Unfinished Business (17 page)

“Doctor,” she murmured, nibbling at his ear.

“Hmm.”

“I feel a lot better.”

“Good.” He drew in a deep breath, let it out. He figured that was the most exercise he would be able to handle for days. “Remember, your health is my business.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” She ran a fingertip down his chest experimentally. And felt muscles jump. “Because I think I'm
going to need more treatments.” She trailed the tip of her tongue down his throat. “I still have this ache.”

“Take two aspirin and call me in an hour.”

She laughed, a low, husky sound that had his blood humming again. “I thought you were dedicated.” Slowly, seductively, she roamed his face with kisses. “God, you taste good.” She lowered her mouth to his and sunk in.

“Vanessa.” He could easily have floated off to sleep with her gentle stroking. But when her hand slid downward, contentment turned into something more demanding. He opened his eyes and saw that she was smiling at him. She was amused, he noted. And—pun intended—completely on top of things. “You're asking for trouble,” he told her.

“Yeah.” She lowered her head again to nip at his lip. “But am I going to get it?”

He answered the question to their mutual satisfaction.

 

“Good God,” he said when he could breathe again. “I'm going to have this table bronzed.”

“I think I'm cured.” She pushed the hair from her face as she slid to the floor. “For now.”

Groaning a little, he swung his legs off the table. “Wait till you get my bill.”

“I'm looking forward to it.” She handed him his pants, then slithered into her teddy. She didn't know about him, but she'd never think the same way about examining room 1 again. “And to think I came by to offer you some ham sandwiches.”

“Ham?” His fingers paused on the snap of his jeans. “As in food? Like meat and bread?”

“And potato chips.”

His mouth was already watering. “Consider yourself paid in full.”

She shook back her hair, certain that if she felt any better she'd be breaking the law. “I take it to mean you're hungry.”

“I haven't eaten since breakfast. Chicken pox,” he explained as she pulled on her blouse. “If someone was to offer me a ham sandwich, I'd kiss her feet.”

She wiggled her toes. “I like the sound of that. I'll go get the basket.”

“Hold it.” He took her arm. “If we stay in this room, my nurse is going to get a shock when she opens up tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She picked up his T-shirt. “Why don't we take it back to my house?” She rubbed the soft cotton against her cheek before handing it to him. “And eat in bed.”

“Good thinking.”

 

An hour later, they were sprawled across Vanessa's bed as Brady poured the last drop from a bottle of chardonnay. Vanessa had scoured the house for candles. Now they were set throughout the room, flickering while Chopin played quietly on the bedside radio.

“That was the best picnic I've had since I was thirteen and raided the Girl Scout overnight jamboree.”

She scrounged for the last potato chip, then broke it judiciously in half. “I heard about that.” There hadn't been time for Girl Scouts with her training. “You were always rotten.”

“Hey, I got to see Betty Jean Baumgartner naked. Well, almost naked,” he corrected. “She had on a training bra and panties, but at thirteen that's pretty erotic stuff.”

“A rotten creep.”

“It was hormones.” He sipped his wine. “Lucky for you, I've still got plenty.” With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back against the pillow. “Even if they're aging.”

Feeling foolish and romantic, she bent over to kiss his knee. “I've missed you, Brady.”

He opened his eyes again. “I've missed you, too. I'm sorry this week's been so messed up.”

“I understand.”

He reached out to twine a lock of her hair around his finger. “I hope you do. Office hours alone doubled this week.”

“I know. Chicken pox. Two of my students are down with it. And I heard you delivered a baby—boy, seven pounds six ounces—took out a pair of tonsils… Is it pair or set?” she wondered. “Sewed up a gash in Jack's arm, and splinted a broken finger. All that being above and beyond the day-to-day sniffles, sneezes, aches and exams.”

“How do you know?”

“I have my sources.” She touched his cheek. “You must be tired.”

