Warm Hearts (18 page)

Somehow, between her own words, Karen managed to overhear the low murmurs. “Who's there?”

“A friend,” Caroline answered, giving her sister the perfect opening to apologize for interrupting and say she'd call back later.

Karen did neither. After a short and distracted “Oh,” she barreled on. “You have to help me, Caro. Get her off my back. I can't take her paranoid nonsense on top of everything else that's happening.”

“There's not much I can do.”

“Call her. Let her babble away to
you
.”

“Thanks a lot,” Caroline mumbled. If Karen heard, she ignored the sarcasm.

“You have so much more patience, Caro!”

“And you're the lawyer. You have the credence. I've told Mom that she'd be foolish to think of suing right now, but she won't listen to me. I've tried, really I have.” Gratefully, she accepted the cup of coffee Brendan pressed into her hand, then shook her head when he made a stirring motion with his finger, silently asking if she wanted cream or sugar.

“Try again!” Karen ordered on a slightly hysterical note.

“Karen, calm down. If she's already called you today, you're off the hook for a while.”

“For a day.”

“No doubt she'll be calling me, and when she does, I'll do my best to divert her.”

“Just tell her to leave me alone.”

“I can't do that.”

“Sure you can, if you do it nicely.”

“I have a better idea, Karen. Why don't you let Dan answer the phone and say that you're working or shopping or sleeping?”

For the first time Karen paused. “I hate to put the burden on Dan.”

What about the burden you're putting on me?
Caroline asked silently. Aloud she said, “Dan can handle it.”

“I'll tell him you said so. Oops, there he is. I've got to run, Caro. He'll be loaded down with grocery bags. I'll call you later. Bye.” She was already yelling, “Coming, sweetheart,” before she'd hung up the phone.

Caroline hung up on her own end and, turning to Brendan, rolled her eyes in frustration. “She's incredible! She knew someone was here, yet she babbled on and on about Mom's babbling.” The phone rang. Her voice dropped to a low, stiff monotone. “That's Mom. Don't touch it.”

“She'll keep trying. Why not get it out of the way?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Caroline pressed her fingertips to her forehead. It was an instinctive gesture, made in anticipation of the headache she was sure to get if she spoke with her mother.”

Since she wasn't looking, Brendan picked up the phone. His deep voice rang out with just the right amount of deference. “Cooper residence.”

Caroline spread her fingers and dragged them downward, peering through the cracks at Brendan. His grin was a dead giveaway of her mother's startled sputter at the other end of the line. With little effort, Caroline could imagine her mother's words.

Who is this?

“This is Brendan Carr.”

Who is that?

“I'm a friend of Caroline's.”

What are you doing there?

“Visiting.”

At this hour?

He squinted back at the clock. “It's nearly noon.” Winking at Caroline, he asked innocently, “Who is this?” Caroline could just imagine the tone in which her mother informed him of her identity. “Ahh. Mrs. Cooper. How are you?”

It was the wrong thing to ask. Caroline knew it the instant the words left Brendan's mouth. She stood back and watched while he listened to a prolonged monologue, no doubt about Madeline Cooper's raw nerves, her husband's broken leg and the weather, in that order.

Brendan shifted from one foot to the other. He hooked his hand on his hip, alternately nodding in silent sympathy for Madeline and ogling various parts of Caroline's body. It was all Caroline could do not to laugh aloud at the abrupt switches.

At some point, though, the direction of Madeline's talk changed, because he said a bit defensively, “I was next to the phone. It made sense for me to answer.”

Picturing her mother getting huffy, Caroline reached for the phone. She got Brendan's hand instead, long fingers threading through hers, curving around them, holding firm.

“Her hands are tied up at the moment,” he dared say when Madeline asked to speak with Caroline. “Perhaps she could get back to you.”

Caroline tried to free her hand without success, so she reached for the phone with the other one. Brendan simply turned to render the instrument beyond reach. In doing so, he brought their bodies into contact. Caroline stopped struggling.

“She won't be here then,” Brendan was saying. “We're just getting ready to leave.” Caroline arched a single curious brow, but he was a step ahead of her. “We thought we'd take a drive down to—” He was interrupted. “I know that she doesn't have a car. I have one.” He stopped again. “It's a Toyota. Very safe. And I'm a good driver. I have never had an accident in—” He broke off for a minute while Madeline talked. “Please, Mrs. Cooper, there's no need to be superstitious. I'm not ‘due' for an accident. I have a perfect record because I'm careful.”

Caroline was enjoying herself. She'd offered to take the phone; Brendan had refused. Now he was seeing firsthand what it was about Madeline Cooper that could drive a sane soul mad.

“The drivers are no worse here than anywhere else,” he pointed out patiently, then said a minute later, “I'm sure you're right, in terms of expense if nothing else. If Caroline doesn't need a car, it's pointless for her to have one.” He listened to something Madeline said, then blinked. “I suppose you could say that we're dating.”

Had he been wearing a shirt, he would have been growing hot under the collar. Caroline could see that his pleasant expression was more forced with each of Madeline's questions. She would have felt sorry for him had he not asked for the torture himself.

“Fairly recently,” he said. Then, “Yes.” After a longer pause, he looked at Caroline. “My intentions?”

Caroline's smug grin disappeared. “Oh, no,” she whispered plaintively, “she can't ask that!”

“We've only just begun to date,” Brendan reminded Madeline. “It's a little early to discuss … of course I'm an honorable man. I wouldn't do a thing … you shouldn't be worrying about that.”

When Madeline jabbered on, he took the phone from his ear and belatedly offered it to Caroline, who opened her eyes wide in an are-you-kidding look and shook her head. Reluctantly he returned the phone to his ear.

