Change of Heart (16 page)

That had been days ago and with every minute since then, Eli had become more apprehensive. He spent hours in the local gym, doing some sparring with the owner, Mike Newcomb, and being spotted on the weight bench by Colin Frazier. With Mike being a retired police detective and Colin the town sheriff, Eli had felt very comfortable in the gym. In fact, just a couple of weeks ago, Eli had used his contacts to help on a case Mike had taken on. “
Retirement
is a relative term,” Mike had said.

As for Colin, when Jeff and Eli first arrived, he’d asked them questions about why they were here, who they knew, where they worked. Eli had answered all that he could. He couldn’t tell much about his job, and he knew little about his father’s family, the Harcourts.

“My wife, Gemma, and I will have to have you over for dinner and introduce you to some people,” Colin said.

Eli said that sounded nice. Maybe he and Chelsea . . . He had to force himself not to think like that.

Now, he moved on to a row of bushes and began to trim them. He really should find out what kind of plants they were and when they should be pruned. But his mind was so full of Chelsea that he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

Chelsea didn’t pull into the driveway. She was afraid that Eli would hear the gravel crunching and suddenly open the car door and say, “Why did you stop writing me?!”

She had no idea what her answer would be because she had no legitimate excuse. On the long drive to Edilean, she’d thought of lots of answers to give him. There was the therapist way—something she’d had experience with—of explaining how she’d been young and frivolous and didn’t understand the value of friendship. Or she could get angry and yell at him. Or she could laugh and say, “And hello to you too, Eli.” She came up with dozens of ways to confront him, ways to answer him, but every scenario ended with her getting back into her car and leaving.

But then she’d seen Eli in the grocery store. She knew she was being shallow, but it was a lot harder to say no to a drop-dead gorgeous man than it was to a man-boy whose ears stuck out.

Since seeing him, her answer to his question of why she hadn’t written had changed. One of them was to shoot back at him, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d grown a foot and put on forty pounds of muscle?” The thought of throwing her arms around him and French-kissing him hello was another answer she rather liked.

But all in all, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

She closed the car door quietly. She’d seen the assistant, Jeff, drive away, so it was her guess that Eli was in the house alone. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

As she quietly walked across the lawn, she wished she hadn’t worn heels. If Eli got too bad, she’d need flats for running away. Maybe she should give a quick knock on the door, then leave before he answered. She could tell her parents that—

She didn’t complete her thought because Eli was outside. He had his back to her and his shirt was off. From his thick dark hair to his feet, he was beautiful. His shoulders were broad and his waist was small. He was using big cutters to trim some bushes and the action made the muscles on his back move like waves in an ocean.

For a moment, Chelsea closed her eyes. I am in trouble, she thought.

If only this weren’t Eli, a guy she had so much history with—and knew so very well. She had no doubt that he was going to make her feel disloyal and superficial, and he was probably going to point out that she had no clear direction in life. Yes, she was the one who hadn’t written. No, she hadn’t given her life over to helping her country, as he had done. But she had . . . What? Well, actually, she’d had a damn good time in her life. Could Eli say
that
?!

She took another step forward, ready to take her punishment for past offenses, but then an idea came to her. Why not turn some of that Robin and Marian Les Jeunes onto themselves? Save the two of them, so to speak. His muscles were still moving under his skin, and Chelsea thought how much she loved surfing.

She took a breath. Courage! she thought. I need all of it that I can muster.

“Is he gone?” she asked.

Eli turned toward her, and for all that his face and body were different, those were the same eyes—and she could read the accusation in them. She knew she’d better talk fast or he was going to start with the questions about why she’d broken contact with him so many years ago.

“That was Eli driving away, wasn’t it? Someone told me he’s your boss and I don’t mean to disparage the poor guy, but I really can’t take his doom and gloom right now. I only came because my parents threatened me into it. Maybe I can just leave a note saying I’m sorry I missed him. That will get my parents off my back without having Eli’s guilt dumped on me. Oh! I’m Chelsea, and you’re Jeff, is that right?”

She watched him use his prodigious brain to try to understand what she was saying.

As Chelsea spoke, Eli watched her—and it was as if time fell away. She might be an adult now, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw what he’d seen when he’d met her in elementary school: fear. When her family moved to town that summer, her father had caused a local sensation. He’d bought a big, historic mansion, tore down the newer houses surrounding it, and moved into what was an ordinary, middle-class neighborhood. People with his kind of money didn’t usually live in that area.

When his youngest daughter entered the local elementary school that fall, everyone had gathered around her. She was pretty and rich and they all wanted to be her best friend.

Eli, always a loner, hadn’t paid any attention to her. But one day in the cafeteria she’d asked him what he was reading. He’d told her—it was a book on artificial intelligence—then he’d looked up at her, expecting to see the usual bored expression the other kids wore. But that’s not what he saw. Chelsea’s eyes had the look of a wild animal—scared and desperate—plus a look of, well, not belonging. But best of all, she’d understood what he’d told her and she didn’t look bored. After that, they were friends.

She’d been an extraordinarily pretty girl and now she was beautiful in that way that tended to make men weak. She was tall and thin, with long, thick hair, the same golden color it had been when they were children. It was easy to understand why people stopped and stared at her.

