Orchard Valley Grooms (14 page)

“I—I…” Hating the telltale action, she bit her lip to stop its trembling.

To Steffie’s dismay, he reached down and pulled her to her feet. His hands clasped her shoulders and he drew her into his arms.

Before she had a chance to react, she was completely caught in his embrace, her hands trapped against his heaving chest.

One hand left her shoulder and slid into her long, tangled hair.

“Do you even have a clue what I was thinking?” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what was going through my mind?”

Her heart thundered. She should fight her way out of his embrace. She should demand that he release her, tell him he had no right to take her in his arms. But Steffie couldn’t make herself move, couldn’t make herself speak.

She didn’t try to stop him even when it became obvious that he was going to kiss her. Mentally she braced herself, closing her eyes.

When his mouth found hers, it was a gentle brushing of lips. Her eyes opened in wonder and surprise.

Charles kissed her again, longer this time, his mouth gliding over hers. Before she realized what she was doing, she moved her arms upward and timidly locked them behind his neck. Her lips parted to his and he pressed her closer.

But only for a moment. “No, Steffie,” he said in a raw whisper, clasping both wrists and breaking her hold. He stepped back. Their eyes met for several seconds before he turned and hurried away.

He left as abruptly as he’d arrived, his sports car spitting dirt and small stones as he roared off. She sighed and prepared to mount Fury for the long journey home.

Steffie took a nap that afternoon, waking sometime in the early evening. The sun was setting, dousing the orchards in a lovely shade of pink. Not knowing what time it was, she came downstairs to find Norah in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher.

“Hi,” Norah greeted her, smiling brightly when she saw Steffie. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up. You must’ve been exhausted.”

Steffie nodded.

“There’s a plate for you in the oven. I bet you’re famished.”

The last thing she’d eaten had been that banana at breakfast. Murmuring her thanks, she walked across the room and removed the plate. Her sister had always been
a good cook and Steffie gazed longingly at the broiled chicken breast, red new potatoes and fresh green beans.

“Where’d you go this morning?” Norah asked cheerfully, continuing to put the dishes away. “Valerie said you seemed upset about Charles Tomaselli.”

Steffie pulled out a stool at the counter and sat down to eat. “I needed to ask him something.”

“Did you get everything settled?”

Steffie lowered her gaze. “Everything’s clear now.”

“Good. He really has been wonderful through all this. Dad’s pleased with how well the article on migrant workers was received. You read it, didn’t you? The two of them spent weeks collecting facts, and Dad actually did a bit of undercover work. It was the first time since Mom died that he showed much interest in anything. I don’t think even Charles knows how much Dad put into that piece. He must’ve gone over every detail a dozen times.”

Steffie, who was just about to begin her meal, promptly lost her appetite. “I—I didn’t realize that.”

“I was planning to mail you the article, but then Dad had the heart attack and everything else fell by the wayside,” Norah explained conversationally, leaning against the counter.

“Where’s Val?”

“In the den. She’s working. You know Val. She’s got a mobile office set up there. Although I have to admit her mind hasn’t been on the job lately.”

“Oh?” Steffie made an effort to taste her meal. The chicken was tender and delicious. She took a second bite.

Norah wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a romance brewing between Val and Dr. Winston.”

“There is?” Steffie asked, fork poised in midair. “What about Valerie’s boss? Every time I got a letter from her it was Rowdy this and Rowdy that.”

“I don’t know about Rowdy, but I do know what I saw the night of Dad’s surgery.”

“Which was?” Steffie asked anxiously.

“Valerie fell apart after we were allowed to go in and see Dad. She didn’t realize I knew how upset she was, but I figured she needed a few minutes alone. I hadn’t seen Dad myself, and when I did, I could understand Valerie’s concern. He was very close to death. I don’t know how much anyone’s told you about Dad’s condition, but it’s a miracle he survived the open-heart surgery. Anyway,” she said with a sigh, “when I went in to see Dad I wondered if he’d last the night. I know Colby didn’t think he would. Neither did any of the others on the surgical team. Naturally, they didn’t say that, but I could tell what they were thinking. I’ve worked in surgery often enough myself to know who’s likely to survive and who isn’t. One look told me we’d be lucky if Dad lasted another few hours, although I was encouraged because he’d survived the surgery itself. There were plenty of complications, with the fluid in his lungs and all.”

