Among the Tulips (5 page)

“I'm used to much warmer weather,” Annie said lightly and smiled.

“I would imagine, being from Louisiana.”

“I told you that too?”

He nodded, amused at how her eyes sparkled.

“I don't remember much at all from yesterday,” she confessed.

Now she seemed closer to forty than twenty. The blushes of yesterday had seemed so young for her. The knowing look in her eyes bespoke someone older, someone who had a bit of experience. She was so dichotomous.

“I would ask what is on your mind, but then, I'm not sure I want to know the answer.”

Victor chuckled. “I was thinking you finally make me feel safe.”

“Safe?” she asked and tilted her head slightly.

“Yesterday I was worried about letting you stay here. In some ways you seemed very young. Today, however, I can see the maturity of a woman.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color as her gaze cut away. She actually swallowed.

“I didn't mean to say something wrong,” he said gently, having no idea what he'd said to cause her to react the way she had.

“You didn't. It's just…” She glanced back. “I don't think anyone has ever said such a beautiful thing that made me feel so feminine.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Annie, you amuse me.”

He was saved from explaining that by one of his staff bringing in breakfast. Fresh fruits and cereal as well as scrambled eggs and cheese covered the two trays.

“I hope you don't expect me to eat half of this,” Annie said, her eyes widening in surprise at the amount of food brought to the table.

“Not at all. Eat what you'd like. I wasn't sure what you might enjoy so I asked the cook to provide several things. And we always have cheese, at every meal in some form or another. Holland is known for her cheeses.”

“I didn't know that.”

He pointed to a wedge and said, “Try that.”

Obediently she picked up the tongs and lifted a piece of cheese onto her plate.

Victor served some eggs, cheese and fruit onto his plate and watched as Annie picked up the piece of cheese and nibbled it. Lifting her eyebrows she glanced at him. “It's very good.”

He nodded. “Cook knows my tastes. I'm glad you like it as well.”

To his utter surprise, Annie Hooper bowed her head and moved her lips silently.

He hadn't seen someone do that in…he couldn't remember the last time. Probably before he left home. He'd almost forgotten the cross necklace, which she wasn't wearing today.

When she was done she looked up.

He quickly glanced away so she wouldn't know he'd been staring. Dichotomous indeed. She was nice, not condemning, gentle, not harsh…. “I plan to do some painting later today. However, if you feel up to a tour, I'd much rather show you the house.”

At her gasp he glanced back at her.

“Ah, the paper.” She had spotted the picture of the two of them on the front page of the society section.

Obviously, she'd never been in the paper before, which caused him to wonder what she was going to say if she made news back in the States. “The local paper thrives on excitement. A head-on crash is something that doesn't often happen in our small town.”

“The paper is in Dutch.”

He nodded. “You can find papers from Amsterdam in English, but out here, it's a matter of
pride.” He got up and crossed the wooden floor to the sideboard and picked up the morning Amsterdam paper. “You can read this if you'd like.”

She silently accepted the paper.

He was amazed that she didn't recognize him. Amazed and a bit disturbed, he realized. The second shamed him a bit, but then, he was so used to being known and this woman didn't show the least bit of evidence of recognition. Even seeing them together in the paper hadn't triggered anything. And as much as he wanted to explain, he found he really didn't want to either. If he brought out things like that, then she most likely would act differently and he wanted to be with her like this, just like a normal person who could relive some of the past for a while. His pride could take a beating. It felt rather refreshing, actually, the more he thought about it.

Would she have prayed in front of him had she known the truth?

He admitted the prayer had made him uncomfortable. How long had it been since he'd prayed? How long had it been since he'd been in church? Too long, he acknowledged, but then, he'd done so many things, changed so much that he doubted he would even be welcomed by God, though he was certain most would welcome him into the congregation, for the ability to say they knew him.

Realizing the cynical turn of his thoughts, he mentally changed direction. He wasn't a little boy anymore, intimidated by his parents and forced to go to church, though he again remembered that young girl of so long ago, a daughter of some other missionaries in the area. He'd made friends with her until his parents had found out what her parents believed and forbidden him to be around them.

His parents had been so very negative, he thought now. Over the years he'd met a few people who said they were Christians, but then, they went out and socialized just like him, so he had to wonder. While he found Annie refreshing, he was still cynical. He would simply keep his thoughts to himself on the subject.

He began to eat.

“I think I'd like a tour very much,” Annie murmured as she finished glancing through the paper.

At her smile he asked, “What is it?”

“This is so different from an American paper.”

“Just wait until you see the TV,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“Many shows are in English with Dutch subtitles so you can actually watch some of them if you'd like.”

“Holland is so industrialized compared to what I'd expected.”