“I was before I saw you. Anyway, it'll ease off when Dad gets back. Did you get a postcard?”

“Yes, just today.” She settled back with her wine. “Palm trees and sand, mariachi players and sunsets. It sounds like they're having a wonderful time.”

“I hope so, because I intend to switch places with them when they get back.”

“Switch places?”

“I want to go away with you somewhere, Van.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Anywhere you want.”

“Away?” Her nerves began to jump. “Why?”

“Because I want to be alone with you, completely alone, as we've never had the chance to be.”

She had to swallow. “We're alone now.”

He set his wine aside, then hers. “Van, I want you to marry me.”

She couldn't claim surprise. She had known, once he had used the word
love,
that marriage would follow. Neither did she feel fear, as she'd been certain she would. But she did feel confusion.

They had talked of marriage before, when they'd been so young and marriage had seemed like such a beautiful dream. She knew better now. She knew marriage was work and commitment and a shared vision.

“Brady, I—”

“This isn't the way I planned it,” he interrupted. “I'd wanted it to be very traditional—to have the ring and a nicely poetic speech. I don't have a ring, and all I can tell you is that I love you. I always have, I always will.”

“Brady.” She pressed his hand to her cheek. Nothing he could have said would have been more poetic. “I want to be able to say yes. I didn't realize until just this moment how much I want that.”

“Then say it.”

Her eyes were wide and wet when they lifted to his. “I can't. It's too soon. No,” she said, before he could explode. “I know what you're going to say. We've known each other almost our whole lives. It's true. But in some ways it's just as true that we only met a few weeks ago.”

“There was never anyone but you,” he said slowly. “Every other woman I got close to was only a substitute. You were a ghost who haunted me everywhere I went, who faded away every time I tried to reach out and touch.”

Nothing could have moved her or unnerved her more. “My life's turned upside down since I came back here. I never thought I would see you again—and I thought that if I did it wouldn't matter, that I wouldn't feel. But it does matter, and I do feel, and that only makes it more difficult.”

She was saying almost what he wanted to hear. Almost. “Shouldn't that make it easier?”

“No. I wish it did. I can't marry you, Brady, until I look into the mirror and recognize myself.”

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“No, you can't.” She dragged her hands through her hair. “I barely do myself. All I know is that I can't give you what you want. I may never be able to.”

“We're good together, Van.” He had to fight to keep from holding too tight. “Damn it, you know that.”

“Yes.” She was hurting him. She could hardly bear it. “Brady, there are too many things I don't understand about myself. Too many questions I don't have the answers to. Please, I can't talk about marriage, about lifetimes, until I do.”

“My feelings aren't going to change.”

“I hope not.”

He reeled himself back, slowly. “You're not going to get away from me this time, Van. If you cut and run, I'll come after you. If you try to sneak off, I'll be right there.”

Pride rose instantly to wage war with regret. “You make that sound like a threat.”

“It is.”

“I don't like threats, Brady.” She tossed her hair back in a gesture as much challenge as annoyance. “You should remember I don't tolerate them.”

“And you should remember I make good on them.” Very deliberately, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. “You belong to me, Vanessa. Sooner or later you're going to get that through your head.”

The thrill raced up her spine, as it always did when she saw that dangerous light in his eyes. But her chin came up. “I belong to myself first, Brady. Or I intend to. You'll have
to get that through your head. Then, maybe, we'll have something.”

“We have something now.” When his mouth came to hers, she tasted the anger, the frustration, and the need. “You can't deny it.”

“Then let it be enough.” Her eyes were as dark and intent as his. “I'm here, with you. While I am, there's nothing and no one else.” Her arms went around him, enfolding. “Let it be enough.”

But it wasn't enough. Even as he rolled onto her, as his mouth fastened hungrily on hers, as his blood fired, he knew it wasn't enough.

 

In the morning, when she woke—alone, with his scent on sheets that were already growing cold—she was afraid it would never be.

