6 Rainier Drive (16 page)

She'd just started trimming his hair when he announced, “I want to marry you.”

Teri lowered her arms and exhaled harshly. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“I'll cut your hair, but I am not marrying you.”

“Why not?”

“You don't even know me!”

“Is that important?”

“Yes,” she said, shocked he'd ask such a fundamental question. “Love helps, too.”

Bobby frowned. “I'm not good with emotions.”

No surprise there. “Go figure,” she teased.

Bobby smiled slightly. “Will you let me kiss you again?”

She continued to clip the sides of his hair. “Probably.”

“Tonight?”

“How much chocolate did you bring?”

“Ten pounds. Is it enough?”

“Plenty,” she assured him. Just to show him how much she appreciated good chocolate, she straddled his lap. Scissors still in her hand, she hooked her arms around his neck. With a surge of joy she didn't bother to examine or to question, she gave Bobby Polgar, world chess champion, a kiss that could've won a competition of its own.

“T
here's someone here to see you,” Frank Chesterfield, the bank president, told Justine late Friday afternoon. She normally worked mornings, but Frank had asked her to take care of some pending loan applications so she'd agreed to stay. She'd gone into the vault and before she could ask who it was, Frank was gone.

Most likely Warren Saget had stopped by for another chat. He was still doing that despite her lack of encouragement or welcome. He chose to ignore her wishes and persisted in visiting her far too often. It wasn't that Justine disliked Warren. He was her friend and had proved it the day of her panic attack.

She could do without seeing him right now, though. Seth had been depressed for several days, since the official end of the arson investigation. The building, or what was left of it, had been released
to them and quickly demolished. Seth had watched it all, watched the trucks hauling away the charred remains of their dream. Justine was concerned about him and resented Warren's frequent appearances, despite his kindness to her.

She was married and she loved her husband and no friendship was worth risking her marriage over. Seth had made his feelings toward the other man plain. He didn't want her seeing Warren, no matter how platonic the relationship. Justine had every intention of abiding by his wishes. She wouldn't want him lunching with an old girlfriend, either.

However, it wasn't Warren waiting at her desk, it was her husband. She felt a stirring of excitement, of delight untainted by anger or sadness. “Seth!”

He stood as she approached. “Hi.” His smile told her all was well. “I've come to make a deposit.”

Justine blinked. “Okay,” she murmured, “I'll take it to the teller's cage.”

“Aren't you interested in what I'm about to put in our bank account?” he asked, the gleam in his eyes signalling his pleasure.

“Of course.”

“It's my first commission check.” Two weeks earlier, Seth had made his first sale; he'd downplayed the event but Justine had been very proud of him. Taking her lead from Seth, she'd acted equally casual.

“Congratulations, Seth,” she said now.

“Thank you.” He did seem pleased with himself. Standing, he withdrew his wallet from his hip pocket, ceremoniously removed the check and handed it to her.

Justine took one look at the amount and had to sit down. “
This
is your commission check?” she asked, hardly able to form the words.

“Yup.”

“For
one
boat?”

“Yup.”

She looked again. “What did you sell, the
Queen Mary?
”

Seth's laughter echoed against the bank walls. “No, my darling wife, it was a fishing vessel, not unlike the one Dad and I used in Alaska.”

“This is a lot of money.” Although the restaurant had done well, this amount was more profit than they'd made in three months at The Lighthouse.

He smiled in acknowledgment. “Larry says I'm a natural and if so, it's because I know the business. I lived it, worked it and, well, I've made two more sales from referrals.”

“Oh, Seth!” she gasped. “I couldn't be happier for you.” As far as Justine was concerned, the money was secondary. They could certainly use it, but what really mattered was the contentment she saw in her husband's eyes. She felt a renewed hope that the
arsonist hadn't devastated their marriage along with the restaurant.

“I already picked up Leif and he's spending the night with my parents,” Seth told her. Their son had been at a birthday party for the afternoon.

Justine gave her husband a slow smile. “He is?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And where will we be?” she asked.

“We're going out to celebrate.”

That happy smile was back on Seth's face. “Sounds wonderful to me,” she said.

“Jay and Lana are joining us in Silverdale.”

Jay and Lana were former classmates and good friends. With the restaurant demanding so much of their time, Seth and Justine had rarely seen any of their friends in the last few years.

“After dinner,” Seth went on, interrupting her thoughts, “I have another small surprise for you.”