Victor laughed. “We are major exporters to other countries. The tulips and windmills and serene countryside are tourist attractions, but we do live in the twenty-first century.”

“Sometimes I think Americans aren't well educated about other places,” she said idly as she scanned the paper.

“A great disservice the school systems do to their children.”

She nodded. “My children didn't learn a lot about world geography or world history.”

“You have children?” he asked, surprised. He hadn't thought about that, but she was a widow and forty years old.

She smiled. “Yes, well, not exactly. They're older now, but they are my husband's children.”

“You've never had children?”

She shook her head. “And you?”

The food turned dry in his mouth. “I have a thirteen-year-old son. He's with my ex-wife right now.”

“Divorced?”

He nodded and thought, here comes the lecture. “We were married two years. When Josh was a year old, she decided she didn't like being with me and left. Josh lives with me about six months of every year. I should be getting him again in a few weeks.”

“How does he handle that?”

No lecture. Interesting, he thought. “He's used to it. I normally would have him most of the summer but it didn't work out that way this summer. I sometimes wish he was living here with me.”

“Divorce is hard on children. My husband's children never got over it, and they used their parents against each other.”

He felt sad at the thought of this woman as a young girl dealing with something like that. “Josh hasn't tried that. But I think he's unhappy lately.” Victor sighed. “At any rate, he's the pride of my life.”

Finishing up their breakfast in silence, he waited until she'd patted her lips and removed her napkin from her lap before asking, “Would you like a tour now, or would you prefer to wait?”

He'd seen her slip some pills out of one of her pockets and take them at breakfast and hoped those were pain medications.

“I'm actually feeling much better. If you're game, let's go.”

He stood and came around to her side where he pulled out the chair. Annie struggled to her feet and reached for her crutches, but with her cast, she slipped. She gasped and fell forward, arms flailing as she grabbed for the chair but couldn't find her balance.

Victor leapt forward just in time, catching her in his arms. Her soft warm body thudded into his harder one and he stood braced, accepting the weight and pulling her into the safety of his strength.

Annie clung to him, working to get her balance. He waited, allowing her time to recover. While he did, he noted again that she smelled of the oddly sweet fragrance he'd caught a scent of yesterday. He smelled it in her hair as her head brushed his cheek, or perhaps it was on her neck.

He wanted to lean down and inhale again, but she chose that moment to look up.

Their gazes met, and he realized he still held her. He hadn't let her go. Suddenly he became conscious of the fact that he was attracted to this woman.

Sean had been right.

Though he hadn't recognized it originally, he now admitted that he found this woman very attractive. How had that happened?

She studied his eyes and her hands, against his chest, flexed slightly. Then she smiled and said, nervously, “We've got to stop meeting like this.”

Some perverse imp in him didn't let her off the hook as a gentleman should. Instead, he smiled and replied, “Oh, I don't know, I kinda like this.”

“T
elephone, Mr. Rivers.”

The spell was broken, thank goodness. At least for her—sort of.

“Take a message,” he told the woman who stood there.

“It's your son,” the maid said hesitantly, but then added, “still, I'll tell him to call back.”

“Wait, no.” Victor hesitated, his eyes touching Annie's eyes, her cheeks, her lips and then, with what seemed reluctance to Annie, he loosened his hold. “I'll take the call.”

He dropped his arms from around her and stepped back from Annie. She found she could breathe again now that Victor's strong arms weren't distracting her from it.

“If you'll excuse me for a moment, Helga will start the tour and I'll catch up.”

“Not at all.” She took the crutches he offered and slipped them under her arms.

He paused to cast one last inscrutable glance her way and then strode from the room.

Oh, heavens,
she thought, collapsing in relief against the crutches. She knew desire when she felt it, and that was what was thrumming along every nerve ending in her body.

She was attracted to Victor Rivers.

Parts of her that she had thought had died with Harry obviously weren't dead at all. This was different however. She could remember being all starry-eyed when she'd met Harry so many years ago, but this…how could she explain it?

This was not that starry-eyed attraction of a young girl. It was an attraction of a grown woman who knew about relationships between a man and a woman and understood how much more went into them.

She found her hands were actually shaking with reaction and couldn't believe it.

Attraction.

To a man who she'd only just met.

She had to be crazy.

It had to be something in the air.

Or something she'd ingested.

“Ma'am.”

She was losing it.
Dear Father, what am I supposed to do?

“Ma'am?”

Annie glanced up.

The young maid smiled. “I give tours quite often. If you'll follow me. Mr. Rivers, he is very proud of his house.”

Annie smiled, readjusted her crutches and nodded. “It is a beautiful house of which to be proud.”

