Cupid's Confederates (14 page)

Zach hadn’t noticed.

She looked perfectly beautiful, and he hadn’t noticed. The three men had arrived on top of each other; she should have guessed why. Halftime. She’d managed to set the turkey on the table between football games, as she expected half the women in the nation were doing. That part was fine, or at least sort of fine.

She’d just had different expectations of the entire feast. It was
her
menu,
her
organization of the dinner and the house and hostessing the guests; she wanted Zach to see that. She’d had hopes that the guests would keep her mother entertained, and she would have a little one-on-one time with Zach; Zach was going to have an easy, relaxed meal and Bett was going to confidently, brilliantly, handle the peripherals and when the day was finally over they would talk.

Only the plan had crumbled. Wynn kept throwing an arm around her shoulders; she hated men who touched so carelessly. Garth was pompous and just never stopped talking, and Bob was a military enthusiast who conjured up world wars for enjoyment.

Before
they’d been invited to dinner, her guests had certainly given very different impressions. As she scraped the plates in the kitchen, Bett decided glumly that all men showed their true colors when put in front of a football game. The next time she vetted someone for her mother, it was going to be at a fourth-and-goal in front of a TV set. In the meantime, Zach’s relaxed dinner had gone by the wayside. Zach was
not
a military enthusiast, hated pompous people, and his repeated icy stares at Wynn could have refrozen the turkey.

Elizabeth carried in another round of empty dessert plates, her cheeks flaming. “Did you hear what that Garth said?” she hissed.

Bett nodded. Garth liked simple talk—all four-letter words. Who would have expected that of Susan Lee’s brother-in-law’s cousin? “Now, I know he wouldn’t deliberately offend you, Mom. It’s just his way of talking.”

“We should have salted his turkey with detergent,” Elizabeth announced blandly.

A wisp of a smile appeared on Bett’s face at the idea, but it quickly faded.

“What’s wrong with your hair?” her mother asked curiously.

Bett’s fingers raced up to her hairpins. The ones that were all sort of hanging in midair. “Nothing.” She pulled them out, one by one. Who cared? The day was destroyed. Her grand visions of handling the holiday had gone the way of dust. It was
her
house; she was in control; they were about to go back to living the way she and Zach liked to live; and her mother was going to be well loved but ousted—gently—from the director’s chair. This was not a movie set.

Fine.

Only seeing was believing, and how could Zach possibly believe she had such monumental changes in mind after the hours that had just passed? She
had
to talk to him.

“They’ve settled into another football game,” Elizabeth remarked.

Of course.

Restlessly, Bett picked up the vials of perfume on her dressing table. There were only three. Shalimar was a scent that generally made her feel wanton and seductive; she usually paired it with the black see-through blouse she never wore out in public. Charlie smelled like summer, like daytime and sunlight and freedom.

L’Air du Temps was her favorite. She lifted the tiny crystal bottle and sprayed a hint on her throat, then impatiently set the vial down again, wrapping her arms across her chest. The whole bedroom was beginning to reek of it, primarily because that was the fourth time she’d reached for it. Dutch courage just wasn’t forthcoming.

Zach had left to go for a walk more than an hour ago and still hadn’t returned. Elizabeth was in bed; their guests had been gone for two hours now. At ten, with the kitchen in some sort of reasonable order, Bett had gone upstairs. Now, twenty minutes later, she was still pacing the room, still dressed in the dark red velvet jersey, every nerve keyed up to an unbearably high pitch.
Zach, would you
please
come home,
her heart kept crying. She chewed on a fingernail, staring again at the empty doorway.

***

Soundlessly, Zach turned the knob of the back door and let himself in. His cheeks were icy and his hands stiff with cold as he took off his coat. Outside, it was still snowing; distractedly, he ran a hand through his still-damp hair before glancing at the stairs. Downstairs it was cool and silent…and empty.

The long walk had chased away half the cobwebs of a most tedious day. The other half hadn’t been banished nearly as easily. Zach was angry. He’d been angry for the better part of a week.

His eyes had followed Bett nearly all day. The expression on her face, half humorous, half terribly anxious, when she’d served him a fork and knife and bowl of dressing for breakfast. The time at midmorning, when the kitchen had been a myriad of confused pots and pans and recipes, and the look in Bett’s eyes when Billy had popped in the door with the three raccoons. Bett had dropped everything to fuss over them. If he hadn’t slipped into the kitchen, that pot of sticky honey sauce would have boiled over on the stove. Then there’d been that special sexiness she radiated in the red dress…and his desire to maim when the so-called distinguished insurance salesman had picked up on it and dared to touch her.

He’d watched her. And his anger had kept growing. He’d accused her of letting Elizabeth undermine her confidence, her spirit, her values…their love. He’d been disappointed in her. Disappointed, angry, and…

Dead wrong.