“Better than stealing me away for a celebration dinner with friends?” This was more than they'd done in months and months; when they were operating The Lighthouse, they'd simply never had the time.

“Much better,” Seth promised in a low voice.

“I'll finish up here,” she said, glancing at the clock. The bank closed later on Fridays; however, she planned to leave at six. “Then I'll go home and change.”

“Not necessary,” Seth told her.

“But…”

“As a matter of fact, why don't you leave now?” Her boss stepped up to her desk. He winked at Seth, and Justine wondered how much Frank knew about this surprise of her husband's.

“Should I drive out and meet you in Silverdale?” she asked, reaching into the bottom drawer for her purse.

“No need to do that, either,” Seth said, taking her arm in his.

“But my car…”

“Is at home.”

Justine's jaw sagged. “When did that happen?” She'd driven to work that morning and parked it at the far end of the lot, where employees left their vehicles.

“Jay and I came by earlier,” Seth explained. “I picked up your car and then drove back here.”

“I would like to change clothes.” If they were going out for the evening, she'd prefer to wear something fancier than business attire.

“I figured as much, so I brought another outfit with me.” He opened the bank door as he spoke and they walked toward his car, parked near the entrance.

“Very cute, Seth, and where am I supposed to change? A gas station restroom? I don't think so.”
She leaned against his car. “I suppose I could use the employee bathroom, but…”

“Hmm, that's a good point,” he muttered, his eyes bright with love and anticipation. “I guess I'll just have to take you to the hotel earlier than I'd planned.”

“What?”

“We have a hotel room for the night, complete with champagne.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Justine covered her mouth. “Pinch me, because I must be dreaming.”

Seth brought his arms around her waist and laughed. “Why don't I kiss you, instead?”

This was an offer she couldn't refuse. “It's a deal.”

The evening was everything Justine could have imagined, and more. After a lengthy dinner with excellent wine, the four of them drove to the hotel and had drinks in the elegant lounge while a three-piece ensemble played. Justine needed a couple of mixed drinks to fuel her courage before she agreed to step onto the dance floor. She was glad she did. Any excuse to have Seth's arms around her was worth potential embarrassment.

Jay and Lana had to get home to relieve their babysitter and left at midnight. Shortly after that, Seth was feigning a yawn.

“All right, all right,” Justine teased. “I've got the message.”

Smiling, Seth reached for her hand. In the elevator, he stood behind her, arms around her waist as he kissed the side of her neck. “I'm ready to collect on all those promises you've been sending my way all evening.”

“And what about that surprise you promised me?”

“You'll see when we get to the room.”

“Oh, Seth, I love you so much.” She turned in his arms and held him close. It felt as if she had her husband back at last—as if the burdens of the months since the fire had fallen away.

“Just wait until you see what I bought you to wear to bed,” he whispered with a low groan—obviously picturing her in it.

“Do you really want me to take the time to change?” she whispered.

“True,” Seth murmured. “No, don't bother. The minute you put it on, I'll be taking it off.”

Justine closed her eyes and smiled. “That's what I thought.”

The elevator doors glided open, and Seth swung her into his powerful arms as though she weighed next to nothing. He headed down the long hallway toward their room. It was a small comedy of errors as he tried to hold her while attempting to open the door with the room card. Justine dissolved into giggles and then they were both laughing. He had to
put her down before he managed to get the door unlocked.

Seth didn't bother to turn on the lights. He shut the door and pressed her against it, kissing her with hot, urgent hunger.

“Oh, Seth,” she breathed, her head spinning. “I was so afraid I'd lost you.”

“Never.” His hands worked at the tiny buttons on her silk blouse. “I think you'd better get out of this before I accidentally rip something.”

She giggled again and took over the task of unbuttoning the blouse.

They made love that night and again in the morning. Lying there, spent, Justine felt utterly relaxed in her husband's arms, utterly tranquil and at peace.

“Seth,” she whispered, thinking aloud. “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.” He stroked her bare back, letting his hand roam from her shoulder blades to the curve of her waist.

“After a night out—the first one in over a year—are you sure you want to rebuild the restaurant?”

His hand stilled, and she feared she'd destroyed the moment.

“I don't know anymore, Justine. I just don't know.”

O
n Sunday at noon, Nate drove to Rachel's with a picnic lunch. She met him on the sidewalk outside her front door, too eager to wait. Throwing herself into his arms, she sighed as he hugged and kissed her. It was weeks since they'd spent more than a couple of hours together.