She thought of the look in Victor's eyes as he'd held her. She was almost certain he was attracted to her as well.

Wiping her moist palms on her skirt, she gripped the crutches. “Lead the way,” she murmured. “I can't wear any pantyhose because of this cast and so I couldn't wear my shoes. I hope Mr. Rivers doesn't mind,” she said as Helga started down the hall.

The maid didn't answer. Instead she pointed out a painting. “A masterpiece, this art, he recently acquired.”

Real, Annie thought, not a reprint.
Wow!

And thus started the tour. As she walked, Annie managed to convince herself that she was reading meanings into Victor's actions that just weren't there. That had to be the explanation. She was
forty, had grown kids and had never been out of Louisiana. She was simply putting her feelings and needs onto him. But, oh, around him, she didn't feel forty. She said that as if it meant she was old. She found she didn't feel old at all, but very young.

The house was beautiful. Wooden floors in some rooms and carpeted floors in others. Mahogany items that looked older than the house itself, yet which shone with a beauty that bespoke daily polishing dotted the hallways and rooms. However, despite the house's beauty, with the paintings and sculptures and decorated walls, it was devoid of any personal items. She did not see a single picture of Victor or of his son. Where was the home in the house?

By the time they were approaching the ramp that led to the lower part of the house, Victor returned. He dismissed the maid and then slowed his pace to walk beside Annie.

“You're disturbed,” she began and slowed her gait. “Perhaps I can finish the tour later.”

“No.” He hesitated and then turned toward her and offered her a gallant smile, albeit a short one. “It was the conversation with my son on the phone.”

He actually bowed slightly, motioning her on ahead.

She complied. Though she knew it wasn't her
business, she ventured into dangerous territory. “Problems?”

He sighed. “He wants to come and visit now.”

She wondered what the problem was. They continued on in silence until he added, “His mother won't let him for a few more weeks.”

“I see.”

“I don't,” Victor said, frustration rife in his voice. He clenched his hands and then relaxed them, releasing a long breath. “I don't know what is going on with Josh. He's unhappy, that's all I know. He won't tell me why. He just says he wants to fly to Holland and stay with me.”

Annie asked carefully, “You don't think he's in danger, do you?”

“What?” He glanced up sharply then shook his head, his hair moving about his face. “No. Not at all. I mean, I would think I could tell that. He sounds more upset than scared. I thought about flying up there and settling this, but Josh doesn't want me to do that.”

They approached a doorway and Victor stepped forward to open it for her. “Perhaps,” Annie began as she maneuvered into the room, “simply calling him often and talking with him might alleviate any frustration he has and help him make it through until he can come visit.”

Light and airy, the room had white walls and a
lot of windows. It even had a door that led outside. You could see tulips along with many other flowers and bushes outside. It was breathtaking and Annie could see why Victor would use this as a room to paint.

Easels and canvas, along with paints and rags, lay about the room. There was a smell of paint cleaner of some sort and oil paints.

Two old leather chairs and a small table were off in one corner and two bookcases with books, loose-leaf paper and pens were also there.

Victor smiled. “You're right. Calling him more might just be the perfect solution.”

Annie returned his smile, feeling at home with this man as they talked. The attraction was still there, underneath everything, but simply talking with him touched her just as much. “You have a great relationship with your son, I take it?”

He nodded. “We get along wonderfully. I miss him when he's not around.”

“I wish Harry had worked at a relationship like that with his children,” she said and sighed.

“Your former husband?” Victor asked.

She nodded. “I was convinced I was so in love when I met him. He was a nice man and had just gone through a terrible divorce. He was never close to them, a workaholic. It was very hard on them.”

“And on you, it sounds,” Victor murmured.

Surprised she glanced at him. “No. I don't think so. I never knew anything else. He married me and took me into his house. I raised his kids. He provided for me. He was a good man.”

“But did he love you?” Victor asked, then dropped his head slightly, abashed. “I'm sorry. That's none of my business.”

Annie answered anyway. “I was only seventeen, a senior in high school. I married into an instant family and never had time to slow down.” She paused, considering. “I could have done a lot worse. He never mistreated me, and I did care for him.” She smiled, for what she said was true.

Victor reached up and touched her shoulder. “There's much more to many relationships than that.”

She felt his touch and shivered, thinking, yes, she could believe that after meeting this man.

She glanced around the room, casting about for an excuse to change the subject. Victor followed her gaze. She stopped on his painting that was in progress. “I like the colors. What are you making?”

“I'm trying to create peace. Thus far, I don't think I've quite caught it.”

She looked at the dark colors and frowned. “I'd think peace would be lighter.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps for some.”

“I'm going to be teaching art at the community center starting in August. That's why I took eight weeks off to tour Holland.”

