A Man for Amanda

  "You tell me."

  "I'll tell you." He jabbed the cigar toward Trent's face. "She's got the devil's own temper and a mule's stubbornness to go with it. If a man can keep his eyes off her legs, it's plain enough to see." He picked up his fresh whiskey and scowled into it. "She sure enough has first-class legs."

  "I've noticed. They run in the family." As Sloan downed the liquor, Trent winced. "Am I going to have to carry you home?"

  "More'n likely." He settled back to let the whis­key spin in his head. "What you want to go and get yourself married for, Trent? We'd both be better off hightailing it outta here."

  "Because I love her."

  "Yeah." On a sigh, Sloan let out a lazy stream of smoke. "That's now they get you. They get you all tangled up so you can't think straight Used to be I thought women were God's own pleasure, but I know better now. They've only got one reason for being here, and that's to make a man's life misery." He squinted over at Trent. "Have you seen the way her skirt jiggles when she walks—especially when she's in a hurry, like she always is."

  On a chuckle, Trent lifted his glass again. "I take the Fifth on that one."

  "And the sassy way her hair moves when she's yelling at you. Her eyes get all snappy. Then you grab ahold of her to shut her up, and God Almighty." He took another quick slug of whiskey, but it did nothing to put out the fire. "You ever missed your step and gone down on an electric fence?"

  "Can't say I have."

  "It burns," Sloan murmured. "Bums like fire and knocks you senseless for a minute. When you get your senses back, you're kind of numb and shaky."

  Carefully Trent set down his drink and leaned closer to study his friend. "Sloan, is this leading where I think it's leading, or are you just drunk?"

  "Not drunk enough." Annoyed, he shoved the glass aside. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep since I set eyes on her. And since I set eyes on her it's like there was never anyone else. Like there's never going to be anyone else." With his elbows propped on the table, he rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm crazy in love with her, Trent, and if I could get my hands on her right now, I'd strangle her."

  "Calhoun women have a talent for that." He grinned at Sloan. "Welcome to the club."

  It rained all day so I could not go down to the cliffs to see Christian. For most of the morning I played games with the children to keep them from becoming fussy about being kept indoors. They squab­bled, of course, but Nanny distracted them with cook­ies. Even the boys enjoyed the tea party we had with Colleen's little china dishes. For me, it was one of those sweet, insular days that a mother always re­members—the way her children laugh, the funny questions they ask, the way they lay their heads on your lap when nap time approaches.

  The memory of this single day is as precious to me as any I have had, or will have. They will not be my babies very long. Already Colleen is talking about balls and dresses.

  It makes me wonder what my life would be like if it could be Christian who would stroll into the parlor. He would not nod absently as he opened the brandy decanter. He would not forget to ask about his chil­dren.

  No, my Christian would come to me first, his hands outstretched to meet mine as I rose to kiss him. He would laugh, as I hear him laugh during our stolen hours at the cliff.

  And I would be happy. Without this bittersweet pain in my heart. Without this guilt. There would be no need then for me to seek the quiet and solitude of my tower, or to sit alone watching the gray rain as I write my dreams in this book.

  I would be living my dreams.

  But it is all just a fancy, like one of the stories I tell the children at bedtime. A happy-ever-after story with handsome princes and beautiful maidens. My life is not a fairy tale. But perhaps, someday someone will open these pages and read my story. I hope they will have a kind and generous heart, condemn me not for my disloyalty to a husband I have never loved, but rejoice for me in my joy in those few short hours with a man I will love even after death.

  Chapter Seven

  Sloan's head was filled with tiny little men wielding pick axes. To quiet them, he tried rolling over. A definite mistake, he realized, as the slight movement sent a signal to the army-navy band waiting in the wings to punch up the percussions. Gingerly he pulled a pillow over his face, hoping to smother the sound or—if that didn't work—himself.

  But the noise kept booming until his abused system told him it was the door, not just the hangover. Giving up, he stumbled out of bed, grateful there was no one around to hear him whimper. With the road gang working away inside his temples, he turned the air between the bedroom and the parlor door a ribald shade of blue.

  When he wrenched it open, Amanda took one look, noting the bloodshot eyes, night stubble and curled lip. He was wearing the jeans, unclasped, that he'd fallen asleep in, and nothing else.

  "Well," she said primly, "you look like you had a delightful time last night."