“Tell me about Valerie,” Steffie urged.

“Oh, yeah, Valerie. Well, after she’d been with Dad
she went out onto the patio outside the surgical waiting room. She was crying, which we both know is rare for Val. I could tell she needed someone. When I got back from seeing Dad, I started to go out to her, thinking we’d be able to comfort each other, but I stopped when I saw that Colby was with her.”

Steffie had heard wonderful things about Dr. Winston already, but his compassion for her sister confirmed everything she’d come to know of him. She said so to Norah, who nodded.

“They were sitting together and he was holding her in his arms. I don’t know how to explain it, but he had this…look. As though he would’ve done anything within his power to take away her pain. I thought right then that he had the look of a man who’s just discovered he’s fallen in love.”

“And Valerie?”

“I think she might have realized they were in love with each other before Colby did. You know how strong Valerie is, how she never wants to let anyone do anything for her. Well, for the first time since I can remember, she needed someone and Colby’s the person she turned to.”

“Valerie and Dr. Winston,” Steffie said slowly. She’d often wondered what it would be like when her oldest sister fell in love. Valerie had always been so pragmatic, much too sensible to get involved in a relationship while she was in college. She was there to be educated, not to find a husband, she’d told Steffie.

“Then Dad began to improve,” Norah went on, “and he started all this talk about the three of us marrying and having kids. I’m afraid Valerie’s taking it much too seriously, worrying about it too much. But then, she’s in love for the first time in her life and she’s frightened half to death that Colby’s the wrong man for her. Or more to the point, that
she’s
the wrong woman for him.”

“Love is love, and if they both feel so strongly, what’s the problem?”

Norah’s smile was sad and a bit hesitant. “Colby’s as traditional as they come. I think he wants a woman straight out of the 1950s.”

“Valerie knows this?”

“Of course she does. Colby’s well aware of what Valerie’s like, too. Her calling isn’t the kitchen, it’s the boardroom.”

“I say more power to her.” In Steffie’s opinion, Colby Winston should appreciate her sister’s God-given talents.

“Exactly!” Norah agreed. “But if Valerie marries Colby she’d probably have to quit her job. For one thing, CHIPS doesn’t have an office in this part of the country. And she’s worked too hard and too long to let go of her career.”

“In other words, they’d both have to compromise—and they can’t?”

“Exactly,” Norah said again. She sighed. “No one ever told me love could be so complicated. I feel sorry for them both. They couldn’t be more miserable.”

Steffie finished off the last of the small red potatoes,
not wanting her sister to guess how curious she was about her father’s “chat” with her mother. “What do you think of all this talk about Dad’s…experience?”

Norah pulled up a stool and sat across from her. “I don’t know.
He
believes he talked with Mom and that’s what’s important, don’t you think?”

Steffie wasn’t sure of anything anymore. She’d once been confident that she knew what she wanted in life. Then everything had fallen apart. But the time she’d spent in Italy had helped her regain a perspective on her own life…hadn’t it?

It suddenly occurred to Steffie with a sense of horror that she’d spent three years studying and traveling in Italy, and her primary purpose had been
to impress Charles Tomaselli
when she returned.

She’d impressed him, all right, by making an even bigger fool of herself than before.

“Dad’s been talking about his grandchildren all afternoon,” Norah continued, breaking into Steffie’s thoughts. Steffie was grateful for the intrusion.

“Grandchildren,” she repeated softly. “From you, naturally?” She couldn’t imagine Valerie as a mother, and she herself had no intention of marrying. When her father was well enough to come home, Steffie intended to find herself an apartment in Portland and to apply for a fellowship and begin her doctorate. She’d completed her master’s in Italy after an intensive language program, and in her last year there, she’d also taken several advanced courses. It was hard to believe
someone so well educated could be so dismally unaware of her own motives, she mused unhappily.

“Dad claims I’m going to present him with six grandchildren,” Norah said, barely restraining a smile. “Can you imagine me with
six
children?”

“Which means Valerie’s going to be responsible for another six.”

“No, three. According to Dad’s ramblings, you’re going to have three of the little darlings yourself.”

Steffie grinned, in spite of her depression. The picture of her married and with a brood of children was somewhat amusing. She’d only loved one man in her life and the experience had been so painful that she was determined never to repeat the mistake.

