All Night Long

  Thirty

  A long time later Luke followed Irene through the doorway of the inn room. He gave the space a quick, assessing survey. Before leaving earlier, Irene had left lights burning in both the bedroom and the bath. She had also plugged night-lights into two wall sockets, one in each room. He saw her relax ever so subtly when she had satisfied herself that the place was still fully illuminated.

  “I thought that went rather well, all things considered,” Irene said, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “But I’ve got some questions for you.”

  He watched her bend down to unfasten her sexy, black, high-heeled sandals. The intimacy of the situation filled him with a head-spinning heat. This was right, he thought. Coming back here together, watching her undress, it all felt right.

  “What kind of questions?” he asked, peeling off the tux jacket.

  “For starters, what’s going on between Hackett and Katy?”

  That stopped him cold. “Hackett and Katy?”

  “Is there a problem there?”

  “Not that I know of.” He stopped in front of the mirror and loosened his tie. “What makes you think there might be?”

  She straightened and met his eyes in the mirror. “Something about the way your brother kept watching her all evening. And the way she acted whenever he was close to her. I sensed some tension there.”

  “Beats me. But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Those two have known each other forever. If there’s a problem, they’ll work it out.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” She tipped her head slightly and reached up to remove one glittery earring. “None of my business, anyway.”

  He turned around and went very deliberately toward her. “You’re wrong, it is your business.”

  She was startled. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re with me now.” He reached down and raised her gently to her feet. “Like it or not, while we’re together, you’re involved with my family. That gives you a license to comment.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, then, I think your family is very nice.”

  “Yeah?” He was amused. “The words that come to my mind are ‘interfering,’ ‘meddling’ and ‘intrusive.’”

  She laughed. “That, too. Guess it’s a family thing.”

  He moved his fingers to the back of the little black dress and slowly lowered the zipper. “Luckily none of the members of my family are around at the moment. So tell me, do you always wear black?”

  “No,” she said. “Sometimes I wear nothing at all.”

  “Works for me.”

  Irene stirred amid the rumpled sheets. The lovemaking had left her feeling boneless, utterly content and curiously calm deep inside. The feeling wouldn’t last, she knew, but for now it was enough.

  In the glow of the night-light she could see Luke sprawled on his stomach beside her. His face was turned away on the pillow. The white sheet draped carelessly across his lower body. He looked exotic and mysterious and very male lying there beside her, an exciting creature of the night who had materialized out of her most intimate fantasies.

  She stroked the sleek contours of his back, enjoying the heat and strength he exuded.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  “I am now.” He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. “What’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”

  “More questions.”

  “Let’s have ’em.”

  “I know I shouldn’t bring up the subject,” she said, “especially at a time like this. All of the advice books say that it’s a mistake to talk about previous relationships, especially in bed.”

  He freed one hand, caught and kissed her fingers.

  “This is about Katy, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Well, I am a little curious,” she admitted. “Tonight I could see that the two of you were on friendly terms. There was obviously no animosity between you. In fact, you both seemed quite fond of each other. I just can’t help myself, I have to ask. Why didn’t things work out between the two of you?”

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He studied the bedroom ceiling as though searching for inspiration.

  “It was my fault,” he said finally.

  “How is that?”

  “I told you that when I got out of the Marines I planned a strategy designed to make me fit into the real world.”

  She nodded. “You told me that marrying Katy was part of that strategy.”

  “It took me a while, but it eventually dawned on me that she agreed to marry me because she was too kindhearted and too concerned about me to turn me down.”

  That gave her pause. “Are you sure about that?”

  He exhaled deeply. “Everyone in the family thought the marriage was a terrific idea. They put Katy under a tremendous amount of pressure. I think she was given the clear impression that if she rejected me I might jump off a bridge.”

  “And you came to this realization in the course of that unfortunate weekend on the coast?”

  “I sure did.” He paused, looking reflective. “I had that weekend all planned out, same way I had every other element of my strategy planned. Booked the honeymoon suite.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “You should have seen the room. It looked like a damned wedding cake. All pale blue and white with lots of gold touches everywhere. The bed was round and there was this stupid lacy thing draped over the top. The bathroom was marble with gold fixtures.”

  “Gosh. Doesn’t sound quite like the honeymoon suite at the Sunrise on the Lake Lodge.”

  He slanted her a dangerous look. “You want to hear this story or not?”

  She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I can’t wait for the rest. What happened next?”

  “I went into the bathroom to get undressed, that’s what happened next.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  He cleared his throat. “I looked at myself in the mirror, realized that I was way too old for Katy and had my little epiphany.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles that were rushing up inside her. “I think I’ve got the visuals.”

  “You’ve heard about the bride who is too nervous to come out of the bathroom on her wedding night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gotta tell you, it’s a heck of a lot less amusing when the one hiding in the bathroom is the groom. Or, in this case, the fiancé.”