  And she looked as neat and crisp as a freshly starched shirt. It was, he was sure, reason enough for homicide. "If you came up here to ruin my day, you're too late." He started to swing the door shut, but she held it open and stepped inside.

  "I have something to say to you."

  "You've said it." Instantly he regretted turning sharply away. As his head throbbed nastily, he vowed to hold on to what was left of his dignity. He would not crawl away, but walk.

  Because he looked so pitiful, she decided to help him out "I guess you feel pretty lousy."

  "Lousy?" He narrowed his eyes to keep them from dropping out of his head. "No, I feel dandy. Just dandy. I live for hangovers."

  "What you need is a cold shower, a couple of as­pirin and a decent breakfast."

  After making an inarticulate sound in his throat, he groped his way toward the bedroom. "Calhoun, you're on dangerous ground."

  "I won't be in your way long." Determined to ac­complish her mission, she followed him. "I just want to talk to you about—" She broke off when he slammed the bathroom door in her face. "Well." Blowing out a huffy breath, she set her hands on her hips.

  Inside, Sloan stripped off his jeans then stepped into the shower. With one hand braced on the tile, he turned the water on full coid. His single vicious curse bounced along the walls then slammed right back into his head. Still, he was a little steadier when he stepped out again, fought with the cap on the aspirin bottle and downed three.

  His hangover hadn't gone away, he thought, but at least he was now fully awake to enjoy it. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back into the parlor.

  He'd thought she would have gotten the message, but there she was, hunched over his drawing board with glasses perched on her nose. She'd tidied up, too, he noted, emptying ashtrays, piling cups on the room service tray, picking up discarded clothes. In fact, she had her hands full of his clothes while she studied his drawings.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  She glanced up and, determined to be cheerful, smiled. "Oh, you're back." The sight of him in noth­ing but a damp towel had her careful to keep her eyes strictly on his face. "I was just taking a look at your work."

  "I don't mean that, I mean what are you doing picking up after me? It's not part of your job to play Sally Domestic."

  "I didn't see how you could work in a sty," she shot back, "so I straightened up a little while I was waiting for you."

  "I like working in a sty. If I didn't, I would've picked the damn stuff up myself."

  "Fine." Incensed, she hurled his clothes into the air so that they scattered over the room. "Better?"

  Slowly he pulled off the T-shirt that had landed on his head. "Calhoun, do you know what's more dan­gerous than a man with a hangover?"

  "No."

  "Nothing." He took one measured step toward her when there was another knock at the door.

  "That's your breakfast." Amanda's voice was clipped as she strode toward the door. "I had them put a rush on it."

  Defeated, Sloan sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands so that he c
ould catch it easily when it fell off. "I don't want any damn breakfast"

  "Well, you'll eat it and stop feeling sorry for your­self." She signed the check, then took the tray herself to place it on the table in front of him. "Whole wheat toast, black coffee and a Virgin Mary, heavy on the hot sauce. It'll take the edge off."

  "An electric planer couldn't take the edge off." But he reached for the coffee.

  Satisfied that she had made a good start, Amanda took off her glasses and slipped them into her pocket. He really did look pathetic, she thought. His wet hair was dripping down his face. She had a strong urge to kneel down beside him and stroke those damp curls back. But he'd probably have snapped her hand off at the wrist, and she had an equally strong urge to survive.

  "Trent mentioned that you did quite a bit of drink­ing last night."

  After trying the spiced-up tomato juice, he eyed her narrowly. “So you came by to see the morning-after in person."

  "Not exactly." Her fingers toyed with her name tag, then the top button on her jacket. "I thought since it was my fault you got into this condition, I should—"

  "Hold it. If I get drunk, it's because my hand reaches for the bottle."

  "Yes, but—"

  "I don't want your sympathy, Calhoun, or your guilt any more than I want your maid service."

  "Fine." Pride and temper went to war. Pride won. "I merely came by this morning to apologize."

  He bit off another piece of toast. It did soothing things to the rocky sea of his belly. "What for?"

  "For what I said, and the way I acted yesterday." Unable to stand still, she walked over to the window and pulled the shades open, ignoring Sloan's quick hiss of pain. "Although I still think I was perfectly justified. After all, I only knew that you'd said some­thing to hurt Suzanna badly." But there was regret in her eyes when she turned back. "When she told me about your sister—about Bax—I realized how you must have been feeling. Damn it, Sloan, you could have told me yourself."

