Housebound (5 page)

“It must be rather expensive—the upkeep of a house this size,” he observed casually.

“It's like pouring money into a hole in the ground that never gets filled,” she admitted. “But I love it—I don't begrudge a penny of it.”

“Do the others feel that way?”

Anne shrugged. “Not really. But then, very little of their money ever makes it to New Jersey. Their life-styles eat up almost every cent they make.”

“So who supports the house?”

“I do. Proffy's half-salary just about covers food and gas—most of it goes into his retirement fund. And then there have been the medical bills this year, not to mention that the foundation is crumbling.” She gave herself a tiny shake. “So no food processors for me for the time being. Let's talk about something more cheerful for a change. Do you think we'll get more snow?”

“Some people wouldn't find that so cheerful—especially the road crews and people who have long commutes to work. But yes, I think we're going to get some more tonight, and then with any luck the storm will move up the East Coast and dump a foot or two on New England.”

“Won't the road crews and commuters dislike it there, too?”

“I'm sure they'll hate it. But the skiers will be in seventh heaven.”

“And that includes you?”

“That includes me. Why? Don't you approve?”

“I think it's insane. Why would anyone want to slide down a mountainside on two sticks? It's beyond my comprehension.”

“I guess I'll have to change your mind.” He dumped the chopped onions into the bowl with hers, and Anne wrinkled her nose.

“I don't see why. I've made it to the advanced age of thirty-four without liking skiing—I imagine I can get through another thirty-four or so the same way.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“God save me from a missionary,” Anne said, sighing. “Damn.”

“Damn?” Noah echoed.

“These onions were so mild I thought they wouldn't get to my eyes. I'm afraid this last one was more than I could take.” Laughing, she lifted watery, reddened eyes to his, the tears streaming down her face.

He moved swiftly toward her, placing one strong, warm hand on her shoulder as he lifted the other to her tearstained cheek. His smile was wary.

“Very affecting,” he murmured. “I wish all women laughed when they cried.” His head bent slowly down, and she knew he was going to kiss her; and once more, like a besotted teenager, she was going to let him. Before his mouth met hers, however, he pulled back, slowly, without a trace of guilt. And directly behind her she heard the kitchen door open. Turning, she met the distinctly displeased and surprisingly similar expressions of her sister Holly and Wilson Engalls.

 

I
T WAS HARDLY
an auspicious beginning for the evening, and things went steadily downhill from there. The instant antagonism that sprang up between Wilson and Noah, barely restrained, was bad enough. Holly's intermittent bad temper and remorse only exacerbated the situation. But the absolutely crushing blow, the real stunner, the knockout punch, was when Anne looked up at Wilson's tall, sturdy figure as she dusted the snow off his broad shoulders, broader than Noah's lean strength, her eyes wandering over the strong, handsome face, the firm chin, warm brown eyes and finely molded mouth and realized she felt nothing more than sisterly affection.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted her in his even, mellifluous voice, coming over to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “How are you feeling? You look rather pale. Has Edmund been working you too hard?”

“I'm fine.” Her voice came out slightly hoarse as she struggled to regain her composure. “You've met Holly's friend, Noah Grant?”

Holly had already claimed Noah's arm, beaming up at him like a proud mother hen. The barely civil nods that passed between the two men didn't aid the palpable tension in the kitchen.

“Grant,” Wilson acknowledged coolly. “Holly's been telling me a great deal about you. I imagine we have a fair amount in common.”

“Really?” Noah murmured, his eyes sliding to Anne's troubled face for a moment before meeting Wilson's bland gaze. “I wouldn't have thought so.” His brilliant smile took the offense out of the words, but Anne wasn't fooled.

Neither, apparently, was Wilson. He smiled thinly in
response to that glorious smile. “Wouldn't you?” Wilson wasn't giving anything away, even his temper. “We're both lawyers, both more than fond of a Kirkland.”

Once more Noah's blue eyes slid over Anne's pale face, and she tensed, waiting for the next outrageous statement. When it came, however, it was relatively mild. “True enough,” he murmured, patting Holly's hand, which rested on his arm with seemingly absent affection. “Do we have an appreciation of Scotch in common?”

“It is about that time, isn't it?” Wilson replied easily, and Anne felt the tension drain from her. No longer did the two men seem like dogs circling each other, their hackles raised. Their studious politeness might mask hostility, but Anne was suddenly secure that that hostility would stay under wraps. “I'd prefer bourbon, however. Can I bring you something, Anne?” he asked, ever the solicitous gentleman.

“No, thank you, Wilson. You three go on up. I'll make do with the cooking sherry.” Her need to get them away from her bordered on desperation.

“Or you could always start in on the beer,” Noah suggested in dulcet tones. “I think there's a nice Blemish one in the refrigerator.”

“Don't you mean Flemish?” Holly questioned with a frown as Anne choked.

“Of course.” Noah's face was as blandly innocent as Wilson's. “Let us know if we can help you, Annie.”

“You've helped enough.” The slight edge to her voice was missed by two-thirds of her companions. Noah's blue eyes gleamed appreciatively.

“So tell me, brat, what have you been doing with yourself since I last saw you?” She could hear Wilson query as they
disappeared up the narrow steps. Holly's voice floated lightly back to her, and then she was alone.

Her knees felt like water as she slowly sank to a chair by the oak table and dropped her head in her hands. What in heaven's name was happening to her? And how could she ever have been so stupid, she demanded of herself. Had she been living in a complete fog for the past few years not to know the difference between affection and love? And she couldn't even congratulate herself on finally coming to her senses—it had taken a man of Noah Grant's considerable charms to make her see reason.

