The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (33 page)

It shouldn’t have worried him, but it did. They’d agreed to hold off making a decision, sure, but he hadn’t expected her to sound so…well,
cheerful.
As if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if his being away were no big deal. He’d taken it for granted that she’d want to marry him. But what if she didn’t? What if she had other ideas?

The instant he caught sight of her strolling down the drive those thoughts vanished like smoke from a doused fire. He watched her walk to meet him, her hair aglow with the setting sun, a silver bracelet glinting on the arm she lifted in greeting. A slender woman in a sleeveless yellow dress, carrying a small canvas bag. Beautiful, ageless.
His.

She was slightly breathless when she reached him. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught in traffic.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that counts.” Ian pulled her into his arms, inhaling her fragrance: something delicate and flowery, with an underlying scent all her own. He felt her tense slightly, and drew back at once. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tender.” She smiled that secret little smile he’d seen on other pregnant women, and he felt a sudden urge to scoop her up like the hero in an old black and white epic. He seized hold of her bag instead.

“We’ll take it easy, I promise,” he said.

When they reached the end of the drive, she paused to take in the house. “Lovely. Very Frank Lloyd Wright.” She pointed to the guest house below. “Is that where you’re staying?”

“Wait until you see the view.”

“From here it’s breathtaking.” She laughed, looking at him as she said it.

This was the woman he’d fallen in love with, teasing and high-spirited…and not above the occasional cornball remark. He felt himself relax. Yes, it was going to be all right.

Inside, she headed straight for the bedroom, where she kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. “Nice firm mattress,” she said. “All the amenities, I see.”

He didn’t tell her that Pilar came each morning to tidy up. She’d think him spoiled. “I made room in the closet for your things.”

“I’ll unpack later.”

Ian gazed down at her lying on her back with her eyes sparkling up at him and her hair spilled like copper ink over the pillow. She looked irresistible. He was about to stretch out alongside her when she leapt up off the bed and padded barefoot into the living room. She paused in front of the easel, where the portrait he’d stayed up half the night to finish was propped.

“I had no idea she was so pretty.” Her voice seemed to hold a faintly accusatory note. “Is she around? I suppose I should pop in at some point and say hello.”

“We’re having dinner with her tonight.”

“Oh?” Sam turned to him. She was better than Markie at disguising her feelings, but he caught the glint of disappointment in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, walking over to wrap his arms around her. “I couldn’t think of a way out without being impolite. I hope you don’t mind too much.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not.” She drew away, drifting over to the table against the wall, scattered with shells and beach glass. She fingered a piece of driftwood in the shape of a dagger.

“There’s a beach nearby. We could picnic there tomorrow.” He grinned. “Just the two of us.”

She looked as though she’d like nothing more than to go now. But it was too late. They were expected for dinner in an hour. “Wonderful,” she said. “I’ve been inhaling sawdust for so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to breathe fresh air.”

“What did you decide about the windows?”

“Carl convinced me to go with aluminum. I’ll save in the end.”

“And the kitchen cabinets?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I found the original ones from the thirties in the garage, under an old tarp. It means I can get rid of the ghastly seventies redo without breaking the bank.”

Ian felt suddenly impatient. All this talk about the house, and she hadn’t once mentioned the possibility of his living there. Was she waiting for him to say something first?

“When do you expect to move in?” he asked.

“In a few weeks if all goes well.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Ian looked out at the sun sinking into the ocean, transforming it into a galaxy of glittering pinpoint lights. Why couldn’t he just come out with it? What was stopping him? Casually, he asked, “So what else is new?”

“Except for a murderer on the loose, not much.” Her tone was dry.

He saw the worry in her eyes. “Still no leads?”

“The usual suspects have been picked up for questioning, but so far there’s been no arrest.”

It was the opening he’d been looking for. “I don’t like the idea of your living out there all alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Max.”

“Max?”

She laughed. “Relax, he’s a dog.”

This was the first he was hearing about it. “I didn’t know you were getting a dog.”

“I’m not. He’s on loan from a friend, just until they catch this guy.”

