“I suppose you think my feet will add an unpleasant taste?”
Hart sounded injured. Bree felt injured. Her cranking shoulder felt like a candidate for a sling; she was so physically tired she was dizzy-how many years was it since she’d had a full night’s sleep, anyway?-and somewhere deep inside her, there was another ache.
Laughter suddenly died, for no reason at all. She lifted her head, and suddenly Hart’s eyes were there, as midnight-blue as when she’d first seen them, but different. Love was there. Hurt was there. A depth, an enigmatic softness, a blue sky turned into night.
And he was looking back at her. She could almost see what he did, an utterly bedraggled woman without makeup, cherry juice on her nose, a halter top clinging to her, red hair flowing in a curling tangle all around her. She had to have circles under her eyes…but she felt beautiful, the way he looked at her. So incredibly beautiful…
She wrenched her eyes away from his only because she heard a car, and even then the station wagon had pulled into the yard before she turned around.
The station wagon was familiar. So was the man who stepped out of it. Tall, dark and attractive, he was dressed in a conservative summer-weight suit, his shirt crisp. He peeled off his sunglasses when he spotted her. “Bree?” He sounded unsure as he gave the bedraggled lady in the yard a quick once-over.
Helplessly, Bree whipped her gaze back to Hart, who had stood up. For a moment, he just looked weary, and then he turned an ironic smile on Bree. “Don’t tell me,” he said dryly. “The fiancé. I should have known the troops wouldn’t stop with just two visits. The last of the battalion arriveth to take you back to sanity, is that it, Bree? And doesn’t he look nice.” Hart cast him another look. “A little tame for you, I would think, but still true-blue dependable.”
Bree cast him a desperately unhappy look. “I broke my engagement, Hart. Before I met you. And I didn’t ask him here-”
Hart wasn’t paying attention. He was striding past her with an arm extended. Richard, to give him credit, didn’t blink an eye at the sticky handshake, just offered Hart and then Bree a rather bewildered smile.
“Darling? I barely recognized you…”
Darling, nothing. Richard, would you please go away? Bree’s heart moaned, but Hart was gathering up his shoes, picking up the mosquito netting from beside the chair. There was an I’ve-had-it air about him that frightened Bree.
“Bree? You’re all right? You’re talking now? Your parents said-”
“I’m fine. I…Just a minute, would you?” Bree’s eyes zipped away from Richard back to Hart. Dammit, he was striding out of the yard without another word. At a dead run, she caught up with him, snatching at his arm.
“Just wait a minute,” she said heatedly.
Something was wrong with Hart’s expression. The warmth was gone, replaced by a coolness that seemed impenetrable. He unhooked her hand from his arm and very softly brushed back a wisp of hair from her cheek. “There’s nothing to wait for, Bree. There-” he cocked his head in Richard’s direction “-is sane, rational marriage material if I’ve ever seen it. Exactly what I think you’re looking for, honey. You’d better think things over pretty damn carefully before you reject him again.”
“I-”
But Hart was heading for the woods, and Richard was coming toward her with a boyishly embarrassed expression.
“Bree? Did I interrupt something?”
Richard was attractive and kind and intelligent and good-natured. But at times he could be remarkably obtuse.
“The minute your parents told me you’d regained your speech, there was no question I was coming down. I never really believed you meant to end our engagement, Bree. You weren’t yourself. Here, darling…”
Richard forked a sliver of prime rib onto her place, smiling at her. Moments before, he’d stolen a chunk of the veal cutlet she hadn’t touched so far. It was an old habit between them, tasting each other’s dinners when they were out. The kind of habit that defines the intimacy between two people.
Once upon a time, she’d thought those little habits could sustain the relationship. She picked at her food; there was very little point in eating it, since each bite made her ill. She hadn’t felt she had any choice but to accept Richard’s invitation to dinner; he’d meant too much to her, once upon a time, and like Marie, he’d come a very long distance to see her.
And Hart’s cutting sarcasm had hurt. Richard wasn’t “nice” as in boring; he was “nice” as in a very good man. As the waitress cleared the table and poured coffee, he smiled at her across the table. The smile was an affectionate, don’t-worry, everything’s-going-to-be-fine smile. Richard was not only a good man; he was soothing to be around and always had been. Totally unlike Hart.
“Your vacation’s done you good, Bree,” Richard said quietly. “You’re brown, and you don’t look nearly so tired.”
“Thank you.” Bree carefully stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and then stared down at it. She never took sugar. Taking a breath, she faced Richard’s soft brown eyes. “I wish you had told me ahead of time that you were coming-”
“I could have called,” he agreed. “But I was eager to see you. I don’t want to push you into anything, Bree, but I came to return something to you.” He took a small, square box from his pocket and set it gently on the table.
Bree recognized the ring box and remembered well the night he’d given it to her. He’d been so terribly nervous; Richard abhorred emotional scenes, and she’d tried to make it easier for him. He’d set it up with champagne and soft lights, and she’d felt like saying no such fuss was necessary. They’d both known where the relationship was going; both had cautiously tested the way for months. They’d discussed their favorite foods, their common interests, how many children they wanted, what kind of house they wanted to live in.
She remembered that strange instant of panic when she’d first opened the box to that diamond solitaire, all alone in its fourteen-karat-gold setting. She’d felt the crazy sensation that she was pinning herself down to a lifetime of being alone in a misleadingly safe and beautiful setting, but she’d pushed the sensation aside and kissed him.
But that was how she’d looked at things then. Safety had seemed so important. One didn’t make major decisions about one’s life based on crazy, wild, romantic, combustible feelings…
Dammit. What was Hart doing now?
“Darling?” Richard’s voice was coaxing, very gentle.
Bree felt like brushing back that shock of dark hair from his forehead as she would for a child. “I can’t take the ring back,” she said softly. “It’s not because I don’t care for you. I always did and I always will, and I wish you the absolute best. But it wouldn’t work, Richard, not the right way. I really can’t be the wife you truly want-”
“Of course you can.” Richard leaned forward, his dark eyes as soft as a spaniel’s. “Please, Bree. Listen to me. We have absolutely everything in common. I tried to understand your wanting a period of time alone down here-and I’ll still try to understand, if you want more time to yourself. I waited to come because I didn’t want to upset or push you, but if you want me to wait a little longer…”
No, Bree thought wretchedly. You dear man, you would never have pushed me.
Richard would have let her go on not talking; Richard would have agreed to a vacation in the Arctic if she’d asked; Richard would have let her hibernate for a year if she’d wanted to. Richard didn’t like arguments and had always had the endearing quality of wanting to please. So unlike Hart. Hart took hearts and shredded them up in his free time. And if she’d tried an itty-bitty hibernating nap with Hart, he’d have kicked her out of bed…well, maybe not bed…but he’d certainly have shouted at her to get on with her life. There was just no rest with Hart. He was unsettling and upsetting…