She didn't love Wilson Engalls, hadn't ever loved Wilson Engalls except as a friend. He was handsome, kind, protective and slightly domineering in a manner that could be extremely comforting when one was overworked and overstressed and unable to make another decision. The few times they had made love had been pleasant though not earth-shattering experiences, and Anne had always felt genuinely comfortable with him. But comfort didn't equal love, and she knew with a sudden depressing certainty that she would never marry Wilson Engalls, even if doing so would save her house for her.

She also had to remember that lust didn't equal love, either, even if she appeared to be suffering from an advanced case of it. Noah Grant was a very attractive, very appealing man who was two years younger than she, and he came fully equipped with a barely perceptible plate of armor around him. He was obviously used to life in the fast lane, to women like Holly. He'd proven more than useful in making her realize the idiocy of her arrangement with Wilson, but that was as far as it went.

Of course, she added dreamily to herself, he had also
managed to demonstrate to her that there was a great deal more to kissing than she had previously supposed. There was a world of difference between Noah's kisses and Wilson's closed-mouth salutes. So far sex had been a pleasant, comfortable experience, though that experience had been surprisingly limited for this day and age. She could count on both hands the number of times she'd made love. Wilson was a definite improvement over the hurried fumblings of her college classmates, but the earth had failed to move. Anne had always supposed the steamy descriptions in novels were euphemistic exaggerations. Now she wondered.

But Noah Grant was not going to be the one to enlighten her, much as he'd doubtless be willing to. He might have been in the mood for a weekend fling—that was the last thing she needed. She would do her best to keep out of the way of temptation. And temptation it was—an overwhelming one. And sometime soon, when the memory of Noah Grant was banished from Wilson's jealous brain and Anne's restless heart, she would calmly, politely sever the too long engagement.

Like the coward she was, she stayed hidden in the kitchen during the two hours it took for the dinner to cook. The motley assemblage had only gotten through the first part of the meal before Anne was searching desperately in her mind for an excuse to leave the table. She could always feign an upset stomach, but considering they were all devouring her food that might not be polite. Her miserable eyes surveyed the table, and she took another healthy grip of her Heineken.

Ashley was at his very worst, sitting back at the foot of the table, toying with his food, surveying the others with that malicious glitter in his eyes. He had disdained the beer that was a traditional accompaniment to
carbonnades
, preferring to
bring his rum-and-tonic to the table. It must have been his fourth, Anne estimated by the flush around his eyes, the sneer on his mouth and the slight belligerence in every spoken word.

Stephen Piersall didn't look much happier, and Anne couldn't blame him. Ashley, when he was in a mood like that, was no one's treat. Quietly the blond man addressed himself to his food, shoveling in massive amounts, his eyes slithering nervously to Ashley's sullen face at various intervals.

Holly was chattering, loudly and nervously, with not a soul listening to her but a studious Wilson. Proffy was morose, Noah silent and Anne ready to scream. Her only recourse was to the beer, and she kept on drinking.

When one of the far too frequent silences fell as Holly stopped long enough to nibble at her now chilled beef, Anne finally spoke up. “What did you and Stephen do today, Ashley?”

“I doubt you really have the stomach to hear, sister mine,” Ashley sneered lightly, casting a mocking glance at Piersall's subdued face.

Not the best choice of subject matter, Anne realized with a sense of fatality. She shrugged apologetically at her brother, but it was too late.

“And how are your wedding plans coming, dear heart? I do hope you're planning to tie the knot before you're eligible for Social Security.”

“We were thinking in terms of next fall,” Wilson said, unperturbed.

“Such unseemly haste!” Ashley scoffed. “You will have been engaged almost two years by then. Aren't you afraid people might talk? When you rush into things like that, people might think you had to marry her.”

“We'll be having children as soon as we can,” Wilson an
nounced firmly, and Anne cast him a startled glance. Much as she wanted children, they'd never so much as discussed the subject, and his decision struck her as being both arbitrary and smug.

“How nice!” Holly chirped. “I can't wait to be an aunt. How many will you have, Wilson?”

“Two,” he pronounced. “I would have liked three, but Anne is getting a little far along in her childbearing years, and I think we'd only have time for two.”

Elderly Anne choked on her beer, sending an angry glare at her imperturbable fiancé, but Holly bounced on blithely. “I think that's marvelous! I can't wait to see Anne big as a house.”

“And where will this happy, fecund family be living?” Ashley murmured delicately. “Anne is used to having lots of space—I don't think she'll care for that rather spacious apartment you have in New Hope. Not if she has to share it with squalling infants.”

“And I wouldn't ask her to. Any more than I'd ask her to give up this place. We all know how much it means to her.”

A peculiar, guilty silence fell over the table, darkening everyone's face except Steve Piersall's. Even Noah looked strangely uncomfortable, Anne realized belatedly, and a sudden premonition of disaster washed over her.

“No,” Wilson continued, oblivious to the tension. “We've agreed that we'll live here. Proffy has given us his blessing.” He nodded majestically toward the head of the table, and Proffy avoided his eyes. “And heaven knows there's more than enough room in this rambling old place. Of course, I'd contribute a bit toward the housekeeping expenses.”

“I'm afraid it will have to be more than a bit, Wilson, old boy,” Ashley drawled with his usual malice, well aware that
Wilson was notoriously tightfisted. “The upkeep on a drafty old house like this would bankrupt a Rockefeller.” For some reason his pale, slightly protuberant blue eyes sought out Noah's impassive ones for a moment, then moved onward. “If things keep up the way they are, you and your child bride might find yourselves on the street, the house sold out from under you.”

“No!” Anne's voice was raw with pain and anger. “You'll do it over my dead body!”