Her Foreign Affair (16 page)

They shared chagrined smiles.

Drew clapped his hand on Court’s shoulder. “Going to start things up again with Randi?” He took two steps toward the house, then stopped and looked back. “Do I call her Randi or Mother?”

Stunned, Court paused mid-stride, and stared at his son. “Why would you want to call her Mother?”

“I miss having a mum, and if you’re going to marry her… Think she’d mind being adopted? Just her ability to cook alone is worthy of the title.” Without waiting for a reply, Drew strode into the house, leaving Court gobsmacked in the cooling evening.

From inside, Court heard Birdie ask Drew, “So, Kevin Westerfield is talking about me? Really?”

“He’s a player and not touching my sister.” Drew growled at Birdie who answered with a huff. If she had another comment, Court couldn’t hear it as they moved deeper into the house. For a moment, it sounded exactly like Court and his sister Liza had nearly thirty years before.

He rubbed his face and turned his thoughts to his son. Drew missed a mum. All in all, he shouldn’t be terribly surprised. Sure, Bea may not have been the most attentive mother in the world—or rather, attentive in the wrong way as far as Drew had sometimes complained—but a boy loved his mum no matter what. Apparently, he’d done his grieving. One more sign of his easy affection and relaxed nature. Where he got that from, Court could only speculate.

He drew in a lungful of fresh air. Cool, but not cold. The air felt soft and held the fragrance of autumn, wood smoke and the decay of fallen leaves. A few hardy flowers clung to their bushes in protected corners. Overhead, the first twinkling stars had begun to appear as the last vestiges of dusk faded behind the hills to the west.

Laughter could be heard as car engines turned over and doors slammed. The flickering lights of TVs glowed from a few windows, shadows of people moved behind others. From where he stood he could see five homes gathered around the circle, each one looking into each other’s windows and probably lives. Neighbors who watched out for each other. Neighbors who shared in the everyday dramas. Much like the one across the street watching him from the window. Court acknowledged him with a nod that was returned, letting him know Randi had someone watching over. As she should. Only now, it would be him taking main watch. The neighbor—Tuck, she’d called him?—moved to the backup position.

He could have lived here. He could have loved this life. How much better would life have been for him, for Drew, if they’d lived here with Randi and Birdie? Would it have been better for Drew, knowing he had a sister? How much more miserable would Beatrice have made his life if they’d shared custody but not a house? Would he have fought for shared custody or abandoned his son to Beatrice?

But there had been that other life. The one he’d chosen without knowing all the facts. The one he’d been bred by ten generations to live. If he envied the Americans anything, it was their clean slates. Most of them didn’t know their true origins and didn’t care. Centuries of ancestry didn’t watch them from dusty oils hanging on gallery walls. Few of them had the burden of being landed gentry, carrying on the ancient traditions, acting as stewards for the next generation. Waiting their turn to be a portrait on the gallery walls.

His daughter had been raised here. She’d learned to walk, ride a bike, kick a ball, and swim. All in the arms of her mother and another man.

It should have been him.

“Court?”

Randi’s soft voice reached into his heart and twisted it around her little finger. Instead of whining about the years he’d missed, he should be thankful for the years ahead, years to come, years spent with his girls. Not Wyatt’s girls. Court’s girls. Though Wyatt had done a fine job caring for them in his place. Couldn’t hate a bloke for that.

“Court? Is there a reason we’re heating the outside?”

Hiking the strap of his bag up over his shoulder, he spun around and found Randi standing on the threshold, hands over her bare arms, rubbing up and down to chase away the goose bumps he could see in the light from the fixture.

“Just taking in the neighborhood.” He stepped toward her, hoping she’d hold her ground, but alas, she moved back, letting him into the house. The door shut with a satisfying thump and click as she turned the deadbolt lock.

Home.

Not his home, but home nonetheless. The building offered comfort, the decorating extended a welcome, but it was the small woman beckoning him to follow her that made him feel warm and content for the first time in more years than he wanted to count.

“Your room is this way.”