He slipped off his shoes, turned off the lights downstairs and mounted the stairs slowly in the darkness. Bett was no one’s doormat. She never had been. She was an assertive, stubborn, strong-willed lady. The only time she turned into marshmallow was when there was a risk of hurting someone. She was terrible at hurting people—failed every time.

And for that, he’d turned on her? He was more than angry with himself; for days he’d been sick inside, not knowing how to make it right again, afraid anything he said would be wrong. Fear had built up in him, like a slow coiling spring, fear that he might have destroyed something that mattered more than life, that he might have hurt her in a way he could not make up for. The spring had coiled tight, too tight. His shoulders hadn’t untensed in days; he’d barely slept; every muscle felt taut.

He stood for a moment before the closed door of their bedroom. He meant to push very quietly at the knob; instead, all his pent-up despair shoved at the door. It swung open, and Bett jerked around where she stood on the far side of the room by the window, her eyes huge and uncertain in her pale face. Her arms were wrapped around her chest, and the sudden vulnerable flush on her cheeks tore at his heart as she rushed toward him.

“Zach! I’m sorry. You are just going to have to listen to me, so don’t start looking like that again. I’ve been wanting to tell you for days that I’m sorry—” Her hands fluttered up, her soft eyes brimming rapidly. “I couldn’t wait for you to come home. Everything went wrong today. I know how it must have looked to you, that everything was for my mother, that I didn’t care what you wanted. Zach, it wasn’t intended that way. I wanted so much to show you—”

“Sh.” The single syllable seemed to startle her. The coiled spring inside him seemed to uncoil at the speed of light. He was furious all over again that she was so unhappy. He took a step toward her, eyes blazing. And then, with a very gentle hand, pushed back a strand of hair on her cheek. “It wasn’t
you,
”
 
he said earnestly. “
I
was wrong. Dammit, I never meant to hurt you. The thing with your mother was so important to you—I just wanted it to be right. For you, Bett. You were getting hurt, and I couldn’t just stand there. But I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Of course you should have pushed. I was so wrapped up in it, I couldn’t see. I
did
miss all the times we have together, all the feelings, all the simple conversations, and yet I kept letting it happen. It’s all my fault—”

He surged forward, tugging her into his arms and wrapping her close, folding in the soft fabric of her dress, the scent of her, her silky hair. He wanted his touch to be soothing, and it wasn’t. He couldn’t hold her tightly enough. “Nothing,” he growled, “was your fault. Nothing.”

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Zach—”

“
Stop
arguing with me.” He tilted her head back with his thumbs on her chin. His lips came down on her trembling ones, his touch turning gentle. In his hold was all the fear of losing her. Nothing was as vulnerable as loving. Nothing felt as good as the feel of his wife close to him again.

“Zach.” She stayed enfolded, but her eyes lifted to his, that frantic wariness gone but her face grave and still haunted with anxiety. “It was my fault, you know. I let the meaning of the two of us…slip away. I didn’t see. So insensitive, Zach, but I honestly never believed that could happen. I never had to let my mother control—”

“Maybe,” he agreed quietly. “I knew you could handle her, Bett. And I knew if you finally did, you’d be happier.” His fingers brushed back her hair. “I also happen to love you, you know. I love your softness and your giving. And to expect you suddenly to turn hard as nails was stupid on my part. Stupid and wrong.”

“It wasn’t wrong.” She leaned her cheek into his palm. “I never meant to—”

“Are you
still
arguing?” His tone was half humorous, half genuinely exasperated. And
all
loving.

Her eyes searched his face. The love she saw there was a fierce thing, even while he was trying to coax her into a smile. “You had a right to be angry,” she said quietly. “And…hurt. I know I hurt you. I…”

“No,” he murmured. “I hurt you.” His hands slid around her back, his mouth dipping down to the curve of her shoulder. So damn stupid, to be angry she wasn’t tougher inside, tough and hardhearted. Tough and strong were not the same thing at all. Every year they’d been married, she’d grown in confidence; he’d swelled with love, watching her. He wanted her to grow—not toughen, just grow. But it was long past time for him to make love to the lady she was, to make very sure she understood that he loved her just as she was. His palms slid down, cupping her slim hips. His lips found a delectable spot in the curve of her shoulder.

She yielded like Eve, with a sigh that seemed to flow through her body. She wrapped her arms around him and just held on, still trembling, her face buried in his shoulder. And for once, the knock on the door didn’t make her stiffen suddenly into a statue. Zach pressed his lips firmly on hers, drawing back. “I’ll handle it,” he said quietly.

“
No
. I will.” Bett pulled away from him. Elizabeth
was
her mother. This was exactly the time to prove it. All day she’d been trying to show him that she had her priorities back in order. When she pulled open the door, her eyes were brilliant, fired with determination.

Elizabeth, on the other side of the doorway, looked delectably vulnerable in her pink ruffled robe. “I was hoping you were awake, Brittany. There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you all day—”

“Mom, I’m exhausted. So is Zach.”