  She buried her face in her hands.

  “You’re laughing, aren’t you?” He sounded grimly resigned. “I knew this would happen.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m sorry. It must have been awful for both of you.”

  “You’ve got a warped sense of humor, woman.”

  She raised her head. “What on earth did you do?”

  “What the hell do you think I did? I finally opened the bathroom door and told Katy it wasn’t going to work. I got the feeling that she was secretly relieved. But she leaped to the conclusion that the real reason I was ending things was that I had this little physical problem due to my presumed case of PTSD.”

  “And the conversation went downhill from there?”

  “It certainly did.”

  “You let the impression that you had an erectile dysfunction problem stand?”

  He cocked a brow. “That’s just it, there wasn’t anything standing.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “How was I supposed to prove that I didn’t have a problem in that department?”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “I told her that I wasn’t ready for an intimate relationship with any woman. Said I needed my space, that I wanted time to get my act together, blah, blah, blah and so on and so forth. She told me she understood, and we agreed to call the whole thing off.”

  Irene recalled her impressions of Katy that evening. “She doesn’t seem to be carrying a torch for you.”

  “I told you, she was
privately very relieved to be off the hook.” He sighed. “I should have realized a lot sooner that she was acting out of guilt and concern, but I was too obsessed with my strategy.”

  She studied him intently. “How do you feel about her?”

  “Katy is like a kid sister to me. Actually, that was probably the main problem, come to think of it.” He shrugged. “Be that as it may, when we got home and announced that we had called off the engagement, it was clear that something had gone very wrong and that it was my fault. Then I quit my job at the winery, moved to Dunsley and went into the innkeeping business. Next thing I know I’m ducking calls from Dr. Van Dyke.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A shrink who happens to be an old family friend. My father took me to see her a few times in the months following my mother’s death. After the weekend disaster, Vicki and the Old Man contacted her and asked her to consult.”

  “You can’t blame your family for jumping to conclusions,” Irene said gently.

  “Maybe not, but this particular conclusion has proven to be damned irritating.”

  “Okay, I can understand your point of view.”

  He smiled slowly, put an arm around her waist and tumbled her down across his chest. “The good news, however, is that I can say with great certainty that at least one of my symptoms has improved since that fiasco in the honeymoon suite.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice.” She slid her hand beneath the edge of the sheet and found the hard, satisfyingly rigid length of him with her fingers. “But I suppose it’s not exactly the sort of misunderstanding you can clear up in the course of casual conversation with your nearest and dearest, is it?”

  “It happens to be the last thing on earth that I want to discuss with my family, a shrink or anyone else, for that matter. As far as I’m concerned, the less said on the subject, the better.”

  “Got it.” She brushed her mouth lightly across his. “What would you like to talk about instead?”

  He eased her onto her back and lightly pinned her wrists above her head. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “I’ll think of something,” he said.

  Thirty-one

  A light rain blanketed the gently rolling landscape that surrounded the picturesque town of Santa Elena the following morning. The vineyards that encircled the community and stretched into the hills beyond were veiled by mist.

  It was such a safe, comfortable, self-contained little world, Luke thought, a world he had known from the cradle. Too bad he would never be able to settle into this pleasant realm the way Hackett and Jason had. The wine-making life was a good one, but it required a passion that he could not give it.

  But he did have other passions, he thought. Irene was now at the top of the list.

  She looked at him from beneath her umbrella. “Something wrong?”

  “No. Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “That I wasn’t cut out to be a winemaker.”

  “What do you think you were designed to do?”

  “Funny you should ask.” He draped one arm around her shoulders, surprised to find himself feeling not just protective but possessive. “I seem to be in the process of discovering the answer to that question.” He studied the warmly lit windows of The Vineyard restaurant across the street. “Let’s go. Time to do breakfast. Forty-five minutes and we’re out of there.”

  “Only forty-five minutes?”

  “I want to get on the road as soon as possible.” Luke checked his watch. “I’ll listen to the new job offer while I eat. I’ll turn it down very politely, and you and I will leave.”

  “Fine by me. But that may be cutting it a bit short as far as your family is concerned.”

  “I warned the Old Man that I didn’t plan to hang around here long this morning. It’s an hour’s drive into the city. The idea is to catch Hoyt Egan at his apartment this morning, remember?”

  Her expression tightened. “I remember.”

  The Vineyard was surprisingly crowded with early morning breakfast eaters. A young woman dressed in jeans and a white shirt greeted them cheerfully.

  “Hi, Brenda,” Luke said. “I’d like you to meet Irene Stenson. Irene, this is Brenda Bains. Her father, George, owns this place.”

  “How do you do?” Irene said.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Stenson.” Brenda picked up a menu. “We’ve been expecting you.” She looked at Luke. “Your dad, Mr. Foote and your brothers are waiting for you in the private dining room at the back, Mr. Danner.”

