The Welcoming (13 page)

Chapter 9

Charity drove back to the inn after dropping a trio of guests at the ferry. She was certain it was the most beautiful morning she'd ever seen. After the most wonderful night of her life, she thought. No, two of the most wonderful nights of her life.

Though she'd never considered herself terribly romantic, she'd always imagined what it would be like to really be in love. Her daydreams hadn't come close to what she was feeling now. This was solid and bewildering. It was simple and staggering. He filled her thoughts just as completely as he filled her heart. She couldn't wait to walk back into the inn, just knowing Roman would be there.

It seemed that every hour they spent together brought them closer. Gradually, step by step, she could feel the barriers he had placed around him lowering. She wanted to be there when they finally dropped completely.

He was in love with her. She was sure he was, whether he knew it or not. She could tell by the way he looked at her, by the way he touched her hair when he thought she was sleeping. By the way he held her so tightly all through the night, as if he were afraid she might somehow slip away from him. In time she would show him that she wasn't going anywhere—and that he wasn't going anywhere, either.

Something was troubling him. That was another thing she was sure of. Her eyes clouded as she drove along the water. There were times when she could feel the tension pulsing in him even when he was across the room. He seemed to be watching, waiting. But for what?

Since the accident he'd barely let her out of his sight. It was sweet, she mused. But it had to stop. She might love him, but she wouldn't be pampered. She was certain that if he had known she planned to drive to the ferry that morning he would have found a way to stop her.

She was right again. It had taken Roman some time to calm down after he had learned Charity wasn't in the office or the kitchen or anywhere else in the inn.

“She's driven up to drop some guests at the ferry,” Mae told him, then watched in fascination as he let his temper loose.

“My, my,” she said when the air was clear again. “You've got it bad, boy.”

“Why did you let her go?”

“Let her go?” Mae let out a rich, appreciative laugh. “I haven't
let
that girl do anything since she could walk. She just does it.” She stopped stirring custard to study him. “Any reason she shouldn't drive to the ferry?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Just cool your britches. She'll be back in half an hour.”

He sweated and paced, nearly the whole time she was away. Mae and Dolores exchanged glances across the room. There would be plenty of gossip to pass around once they had the kitchen to themselves.

Mae thought of the way Charity had been smiling that morning. Why, the girl had practically danced into the kitchen. She kept her eye on Roman as he brooded over a cup of coffee and watched the clock. Yes, indeed, she thought, the boy had it bad.

“You got today off, don't you?” Mae asked him.

“What?”

“It's Sunday,” she said patiently. “You got the day off?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Nice day, too. Good weather for a picnic.” She began slicing roast beef for sandwiches. “Got any plans?”

“No.”

“Charity loves picnics. Yes, sir, she's mighty partial to them. You know, I don't think that girl's had a day away from this place in better than a month.”

“Got any dynamite?”

Dolores piped up. “What's that?”

“I figure it would take dynamite to blast Charity out of the inn for a day.”

It took her a minute, but Dolores finally got the joke. She chuckled. “Hear that, Mae? He wants dynamite.”

“Pair of fools,” Mae muttered as she cut generous pieces of chocolate cheesecake. “You don't move that girl with dynamite or threats or orders. Might as well bash your head against a brick wall all day.” She tried not to sound pleased about it, and failed. “You want her to do something, you make her think she's doing you a favor. Make her think it's important to you. Dolores, you go on in that back room and get me the big wicker hamper. Boy, if you keep walking back and forth you're going to wear out my floor.”

“She should have been back by now.”

“She'll be back when she's back. You know how to run a boat?”

“Yes, why?”

“Charity always loved to picnic on the water. She hasn't been out in a boat in a long time. Too long.”

“I know. She told me.”

Mae turned around. Her face was set. “Do you want to make my girl happy?”

He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then you take her out on the boat for the day. Don't let her say no.”

“All right.”