“Uh-huh … of course I understand … would it be possible for her to call you Monday?” He shut his eyes briefly at whatever it was Madeline said. “No, Mrs. Cooper, that's not so … no, I am not trying to keep you from talking to her … excuse me? Holding her prisoner?” Wearing a look of utter incredulity, he murmured to Caroline, “Tied up and gagged?” Clearing his throat, he returned to Madeline. “Please, Mrs. Cooper, if you'll hold on a minute, I'll see if Caroline can come to the phone.”

Exasperated, he thrust the receiver at Caroline.

I warned you
, her eyes said.

His answered,
Next time I'll listen.

Caroline spent the next several minutes assuring her mother that she was well, happy and free. No sooner had that been accomplished than Madeline wanted to know—from Caroline's lips, despite the fact that Brendan had already given her much of the same information—who Brendan was, where he lived, how she'd met him, how long she'd been seeing him and what he did for a living. Caroline's answers varied from straightforward to evasive. She kept them brief. She did
not
ask how her mother was, instead repeating what Brendan had said about getting ready to leave. After promising to call at the start of the week, she hung up the phone.

Brendan instantly snatched it up, punched out information, then, with his eyes glued to Caroline's, asked for the number of the Canterbury Hotel. Moments later, he had reserved a suite for the night.

Caroline hadn't said a word. She was watching the expressions that crossed his face, expressions ranging from frustration to determination to desire. Now there was caution.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked. His hand remained on the telephone receiver. He would cancel the reservations in an instant if she had qualms.

Caroline had no qualms whatsoever. The Canterbury was reputed to be one of the most charming hotels in Washington. Though she'd never seen it herself, she'd been told about the classical music in the lobby and the period furnishings in the rooms. It would be cool and comfortable and quiet. She could laze around with Brendan to her heart's content.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “No one will know we're there.”

He slid an arm around her waist. “That's the idea.”

“I like it. What should I bring?”

“Not much. We could dress up for dinner if you want.”

“I'm sure they have room service.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope.” His eyes had grown darker, more luminous. “It's been a fantasy, though, and since we're into living out fantasies…”

Very gently, almost hypnotically, he reached for her. Her arms quite naturally looped around his neck. Her flesh met his with the same ease but with excitement, as well. It was incredible, she realized, the ease and the excitement—incredible and unique. But then, wasn't that what a fantasy was all about?

8

The twenty-four hours that Caroline and Brendan spent at the Canterbury were heavenly. They didn't leave their room during that time, and not once were they bored. They made love, slept and talked about most anything that came to mind. When they felt the need for food, they called room service.

Caroline surprised herself. She'd been exhausted all week; her dream cure should have been a restful and companionable silence. But with Brendan she wanted to talk. He fascinated her—his background, his lifestyle, his work. She devoted herself to feeding that fascination. And when he asked her questions in return, she found that she could tell him anything.

She did call in early Sunday morning for an automatic playback of the messages on her answering machine. She told Brendan she wanted to know that her sister was all right, but they both knew it was something more. No one knew where they were. Caroline didn't miss the nagging phone calls, but she couldn't shake the fear that if something did happen to one of the family, no one would be able to contact her and therefore she'd be unable to help.

It was a catch-22. She wouldn't have had to worry if she'd left Karen or Carl the number where she could be reached in an emergency. But if she'd done that, she'd have opened herself to unnecessary calls—precisely what she was trying to escape.

With Caroline, responsibility was a habit of long standing. Brendan understood that. He couldn't equate it with a habit like smoking, because it was neither life-threatening nor undesirable. A sense of responsibility was a good thing to have—unless it became a detriment to one's own peace of mind, in which case it had to be put in perspective. That was what Caroline was going to have to learn how to do.

In the meantime, Brendan could be patient. He knew that she couldn't just snap her fingers and, presto, set aside all family concerns. He wouldn't have wanted her to. It would have been out of character, and he was finding that he adored her character. She was proving to be the kindest, most interesting and uninhibited woman he'd ever met.

He wondered whether she was this way with everyone—talking freely, asking questions, sometimes doing the opposite and listening so quietly that he was convinced he was boring her to tears, only to have her come back with an insightful, thoughtfully presented response that forwarded the discussion, often lifting it to a higher plane. He felt intellectually challenged. By virtue of the questions she asked or the comments she made, he was thinking about things in ways that he hadn't done before. He felt productive.

Selfishly, he wanted to think that she was this way only with him. He wanted to think that, even beyond their agreement, he offered her something that she'd previously been without. The key, if it was true, was in making her see it.

While not thinking quite as far down the road, Caroline couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so free of the burdens of the world, and she said as much to Brendan as they gathered together their single, embarrassingly light bag of possessions and prepared to check out of the hotel early Sunday afternoon. “I'd like to stay here forever.”

“No, you wouldn't,” he countered only half in jest. “You'd get itchy to be up and out and around in the world.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she turned her face up to his. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Then why should I be?”

“Because you said you wanted freedom. You want to come and go as you please. No strings. No restrictions. No hassles.”

“In a manner of speaking, I've had all of that here. It's been idyllic. Maybe that's why I want to stay.” The thought of returning to the real world was making her feel a little blue.

Brendan didn't want to push his luck by exploring her feelings more deeply than, in fact, she was ready to do herself. So he said, “I guess we both needed a vacation.”

“It's more than that. We didn't get away, but we … got away.” She crinkled up her nose. “Do you know what I mean?”

“You bet.”

“I wish we'd had more time.”

“We can always come again.”

“I'd like that,” she said with a soft smile and a resurgence of enthusiasm.

Brendan felt his breath catch in his throat. The soul touch of her eyes did that to him. Add to it the softness of her smile and he was a goner.