N
ice, very nice, Vanessa thought as Annie worked her way through one of her beloved Madonna's compositions. She had to admit it was a catchy tune, bold and sly by turns. She'd had to simplify it a bit for Annie's inexperienced fingers, but the heart was still there. And that was what counted.

Perhaps the improvement in Annie's technique wasn't radical, but there was improvement. And, as far as enthusiasm went, Annie Crampton was her prize student.

Her own attitude had changed, as well, Vanessa admitted. She hadn't known she would enjoy quite so much influencing young hearts and minds with music. She was making a difference here—perhaps only a small one so far, but a difference.

Then there was the added benefit of the lessons helping her keep her mind off Brady. At least for an hour or two every day.

“Well done, Annie.”

“I played it all the way through.” The wonder on Annie's
face was worth the few sour notes she had hit. “I can do it again.”

“Next week.” Vanessa picked up Annie's book just as she heard the front screen slam. “I want you to work on this next lesson. Hi, Joanie.”

“I heard the music.” She shifted Lara to her other hip. “Annie Crampton, was that you playing?”

Braces flashed. “I played it all the way through. Miss Sexton said I did a good job.”

“And you did. I'm impressed—especially because she could never teach me anything beyond ‘Heart and Soul.'”

Vanessa placed a hand on Annie's head. “Mrs. Knight didn't practice.”

“I do. And my mom says I've learned more in three weeks than I did in three months up at the music store.” She flashed a final grin as she gathered up her books. “And it's more fun, too. See you next week, Miss Sexton.”

“I really was impressed,” Joanie said as Annie slammed out the front door.

“She has good hands.” She held out her own for the baby. “Hello, Lara.”

“Maybe you could give her lessons one day.”

“Maybe.” She cuddled the baby.

“So, other than Annie, how are the lessons going? You're up to, what—?”

“Twelve students. And that's my absolute limit.” She pressed her nose against Lara's and had the baby giggling. “Absolutely. But, all in all, they're going fairly well. I've learned to check students' hands before they sit at the piano. I never did figure out what Scott Snooks smeared on the keys.”

“What did it look like?”

“Green.” She laughed and bounced Lara. “Now we have an inspection before each lesson.”

“If you can teach Scott Snooks anything other than murder and mayhem, you're a miracle worker.”

“That's the challenge.” And she was beginning to enjoy it. “If you've got time, I can defrost a can of lemonade.”

“Miss Domesticity.” Joanie grinned. “No, really, I only have a couple of minutes. Don't you have another student coming?”

“Saved by the chicken pox.” With Lara in tow, Vanessa moved to the living room. “What's your hurry?”

“I just stopped by to see if you needed anything in town. Dad and Loretta will be back in a few hours, and I want to see them. Meanwhile, I've got three dozen errands to run. Hardware store, grocery store, the lumber place. I still can't believe Jack sweet-talked me into that one.” She plopped into a chair. “I've spent most of the morning picking up behind Lara the Wrecking Crew as she single-handedly totaled the house. And to think I was thrilled when she took her first step.”

“I could use some sheet music.” Vanessa gently removed Lara's grasping fingers from her necklace. “I tell you what, I'll write down the titles for you, and in exchange I'll baby-sit.”

Joanie shook her head and rubbed a hand over her ear. “Excuse me, did you say baby-sit?”

“Yes. As in you-can-leave-Lara-with-me-for-a-couple-of-hours.”

“A couple of hours,” she repeated slowly. “Do you mean I can go to the mall, alone, by myself?”

“Well, if you'd rather not—”

Joanie let out a whoop as she jumped up to kiss Vanessa and Lara in turn. “Lara, baby, I love you. Goodbye.”

“Joanie, wait.” Laughing, Vanessa sprang up to grab her arm. “I haven't written down the titles for the sheet music.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. I guess I got a little too excited.” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “I haven't been shopping by myself in…I forget.” Her smile faded to a look of dismay. “I'm a terrible mother. I was happy about leaving her behind. No, not happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Delirious. I'm a terrible mother.”

