Winter Roses by Catherine Spencer

Author:Catherine Spencer [Spencer, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1991-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Tom considered the question for a moment. “Overawed would be a good word. Dazzled, perhaps. Stunned.” He shrugged and laughed quietly. “Thirsty! How’s that for a more prosaic response? Do you suppose there’s any more cider in that picture?”

She took his outstretched hand and rose gracefully to her feet, pride stepping in to rescue her. It told her not to think, because if she did, disappointment would clamor to be heard, despair would rush in close behind, and then words would spill out and make her sound pathetic. Whatever else, she would not whine or beg. She would not.

Picking up the caftan, she raised it over her head, let the fabric slip down to cover her all the way to her ankles, and adjusted the vee-shaped neckline. “If there isn’t, I know where we can find more.”

“Actually,” he said, his voice suddenly rough as sandpaper, “I think maybe I’ll just head out of here.” He glanced up at the moon which had sunk below the trees to cast long, bright shadows over the house. “It must be close to midnight and I want to get a lot done tomorrow.”

Hope refused to die. With me, she wanted to ask.

Don’t cling now, Meredith! She bit her lip to keep silent and failed. “Anything special?” she inquired, and shriveled inside at the desperation she heard her voice.

As they talked, they strolled back to where he’d parked the truck on what had once been the service entrance at the side of the house. Unlike the imposing front driveway, this was just a short paved stretch that led out to the road through a single wrought iron gate. Quickly, he opened the truck door and with a foot already inside, turned to look back at her over his shoulder. “A few boards on the front veranda, and a section of railing near the steps, then I’m done.”

She couldn’t help but dismay that she knew filled her eyes. He saw it, too, and pulled her to him. “Oh Meredith,” he muttered roughly, “please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, drawing on every last ounce of courage she possessed not to burst into tears and beg him to stay.

“Like a flower that I just ground under my heel,” he said, and buried his face in her hair.

Somewhere out of sight, leaves rustled and a moment later, just beyond the laurel hedge that screened them from the road, an engine roared into life and raced away into the night.

“Oh damn!” Tom cursed, casting her off and spinning around.

“Who was it?” Meredith craned her neck to see past him. “Did you recognize him?”

Tom shook his head in disgust. “No, but you can be sure he recognized us.”

“You mean someone was spying on us?” Meredith shivered at the idea, then felt heat rush through her at the thought of all the observer might have witnessed.

“I rather think it was Eleanor’s prowler, back to see what sort of fresh mischief he could stir up. I’m sure he didn’t expect to find us.

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