“I never told you about Harold Baker. You know, the man who owns the bookstore in Silver Oaks? And it’s been bothering me that I haven’t told you. Brittany, we’ve been meeting for lunch. And…more than lunch. Actually—”

Bett didn’t hear a thing. “I promise, Mom, we’ll talk in the morning. For just as long as you want, but right now—”

“I’ve been seeing him. And he…asked me to marry him.”

“I absolutely love you to bits, Mom,” Bett said blindly. “I know you can’t sleep; I wish I could help you with that. I
will
help you; maybe we can get an appointment for you with a doctor tomorrow. But right now, you’re just going to have to forgive me—I’m exhausted. Okay?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Of course. I—good night, darling.”

Bett closed the door, and whirled back to Zach. His arms felt like coming home. Zach held her close, and with a crooked smile, felt her cuddling, surrendering form turn stiff as her mother’s words sank in.
“No,”
she murmured into his shoulder.

“Open the door, two bits.”

“No.”

“It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair. “This is different.”

“She had to have made that up.”

“Open the door.”

“All day.
All day
I have been trying to show you how very much more you matter to me than my mother. Or than turkeys and holidays. Or than other people. Every single thing that could possibly go wrong with this day went wrong—”

His lips brushed her forehead. “Open the door.”

***

Five minutes later, the three of them were having instant coffee in the kitchen. “Now, he isn’t particularly good-looking,” Elizabeth said nervously. “But he plays canasta. So do I. He stays up until all hours of the night, can’t sleep. And he talks, all the time. I just…every time I’ve been in town I’ve found myself going there. We have coffee in the back and he takes me out to lunch. And three of the dinners—I didn’t tell you, Brittany. You were all for my going out, but this was…different. I knew it was different. And I thought you would feel I was being disloyal to your father—”

“Mom, that isn’t so,” Bett rushed in compassionately. “But for heaven’s sake, you can’t have known him very long.”

“Well, these three months. We’re hardly planning on a shotgun wedding, but at our age, there isn’t much point in our waiting, either. The thing is—you two. Whether you’d object—”

Zach and Bett exchanged a fleeting glance. “We don’t object,” Zach said quietly. “As long as you’re happy.”

“He’s such a fool. He just
won’t
take care of himself if he doesn’t have a woman around,” Elizabeth said distractedly. “He likes being bossed, he tells me. Not that I’m the bossy type—”

Bett’s lips parted. Zach laid a repressive hand on her knee. “You certainly aren’t,” he agreed.

“I don’t want either of you to think I’ve done anything…immoral—”

Bett debated for a second and a half whether to advise her mother that, truthfully, she’d better kick around an immoral action or two before she made any permanent commitments. Zach’s hand anchored on her knee again. “We never thought that,” he assured his mother-in-law.

“I never would,” Elizabeth said.

“I’m sure of that.”

Zach had the sneaking suspicion that the lady had compromised her…morals. Bett
had
to get her genes from somewhere. Chet undoubtedly contributed the dominant portion, but someone had to have been on the receiving end.

“And I came here to help you,” Elizabeth said worriedly. “It’s not that I want to desert you now.”

“Mom, you wouldn’t be,” Bett said swiftly. Elizabeth didn’t appear to notice any frantically enthusiastic notes.

It was one in the morning before the three of them trudged back upstairs. Zach, once the bedroom door had closed, reached for Bett, hauled her up into his arms and laid her giggling form on their bed. Seconds later, he collapsed next to her.

“Some matchmaker you are,” he scolded. “She ended up having to do all the work herself.” His words came out in whispers, in breaths that fanned the tender skin of her throat. He turned her until her stomach was against the mattress, making it easy for him to unzip the back of her dress. It was a long zipper, ending at the base of her spine. And it was going to take him a very long time to get it down, if he was going to kiss her exposed skin lingeringly at inch intervals.

“You didn’t do any better than I did,” Bett whispered back, her voice muffled in the comforter.

“Do you even know Harold?”

“Are you joking? In the winter, I live in that bookstore. I’ve known him ever since we moved here.”

“So?”

“So, he’s perfect. So why didn’t
you
invite him to the house?”

Her favorite red dress was suddenly pulled over her head and landed on the floor beside the bed. She peered over the side of the mattress, staring at it. Zach was kissing her vertebrae, one by one. Given an ounce of encouragement, he wouldn’t last for a minute and a half. But then, given an ounce of weakness, she was afraid she wouldn’t last either. But how long could a person stare at one wrinkling red dress?

“Why didn’t
I?
How about, why didn’t
you
ask him?” He’d forgotten the exact look of Bett’s back, from spine to bottom to calves. He was usually obsessed with the front of her. He skimmed off her panty hose, a task he’d mastered over the years, this time made slightly easier by the fact that her legs were dangling over the side of the bed. The curve of her spine ended in a delightful raise of fanny; Bett had beautiful thighs.

“It was your project. Getting my mother married off.” She rolled to her back, regarding Zach in the semidarkness. He certainly seemed to be in a terrible hurry to remove his clothes.