  “I know the way,” Luke said.

  “If you’ll follow me, Miss Stenson.” Brenda turned. “Mrs. Danner and Katy are at a table near the window.”

  “Thanks,” Irene said.

  “Forty-five minutes,” Luke reminded her.

  She gave him an amused look and allowed herself to be led away across the restaurant.

  He watched her for a moment, enjoying the sleek, graceful sway of her hips. Then he picked up the day’s edition of a San Francisco paper that was lying on the counter and scanned the headlines while he walked toward the rear of the restaurant.

  The Webb campaign had done an excellent job of keeping Pamela’s death a low-profile event, he noticed. He had to turn to page three before he found a photo of Ryland Webb and Alexa Douglass emerging from a funeral chapel hand in hand. Both were dressed in somber, dignified, well-tailored black.

  Behind Ryland and Alexa stood a much older, gray-haired man. The caption identified him as Victor Webb, Pamela’s grandfather. This was the Webb Maxine had said everyone liked, Luke reminded himself, the one who had done so much for the people of Dunsley.

  He read the short article that accompanied the photo. There was nothing unexpected or startling in it.

  …Following the private service, Senator Webb met briefly with reporters. He requested that the privacy of his family be respected. He also stated that when he returns to Washington he intends to work for legislation aimed at dealing with mental health and drug addiction issues. “This sort of tragedy has befallen far too many people in this country,” he stated. “It is time the government took action.…”

  Luke stopped in front of the private dining room. He tucked the newspaper under one arm and opened the double doors.

  The Old Man, Jason, Hackett and Gordon Foote were seated at the polished wooden table. There was no coffee on the table. No cutlery, plates, napkins or menus, either. Bad sign, Luke thought.

  The group at the table looked at him with varying expressions of concern and resolve.

  A thin woman stepped out of the small butler’s pantry at the side of the room. She was professionally dressed in a tweed suit and sensible shoes. Oversized, black-framed glasses endowed her with an academic air. She fixed Luke with a sincere, kindly but very determined expression.

  “Hello, Luke,” Dr. Van Dyke said quietly. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Does this mean I don’t get breakfast?” Luke asked.

  It’s called an intervention,” Vicki explained.

  Irene choked on a bite of muffin that she had just slathered with butter. “A what?”

  “An intervention,” Katy said hastily. “It’s a psychological technique that is used to confront a person who is exhibiting self-destructive behavior patterns. The idea is to force the individual to admit that he has problems and that he needs help.”

  “I know what an intervention is.” Irene swallowed hastily and stared at Katy and Vicki, appalled. “But you don’t understand. Luke thinks he’s going to get breakfast and an offer of a job this morning.”

  “Lot of good it would do to ask him to come back to the business,” Vicki said. “John tried that approach. It was a disaster.”

  “Ambushing Luke with a shrink is probably not a real good idea,” Irene said uneasily.

  Vicki frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. What’s taking place in that room isn’t an ambush. John and the others are trying to save Luke from himself. This is a last-ditch effort to make him conf
ront his underlying issues.”

  “We’ve tried everything else,” Katy added. “He refuses to talk about his problems. He won’t even admit that he has problems.”

  “Dr. Van Dyke told John that an intervention was the only option left,” Vicki said.

  Irene signaled to a hovering waiter. He hurried over.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I’d like the spinach and feta cheese omelet to go. Would you please ask the cook to rush the order?”

  “Of course.” He turned to Vicki and Katy. “Ladies? May I take your orders?”

  Vicki was disconcerted. “Just coffee for now.”

  “Same for me,” Katy said hurriedly.

  “Thank you.” The waiter turned to Irene. “I’ll make certain that the kitchen receives your request to hurry up the order.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Vicki waited until the waiter had left and then glowered at Irene. “Why did you ask him to rush your omelet?”

  “Because I have a feeling I’m not going to be here very long.” Irene stuffed the last bit of muffin into her mouth and smiled at Vicki. “Mind passing the bread basket again?”

  Luke, your family and friends arranged this meeting because they are deeply concerned about you,” Dr. Van Dyke said. “We all are.”

  “Got a rule,” Luke said. “I never talk about my psychological problems before breakfast.” He opened the double doors of the private room.

  Behind him, John slammed a fist down on the table. “Damnit, Luke, don’t you dare walk out of this room.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, sir. Not just yet, at least. This is sort of amusing, in a weird kind of way.” Luke spotted a harried young man in a white coat in the hall. “Any chance you could find me some coffee and a cup, Bruce?”

  “Sure, Mr. Danner. Be right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Luke closed the doors again and turned to look at the others. “Now then, what did you say this ambush was called?”

  Jason grimaced. “An intervention. And I would like to go on record as having told everyone present that it wouldn’t work.”

  Hackett leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said the same thing or words to that effect. I believe ‘really stupid idea’ was the exact phrase I used.”