Everlasting Love Page 7

She ended the call a few minutes later. "My mom. She and Dad own a resort in the Kalispell area. They often have famous guests." She named the actor who had booked in. "And honeymooners. Mom likes to go all out for them."

  Steele looked bored. "Let me guess. This is where you get all your ideas about romance." He sighed. "I know the track record on actor's marriages isn't good. It would be interesting to see how many of your 'honeymooners' are still together a year or two later."

  She waved her hand at him. "Don't knock romance. Despite your doubts it usually works."

  He met her look again. She felt the same deep-throated tug. And then he gave a brisk nod and the moment disappeared. "I have no interest in a relationship based on such nonsense. I hope to marry some day but it will be because of mutual, practical interests."

  Holly jerked her gaze away and prayed he hadn't seen the disappointment flashing through her. She immediately scolded herself. Sure, she and Steele enjoyed planning the banquet together more than either of them had anticipated. Sure, she enjoyed his ironic sense of humor and liked the open affection between him and Henry. None of that provided reason for wishing he could be more romantic. And she had no interest in a 'practical' relationship.

  For the next few days, Holly saw little of Nan and even less of Henry as they spent their days exploring the city. Nan fell into bed exhausted so early every evening Holly barely had time to discover what the couple had done. As for Steele, he had all but disappeared. Of course they had no need to meet. The banquet required nothing more of them for now, the grandparents kept busy and Holly had to work. As did Steele. She caught glimpses of him entering the building across the street.

  She sighed. Why should she feel so lonely? Nothing had changed. With a start, she realized something had—she had. Like it or not, she'd gotten used to Steele running over for coffee once or twice a day. She missed his company, which was as corny as an old country-and-western song. All they did when they were together was argue.

  Yes, she missed him even though she kept busy serving guests, giving them pink flowers and hand-painted cards.

  She looked at the cart with many of the flowers already dispensed. What could have happened to Steele to make him hate pink flowers?

  At the sound of approaching footsteps she turned. "Steele." She stopped at the husky sound of her voice, took a deep breath and tried again. "Hi." Still a little airy but not too revealing, she hoped. Like what was she afraid to reveal—surprise, pleasure? Yes, both.

  "Annie," she called into the shop. "Could you bring Steele an espresso and a mocha for me, please?"

  They headed toward the table against the window. She'd taken to putting the planter full of purple pansies next to this table.

  "How have you been?" she asked.

  "Good. Busy."

  They made a few more conversational comments. She wondered if he'd come for a particular reason or had he missed their visits?

  He bent over the purple blossoms. "They smell good."

  Her insides felt like a drink of sweet coffee at his appreciation of the flowers. She was glad she had moved them here, shifted the pink ones away.

  "I love their scent." She leaned over and breathed deeply of the dark pansies.

  What was she thinking? Her face was inches from Steele's. She was certain the blaze of her embarrassment lit her face as if she'd hidden votive candles in her cheeks. She pulled back slowly, grasped the cup Annie placed before her and studied the contents. She lifted the cup to her mouth, set it back without taking a drink. No way could she swallow. Her throat constricted as though it were being squeezed by a fist.

  He sat up straight. Took a drink. Shifted. Rolled his head as if his neck hurt.

  She cleared her throat with a little cough. "You don't mind purple flowers?"

  "No. I know. It's strange. I should see a shrink."

  She couldn't tell if he meant to be cross with her for her suggestion so she stole a glance at him.

  He grinned. "Of course, it might be cheaper to simply avoid pink flowers."

  At the teasing look in his eyes, her throat closed again. For a minute she thought she might suffocate as she struggled to suck in air. She'd always known he was handsome with dark blond hair that dipped over his forehead in a beguiling wave, a strong chin with the slightest hint of a dimple in the center and eyes she'd admired from first glance. But she'd never before felt the full potency of his look.

