“I don’t have a clue,” Steffie said, fully agreeing with her sister’s concern. “If Dad insists on believing—”
“Not Dad,” Norah blurted out impatiently. “I’m talking about Valerie.”
Steffie’s exasperation with her father was quelled by her compassion for Valerie. “What can we do?”
Norah’s face was pinched with worry. “That’s the problem. I don’t know, but we can’t let her leave town like this. She came down early this morning…. I decided I had to tell her about Colby dating Sherry Waterman.”
“How’d Valerie take it?”
“I don’t know. She’s so hard to read sometimes. It was as if she already knew, which is impossible.” Norah frowned. “I wish you’d talk to her again. She’s in her room now and, Steffie, I’m really worried about her. She’s in love with Colby—she admitted it—but she seems resigned to losing him.”
Steffie thought she understood her older sister’s feelings.
“To complicate matters,” Norah went on, “Valerie and I started talking and…arguing, and Dad heard us. He asked what we were fighting about.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. Dad did all the talking. At least he and I agree. Dad believes Valerie should go talk this out with Colby, too. But I don’t think she will.”
“Where’s Valerie now?” Steffie asked.
Norah looked away. “She’s upstairs.”
“Doing what?” Her sister had been spending a lot of time alone in her room lately.
“I don’t know, but I think you should go to her. Someone’s got to. Valerie needs us, only she’s so independent she doesn’t know how to ask.”
Steffie disagreed. Her sister was getting—and apparently ignoring—advice from just about everyone, when what she needed to do was listen to her own heart.
“What’s all this about you and Charles?” Norah asked with open curiosity. “I didn’t know you even liked him.”
In light of their recent confrontation over the newspaper article, it was natural for her sister to assume that.
“We’re just friends.”
“Which is definitely an improvement,” Norah muttered.
Eager to leave before Norah asked more questions, Steffie went upstairs to her room. She toyed with the idea of talking to her sister, of telling her that seeking a long-distance cure for a broken heart didn’t work.
But Valerie was intelligent enough to make her own decisions, and Steffie didn’t feel qualified to say or do any more than she already had.
She dressed in a bright blue suit for her trip to Portland, one Valerie would have approved of had she been home. Her sister had mysteriously disappeared without saying where she was headed.
Steffie was on her way out the door when her father stopped her. “Sit on the porch with me awhile, will you, Princess?”
“Of course.” The wicker chair beside her father had belonged to her mother. Steffie sat next to him and gazed out over the sun-bright orchard she loved so much.
“Are you serious about this—getting a teaching position and all?”
“Yes. I can’t stay home and do nothing. It’d be a waste of my education.”
“Wait, Princess.”
All his talk of marriage was beginning to annoy her. “But, Dad—”
“Just for a couple of weeks. You’ve been home such a short while— I don’t want you to move away just yet. All I ask is that you delay a bit longer.”
“I won’t be moving out right away…” She hesitated. She couldn’t deny her father anything, and he knew it. “Two weeks,” she promised reluctantly. “We’ll visit, catch up, make some plans. Then I’ll start looking for an apartment.”
“Is Charles coming for dinner tonight?”
“No.” She’d invited him, but he had a late-afternoon meeting and doubted he’d be back in time.
“He’s going to miss out on your Italian dinner.”
“There’ll be others.”
“You should fix a plate and take it into town for him. A bachelor like Charles doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy a home-cooked dinner.”
“He seems to be doing just fine on his own,” Steffie said, hiding a smile. Her father wasn’t even trying to be subtle.
“He’s a fine young man.”
“Yes, I know. I think he’s probably one of the most talented newsmen I’ve ever read. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s still in Orchard Valley. I thought one of the big-city newspapers would’ve lured him away long before now.”
“They’ve tried, but Charles likes living here. He’s turned down several job offers.”
“How do you know?” That he’d received other offers didn’t surprise Steffie, but that her father was privy to the information did. Then she remembered he and Charles had worked together on the farm-worker article.
“I know Charles quite well,” her father answered. “We’ve become good friends the past few years.”
Steffie crossed her legs. “I’d forgotten the two of you wrote that article.”
Her father shook his head. “Charles wrote nearly every word of that story. All I did was get a few of the details for him and add a comment now and then, but that was it.”
“He credits you with doing a lot more.”
Her father was silent for a few minutes, reflective. Steffie wondered if he was worrying about Valerie the way Norah had been. She was about to say something when her father spoke.
“Charles is going to make me a fine son-in-law.”
Steffie closed her eyes, trying to control the burst of impatience his words produced.
“Daddy, don’t, please,” she murmured.
“Don’t what?”
“Talk about Charles marrying me.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, sounding almost offended. “Why, Princess, he’s loved you for years, only I was too blind to notice. I guess I had my head in the clouds, because it’s as clear as rainwater to me now. Soon after you left for Italy, he started coming around, asking about you. Only…he was so subtle about it I didn’t realize what he was doing until I saw the two of you together last night.”