“I guess we’ll see,” Steffie said, sliding off her stool to carry her now-empty plate to the sink.

“I guess we will,” Norah concurred.

Although she’d slept for a good part of the afternoon, two hours later Steffie was yawning. Making her excuses, she returned to her bedroom, showered and got into bed, savoring the crisp, clean sheets.

Sitting up, her knees tucked under her chin, she pondered her conversation with Norah. In the years since she’d moved away, a number of her friends had married. She’d gotten wedding invitations, passed on by Norah, every few months. And several of her high school and college friends were already mothers, some two times over.

While she was in Italy, Steffie hadn’t allowed herself
to think about anything more pressing than her studies, which had occupied most of her time. She’d traveled and studied and worked hard. But at odd moments, when she received a wedding invitation or a birth announcement, she’d occasionally taken a moment to wonder if her life was missing something. Or when she was with Mario, the adorable young son of her landlady in Rome, she’d imagined, more than once, how it would feel to have a family of her own…. She’d usually managed to suppress the yearning quickly.

And now she was experiencing it again, and more sharply than ever before. All this talk of weddings and children troubled her. She felt excluded, somehow. In the end, Valerie would probably marry her Dr. Winston, and there’d be a wonderful man for Norah, she was sure of it.

But for her? She found she couldn’t believe in the same kind of happy ending.

A
lthough she was exhausted, Steffie couldn’t sleep. After tossing about restlessly and tangling her sheets, she sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the long hair away from her face.

She’d prefer to think the nap she’d taken that afternoon was responsible for this inability to sleep.

But she knew better.

She couldn’t sleep because her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. The memory of what a fool she’d made of herself with Charles hounded her until she wanted to scream.

With graphic clarity she recalled the first time she’d heard of Charles Tomaselli. She’d read his introductory column in the
Clarion
and had loved his wit. No matter what she thought of him now, she could never fault his talent as a writer. Charles had a way of turning a phrase that gave a reader pause. He chose his words carefully,
writing in a clear, economical manner that managed to be both clever and precise. And he had a wide range of subjects, covering everything from social trends to the local political scene.

When she’d read his first few columns, she’d assumed he was much older, because the confidence of his observations and his style suggested a man of considerable experience. It wasn’t until several weeks later that she actually met him. At the time she’d been so dumbstruck she could barely put two words together.

She’d tried to tell him how much she enjoyed his editor’s column, but the words had twisted on the end of her tongue and came out sounding jerky and odd, like something a preschooler might say.

She’d been terribly embarrassed, but Charles had responded graciously, thanking her for the compliment.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was in his late twenties—and not his fifties—that had taken Steffie by surprise. Nor was it the fact that he was strikingly handsome, although he was. What struck Steffie like a fist to the stomach was the instant and powerful attraction she felt for him.

Unlike Valerie, who’d gone out on only a handful of dates through high school and college, Steffie had had an active social calendar. She’d always been well liked by both sexes—popular enough to be voted Prom Queen her senior year of high school. But although she had lots of friends who happened to be boys, Steffie had never been in love. She’d thought, more than once, that she
was, but she’d been wise enough to realize she was only infatuated, or in love with the idea of being in love.

Although she was twenty-one, going on twenty-two, she’d never been involved in a serious relationship. She hadn’t considered herself ready for one—until she met the newly hired editor of the
Orchard Valley Clarion.

When she met Charles, she knew immediately that she was going to love this man. How she could be so certain was unclear, even to her, but to the very depths of her young heart, she was absolutely convinced of it.

After that initial meeting, Steffie had driven home in a daze. She didn’t tell anyone, including her sisters, what she felt. She didn’t know how she could possibly explain her feelings without sounding silly. Love at first sight was something reserved for movies and romance novels.

She’d been filled with questions, wondering if Charles had felt it, too; she soon persuaded herself that he had.

He was older—twenty-seven, she discovered—amazingly mature and sophisticated, while she was an inexperienced third-year college student.

Steffie lived for the next edition of the
Clarion,
ripping open the newspaper until she found his column, and devoured each word Charles had written. Occasionally he wrote a feature article, and she read those just as avidly. She soon discovered that other people were equally taken with his work. He’d been in town for less than two months and had already become a source of pride and pleasure to the entire community.