“No, you're a crazy person, but you're a wonderful mother.”

Joanie steadied herself. “You're right, it was just the thrill of going to the hardware store without a stroller and a diaper bag that went to my head. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“We'll have a great time.”

“Of course you will.” Keen-eyed, she surveyed the living room. “Maybe you should move anything important up a couple of feet. And nail it down.”

“We'll be fine.” She set Lara on the floor and handed her a fashion magazine to peruse—and tear up. “See?”

“Okay…I nursed her before I left home, and there's an emergency bottle of apple juice in her diaper bag. Can you change a diaper?”

“I've seen it done before. How hard can it be?”

“Well, if you're sure you don't have anything you have to do.”

“My evening is free. When the newlyweds get home, I only have to walk a half a block to see them.”

“I guess Brady will be coming by.”

“I don't know.”

Joanie kept her eye on Lara as the baby pushed herself up and toddled to the coffee table. “Then it hasn't been my imagination.”

“What?”

“That there's been a lot of tension between you two the last week or so.”

“You're stalling, Joanie.”

“Maybe—but I am interested. The couple of times I've
seen Brady recently, he's been either snarling or distracted. I don't want you to tell me it was wishful thinking when I hoped you two would get back together.”

“He asked me to marry him.”

“He— Wow! Oh, that's wonderful! That's terrific!” As Joanie launched herself into Vanessa's arms, Lara began to bang on the table and squeal. “See, even Lara's excited.”

“I said no.”

“What?” Slowly, Joanie stepped back. “You said no?”

She turned away from the stunned disappointment in Joanie's face. “It's too soon for all of this, Joanie. I've only been back a few weeks, and so much has happened. My mother, your father…” She walked over to move a vase out of Lara's reach. “When I got here, I wasn't even sure how long I would stay, a couple of weeks, maybe a month. I've been considering a tour next spring.”

“But that doesn't mean you can't have a personal life. If you want one.”

“I don't know what I want.” Feeling helpless, she looked back at Joanie. “Marriage is… I don't even know what it means, so how can I consider marrying Brady?”

“But you love him.”

“Yes, I think I do.” She lifted her hands, fingers spread. “I don't want to make the same mistake my parents did. I need to be sure we both want the same things.”

“What do you want?”

“I'm still figuring it out.”

“You'd better figure fast. If I know my brother, he won't give you a lot of time.”

“I'll take what I need this time.” Before Joanie could argue, she shook her head. “You'd better go if you want to get back before my mother and Ham come home.”

“Oh, you're right. I'll go get the diaper bag.” She paused at the door. “I know we're already stepsisters, but I'm still holding out for sisters-in-law.”

 

Brady knew he was asking for more grief when he started up the walk to Vanessa's house. During the past week, he had tried to keep his distance. When the woman you loved refused to marry you, it didn't do much for your ego.

He wanted to believe she was just being stubborn, and that backing off and playing it light would bring her around. But he was afraid it went much deeper than that. She'd taken a stand. He could walk away, or he could pound down her door. It wouldn't make any difference.

Either way, he needed to see her.

He knocked on the wooden frame of the screen but got no answer. Hardly surprising, he thought, as the banging and crashing from inside would have drowned out any other sound. Maybe she was in a temper, he thought hopefully. Enraged with herself for turning her back on her chance at happiness.

The image appealed to him. He was almost whistling when he opened the screen and walked down the hall.

Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been his niece gleefully banging pots and pans together on the floor while Vanessa, dusted with flour, stood at the counter. Spotting him, Lara hoisted a stainless steel lid and brought it down with a satisfied bang.

“Hi.”

With a hand full of celery, Vanessa turned. She expected her heart to do a quick flip-flop when she saw him. It always did. But she didn't smile. Neither did he.

“Oh. I didn't hear you come in.”