If he’d thought she’d lead him to the master suite on the left, he was wrong. A shame, really, because he’d noticed the size of the bed in her room. Far too big for one tiny little woman. Instead, she led him toward the family room and then down the hall to the back of the house.

“Looks like Drew is taking the rollout in the workroom. You get the official guest room.”

“Nice enough, but lonely looking.” The room was adequate with a double sized bed, dresser, bedside table, and lamp spilling out a warm pool of light into the otherwise dim room. A large window looked out over the side yard shadowed beneath tall redwoods.

“If you don’t like it, I can call a cab and have it take you to the hotel down the hill.” The cold, un-Jean-like, acerbic tone was back. Easier to think of her as Randi when she used the less friendly attitude. He could fix that.

Court dropped his bag on the bed and caught her shoulders before she could escape. “That would be far more lonely.”

Stiffening her shoulders, she pointed her little nose in the air. “I’m sure the concierge could set you up somehow. The local bar, possibly even a service dedicated to relieving the loneliness of business travelers.”

“I don’t want anyone else, thank you very much.” He spun her in his arms, recapturing her shoulders. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, what about us?”

“What about us?”

The fathomless eyes gazed up at him, and he forgot the twenty-two year gulf between them. The second chance before them was a gift and not one he’d let be scuppered. She had to understand this very simple fact, right? They had Drew’s blessing. How long before Birdie came around? How long before this woman came around?

“Now that we’re reunited, how do we keep from being apart again?”

Randi slowly blinked at him like a sleepy owl. “Who says we’re reunited? Reacquainted, certainly. Reunited? Not likely, mate.”

“Oh, now she remembers her Brit-speak.”

A hank of hair curled over her eye. Moving slowly, gently he combed it back.

“So soft,” he murmured. “You always had the softest hair, the softest skin, the softest sighs.”

“And a soft, weak center.” The grimace said she remembered typing his four hundred page thesis. “Well, I’m not so weak anymore.” Her eyes hardened, and she shrugged his hands from her shoulders, physically withdrawing even as he saw the emotional gap widening. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed now. Sleep as late as you like. The day after Thanksgiving is usually a slug day for us.”

Retreat. She needed it for a bit. A chance to think things over and come around. Perhaps she had the right idea. A night to clear the head, so to speak. A chance to allow things to look better in the morning. So he returned to lighthearted banter. “What? You don’t join the masses before sunrise and storm the stores? The newspapers and ads on the telly today made it seem all the thing.”

“Not a chance. Did it once, refuse to do it ever again. I tend to make the gifts I give for Christmas rather than buy them. Sometimes, we travel instead. Birdie and I took my father to Mexico last year.”

“Christmas in Mexico? Away from the home fires?”

Head tilted and eyes narrowed, she gave the impression she felt the answer more than obvious. “What do we have to stay home for? Birdie’s grown and Dad’s alone. Anyhow, bathroom is across the hall. You get to share it with the kids. Towels are on the counter.”

He gave it one last shot, one more chance for her to invite him in. “Where will you be if I need you?”

“On the other side of the house, behind a locked door. Goodnight.”

For a moment, she looked as if she had something else to say, but she turned away, leaving him in the guest room. He wanted to chase after her, but weariness visibly hung on her shoulders. Sounds came from the kitchen, and then lights dimmed. For tonight, he’d let things rest. But tomorrow, well now, that was a whole new day.

Randi closed her bedroom door, but chose not to lock it. The inner hussy half of her wished Court would ignore her warnings and storm her walls, just as he already had twice today. Third time’s the charm, right? In this case, the old saying might be very true.

Hand to her forehead—as if she could hold in her brains—she closed her eyes and sighed. The drama of the day had gotten to her. Nothing a long soak in hot water followed by several hours of sleep wouldn’t cure.

Still in darkness, she wandered to the bay window in the sitting alcove where she had her desk and computer. Bare feet registered the change from soft deep pile carpet to cool hardwood in the little office area. Out in the spa, Birdie and Drew lounged on opposite sides. Jets stirred up a froth of bubbles, sending ribbons of steam upward, giving the illusion of boiling the occupants. Underwater lights provided an eerie glow. Birdie threw back her head and laughed at something Drew said. The grip around Randi’s heart loosened a bit. Thank God for Drew and what appeared to be his well-balanced personality. Although, he
had
displayed a lawyer’s ability to ask seemingly innocuous, yet probing, questions.
Definitely one to watch,
she thought with a smile.