  Her eyes stung with a queasy mingle of embarrassment and acute awareness. She shifted away. Instantly regretted breaking the contact and reversed her gaze.

  "Marty and the Mice cancelled," he said.

  The real reason for his visit? Why should she be so disappointed? She wasn’t. If anything, it was a relief to be released from her dreadful awareness.

  "Marty and the Mice?" She chuckled. "I was so looking forward to the explanation behind that name for a band. We had a couple bands we turned down when we decided to limit it to four. Can one of them fill in at the last minute?"

  "I'll call and see. It would be nice to have the four seeing as we have it all set up for that."

  "Good thing we didn't print the programs."

  "My idea, as I recall."

  "Yes, Mr. Practical. You were right on this one."

  He quirked one eyebrow as if to suggest he'd been right more often than that if she cared to notice.

  "Okay, you've been right a couple of times."

  "All right than." He grinned at her and she told herself it was foolish to feel so pleased. "I'm liking this. Care to be more specific?"

  "Let me think." She tilted her chin as if giving it serious thought. "No."

  She put the brakes on silly emotions. "I suppose we should finalize the judging forms." They had agreed to eliminate the bands by means of judges rather than the audience.

  "We had several criteria—audience appreciation, creativity of presentation, musical ability. Anything else?"

  "It's all about having fun. Only thing I might suggest is to rate the criteria in order of importance."

  He chuckled. "Like audience appreciation is more important than musical ability."

  "Exactly. So let's make sure the judges know that."

  "We could weigh each point differently."

  "Huh?"

  "Sure. Audience appreciation has a value of say, ten and the judges rate it one to ten. Creativity in presentation, a value of eight, musical ability, five. So a band that is a real crowd pleaser could get ten, eight, and maybe two for ability."

  "Steele, I hate to admit it but that's a real good idea."

  He sat up straighter and looked pleased with himself. "Practical has its up side."

  "Yeah. I guess so." She thought of the presentation she and Heather had prepared. "Heather has been so helpful with the slide show. It's really a portrait of her work over there."

  "I'm glad it's going well. I'm sure you and Heather have done a good job. It was a great idea." He held his thumb up in a salute of approval. His smile filled his eyes with such kindness she ached inside.

  They talked some more about the upcoming banquet, laughing at the names the bands had given themselves.

  "I'm excited about the whole thing," she said. "My prayer is that it goes so well we raise enough money for the new roof."

  "Let's join our prayers in asking for that." He reached for her hands across the table.

  They'd prayed for the success of the banquet in the past but never before had she felt such unity. She let him take her hands and focused her thoughts on the purpose of the banquet—the orphans in Africa.

  Steele prayed. "Heavenly Father, God of all mercy and grace, the giver of good gifts, we ask You to touch this banquet and the entertainment with Your power and blessing so in turn, the little kids in Africa might be blessed and especially that they might learn of Your love through our gifts." He stopped.

  Holly wanted to pray out loud too, fought to squeeze words past the thickness in her brain—part gratitude, part surprise, and complete confusion. This
was Steele Davis, she informed her muddled brain. Logical, practical, scared to death of pink flowers and romance, not the kind of man she should be feeling so confused about.

  She sucked in air, laden with the scent of purple pansies and espresso coffee and forced her throat to work. "Dear Lord, help things to go so well our expectations will be exceeded. Help Heather as she cares for so many children, so many needs. May we be able to provide the funds to fix the roof before next rainy season. Thank you. Amen."

  Steele squeezed her fingers gently. "It's in God's very capable hands."

  All her serious self-talk vanished like an e-mail lost in cyberspace at the way he looked so content and sure of God's control. It gave her a dizzying sense of something so good and strong and attractive about him. She gently extracted her hands before she totally lost her equilibrium. "Care for another coffee?"

  He studied his empty cup, seemed to consider the question.

