“God, you’ve gotten sassy,” he commented with mixed exasperation and humor, motioning to the papers he had strewn on his desk. “You’re also way off base, although there are times my mother does seem to have World War III potential in her. Or else for unknown reasons she’s simply trying to drive me out of my mind.”
Chuckling, Trisha perched on the arm of his lounge chair. “It can’t be that bad.”
“No? She used to be a damned good businesswoman, but a couple of years ago I asked her if she wanted me to handle her investments. It was around the time she started looking not very well to me, or at least not as well as I thought she should look. I was trying to lift the burdens a little, because she has quite an independent income from her mother’s family, apart from the Lowery’s…”
“And,” Trisha prompted.
He threw up his hands in mock disgust. “There should be nothing to it, damn it. If I can keep control of a seven-figure business with quarterly visits and good management, it should be chicken feed to handle this bit on the side. Instead, my mother’s been acting like she’s on a leash for every con man this side of the Mississippi! I find myself a landlord of two run-down little apartment houses in Detroit, hassling sewer laws. There’s some idiotic little bakery in Hamtramck she bought up for God knows what reason. She’s set up some foundation for art-student scholarships-there’s three-hundred little applications here to decide from. This one volunteered her portfolio ahead of time; as far as I know she’s an expert at drawing squiggly lines…”
Trisha smiled, the proud tilt he’d accused her features of having now softening in empathy. Julia’s cause took no deep thought to understand. “Perhaps it’s her way of forcing you to make more and more trips up north, Kern.”
His fingers laced behind his neck again as he stared at her. “All right,” he admitted thoughtfully, “but it still doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. We had a major war when I moved here, but that’s long over with; she knows I’m settled here. And if she’s lonely I’ve invited her here dozens of times. It’s not as if we’re close-though I’ve tried since my father died. God knows, the apron strings were cut when I was approximately five; mother’s a long way from being a clinging personality…”
“You’re right,” Trisha agreed gently, “but she is growing older, Kern, and perhaps she’s afraid of that. Alone, not quite well, and she doesn’t…bend well. Maybe she doesn’t know how to. She can’t very well just come out and say she needs you, Kern.”
Her voice trailed, the train of thought gone as she caught his expression intent upon her. His eyes were glinting something she never expected to see from Kern, the simplest sort of gentle warmth without even a hint of a sexual overtone. Had they ever shared a problem before? A warm glow kindled inside her, an awareness that she could almost believe in new beginnings…
“Kern?” said a vibrant voice from the doorway. “I knocked but when you didn’t answer I just came in. I knew you’d have the work ready for me…”
Trisha stood up, nodding a polite hello to Rhea with shoulders promptly squared as though she were wearing her best evening gown. Kern had not mistaken her pride of bearing and it had to be in capital letters at the moment. Rhea had foregone mountain wear in favor of a stark white skirt and a matching jacket, a tasteful, not inexpensive outfit that did the most for a long stretch of darkly tanned legs. The long hair had been roped and coiled, and though the lady could not really claim classic beauty, there was an unmatchable pair of rich lustrous eyes fastened on Kern.
“And I should have known you’d come early for it,” Kern said warmly, his hand extended in greeting to Rhea’s. The hand was clasped, held.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to dinner the other night,” Rhea ventured hesitantly to Trisha, her expression politely impassive as she noted the huge yellow Shirt, half-dried hair, bare feet. “We had a wonderful time. Perhaps another occasion…”
Trisha smiled vaguely, snatching up the tray of dead coffee cups as she ventured for the door. “You two are busy. I’ll see you again at four, Kern, when we go to pick up your mother.” It took an effort to close the door behind her with the awkward tray, but she managed it.
And then she closed her eyes for a full thirty seconds. Kern’s warmth, his hand extended, the woman’s sexual vibrations, their so-easily-read ambiance…jealousy was a simple word. The sudden shakiness in Trisha’s limbs was more than that, a despair in having to acknowledge how much she did care. Kern had accepted her back in his household easily, but she had no illusions as to his feelings for the long term. She was there because of his mother. She could be his bed partner if she wished it, but there was no question that he wasn’t offering more. Why should he, after what had happened between them? One inhibited, skinny woman with a bad track record, next to Rhea, one of Rubens’s treasures?
Hell, she murmured to herself as she clattered the cups in the dishwasher and tiptoed past the closed door to retrieve her wash. It was time to pull herself back together. Just the idea of Kern comparing the two of them was enough to make her shore up walls of pride against her crumbling confidence. Put competition in a sexual arena and all those tentative hopeful murmurings in the back of her mind were soundly buried.
At four Trisha was waiting for Kern in the driveway, the keys to the Mercedes restlessly swaying in her fingers. The mauve pantsuit shivered over her slim figure in the breeze, a subtle color that brought out the ivory in her complexion. Gone was the sunburned nose and windswept hair; in place was a mask of expert makeup and a sophisticated loose froth of curls, brushed back to show off a haughty profile. Trisha of Grosse Pointe was back and only the small pulse at the delicate V of her throat revealed any emotion at the sight of Kern’s suited figure finally emerging from the house.
“You’re late,” she said curtly, as she opened the door to the driver’s side and promptly slipped in.
More slowly Kern followed, eyes narrowed just slightly at her unexpected chill tone. By agreement they were taking the Mercedes over Kern’s truck or Jeep since they felt there would be more comfort and space for Julia. Yet there seemed no space at all once Kern folded in his long legs. In a dark suit Kern carried with him the brusque snapping sort of assurance she remembered from when she’d first met him, but these days the fabric seemed to strain at his shoulders as if the veneer of civilized man was only paper-thin. Hawklike features surveyed her new outfit, unfairly noting first the vulnerable V of her open throat before judging the aristocratic set of her profile. “You obviously had the urge to go shopping,” he commented lazily. “If you needed money-”
“I managed,” she said pleasantly, as she started the car and put her gold sandal intimately to the accelerator. She was about to become very good friends with speed. The chant in her mind all day had been to get Julia and get out before there was trouble-and as for the cost of the outfit, Julia would more than willingly subsidize the trip home, a thought that never seemed to have occurred before.
“Well, however you ‘managed,’” Kern echoed deliberately, “the effect is cool and expensive, Tish. Lovely.”
“Thank you.” She saw his foot applying an imaginary brake as she rounded a curve too fast. Well, if he would just stop staring at her… “I had a terrific time shopping this afternoon,” she said finally. “I saw a bundle of designs I could bring back home to my job; a few days of rest in the mountains and I feel invigorated all over again, full of plans and ideas.”
“Anxious to go back to work, are you?” Almost too easily he was falling for the conversational gambit.
“Very much. This week I took a leave for Julia, but the three weeks after was vacation that I could probably reschedule for anytime.”