“I'm not surprised.” He reached down to pick up Lara and give her a quick swing. “What are you doing?”

“Baby-sitting.” She rubbed more flour on her nose. “Joanie had to go into town, so I volunteered to watch Lara for a couple of hours.”

“She's a handful, isn't she?”

Vanessa blew out a weary breath. She couldn't bear to think about the mess they had left in the living room. “She likes it in here.”

He set the baby down, gave her padded bottom a light pat and sent her off to play with a small tower of canned goods. “Wait until she figures out how to rip the labels off. Got anything to drink?”

“Lara's got a bottle of apple juice.”

“I wouldn't want to deprive her.”

“There's a can of lemonade in the freezer.” She went back to chopping celery. “If you want it, you'll have to make it yourself. My hands are full.”

“So I see.” He opened the freezer. “What are you making?”

“A mess.” She brought the knife down with a thunk. “I thought since my mother and Ham were due back soon it would be nice to have a casserole or something. Joanie's already done so much, I wanted to try to—” She set the knife down in disgust. “I'm no good at this. I'm just no good at it. I've never cooked a meal in my life.” She whirled as Brady came to the sink to run cold water into a pitcher. “I'm a grown woman, and if it wasn't for room service and prepackaged meals I'd starve to death.”

“You make a great ham sandwich.”

“I'm not joking, Brady.”

With a wooden spoon, he began to stir the lemonade. “Maybe you should be.”

“I came in here thinking I'd try to put myself into this little fantasy. What if I were a doctor's wife?”

He stopped stirring to look at her. “What if you were?”

“What if he were coming home after taking appointments and doing hospital rounds all day? Wouldn't I want to fix him a meal, something we could sit down to together, something we could talk over? Isn't that something he would want? Expect?”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“Damn it, Brady, don't you see? I couldn't make it work.”

“All I see is that you're having trouble putting—” He leaned forward to look at the disarray on the counter. “What is this?”

Her mouth moved into a pout. “It's supposed to be a tuna casserole.”

“You're having trouble putting a tuna casserole together. And, personally, I hope you never learn how to do it.”

“That's not the point.”

Struck by tenderness, he brushed at a streak of flour on her cheek. “What is the point?”

“It's a little thing, maybe even a stupid thing. But if I can't even do this—” she shoved and sent an onion scampering down the counter “—how can I work out the bigger ones?”

“Do you think I want to marry you so that I can have a hot meal every night?”

“No. Do you think I want to marry you and feel inept and useless?”

Truly exasperated, he gestured toward the counter. “Because you don't know what to do with a can of tuna?”

“Because I don't know how to be a wife.” When her voice rose, she struggled to calm it. Perhaps Lara was too young, and too interested in her pans and cans, to detect an argument, but Vanessa had lived through too many of her own. “And, as much as I care for you, I don't know if I want to be. There's one thing I do well, Brady, and that's my music.”

“No one's asking you to give that up, Van.”

“And when I go on tour? When I'm gone weeks at a time, when I have to devote endless hours to rehearsals and practicing? What kind of marriage would we have, Brady, in between performances?”

“I don't know.” He looked down at his niece, who was contentedly placing cans inside of pots. “I didn't know you were seriously considering going on tour again.”

“I have to consider it. It's been a part of my life for too long not to.” Calmer now, she went back to dicing vegetables. “I'm a musician, Brady, the same way you're a doctor. What I do doesn't save lives, but it does enrich them.”

He pushed an impatient hand through his dark hair. He was in the business of soothing doubts and fears, as much as he was in the business of healing bodies. Why couldn't he soothe Vanessa's?

“I know what you do is important, Van. I admire it. I admire you. What I don't see is why your talent would have to be an obstacle to our being together.”

“It's just one of them,” she murmured.

He took her arm, slowly turning her to face him. “I want to marry you. I want to have children with you and make a home for them. We can do that here, where we both belong, if you just trust me.”