His work schedule was hectic, but so was hers. Her days off were Sunday and Monday, although lately she'd been working Mondays, too. As soon as the navy wives had gotten word that she did both hair and nails, her schedule had started filling up. Her bookings were practically overlapping. The money was great, but she needed a break.

“Where would you like to go?” Nate asked, smiling down at her.

“How about Point Defiance Park?” she suggested. The Tacoma park was always lovely, but
especially at this time of year with the rhododendrons and azaleas in bloom.

“Perfect.” Nate kissed the top of her head. “I can have you all to myself?”

“Of course.” Rachel knew the question referred to the time she spent with Jolene. Nate didn't complain much, but he wasn't pleased—and she realized it was her relationship with Bruce that troubled him, not her friendship with the little girl.

“Good.”

The day could not have been more ideal for their outing. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, and a light breeze blew off the cove. Rachel grabbed her sweater, then slipped into the front seat of Nate's convertible, a relatively new acquisition. He'd chosen a candy-apple red and she'd fallen in love with it the minute he'd brought it over the first time.

The wind blew her hair into total chaos, not that Rachel cared. She was with Nate, and they had the whole day together. The weather was a bonus, but it wouldn't have mattered if the skies had opened and drenched them with rain. In that case, they would've had their picnic on her living room floor.

They wandered through the park, finally choosing a secluded spot where Nate spread out a blanket. The picnic basket boasted fried chicken, potato salad, rolls and coleslaw, which Nate had picked up at a chicken franchise before coming to
collect her. He'd also brought some white wine that was way more expensive than anything she ever chose.

When they'd eaten, Nate sprawled out with his head nestled in her lap. Rachel lazily stroked his hair and savored this peaceful afternoon together. Nate's eyes drifted shut and Rachel discovered that she felt sleepy, too. The sun's warmth, the wine and the food and, most of all, being with Nate produced a sense of well-being and uncomplicated joy.

The tranquility of the moment was shattered by the shrill ring of Nate's cell phone.

Jerking upright, Nate frowned and reached for the phone, clipped to his waist. “Hello,” he answered tersely. But then his demeanor changed and he relaxed.

After a minute or two of conversation, Rachel realized it was Nate's mother on the phone.

“A political rally for Dad,” he repeated. He looked at Rachel and smiled reassuringly. “In October. I can request leave, but, Mom, there's no guarantee. Yes, yes, of course, I understand this is important. I'll do what I can.” He touched his index finger to his mouth and kissed it, then pressed it against Rachel's lips.

She smiled and brought his finger into her mouth and gently sucked on it.

Nate darted her a warning glance before he withdrew his finger.

“I'm with Rachel,” he said unexpectedly. “This would be a good time to introduce yourself.”

A feeling of dread washed over her. Nate's powerful, wealthy family made her feel insecure. Her sole disagreement with him while he was away at sea for six months had been about the difference between their stations in life. In defiance of his father, Nate had enlisted in the navy and, through his own skills, had risen to the grade of warrant officer, the highest of any noncommissioned rank.

Apparently Nate had something else to prove to his father, and she was afraid that
something
was his relationship with her. Rachel's biggest fear was that dating her was another act of defiance on his part, although Nate fervently assured her otherwise.

Nevertheless, Rachel kept a close guard on her heart. She was apprehensive, justifiably so, in her opinion. Still she found herself drawn to him despite everything. She treasured the hours they could spend together and looked forward to their conversations. Even when he wasn't at sea, they e-mailed each other often. Rachel sometimes used the computer at the salon during her breaks, although privacy wasn't exactly in great supply.

“Here, why don't you talk to Rachel,” Nate said next and without warning handed her the cell phone.

She glared at him and shook her head, refusing
to accept it. Nate insisted, however, and given no choice, she took the cell.

“Hello, Mrs. Olsen, this is Rachel Pendergast,” she said, making a face at him.

Nate smiled and brought her right hand to his mouth, sucking on her finger. She yanked it away and turned around so she could concentrate on his mother.

“Hello, Rachel,” his mother greeted her warmly. “It's nice to finally get a chance to meet you, even if it is over my son's cell. And please, call me Patrice.”

“All right, Patrice,” she said, nearly stumbling over the name. “It's lovely to meet you, too.” Rachel's heart felt lodged in her throat as she struggled to think of some appropriate comment.