A male friend being chivalrous? The sense of unease grew stronger. “Speaking of the home front,” he said. “I spoke to my dad the other day. He said Alice had been out to see you.”

“She didn’t stay long.” Sam fingered a blue lozenge of beach glass, not meeting his eyes.

“How did she seem?”

“Still upset, but at least we’re talking.”

“And Laura?”

“Putting on a brave face.”

He saw a corner of her mouth turn down, and wanted to take her in his arms, smooth away her worries the way the ocean had the sharp edges of the glass. Why couldn’t she see what was so crystal clear to him—that they belonged together?

“Sam…”
I won’t let you down the way your husband did.

But she wasn’t focusing on him. She was looking out the window. “You’re right about the view. It
is
spectacular. A person could get spoiled pretty quickly around here.”

“Believe me, Markie Aaronson is living proof.” He gave a caustic little laugh and walked over to where she stood, slipping an arm about her waist. “Sorry it’s not just the two of us tonight.”

She relaxed against him, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “Never mind, we’ll have the rest of the weekend to ourselves.”

“Hungry?”

“I’m eating for two, remember?”

“How could I forget?” He brought a hand to her belly, feeling a secret little thrill as he gently traced its swell. He couldn’t have put into words what he was feeling; it was beyond communicating. “Look, Sam, I know we agreed to hold off talking about this until I got back. But—” He broke off at the sound of a knock on the door.

Markie. Ian could have killed her. He marched to the door and wrenched it open. But it wasn’t Markie, just Pilar, looking embarrassed. A small, plump woman who spoke almost no English, she had the sense to realize she’d come at a bad time.

“Miss Markie, she ask you and the
señora
”—she glanced nervously over his shoulder at Sam—“come now for drink.”

Never mind that Markie could simply have picked up the phone. “Tell her we’ll be there in half an hour.” He tapped his watch, a battered Swiss Army, repeating,
“Media hora.”

Pilar glanced down shyly. “I make for you a…a…” She poked at her palm with a work-hardened finger, searching for the word.

“Hors d’oeuvres?” Hot, no doubt. His heart sank. Well, no sense taking it out on Pilar. “All right, tell her we’ll be right up.” On impulse, he reached out to take her hand. “
Gracias,
Pilar. For everything. I’ve known French-trained chefs who aren’t fit to carry your saucepan.”

“Perdoname?”
She eyed him in confusion.

“Never mind. Just…
gracias por todo.”

No sooner had he shut the door than Sam slipped up alongside him, wearing a pale green shawl. He glanced out to see that the fog had begun to roll in off the ocean in great, soft bales. “Look at the bright side,” she said. “This way, we’ll have an excuse to leave early.”

She pulled him close abruptly, kissing him deeply. She tasted sweet and somehow forbidden, like berries out of season. God, what he wouldn’t have given to carry her off to bed, right then and there. It had been too long. But no time now. Later…

He took her arm, guiding her outside onto the path. Fog scudded in thin patches over the hillside, partially obscuring the steps above. A damp chill had crept in as well. It seemed a bellwether for the evening ahead, which Ian had a bad feeling about all of a sudden.

But Markie was on her best behavior. Smiling warmly as she greeted them, dressed in something appropriate for a change: a slinky black dress that fell to her calves. She extended her hand to Sam. “Markie Aaronson. It’s nice to finally meet you. Ian’s been so mysterious, I was beginning to wonder if you really existed.”

Sam smiled. “As you can see, I do. Slightly travel worn, but mostly intact. Thanks for having me.” She glanced about, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows and diagonal-cut redwood paneling, the spiral staircase of iodized copper and slate to the floor below. “What an absolutely amazing house.”

“It’s my grandparents’, so I can’t take any credit for it.” Markie strolled over to the bar. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Club soda for me.” Sam cast Ian a meaningful look.

He shook his head. No, he hadn’t said anything about the baby. “I’ll take a beer, if you have one,” he called.

Markie returned moments later carrying their drinks. She handed Ian a chilled Heineken, saying with cozy familiarity, “I asked Pilar to make some of those delicious crab puffs you’re so crazy about.”