“Eight weeks?”

“Well, I only planned to stay two weeks, since the kids are so upset about me being gone. But my ticket is open-ended—my friends insisted I do it that way.”

“So, you're an artist too?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” She laughed self-consciously. “I didn't mean to give that impression. I love art and have always wanted to paint, but I've just never had the time.”

He grinned. “Yet you will be teaching art?”

She shrugged. “They said I needed no experience. They're simply desperate for someone to fill the job, and I was tired of staying at home and wanted something to occupy my days.”

“I have an idea.” Victor strode away from her and across the room to where another easel was located. He set the painting that was displayed on it on the floor and lifted the easel from its corner. Bringing it back across the room, he placed it in an empty spot near the window. He then crossed to the other side of the room and grabbed a large empty canvas and returned with it, putting it upon the easel. “Why don't I give you some lessons
over the next few days while you're here recovering?”

Shocked and surprised she said, “You'd do that?”

He grinned. “I love to paint and would enjoy your company in the mornings while I'm working. My son often sits in here and paints with me when he's around.”

“I feel like I'm putting you out,” Annie said quietly, despite the fact that she was flattered that he seemed to have accepted her presence.

He sighed. Lifting both hands in frustration he said, “Why can't you see, Annie, that you've ended an ennui in me. You've given me a chance to live again within the real world instead of the reclusive world I've exiled myself to this past month. Your presence will be a potion to heal my afflicted soul. I need you, Annie.”

Annie simply stared a heartbeat before she burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. But I didn't come to Holland to sit in someone's house. When I get better I insist on moving to the lodge and doing some sightseeing.”

“You don't have to be better to sightsee. I'll be glad to take you to the real sites, not the silly little tourist sites.”

“Will you be driving?” Annie asked, teasingly.

Victor's face broke into a wide grin. “Not if you don't want me to.”

Her smile faded. “I feel like I am imposing upon you. Can't I do something to repay you for all of this kindness?”

She really meant what she said, but his response was something she hadn't expected. “Just be my friend for the time you're here, Annie Hooper. Simply be yourself and talk with me, and I'll be the happiest man in Haut.”

This man, with all of his money, with his child, with his hobbies, was a lonely man. That disturbed her.

Though he smiled and laughed, though he was tender and gentle and a kickback to an era when men were actually gentlemen, he was lonely.

Did he realize it, she wondered?

And she wondered if he was a Christian.

If he wasn't, then perhaps she could help him find the cure to his loneliness.

“There's something else I want to do for you while you're here, if you're interested.”

She smiled as Victor placed a stool before the easel and motioned her over. “And what is that?” she asked archly as she made her way to the stool.

He took the crutches from her and steadied her as she seated herself.

“I'd like to teach you Dutch.”

Surprised, she gawked. “You're kidding?”

He shook his head. Returning with a paint-covered shirt, he handed it to her. “Slip this on over your dress so you don't soil it.” He pulled on an oversize shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. As he did, he continued, “We could do simple things like colors and phrases. It'd be a great learning experience for you. And think how that would impress your friends back home.”

She thought this guy would impress them much more than a few Dutch words. “I'm not sure how good I am at languages. I mean, you speak so many.”

He shrugged. “You won't know if you don't try.”

That sounded like a challenge to her. “I can try,” she said and smiled.

“Good.
Rood,
” he said and pointed.

She looked down at where his finger was. “Paints?” she asked.

“No. That means red.” He went from color to color as he started squeezing them out on her palette.
“Rood, oranje, groen, geel, blauw.”

She tried to repeat them.
“Rood, oranje, grung…”

“
Groen and blauw.
Green and blue.”

“Gr-oen and…blauw.”

“Geel,”
he said gently for yellow.

“Geel.”

“No. Put your tongue like this and let it simply roll off.”

She tried. It didn't work.

He grinned. Coming around behind her he nestled up until his front was to her back. “We'll work on the names as we paint.”

Leaning forward he picked up the paint-daubed palette. He reached around her with both arms. “Let's put this on your hand to start with. If you get tired, you can lay it down. Don't worry about what we do today, I'm just going to teach you some strokes and things about different brushes. I put out samples of some of the basic colors so we can have fun with them and so it won't be boring as we learn, okay?”

“Sure.” She was having trouble concentrating. Again she realized just how physical this man was. Neither Harry nor the children were very physical beings. Her mom had been. Her dad hadn't, though more so than Harry. But Victor seemed to touch all of the time.

He currently surrounded her on three sides. It made her want to relax and simply enjoy his presence. She sighed as her body relaxed against his. She'd missed companionship, she thought and really liked this.

“You have the palette comfortably in your hand?”