“You certainly seem to have captured our son's interest.”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder and exchanged a smile with Nate. “He's wonderful.”

“I'm sure you know he broke off a long-standing relationship with the daughter of one of our dearest friends because of you.”

Nate had made it clear on their first date that he had a girlfriend back home.

“Yes, he did mention that. I hope it hasn't caused any problems with your friends.” Nate had also mentioned that he was glad to be out of the relation
ship and that the girl—she didn't remember her name—was already engaged to someone else.

Patrice's returning laughter sounded a bit strained. “No problem at all. Please don't concern yourself. Everything's fine. I, uh, hear you're a bit older than Nate.”

This, too, had led to arguments between Nate and Rachel. “Five years,” she murmured. “I'm five years older.” On their first meeting, Nate had seemed so young, and at thirty, Rachel had felt worlds older. But Nate had eventually convinced her that those few years meant nothing. Every now and then, she reminded herself that when she'd graduated from high school, Nate had been in seventh grade.

“Five years isn't that much of a difference,” Patrice said reassuringly. “I didn't know what to think when Nate said you were older. It would be just like him to arrive with a forty-year-old divorcée on his arm. He does things like that, you know? I swear, it's just another way of defying his father and me. He did that as a youngster, too.” She laughed lightly, as if a little embarrassed.

“Did Nate tell you I'm a nail tech?” Rachel felt she needed to bring up her occupation. Might as well put it all out there.

“You're in the navy, too?” Patrice asked, sounding surprised.

“No, I work in a salon and do hair and nails. That kind of tech.”

Silence. Then, “Oh.”

Her reaction told Rachel that Nate hadn't said anything about it.

Patrice recovered quickly. “No, but that's our Nate. He likes to deliver his little surprises. I'm sure you're very talented with hair and, ah, fingernails.”

“Thank you,” Rachel managed. “Perhaps I should pass the phone back to Nate.”

“Yes, please.”

Rachel gladly returned the cell phone, and while Nate ended the conversation, she started walking. She needed to think about the emotions this brief conversation with his mother had brought to the surface. She was afraid she'd made a terrible impression. His mother's attitude was clear and unmistakable: Without even meeting her, Patrice Olsen had decided Rachel was an inappropriate choice for her only son.

Nate caught up with her a few minutes later and she was grateful to see he was no longer talking on his cell.

“Rachel, wait,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “What did my mother say?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. She was very nice.” Even as she spoke, Rachel's stomach knotted. “I can't believe I let this happen,” she whispered, covering her face with both hands. Despite the inner
voice that had warned her about the dangers of this relationship, she'd resisted. Almost from the first, she'd known that dating this young officer wouldn't work for either of them. His father was a congressman, for heaven's sake!

“Rachel, tell me,” he pleaded.

“She had no idea that I'm employed as a nail tech. She thought it had something to do with the navy.” She hiccupped a laugh at the absurdity of such a comment. His mother had to know about nail techs, but Rachel didn't want to assume the comment had been deliberate. Any more than she wanted to think the remarks about her age and his previous girlfriend hid some malicious intent.

“I'm phoning Mom back and asking her to apologize,” Nate said, reaching for the cell clipped to his belt.

“No, please, don't.” Her hand stopped him. “It's nothing.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I…I don't belong in your world.”

“Wrong,” he declared. “We belong together. I knew it from the beginning.” He walked away, pacing restlessly, as though he couldn't bear to stand still. “This isn't the first time my parents have done this kind of thing. They feel this need to control my life, and I'm not letting it happen. I love you, Rachel. Do you hear me?”

She stared at him, afraid to believe what he was saying.

“I love you,” he repeated, “and furthermore, I don't give a damn what my parents think about it. The minute they meet you, they'll love you, too, and if they don't, then it's their loss. I won't allow them to come between us.”

She wanted to trust in the depth of their feelings, but while he might be sure of how he felt right now, at some point that could all change. “Nate, please don't. It'd be best all the way round if we just ended this.”

“No way! You aren't doing this to me again. You've
got
to
believe
in us, Rach.”

She did, and yet she was afraid.

He drew her into his arms, and his hold on her tightened as she struggled with her resolve. “You can't let every little roadblock dissuade you,” he whispered.

That was true but…

“Are you so willing to give up on us? Do I mean so little to you?” Already Rachel felt herself weakening. Nate was right; she needed to be determined, especially where his family was concerned. She had to accept the strength of their love. She had to believe.