  Of course, he would have appointments. He didn't have time to linger over coffee any more than she did. But surprisingly, only two customers had shown up in half an hour or more and they had opted to sit inside. Annie had no trouble coping with their needs. Holly shifted, prepared to retract her offer, plead work.

  "Sure, I could use another."

  "Annie, refills please," Holly called.

  Suddenly she could think of nothing to say to this man. Which was stupid considering they each had a grandparent on the loose. "So what are the grandparents up to? Nan falls into bed practically as soon as she gets home."

  "Pops does the same. When I ask what he's been doing he says walking and talking or having coffee and talking. I think they've gone to the museum and a couple of galleries."

  "I hope Nan isn't wearing herself out. Mom and Dad would hold me personally responsible if she made herself sick."

  "Has she said anything about what she and Pops are talking about?"

  Holly sat back and studied Steele, saw the glint of determination in his eyes. "If I said they were talking marriage, would you try and dissuade them?"

  His gaze grew darker, harder. "I might."

  She laughed. "Then it's a good thing I'm not going to say that."

  He leaned forward, his look so intense she squirmed, tried to look away. "Because you don't want me to know or because Jean hasn't said anything?"

  She stuck out her chin. He didn't intimidate her. At least not very much. "Yes."

  He scowled. "Yes what?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  He laughed. "You forgot to salute."

  "Oh yeah. Sorry." She touched two fingers to her forehead. "Sir."

  "Do I get the feeling you won't tell me if you don't want to?"

  "Yup. You got it."

  "You can't blame me for worrying about Pops. He's—"

  "Vulnerable. I know. You've said it before." She suddenly felt sorry for the concern in his eyes. "But Nan hasn't said anything to me. She's come back a few times looking a little troubled. I'm not sure what that's all about." She leaned forward and tapped her finger on the table directly in front of Steele. "I don't want to see Nan hurt either."

  He searched her eyes, as if looking for something.

  She held his gaze, letting his see and feel the slight shift of dynamics between them. She couldn't say exactly what it meant, didn't want to think about it too deeply at this time. She only knew the change felt good and right and scary and dangerous.

  He smiled. "Does that mean romance isn't necessarily the answer for our grandparents?"

  She laughed. "Romance is not the problem. It's a good way to explore relationships. It satisfies the need for affirmation in each of us. But I admit, there has to be more than that. I want Nan to be romanced, but I also want her to be comfortable with the realities of a relationship with your grandfather."

  Steele leaned back, held up his thumb in another salute. "Right on." Suddenly he jerked forward, grabbed her hands and gave her a look so intense it made her eyes water. "Tell me, Holly Hope, have I had any influence in making you admit the need for practicality?"

  She tore her gaze from his, studied their united hands, wondered at the myriad of emotions springing from that simple touch—amusement, hope, affirmation.

  Affirmation? He was no romantic but there was something solid about him that felt good and right.

  She pulled her thoughts back to his question. "I'm not saying anything."

  He chuckled. "On the grounds it might incriminate you?"

  She tried unsuccessfully to stop her laugh from escaping. "Something like that."

  "So we both agree we need to make sure our grandparents keep their feet firmly on the ground? I've been thinking it's time I encourage Pops to go back to the ranch. Put an end to this romantic foray. Why don't you see if you can convince Jean to go home?"

  She jerked back. "I will do no such thing. I don't want Nan hurt but I am fully behind her if she wants to pursue her interest in Henry. No way would I do anything to come between them. That's their decision to make." She huffed hard, mad at herself as much as at Steele. How could she even think he'd changed or things between them had changed? He was as stubborn, as practical to the point of cruelness, as unappealing as ever. And if she felt just a twinge of regret at having to admit she'd hoped otherwise she could blame no one but herself and her eternal romantic optimism.

  "I will help my grandmother any way I can. They both deserve the chance to recreate this special time from their youth and if it leads to something in their declining years, I'll be thrilled."