The evening, Ian could see, wasn’t going to be as painless as he’d hoped. Still, it took two to tango. If he simply refused to play along…

He lifted his bottle. “To Pilar.”

“I saw the portrait,” Sam said, sipping her soda. “It really captures you.”

“Really? I think it makes me look a little young.” Markie smiled, casting a teasing sidelong glance at Ian. “On the other hand, when I’m old and gray I’ll have something to look back on.”

Sam gave a rueful little laugh. “Trust me, that day will come sooner than you think.”

Markie eyed her speculatively, as if not quite sure what to make of Sam. “Ian tells me your children are grown. I find that hard to believe. You don’t look old enough.”

“My youngest was married in June.” Sam didn’t add that it was to Ian’s father. “Laura, my eldest, runs the family business.”

“And what do you do?” Markie sipped her wine.

“Me?” Sam hesitated, then said, “I guess you could say I’m retired.”

The word seemed to hang in the air, heavy with import.

Pilar appeared just then with a platter of crab puffs, warm from the oven. Ian helped himself to one, though he hardly tasted it. The evening was shaping up to be a long one.

He couldn’t have imagined just
how
long. All through dinner Markie chattered on and on. Mostly about herself. Her budding career at Aaronson Asset Management, and how much she adored her loft in SoHo; the Fire Island house share lined up for next summer, and the trip to Nepal she was planning for next fall. All of it fun and interesting…and very much the province of youth. Sam might have been one of her grandmother’s elderly friends with nothing to do but smile in wistful memory.

But what could you expect? Markie
was
just a kid, after all. At times, she made him feel old. The interminable meal was nearly over when he tuned in to hear her remark, “I was telling Ian just the other day that he ought to come with us.” She cast him a look of bright innocence. “You haven’t been to Nepal, have you?”

He choked down a bite of salmon. “Thanks, but I’ll settle for a postcard.”

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. You’d love it.” She flapped her napkin teasingly, and he was a little alarmed to see that the wineglass she’d only just refilled was once more empty. “Wouldn’t he, Sam?” As if he were Sam’s son, not her lover.

“That’s for Ian to say,” Sam replied evenly.

Markie turned to Ian, prattling on, “You’d
love
my friends, especially Lana. She’s a riot. God, some of the crazy things we’ve done! You don’t even want to know.”

You’re right. I don’t.
He shot Sam a look of solidarity.

“Oops. I almost forgot.” Markie wobbled to her feet. “Pilar had to go home early. I was supposed to take the flan out of the oven. God, I hope it’s not overdone.”

“Need any help?” Sam started to get up.

Markie waved her down. “No, you sit. I’ve got it.”

They could hear her clattering about in the kitchen, then the sound of something being dropped into the sink, followed by a sizzling noise and Markie yelling, “Shit!” A minute later, she stuck her head through the doorway to announce good-naturedly, “Dessert is DOA, and my dress is soaked. Hang tight, it won’t take a minute to throw something else on.”

When she reappeared a short while later, Ian scarcely noticed what she was wearing. It wasn’t until Sam’s expression grew tight that he saw what Markie had thrown on: jeans and a baggy chambray shirt dabbed with paint.
His
shirt.

“Sorry about the flan.” Her face was innocent as a newborn’s. “Would you settle for ice cream instead?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Sam looked a little pale, but managed to maintain her composure.

Ian rose abruptly, too angry to stay another minute. Only supreme willpower—and the thought of the check he had yet to collect—kept him from showing it. “I’m sure Sam’s tired after her drive. We should be going.”

“So soon? It seems like you just got here.” Markie didn’t sound too disappointed. Why should she be? She’d already achieved what she’d set out to accomplish.

Ian glanced at Sam as they made their way to the door. Her expression was closed. Any attempt to explain, he sensed, would only make it worse. On the other hand, how could he
not
?

Outside, they descended the steps in silence. Fog swirled, the milky glow from the lights along the path casting a caul about Sam, making her seem untouchable somehow. A gull was crying somewhere, and it suddenly seemed the loneliest sound in the world.

When they reached the guest house, Sam stepped ahead of him through the door. She was groping for the switch when Ian placed a hand over hers. “It’s not what you think.”