But none of that mattered to Eli, for right now, that look of fear he’d seen so long ago was again in her eyes. He didn’t understand why, but he knew she
needed
him to be someone he wasn’t. And if Jeff was who she needed, that’s what he was going to give her.

He started to say something but when Chelsea turned, she seemed to get dizzy. “Sorry, I missed lunch,” she said, her hand to her forehead.

Eli came out of his trance. “I think we better get you out of the sun.” His T-shirt was draped across a handle of the wheelbarrow and he pulled it on over his head.

“Darn!” Chelsea said.

Eli started to ask what she meant but then told himself that Jeff would probably know. With him, it was usually sex. Oh, right. His shirt. Jeff would probably say something self-deprecating. “I don’t want to scare the neighbors,” Eli murmured.

“I think they may show up with cameras.”

At her flattering words, Eli felt warmth flow through him—and oddly, he felt a bit taller. He moved ahead of her to go up two steps toward the porch, then held out his hand to her. It was ridiculous to think that she couldn’t climb a few steps by herself but it’s what Jeff would do. Eli remembered one time when Pilar had brought some papers to him. Jeff had made a fool of himself over her—and she had giggled like a teenager.

Chelsea didn’t seem to be offended. Smiling, she took his hand and walked up the stairs with him.

“I want you to sit here,” he said, indicating the big wooden seat. The cushions on it were fatly stuffed and the fabric faded from years of use. “And take off those shoes.”

“But they’re—” she began, but stopped. “I’d love to, but I don’t mean to take your time.”

At the thought of her leaving, Eli felt a sense of panic. What would Jeff say? “A beautiful woman and a day full of sunshine. How could that be a waste?” Eli held his breath. Surely she’d tell him his words belittled her as an intelligent being.

But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled at him. It wasn’t the smile she used to give him after they’d completed some quest together. It was the smile she used to direct toward the boys who were wearing some absurd uniform for sporting events. When he’d seen that look in high school, he’d told her it was false and didn’t suit her. But right now, when it was directed at him, it felt quite good.

He went into the house to the kitchen and, with extraordinary speed, made her a sandwich and poured a glass of lemonade. Minutes later, he pushed open the screen door and went back onto the porch. She had taken off her ridiculous shoes—why women wanted to misalign their bodies with them was beyond him—and put her legs up on the cushions. Her eyes were closed.

He stood there for a moment, looking at her. She was indeed very pretty, but Eli had always looked beneath her exterior to the person underneath. Right now he thought she was thin to the point of emaciation and she looked tired.

When he put the dishes down on the coffee table, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Look at all this food! It’s more than I eat in a day.”

You’re too thin,
he started to say, but caught himself. That’s what Eli would say. Jeff would say . . . “Personally, I think women should look like they were meant to. Curves in the road and curves on women make them both more dangerous.”

Eli held his breath. Surely that remark would offend her—or send her into hysterics of laughter.

But Chelsea gave a sigh. “What a nice sentiment. Maybe I will try just a bit of something.” She picked up the plate with the tuna-salad sandwich and bit into it. “This is great. I haven’t tasted mayonnaise—or, for that matter, bread—in about three years.”

“You have an allergy?”

“No,” Chelsea said. “The style for women now is to be as thin as a broom handle. And that’s what modern men like. Or at least the ones I know do.”

“The polo player?”

“Yes! How did you—?” Chelsea put up her hand. “Don’t tell me how you know about him. Yes, Rodrigo the polo player.” She glanced at Eli sitting there in the chair, his face a study in concentration. One thing she’d always liked about him was the way he listened. “We had a big fight,” she said.

Eli wanted to say that since she’d never been an animal aficionado, of course she’d quarrel with a man whose livelihood dealt with horses. But Jeff wouldn’t say that. He’d say . . . “So what was it? Another woman?”

“Yes!” Chelsea said, her voice almost fierce.

Eli saw that she’d finished her sandwich and all the corn chips he’d put on her plate. He stood up. “What was she like?”

“Which one? Minnie, Esther, Firebrand, Hector?”

Eli had a moment of confusion. “Oh. The horses.”

“All twenty of them.”

Eli went into the house and quickly returned with a tray. In the center was a chocolate cake thickly covered with chocolate frosting. Two plates, two forks, and two glasses with full-fat milk were beside it.

“Chocolate cake?” Chelsea said. “I haven’t eaten dessert in years. And no dairy at all.”

Eli cut two big slices of cake and put them on the plates, then settled back in the chair with one of them. “He couldn’t possibly have liked his horses more than you.”

“He did,” Chelsea said as she picked up the other plate of cake and closed her eyes in ecstasy at the taste of it.

It was after she’d told some about living on the polo circuit—which sounded pointless—that he said, “You don’t want to see Eli?”

Chelsea took a moment before opening her eyes. This was it! This was when he’d start his sad diatribe about how she’d abandoned him, left him to face the world alone, how she had—

“I don’t blame you,” Eli said.

Chelsea looked at him.

“He’s a pain to be around. He does nothing but work. Day and night. He neglects his family and he has no friends. Girls come on to him but he ignores them.”