, she took Griff's letters out of her bag. She carried them all with her, all the time. His voice came through so strongly, she could almost believe he stood beside her. And she needed him there.
She had kept her promise and answered every question he asked, which meant revealing her childhood, the years spent traveling, the isolated college days. He hadn't responded with pity, however, which made each confession a bit easier. She'd asked a few questions in return, and the envelopes they sent back and forth were becoming increasingly heavier as their letters stretched to five and six pages. He always made her laugh. Sometimes, she thought they could spend their lives together in correspondence and be content.
Then there were the nights she woke up aching from a frustrated dream, only to lie for hours longing for Griff's arms around her. His letters became torture, at that point---she could hear him and see him in her mind's eye. But what she craved was his touch---warm, assured, erotic.
"You're wearing that expression again," her mother said in a sleepy voice.
Arden kept her eyes on her hands as she folded the letter and composed her face. Then she looked up. "What expression would that be?"
Lorraine shook her head. "Why don't you just ask him to come? Haven't both of you been punished enough?"
"Punished?" The word struck her as completely wrong...and then, in the next moment, completely right.
Of course she deserved to suffer, after the way she'd treated Griff. And maybe she'd wanted to punish him for his anger. For sending her away.
But surely punishment didn't have to last forever. She and her mother were working to forgive. Was there a chance that Griff could offer forgiveness, too?
GRIFF TIED THE RENTED speedboat to the dock on Chaos Key and headed across the beach to the path through the trees he had followed with Arden four months ago.
At least, he hoped he'd found the same path. He wouldn't appreciate the irony if he showed up without warning, only to get lost in the jungle and die of snakebite or starvation or alligator attack. Jaguars, maybe. Who knew what wild animals lurked in the underbrush? Besides Igor.
Then he remembered the security system and felt better. She would see him on the monitors at some point and come to rescue him.
He hoped.
Once the old mansion appeared on his right, his sense of direction improved. Or maybe some kind of mystic connection was leading him straight to Arden. At least he was going the right way.
Her little cottage came into sight just a few minutes later, shaded by live oak trees from the late afternoon sun. His gut clenched with nerves and anticipation. With sixty days of desolation behind him, he hated to take anything for granted.
But she wouldn't have asked him to come just to tell him to leave her alone, right?
Lifting his hand to knock on the porch door, he hesitated. Would Igor come tearing out to rip him up? They never had managed to make friends, even after the rescue. Griff still had scars on his leg from the last bite.
"Aw, hell," he muttered, knocking anyway. Igor would need a minute or so to chew through the screen. Griff could be up in a tree before he got out.
The woman who stepped onto the porch was a stranger. She didn't have a dog with her.
"Hello," she said. "Looking for someone?" Her blond hair was cut pixie short; her pale skin flushed with pink. A tall woman, she wore a bright turquoise muumuu that ended above her ankles, but not because she was heavy. Her collarbones showed plainly above the neck of the dress and her arms below the short sleeves were bone thin.
He recognized her eyes, though---the shape and set of them, the stormy green color. Arden might have inherited her dad's dark hair and ivory skin, but she had her mother's eyes.
"I'm Griff Campbell," he told her. "Are you Lorraine?"
She held the door open for him to step inside the porch. "That's right. Lorraine Burke."
He shook the hand she offered, noticing the sharp bones. "Glad to meet you. Arden says you're feeling better."
Her smile was Arden's, too. "I am, thanks. But that's not what you want to talk about right now, is it? She's down at the beach with the dog."
"Thanks."
Back at the main path, he took the turn leading to the western side of the island, where they'd met. Though the walk sloped downhill, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. He thought he'd never get there, until a sudden turn brought him straight out onto the white sand beach.
The empty beach.
Griff groaned out loud and dropped onto his knees. She'd written, asking him to come. Now he couldn't find her. How much longer could the universe torture him?
A distant shout, off to the right, gave him the answer. He scanned the horizon and saw a dark spot running back and forth. Igor. And maybe, just maybe, the pale shape following would not be an illusion?
He waited on his knees, watching, as the pair drew closer. Whatever Arden wanted to say, he'd be glad to beg, if that would convince her to come back.
She was throwing a stick for the dog as they approached, giving Igor ample opportunity to run. Finally, the stick landed about a hundred yards up the beach from Griff.
Igor raced to pick it up, but dropped the stick as soon as he recognized the man nearby. Then he charged.
Griff tried to scramble to his feet, but the dog was too fast. Igor's front paws slammed into Griff's shoulders, pushing him back into the sand. Covering his face with his arms, Griff waited for the first chomp.
But Igor seemed more likely to lick him to death. Snuffling and panting, he acted as if he'd just found his best friend in the whole world.
Arden arrived and laughed as she watched. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she said finally. "I think he's missed you."
"Yeah, yeah, Igor. I missed you, too." Griff pushed and tugged and played with the dog as he struggled to stand in the slippery sand. "Right. Got it. Down, there's a good boy. Now stay."
To his surprise, Igor did stay for a moment, before dashing off to snap at an incoming wave.
"Whew." Griff tried to brush himself off, to restore some order to his hair and clothes. "He's, um, energetic. A good thing," he added, talking at random. Finally, he gave up and just stared at the woman he'd come to see. "How are you?"
"Wonderful." And she did, indeed, look great, with cheeks rosy from the sun and eyes as bright as sunlight on the ocean. She wore loose linen shorts and a flowered shirt that reminded him of the ones he'd worn during his exile. "You came."
"Of course." He wasn't going to burden her with the hell he'd lived in these last weeks. "You asked me to." After a pause, he asked, "Why?"
"Only a fool throws away the chance to bring love and laughter into their life."
Griff threw back his head and laughed. "That's my life lesson you're talking about. The one I had to learn."
"And I decided," Arden said, "that I don't want to be a fool anymore."
"That makes two of us. Thank God." He closed his arms around her.
She looked up at him. "Will you take me back, Griff? And will you take me home?"
"If you'll take me back and forgive my foolish, stupid pride."
"Oh, yes, I will."
Then he kissed her over and over, and she kissed him, until they dropped to their knees in the warm sand. And still he held and kissed her, stretched out beside her with their bodies pressed tightly together, celebrating the return of joy.
At last they could relax a little, and breathe. With perfect timing, Igor ran up to be petted, to sniff and nose and lick both their faces, before running off again to chase a seagull.
Arden said, "And in the interest of divulging secrets, I got some news this morning."
Griff brushed her hair back from her face. "What news was that?"
Instead of answering, she reached into the breast pocket of the shirt she wore and pulled out a stick.
A wand, his mind corrected. A small wand with a plus sign at one end.
"You're pregnant?" he whispered.
She nodded, her face as bright and beautiful as he'd ever seen it. "I guess I was too late with the diaphragm."
He grinned. "That's a good omen...for a big family."
Arden nodded. "It is. And I only found out this morning. I wrote because I wanted to be with you, Griff, baby or no baby."
"I believe you."
Her smile dimmed as she gazed into his face. "I'm still losing my hearing. I may very well become completely deaf."
Griff took a step backward. Using his arms, hands and fingers, he gave her his response in American Sign Language. "It's not a problem," he signed, "I love you. Forever."
Arden's smile returned, more brilliant than ever. "I love you, too," she signed. "I've been studying," she said, "Thinking about working wtih deaf children."
He put his arms around her once again. "So who needs words, anyway?"
The kisses they shared said it all.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8964-6
A CONVENIENT PROPOSAL
Copyright © 2011 by Cheryl B. Bacon
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\*At the Carolina Diner