Satisfied, she turned around again. “Go down in the cellar and get a bottle of wine. French. She likes the French stuff.”

“She's lucky to have you.”

Her wide face colored a bit, but she kept her voice brisk. “Around here, we got each other. You're all right,” she added. “I wasn't sure of it when you first came around, but you're all right.”

***

He was ready for her when she came back. Even as she stepped out of the van he was walking across the gravel lot, the wicker hamper in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss. Despite the two teenagers shooting hoops on the nearby court, Roman wrapped an arm around her and brought her hard against him for a longer, more satisfying embrace. “Well . . .” She had to take a deep breath and steady herself against the van. “Hello again.” She noted then that he had pulled a loose black sweater over his jeans and was carrying a hamper. “What's this?”

“It's a basket,” he told her. “Mae put a few things in it for me. It's my day off.”

“Oh.” She tossed her braid behind her back. “That's right. Where are you off to?”

“Out on the water, if I can use the boat.”

“Sure.” She glanced up at the sky, a bit wistfully. “It's a great day for it. Light wind, hardly a cloud.”

“Then let's go.”

“Let's?” He was already pulling her toward the pier. “Oh, Roman, I can't. I have dozens of things to do this afternoon. And I . . .” She didn't want to admit she wasn't ready to go out on the water again. “I can't.”

“I'll have you back before the dinner shift.” He laid a hand on her cheek. “I need you with me, Charity. I need to spend some time with you, alone.”

“Maybe we could go for a drive. You haven't seen the mountains.”

“Please.” He set the hamper down to take both of her arms. “Do this for me.”

Had he ever said “Please” before? she wondered. She didn't think so. With a sigh, she looked out at the boat rocking gently against the pier. “All right. Maybe for an hour. I'll go in and change.”

The red sweater and jeans would keep her warm enough on the water, he decided. She would know that, too. She was stalling. “You look fine.” He kept her hand in his as they walked down the pier. “This could use a little maintenance.”

“I know. I keep meaning to.” She waited until Roman stepped down into the boat. When he held up a hand, she hesitated, then forced herself to join him. “I have a key on my ring.”

“Mae already gave me one.”

“Oh.” Charity sat down in the stern. “I see. A conspiracy.”

It took him only two pulls to start the engine. Mae had told him Charity kept the boat for the staff to use. “From what you said to me the other day, I don't think he'd want you to grieve forever.”

“No.” As her eyes filled, she looked back toward the inn. “No, he wouldn't. But I loved him so much.” She took a deep breath. “I'll cast off.”

Before he sent the boat forward, Roman took her hand and drew her down beside him. After a moment she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Have you done much boating?”

“From time to time. When I was a kid we used to rent a boat a couple times each summer and take it on the river.”

“Who's we?” She watched the shutters come down over his face. “What river?” she asked instead.

“The Mississippi.” He smiled and slipped an arm over her shoulders. “I come from St. Louis, remember?”

“The Mississippi.” Her mind was immediately filled with visions of steamboats and boys on wooden rafts. “I'd love to see it. You know what would be great? Taking a cruise all the way down, from St. Louis to New Orleans. I'll have to put that in my file.”

“Your file?”

“The file I'm going to make on things I want to do.” With a laugh, she waved to a passing sailboat before leaning over to kiss Roman's cheek. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For talking me into this. I've always loved spending an afternoon out here, watching the other boats, looking at the houses. I've missed it.”

“Have you ever considered that you give too much to the inn?”

“No. You can't give too much to something you love.” She turned. If she shielded her eyes with her hand she could just see it in the distance. “If I didn't have such strong feelings for it, I would have sold it, taken a job in some modern hotel in Seattle or Miami or . . . or anywhere. Eight hours a day, sick leave, two weeks' paid vacation.” Just the idea made her laugh. “I'd wear a nice neat business suit and sensible shoes, have my own office and quietly go out of my mind.” She dug into her bag for her sunglasses. “You should understand that. You have good hands and a sharp mind. Why aren't you head carpenter for some big construction firm?”