Steffie straightened and reached over to turn on her
bedside lamp. Obviously she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and sitting in her room, dredging up memories of Charles, wasn’t helping.

The house was dark and silent, which meant Valerie and Norah were both asleep. Not wanting to wake either of her sisters, Steffie slipped quietly down the dimly lit stairs.

She thought about making herself a cup of tea, then decided against it. Instead, she tiptoed into her father’s den. She turned on a soft light and reached for
Sonnets from the Portuguese
—an especially lovely edition her father had given her mother years ago, before they were married. Steffie cuddled up in his reading chair, already comforted.

The leather felt cool against her skin. An afghan her mother had knitted when the girls were still young lay neatly folded on the ottoman. Valerie must have brought it in with her, since it hadn’t been there the night before.

Steffie reached for the rose-colored afghan and tucked it around her, then turned to one of her favorite poems.

She made it through two pages before her mind drifted back to Charles. Back to that first year…

He hadn’t noticed her. Hadn’t shared the instant attraction. In fact, he hadn’t even remembered her name. Steffie was stunned. She’d dreamed of him every night since the day they met. Wonderful dreams of laughing and loving, of strolling hand in hand through the apple orchard, sharing secrets and planning the rest of their lives. Her heart was so full of love that it was all she could do not to tell him outright.

Getting a man to notice her was a new challenge for
Steffie. Until then, it had always been the other way around. The men—no,
boys
—had been the ones to seek her out. For the first time in her life, Steffie found herself at a disadvantage in a relationship. Clearly the only option open to her was to let Charles know as subtly as possible that she was interested. It shouldn’t be such a difficult task for a former Prom Queen.

Except that it was…

The first thing Steffie did was to write him a letter commending his writing ability and his opinions. She’d agonized over every word, then waited nearly two weeks for a reply.

There hadn’t been one.

Charles hadn’t printed her letter and didn’t respond, either. Steffie had been crushed. Never one to quit, though, she’d visited the newspaper office with suggestions for a wide variety of stories. As she recalled, she’d managed to come up with 150 such ideas. Admittedly some were better than others.

Charles had been polite, but had made it plain that although he appreciated her suggestions, he already had an enthusiastic staff whose job it was to come up with regional stories.

Her plan had been for Charles to be so awed by her concern about local issues and her invaluable ideas that he’d invite her to dinner to discuss her interest. Although, in retrospect, it sounded terribly naive, she’d actually believed this would happen.

Apparently, she spent more time than she realized
hanging around the newspaper office over the next few months because Charles unexpectedly asked her out for coffee one morning.

Steffie had been so excited that she could barely sit still. She was further encouraged when Charles chose a booth in the farthest, most private corner of the local coffee shop.

Even now, more than three years afterward, Steffie could recall how thrilled she’d been. She’d slid into the red vinyl seat across from him, sure he could read all the love and adoration in her eyes.

The encounter, however, proved to be a bitter disappointment for Steffie. Charles had been kind, but firm. He couldn’t help noticing, he’d said, how much time she spent at the newspaper office, and was sure her studies must have been suffering. He’d also gotten her letter and the other notes she’d sent him, and although he was flattered by her attention, he was much too busy with the paper to become involved in a relationship.

When Steffie had pressed him for more of an explanation, he’d told her without a second’s pause that he considered her too young for him. Furthermore, he felt she was…too innocent.

Steffie was aghast at his lack of foresight. She was a mature woman, and six years’ difference in their ages was unimportant. If she didn’t object, then he shouldn’t, either.

As an active member of her high school debating team, Steffie had learned how to argue, and now she’d used every skill at her disposal.

It didn’t work.

He’d finally told her she was a nice
kid
but he simply wasn’t interested. That he was a busy man and didn’t have the time or patience to be a babysitter. A babysitter! He wasn’t exactly impolite, but it was clear he had no intention of asking her out. Ever.

Their coffee had just been served, and Charles hadn’t taken more than a sip before he tossed some money on the table and left.

Steffie had remained there, too hurt to breathe, too numb to feel anything more than a painful disappointment. She couldn’t remember how long she’d sat in the booth. Long after her coffee had cooled, she knew.

Obviously she’d sat there much
too
long because she’d decided that Charles Tomaselli was clearly lying.

“Steff.”

The gentle voice was followed by a warm hand on her shoulder.