  "Maybe. Maybe you could have trusted me."

  She took her glasses out again, playing with the earpieces to keep her hands busy. "It wasn't really a matter of trust, but of automatic reflex. You don't know what Suzanna went through, how deeply she was hurt. Or if you do, because of your own sister, then you should understand why I couldn't bear to see her look like that again." She shoved the glasses away. When she looked at him, her eyes were damp. "And it was worse, because I have feelings for you."

  If there was one thing he had no defense against, it was tears. Wanting to ward them off as much as he wanted to make peace, he rose to take her hands. "I made my share of mistakes yesterday." Smiling, he rubbed her knuckles over his cheek. It felt good— damn good. "I guess it's as hard for you to apologize as it is for me."

  "If you mean it's like swallowing a lump of coal, then you're right."

  "Why don't we call it even, all around?" But when he lowered his head to kiss her, she stepped back.

  "I really need to think straight for a while."

  He caught her hand again. "I really need to make love with you."

  Her heart took a quick leap into her throat. For someone who moved so slowly, how did he get from one point to the next so fast? "I'm, ah, on duty. I'm already over my break, and Stenerson—"

  "Why don't I give him a call?" Still smiling, he began to kiss her fingers. The hangover was down to a dull ache, not nearly as noticeable as another, more pleasant one in the pit of his stomach. "Tell him I need the assistant manager for a couple hours."

  "I think—"

  "There you go again," he murmured, brushing his lips lightly over hers.

  "No, really, I have to..." Her mind clouded as he trailed those lips down her throat. "I really have to get back to my desk. And I—" She took a big, shud­dering gasp of air. "I need to be sure." Scrambling for survival, she pulled away. "I have to know what I'm doing."

  Sloan pressed a hand to the familiar bum that spread inside his gut. He had a feeling he was just going to have to live with it for a while longer. "Tell you what, Calhoun. You think about it, and think hard, until after the wedding. Like we said before." Before she could relax, he had her chin cupped firmly in his hand. "And after the wedding, if you don't come to me, you'd better run fast."

  The line appeared between her brows. "That sounds like an ultimatum."

  "No, that's a fact. If I were you, I'd get out that door now, while I still had the chance."

  All dignity, she marched to it before turning back with a smile that should have tipped him off. "Enjoy your breakfast," she told him, then slammed the door with a vengeance. She could almost see him holding his battered head.

  "I didn't think I'd be nervous." C.C. stared at the wedding dress of snowy silk and lace that hung on the back of her closet door. "Maybe it'd be better if I just wore regular clothes."

  "Don't be ridiculous. And stop fidgeting." Amanda bent close to her sister to add a bit more blusher to her cheeks. "You're supposed to be ner­vous."

  "Why?" Annoyed with herself, C.C. pressed a hand to her fluttery stomach. "I love Trent and want to get married. Why should I be nervous now that it's going to happen?" She looked back at the dress and swallowed. "Less than an hour from now."

  Amanda grinned. "Maybe I should call Aunt Coco and have her give you a booster-shot course on the birds and the bees."

  "Very funny." But the idea did amuse her enough to make her smile. "When's Suzanna coming back?"

  "I told you, as soon as she has the kids dressed. Jenny might love the idea of being flower girl, but Alex is a most reluctant ring bearer. He'd rather be carrying a machine gun down the aisle than a satin pillow. And before you ask, again, Lilah is supposed to be downstairs making sure all the last-minute details go off properly. Though why we think we can trust her is beyond me."

  "She'll be fine. She always handles things when it's important." C.C. laid a hand on Amanda's. "And it is important, Mandy."

  "I know, honey. It's the most important day of your life." Misty-eyed, she laid her cheek against C.C.'s. "Oh, I feel as though I should say something profound, but I can only say be happy."

  "I will be, and it's not as if I'll be really going away. We'll be living here most of the time, except when...when we're in Boston." Her throat filled up.

  "Don't start," Amanda warned. "I mean it. After all the work I put in making you beautiful, you're not going out in the garden with red eyes and a runny nose." Blowing her own, she stepped back. "Now, let me help you get dressed."

  When Suzanna camp in a short time later, a child's hand in each of hers, she had to struggle with her own tears. "Oh, C.C, you look wonderful."