At least those two seemed to have found common ground. Parents who’d screwed up their lives. Mothers who’d screwed up their lives. Good. An ally for Birdie could only be a good start. Drew apparently wouldn’t let her feel embarrassed over the obvious interest they’d been showing, and he seemed recovered from his own interest in her. It hadn’t gone far enough it couldn’t be redirected into a deeper friendship and alliance. If they used common sense, they’d each put down their instant attraction as recognizing a sibling and move forward.

With a stop at her dresser to remove her jewelry and put it away, she moved into the bathroom, shedding clothing as she went. Each piece deposited in the right basket. Dry cleaning and delicates. Light and dark. Bath or shower? The simple decisions seemed insurmountable, but since she didn’t want to mess with wet hair, she dropped the plug and started the tub filling. Cream cleanser took off what little remained of her makeup, pins held her hair up and, with a groan, she slipped into the sunken, tile-lined tub. Close the glass door, flip a lever, and she’d have a shower, but not tonight.

Tonight.

Talk about a way to drain emotions to the nth degree. As much as she needed to think about it, she couldn’t. Her brain had grown numb. Short circuited. Fried. Shut down. She listened to the sound of the water and lazily used her toe to shut off the taps when the level rose high enough.

She must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, her chin dipped into cold water and shivers wracked her frame. Too tired to risk falling asleep again, she drained the tub and vigorously toweled the water away in an attempt to bring warm blood to the surface. She hurried to her bed, burrowing deep into the flannel sheets with the down comforter drawn up around her ears, leaving only her nose sticking out. The digital numbers on the clock glowed green; eleven-thirty-eight. Two hours? No wonder she’d become one of the pickled, the frozen, the foolish.

Thirty minutes later, still shivering, she pulled on a thick terry robe, shoved her feet into shearling slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen where only a dim under-cabinet light illuminated the silent house.

Once the kettle sat on the stovetop to heat, she reached into the cabinet for her favorite mug and a tea suitable for the moment.

Ah, somehow her mug had been pushed to the back, and behind it, a single tin of Earl Grey. The last of what she bought by special order each year. She could taste it now and wondered…

“Ah, so you lied earlier.”

Randi screamed and dropped the tea tin, the crash of it as loud as gunfire in the sleeping house. Grabbing the first thing in reach, she swung with mug in hand to beat the intruder.

“Whoa! I’m not prepared to die by tea mug.”

Court stood in the dim light, hands raised, chest bare over long flannel bottoms draped around his hips. Hair rumpled and feet bare, her every dream of the last twenty-two years come to life. Only better, because of his perfect physical presence.

“Hand over the mug, slowly now, and no one gets hurt.” With exaggerated care, he reached for the purple mug and removed it from her hand by uncurling the fingers clenched in a death grip around the handle.

Heart beating so hard she feared it might leap from her chest if she didn’t fall over from a heart attack first, she slapped his arm with her free hand. “Don’t. You. EVER. Sneak up on me like that again!”

“All right, but for future note, in what way should I sneak up on you?”

Shaking, as much from cold as fright, she glared at him. So like him to make a joke at a time like this. A pathetic joke. She had to remember moments like this to stay strong against falling for his easy charm.

For in truth, as easy as it would be, going back, picking up a relationship with Court would be exactly the wrong thing to do. Birdie’s reaction earlier tonight had made it very clear. Suddenly, all her plans to move ahead with her life, even the part about just thinking about starting to date again, seemed selfish. How could she even pretend she could
think
about a relationship with any man right now? She had her daughter to consider, their relationship to repair, before she could even maybe sort of dream of starting a new one. Even with an old love. Especially with an old love. Okay, specifically Court, Birdie’s biological father. Too much baggage, too many old hurts, too many miles down that road. Going back was a bad plan. The wrong plan.