“I know, but—”
“You don’t have a clue, do you?” her father said, chuckling and shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you since I didn’t guess it myself.”
The way her father made it sound, Charles had spent the past three years pining away for her. Steffie knew that couldn’t be true. He was the reason she’d left. He’d humiliated her, laughed at her.
“When your mother said you’d be marrying Charles—”
“Dad, please.” Steffie felt close to tears. “I’m not marrying Charles.”
He studied her, eyes narrowed in concern. “What’s wrong, Princess? You love him, don’t you?”
“I did…but that was a long time ago when I was young and very foolish.” Her father had no way of knowing just how foolish she’d been.
Even after the incident in Charles’s home, when she’d soaked in his tub until her skin resembled a raisin, she hadn’t stopped. Some odd quirk of her nature refused to let her believe he didn’t want her, not when she loved him so desperately.
Oh, no, she hadn’t been willing to leave well enough alone. So she’d plotted and planned his downfall.
Literally.
Leaving a message at the newspaper office that her father needed to see him right away, Steffie had waited in the stable for Charles’s arrival. She’d spread fresh hay in the first stall.
No one was home and she tacked a note on the front door directing Charles to the stable.
He’d arrived right on time. She had to say that for him; he was punctual to a fault. He hesitated when he saw she was there alone, then asked to talk to her father. He kept his distance—which might have had something to do with the pitchfork in her hand.
Steffie had planned this meeting right down to the minutest detail. She’d worn tight jeans and a checkered shirt, half unbuttone
d and tied at her waist.
She remembered Charles repeating that he was anxious to talk to her father. Among other things, he’d told her, he wanted to clear the air about what was happening between him and Steffie.
At the time she’d nearly laughed out loud. Nothing was happening, despite her best efforts.
Steffie remembered again how perfect her timing had been. As she was chatting with him, explaining that she wasn’t sure where her father had gone, she set aside the pitchfork and started up the ladder that led to the loft. At precisely the right moment, she lost her balance, just as she’d planned. After teetering for a second, she dropped into Charles’s arms.
He broke her fall, but the impact of her weight slamming against him had taken them both to the floor, and into the fresh hay. For a moment, neither said a word.
“Are you all right?” He spoke first, his voice low and angry.
Steffie had never been more “all right” in her life. For the first time she was in Charles’s arms and he held on to her as though he never intended to let her go, as though this was exactly where he’d always wanted her to be.
Steffie had gazed down on him and slowly shaken her head. His gaze had gone to her parted lips and then his hands were in her hair and with a groan he’d guided her mouth to his. The kiss was wild, crazily intense. No man had ever kissed her with such hunger or need. Steffie didn’t understand what she was feeling; all she knew was that she wanted Charles more than she’d ever wanted anything. So she’d done what came instinctively. She’d kissed him back with the same searing hunger, until it seemed neither of them would be able to endure the intensity any longer.
Steffie would never forget how he’d rolled away from her, bounding effortlessly to his feet, breathing hard.
At first he’d said nothing. Steffie knew she’d have to speak first. So she’d looked up at him and said what had been on her heart from the moment they’d met. She’d told him simply, honestly, how much she loved him.
Steffie would forever remember what happened next.
Charles had stared down at her in silence for several heart-stopping seconds, and then he’d begun to laugh. Deep belly laughs, as though she’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
She was exactly what he needed, he’d said with a twinge of sarcasm—a lovesick girl running after him. How many times did he have to tell her he wasn’t interested? When he was ready for a woman in his life, he wanted exactly that, a woman, not a child. Especially not one as immature as she was.
He’d said more, but by then Steffie was running toward the house, tears streaking her face. The sound of his laughter had followed her, taunting her, ridiculing her.
“Charles has loved you all these years,” her father said now. He spoke confidently, crashing into her memories and dragging her back to the present. The past was so painful that Steffie was content to leave it behind.
“He’s never loved me,” she whispered through a haze of remembered pain.
“Ah, my sweet Princess,” her father countered. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Six
“Dad, listen to me.” Steffie stood, turning her head for fear her father would see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Whatever you do, please don’t say anything to Charles about—you know?”
“Being in love with you?”
“That, too,” she pleaded, “but I’m particularly concerned about this marriage thing.”
“That worries you?”
“Yes, Dad, it worries me a great deal.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” he asked softly.
“Oh, Dad, you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”
“Steffie, my Princess, don’t limit yourself to the things you understand,” her father said in the gentlest voice imaginable, “otherwise you’ll miss half of what life has to offer.”
She had to leave, had to escape before she dissolved into an emotional storm of tears. Not until she was in the car, heading she didn’t know where, did she realize her father hadn’t promised one way or the other. He might well blurt everything to Charles.