  "Are you sure?" Fretting, she plucked at the lace at her throat. The dress was a slim column, elegantly simple with only that whisper of lace at the neck, and another whisper at the hem to adorn it. "Maybe I should have gone for something less formal."

  "No, it's perfect." Suzanna bent down to her son, her own dress rustling with the movement. "Alex, stand still for five minutes, please."

  He tried out the sneer he'd been practicing in the mirror. "I hate cummerbunds."

  "I know, but if you don't want me to strap it around your mouth, you'll stand still." Tweeking his nose, she straightened. "I have something for you."

  She offered C.C. a small box. Inside was a single teardrop sapphire on a braided gold chain.

  "Mama's necklace," C.C. whispered.

  "Aunt Coco gave it to me when I—on my wedding day." She took it out to fasten around her sister's neck. "I want you to have it and wear it on yours."

  C.C. lifted a hand to it, closing her fingers around the stone. "I'm not nervous anymore."

  "Then that's my cue to panic." Afraid to say more, Amanda gave her a quick kiss. "I'll run downstairs and make sure everything's on schedule."

  "Mandy—"

  Amanda smiled over her shoulder. "Yes, I'll send Lilah up." She went out, hurrying downstairs while she ticked off duties in her mind. Taking a moment, she stopped by the
hall mirror to adjust the spray of baby's breath over her ear.

  "You look great." She glanced over and saw Sloan. "Just great"

  "Thanks." They stood awkwardly a moment, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a tea-length gown the color of ripe peaches. "I, uh, where's Trent?"

  "He needed a couple of minutes to himself. His father came by with some advice." Relaxing slowly, Sloan grinned. "When a man's been married as many times as Mr. S.J., he comes up with some interesting viewpoints." He had to laugh at the expression on Amanda's face. "Don't worry, I nudged him along outside with a glass of champagne and Coco. Seems like they're old friends."

  "I think she met him a long time ago." When Sloan took a step toward her, she began to talk rap­idly. "You look terrific. I didn't expect you to look good in a tuxedo." Before he'd finished laughing, she was rambling on. "What I mean is I didn't expect it to suit you. I mean—"

  "You're cute when you're flustered."

  She ended up smiling at him. As far as she could recall, he was the only person who had ever accused her of being cute. "I really have to go." Before she gave in to the urge to fuss with his tie or something equally mushy. "We'll be starting in a few minutes. Guests need to be seen to."

  "Most everybody's already in the garden."

  "The photographer."

  "All set up."

  "The champagne."

  "On ice." He took the last step toward her and tilted up her chin with a fingertip. "Weddings make you nervous, Calhoun?"

  "This one does."

  "Going to save a dance for me?"

  "Of course."

  He toyed with the flowers in her hair. "And later?"

  "I..."

  "C.C.'s ready!" Alex bellowed from the top of the stairs. "Can we get this dumb thing over with."

  With a laugh, Sloan kissed her fingers. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the groom's in place."

  "All right, and—damn!" She swore, then snatched up the ringing phone. "Hello? Oh, William, I really can't talk. We're about to start the wedding.... To­morrow?" She lifted a distracted hand to her hair. "No, of course. Umm...yes, that's fine. Late after­noon would be best. Three o'clock? I'll see you then." Still off balance, she turned to find Sloan watching her with very cool, measuring green eyes.

  "You take big chances, Calhoun."

  "That wasn't what it sounded like." She caught herself trying to explain and frowned. "What do you mean, 'chances'?"

  "That's something we'd better discuss later. We've got a wedding to get to."

  "You're absolutely right." They strode off in op­posite directions.

  Moments later, the Calhoun women took their turns walking down the garden path. First Suzanna, then Lilah, then Amanda, followed by a beaming Jenny and a thoroughly embarrassed Alex. They took their places with Amanda doing her best not to glance in Sloan's direction. Then she forgot everything as she watched C.C. come forward, a wispy veil over her hair. Beside her, prepared to give her youngest niece away, Coco held her arm and wept.

  She watched her sister marry under an arbor of del­icately fragrant wisteria. Through a mist of tears she looked on as the man who was now her brother-in-law slipped the circle of emeralds onto C.C.'s finger. The look that passed between them spoke more elo­quently of promises than any of the vows exchanged. With her hands clasped with her sisters', she saw C.G's face lift to Trent's as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

  "Is it finally over?" Alex wanted to know.

  "No," Amanda heard herself say as her gaze drifted to Sloan's. "It's just beginning."