“What are you doing sleeping down here?”

Steffie raised her head and blinked. Valerie, dressed in a housecoat, stood beside her.

“What time is it?”

“Morning,” Valerie said with a smile. “How long have you been here?”

Moving her legs, Steffie winced at the unexpected discomfort. Her legs were stiff and sore and the book still lay open on her lap.

“I was going to fix myself coffee and toast before heading to the hospital. Do you want some?”

“Please.” She worked one shoulder and then the other and rotated her neck, hoping to ease the crick. Her thoughts had been so full of what had happened between her and Charles in those early days that she couldn’t remember falling asleep. It surprised her that she had. She wondered if her musings had followed her into her dreams, then felt it would be better if they hadn’t.

“I can’t tell you how good Dad looks compared to a week ago,” Valerie said when Steffie joined her in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She paused, shaking her head. “It was so crazy being stuck in Italy like that.”

“You know—” Valerie paused, clutching a large earthenware mug “—in a way I’m grateful you couldn’t get home for a while. It might be the one thing that kept Dad alive. He was determined to see you before he died.”

Steffie wasn’t sure she understood. “Do you mean to say Dad had a means of controlling the timing of his…demise?”

“Sort of. Death was what he wanted. If I’ve learned anything through all this, it’s that the human will is incredibly powerful.”

Steffie began making toast, taking the butter and Norah’s homemade strawberry jam out of the refrigerator. “I’m not totally clear on what you mean about the human will.”

“I don’t know if I can explain it,” Valerie said after a moment, her look distant and thoughtful. “All I know is that Dad was on the brink of death for days. When I first
arrived, Colby told us Dad would require open-heart surgery. He wanted to perform the operation immediately but couldn’t because of various complications Dad was experiencing. If you want the medical terms for all this you can ask Norah or Colby, but basically it boiled down to one thing. Dad had lost the will to fight for his life. He’s been miserable without Mom. We both know that, but I don’t think anyone fully appreciated exactly how
lonely
he’s been.”

“I shouldn’t have left him.” Despite Valerie’s reassurances, Steffie partially blamed herself for her father’s failing health. She’d known when he came to visit her in Italy last year that something was wrong. He’d taken the trip to Europe not out of any desire to travel but because Valerie and Norah had thought it would help revive his spirits. The fact that Steffie was living in Italy had been a convenient excuse.

Steffie had enjoyed the time with her father, and had been excited about showing him the country she’d come to love and introducing him to her new friends. She’d carefully avoided any conversation having to do with Orchard Valley or her mother. Her father had urged her to come home, but she’d already registered for new courses and paid her rent in advance and planned another trip. All excuses. Because it really came down to one thing: she’d been afraid to go home.

Steffie Bloomfield afraid! The family daredevil. Dauntless, reckless Steffie Bloomfield was afraid of a mere man. More precisely, she was terrified of
having to speak to Charles again, of looking him in the eye and pretending it didn’t hurt anymore. Pretending she didn’t love him. Pretending she didn’t feel humiliated.

She was incapable of shrugging off the past, especially when it was much simpler just to stay in Europe. She loved her art history courses, she enjoyed traveling throughout Italy, she was fond of her landlady’s family, she had lots of friends and acquaintances. She’d discovered, too, that she had a real aptitude for languages; besides being proficient in Italian, she’d picked up some French and German and hoped to continue learning them. No, she’d decided, there were too many good reasons to remain in Europe. And so she’d stayed.

“Do you want to ride to the hospital with me?” Valerie asked, apparently deep in her own thoughts.

“Sure.”

“I might need to do a few errands later, but you might be able to get a ride home with Norah if I’m not back.”

“I’m not worried. I haven’t been able to spend much time with Dad yet.” Steffie felt guilty about rushing out of the hospital the day before without returning to see him.

As it turned out, Steffie couldn’t have chosen a better morning to be with her father. It was the day he was being transferred out of the Surgical Intensive Care Unit and onto the surgical ward. His time in the SICU was only four days, his recovery nothing short of remarkable. Even Dr. Winston seemed to think so.

“I can’t get over how beautiful you’ve become,” her
father said when he woke from a brief nap. Steffie was sitting at his bedside, doing the
New York Times
crossword puzzle and feeling downright pleased with herself that she’d managed to fill in a good half of the answers.