By the time Steffie had reached Orchard Valley, she’d composed herself. She’d do her errands—pick up dry cleaning, visit the small local library, mail a birthday card to little Mario in Italy—before she drove to Portland. Because it was Saturday, Main Street was busy and she was fortunate to find a parking spot. Not so fortunate as she would have liked, however, since the only available space was directly in front of the newspaper office.
For at least ten minutes, Steffie sat in the family station wagon, considering whether to talk to Charles herself. Should she warn him about her father’s crazy dream, his matchmaking hopes?
She was still debating the issue when she saw him, talking to the girl at the front desk. Her heart gladdened at the mere sight of him. He’d removed his suit jacket and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled halfway up his arms. He was so attractive, so compelling. For several minutes she watched him, mesmerized.
At first glance, Steffie thought Charles might have been talking to Norah, but that was impossible. The resemblance was there, though. This young woman was blonde and exceptionally pretty. Even from inside her car, Steffie could see how she gazed up at Charles with wide, adoring eyes.
The dread that went through her was immediate and unstoppable. She was jealous, and she hated it. The blonde was probably Wendy, the apprentice Charles had mentioned, and Steffie didn’t doubt for an instant that she was in love with him. Not that Steffie blamed her; she’d once played the role of doting female herself. Was playing it even now, despite her most strenuous efforts.
Charles was still talking to his intern, his hand resting against the back of her chair. He leaned forward as the two of them reviewed something, their heads close together. The blonde laughed at some remark of his and smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes.
Steffie couldn’t watch any more. It was like looking back several years and seeing what a fool she’d made of herself. Hurriedly she got out of the car and swung her purse over her shoulder. Forcing her eyes away from the newspaper office, she locked the car door. She was about to walk down the street when Charles stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Stephanie, hello.” He sounded surprised to see her. More than that, he sounded pleased.
“Hi,” she returned awkwardly, feeling guilty, although she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she’d actually been spying on him.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, giving her business suit an appreciative glance.
“I—I was thinking about driving into Portland and visiting the university after I do some errands here. I plan eventually to rent an apartment in the city, but Dad…” She hesitated.
Charles grinned knowingly. “But your father wasn’t delighted with the idea.”
“Exactly. I promised him I’d wait another couple of weeks.”
“Why two weeks?”
“Uh…” For a few seconds, she panicked, wondering if Charles had guessed, wondering if her father had mentioned his dream, praying he hadn’t. “It seemed like a reasonable compromise.”
“Have you got a moment? I’d like you to meet Wendy. She’s the intern I was telling you about. Bart’s here, as well. You remember Bart, don’t you?”
Steffie bit her lip, feeling reluctant. The last time she’d been to the newspaper office she’d come bent on vengeance, with threats of a lawsuit burning in her eyes.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in lunch. I’ve got an appointment at one, but it’s barely twelve now.”
She was still caught in the throes of indecision, when Charles took her firmly by the elbow and escorted her inside. She felt a wave of relief; after all, the opportunity to spend time with him, even a few minutes squeezed in between appointments, was too precious to decline.
It might have been Steffie’s imagination, but the people in the newspaper office seemed delighted to see her. She wondered what Charles could possibly have said to salvage her reputat
ion.
A couple of the reporters, one of whom she remembered from high school, welcomed her back to Orchard Valley. Bart, the pressman, inquired about her father’s health. Even Wendy seemed inclined to like her, which raised Steffie’s guilt by several uncomfortable notches.
“I’ll be back at one,” Charles said as he guided Steffie out the front door.
“But—” Bart stopped abruptly when Charles cut him off with a glare.
“I’ll be here in plenty of time,” he promised. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked, smiling down at her.
“Whatever’s most convenient for you.”
“The Half Moon’s serving sandwiches now. How does that sound?”
“Great.” When Steffie left for Italy, the Half Moon, just down the street from the Clarion, had been a small coffee shop.
Now she saw that it had been expanded and modernized. While Charles placed their order, Steffie found them a table. Several customers, old acquaintances, greeted her and asked about her father, and before she realized it, she was completely at ease, laughing and joking with the people around her.
When Charles returned with their turkey-and-tomato sandwiches and coffee, she smiled at him happily, content to shed the troubled thoughts she’d carried into town with her. At least for the moment…
“How’s your father this morning?” Charles asked, holding his sandwich with both hands to keep bits of tomato and lettuce from escaping.
“Cantankerous as ever.” Opinionated, too, and occasionally illogical, but she didn’t say any of that. Even if she decided to warn Charles, now didn’t seem to be the time. Not when they were sitting across from each other, relaxed and lighthearted, and all the world felt right.
The hour passed quickly. This kind of pure, simple happiness never lasted, she told herself. But, oh, how she wished it could. Charles seemed equally reluctant for their visit to end.
Steffie walked back to work with him. “Thanks for lunch,” she said, standing on the sidewalk in front of the office.
“I’ll call you,” Charles promised as Bart came out, looking anxiously at his watch. “I’ll be right there,” Charles told him, a bit impatiently. He turned back to Steffie. “Sometime tomorrow?”