  Steele pushed back and got to his feet. "I see you aren't prepared to be reasonable about this. The way I see it, Pops is too vulnerable. He needs someone to run interference, make sure he thinks with his head and not his heart. Your grandmother has had twenty years to plan this. Pops—"

  She jumped to her feet fighting an incredible urge to do the man bodily harm. It didn't bother her a bit that he outweighed her by fifty pounds or more and his lean body showed the effects of all the time he spent in physical activity. "Stop right there." She pressed her fingertip to his chest. "If you accuse my grandmother of scheming I won't be responsible for what I do."

  His eyes flashed that pale color again. And then he laughed. "What are you going to do? Hit me?"

  She dropped her hands to her side and uncurled her fists. "Of course not."

  "Good. Because I prefer to use my head"—he leaned forward—“to using either my heart or my fists." He stalked away before she could calm her anger enough to answer.

  She searched frantically for the perfect retort as he widened the distance between them. "You stay away from my grandmother."

  She slammed the heel of her hand into her forehead. That was really a clincher all right. Aaggh. Why could she never think of what she wanted to say when she was upset? No doubt she'd think of the perfect thing about two in the morning.

  Not that it mattered. They were as far apart as the north from the south on how their grandparents should conduct their relationship. As they were on so many things. She grabbed the empty cups and headed inside to do something useful. She refused to allow herself even a hint of regret at the way things had gone south with the speed of a rocket ship.

  Suddenly she laughed.

  "What's so funny?" Annie asked. "Didn't I just see you and Steele practically ready to kill each other?"

  "He thinks he should interfere with Nan and Henry's romance. I was just thinking what Nan would say to anyone poking his nose in her business. I hope Steele tries, it though I feel sorry for him if he does."

  7

  Steele dropped to his chair, turned it away from the window and stared at the bright geometric framed print on his wall. He felt as fractured as all those triangles and squares. He'd always liked the picture even though it made no sense—no pattern, no reason for the arrangement.

  His gaze fixed on a bright spot of purple. A tiny square in the midst of large orange, red and green shapes. The same color as the flowers in the planter at J'ava Moi.

  Why had sh
e rearranged the planters so he didn't have to sit beside pink flowers? More importantly, why did he sniff the flowers and act all lovey-dovey? He grunted and felt an incredible disgust at himself. That was why he didn't believe in romance. It got a man all confused just when he needs to have his wits about him. And if it could happen to him, a lawyer, practiced in rational thought, a man who didn't believe in such foolishness in the first place, he could only imagine how the whole business of recreating scenes of first love could make it impossible for Pops to think straight.

  As he'd said to Holly, best thing would be for Pops and Jean to go back home and think about this whole business without the confusing trappings of picnics and flowers and late evenings. He chuckled. Eight o'clock didn't qualify as late in his books, but seemed to in his grandfather's.

  He rubbed his chest where Holly had planted her finger. Knew a flash of regret that she'd shifted from starry eyed to combative so quickly. Which further proved how all those trappings could confuse a man. Sure she was a beautiful woman with her wavy brown hair and expressive brown eyes. He snorted. Looks were only skin deep, after all.

  He pushed to his feet, strode over to stare at the purple square on the picture then turned and without conscious thought, crossed to the window to look down at the outdoor tables and flowers. He located the planter full of pink ones and shuddered. No way was he going to let himself get tangled up by such foolishness.

  Pops unlocked the door and walked into the apartment. Steele pointed at his boots and the old man gave a longsuffering sigh, backed up, and grabbed his slippers. "Sissy footwear," he muttered, and made a great show of tiptoeing into the living room in his slippers.

  "Whatcha been doing? You and Jean."

  "We've been out and about."

  "Yeah. Doing what?"

  Pops fixed him with a hard look. "You cross examining me?"

  Steele shrugged. "Just trying to show a little interest."

  Pops headed for the fridge. "You ever fix a meal? There's nothing in here but junk food." He pulled out a leftover piece of pizza with two fingertips and dropped it into the garbage.