“Maybe when the time came I made the wrong choices.”

With her head tilted, she studied him, her eyes narrowed and thoughtful behind the tinted lenses. “No, I don't think so. Not for you.”

“You don't know enough about me, Charity.”

“Of course I do. I've lived with you for a week. That probably compares with knowing someone on a casual basis for six months. I know you're very intense and internal. You have a wicked temper that you seldom lose. You're an excellent carpenter who likes to finish the job he starts. You can be gallant with little old ladies.” She laughed a little and turned her face into the wind. “You like your coffee black, you're not afraid of hard work . . . and you're a wonderful lover.”

“And that's enough for you?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don't imagine you know too much more about me. I'm starving,” she said abruptly. “Do you want to eat?”

“Pick a spot.”

“Head over that way,” she told him. “See that little jut of land? We can anchor the boat there.”

The land she'd indicated was hardly more than a jumble of big, smooth rocks that fell into the water. As they neared it he could see a narrow stretch of sand crowded by trees. Cutting back the engine, he maneuvered toward the beach, Charity guiding him in with hand signals. As the current lapped at the sides of the boat, she pulled off her shoes and began to roll up her jeans.

“You'll have to give me a hand.” As she said it she plunged into the knee-high water. “God, it's cold!” Then she was laughing and securing the line. “Come on.”

The water was icy on his bare calves. Together they pulled the boat up onto a narrow spit of sand.

“I don't suppose you brought a blanket.”

He reached into the boat and took out the faded red blanket Mae had given him. “This do?”

“Great. Grab the basket.” She splashed through the shallows and onto the shore. After spreading the blanket at the base of the sheltering rocks she rolled down the damp legs of her jeans. “Lori and I used to come here when we were kids. To eat peanut butter sandwiches and talk about boys.” Kneeling on the blanket, she looked around.

There were pines at her back, deep and green and thick all the way up the slope. A few feet away the water frothed at the rock, which had been worn smooth by wind and time. A single boat cruised in the distance, its sails full and white.

“It hasn't changed much.” Smiling, she reached for the basket. “I guess the best things don't.” She threw back the top and spotted a bottle of champagne. “Well.” With a brow arched, she pulled it out. “Apparently we're going to have some picnic.”

“Mae said you liked the French stuff.”

“I do. I've never had champagne on a picnic.”

“Then it's time you did.” He took the bottle and walked back to dunk it in the water, screwing it down in the wet sand. “We'll let it chill a little more.” He came back to her, taking her hand before she could explore deeper in the basket. He knelt. When they were thigh to thigh, he gathered her close and closed his mouth over hers.

Her quiet sound of pleasure came first, followed by a gasp as he took the kiss deeper. Her arms came around him, then slid up until her hands gripped his shoulders. Desire was like a flood, rising fast to drag her under.

He needed . . . needed to hold her close like this, to taste the heat of passion on his lips, to feel her heart thud against him. He dragged his hands through her hair, impatiently tugging it free of the braid. All the while his mouth ravaged hers, gentleness forgotten.

There was a restlessness in him, and an anger that she couldn't understand. Responding to both, she pressed against him, unhesitatingly offering whatever he needed. Perhaps it would be enough. Slowly his mouth gentled. Then he was only holding her.

“That's a very nice way to start a picnic,” Charity managed when she found her voice again.

“I can't seem to get enough of you.”

“That's okay. I don't mind.”

He drew away to frame her face in his hands. The crystal drops at her ears swung and shot out light. But her eyes were calm and deep and full of understanding. It would be better, he thought, and certainly safer, if he simply let her pull out the sandwiches. They could talk about the weather, the water, the people at the inn. There was so much he couldn't tell her. But when he looked into her eyes he knew he had to tell her enough about Roman DeWinter that she would be able to make a choice.