Orchard Valley Grooms (21 page)

“Not exactly,” Steffie said, moving into his den. As he’d promised earlier, her father was waiting up for her, reading in his favorite chair.

His face fell with disappointment. “But you did talk about getting married, didn’t you?”

“Not really. We, uh, got sidetracked.”

“You didn’t argue, did you?”

“Not really.” Steffie was unsure how much to tell him. She worried that if he knew the extent of the rift between her and Charles, he’d feel obliged to do something to patch things up.

David set aside his reading glasses and gazed up at her. “You’ll be seeing him again soon, won’t you?”

Living in Orchard Valley made that very likely. It was the reason she’d chosen to study in Europe three years earlier. “Naturally I’ll be seeing him.”

David nodded, appeased. “Good.”

“I think I’ll go up to my room and read. Good night, Dad.”

“Night, Princess.”

On her way up, Steffie met Norah at the top of the stairs. Her younger sister glanced in her direction and did an automatic double take. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“You mean other than the fact that you look like you’re waiting to get to your room before you cry?”

Her sister knew her too well. Steffie felt terrible—discouraged, disheartened, depressed. But in her present mood, she didn’t have the patience to explain what had happened between her and Charles.

“What could possibly be wrong?” Steffie asked instead, feigning a lightness she didn’t feel.

“Funny you should say that,” Norah said, tucking her arm through Steffie’s and leading the way to her
bedroom. “Valerie asked me nearly the same thing not long ago. What could possibly be wrong? Well, I’d have to say it’s probably trouble with a man.”

“Very astute of you.”

“Obviously it’s Charles.” Norah didn’t react to Steffie’s mild sarcasm.

“Obviously.” She was tired, weary right down to her bones and desperately craving a long, hot soak in the tub. Some of her best thinking was accomplished while lazing in a bathtub filled with scented water. She’d avoided bubble baths since the time she’d spent hours in one waiting for Charles.

“Did you two have a spat?”

“Listen, Norah, I appreciate your concern—really, I do… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

“Bed? Good grief, it’s only seven.”

“It’s been a long day.”

Norah eyed her suspiciously. “It must have been.”

“Besides, I have a lot to do on Monday.”

Norah’s interest was piqued. “What’s happening then?”

“I’m going to Portland to see about my application at the university and to find an apartment.”

For a moment Norah said nothing. Her mouth fell open and she wore a stunned look. “But I thought you told Dad you were going to wait on that.”

“I was…”

“But now you aren’t? Even after you promised Dad?”

Steffie glanced away, not wanting her sister to see
how deeply hurt she was. How betrayed she felt that Charles would believe she was deceitful enough to trick him into marriage. It seemed that whenever Charles Tomaselli was involved, she invariably ended up in pain.

“I feel better than I have in years.” David greeted Steffie cheerfully early the next morning. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and studying the Portland Sunday paper. He welcomed her with a warm smile, apparently not noticing his daughter’s lackluster mood. “Beautiful morning,” David added.

“Beautiful,” Steffie mumbled as she poured herself a cup of coffee and staggered to the table. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and she felt as though she was walking around in a nightmare.

She’d spent the entire night arguing with herself about the lies she’d told Charles. In the end, she’d managed to convince herself that she’d done the right thing. Charles
wanted
to believe every word. He’d seized every one of her sarcastic remarks, all too ready to consider them truth.

“What time will Charles be by?” her father asked conversationally.

“Charles?” She repeated his name as though she’d never heard it before.

“I thought the two of you were going horseback riding this afternoon.”

“Uh…I’m not sure Charles will be able to come, after all.” The date had probably slipped his mind, the
way it had hers. Even if he did remember, Steffie sincerely doubted he’d show up. As far as she was concerned, whatever had been between them was now over. In fact, the more she reviewed their last discussion, the angrier she became. If he honestly believed the things she’d suggested—and he certainly seemed to—then there was no hope for them. None.

“I’ll get dressed for church,” Steffie said bleakly.

“You’ve got plenty of time yet.”

“Norah has to get there early.” Her sister sang in the choir. Generally Norah left the house before the others, but Steffie thought she’d ride with Norah this morning, if for no other reason than to escape her father’s questions. From the looks David was giving her, he was about to subject her to a full-scale inquisition.

Attending church was an uplifting experience for Steffie. During that hour, she was able to forget her troubles and absorb the atmosphere of peace and serenity. Whatever solace she found, however, vanished the minute she and Norah drove into the yard shortly after noon.

Charles’s car was parked out front.

Steffie tensed and released a long, slow sigh.

“Problems?” Norah asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No, I don’t.” But at the same time, she wasn’t about to back down, either. She wouldn’t allow Charles to chase her from her own home. He was on her turf now, and she didn’t run easily.

Steffie parked behind Charles’s sports car and willed herself to remain calm and collected. Her father must have heard them because he stepped outside the house, his welcoming smile in place. He still moved slowly but with increasing confidence. It was sometimes hard to remember that he was recovering from major surgery.

“Steffie, Charles is here.”

“So I see,” she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“He’s in the stable, waiting for you.”

She nodded and, with her heart racing, walked up the steps and past her father.

“Aren’t you going to talk to him?”

“I need to change my clothes first.”

“To talk? But…” He hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.

By the time Steffie was in her bedroom, she was trembling. Her emotions were so confused that she wasn’t sure if she was shaking with anger or with nervousness. But she did know she wasn’t ready to face him, wasn’t ready to deal with his accusations or his reproach. For several minutes she sat on her bed, trying to decide what to do.

“Steffie.” Norah stood in the doorway, watching her. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, I—no, I’m not,” she said. “I’m not ready to talk to Charles yet.”

“Nothing says you have to talk to him if you don’t want to. I’ll make up some excuse and send him packing.”

“No.” For pride’s sake, she didn’t want him to know how badly she’d been hurt by their latest confrontation.

“You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”

Steffie squared her shoulders and met her sister’s worried eyes. “I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.”

“Attagirl,” Norah said approvingly.

Changing into jeans and a sweatshirt, Steffie went down the back stairs into the kitchen. She didn’t expect to find Charles sitting at the table chatting with her father. What unsettled her most was that he gave no outward sign of their quarrel. Steffie slowed her pace as she entered the room.

Charles stopped talking and his eyes narrowed briefly. “Hello, Stephanie.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” her father said before Steffie could answer Charles’s greeting. He rose, a bit stiffly, and made his way to the door. “I guess you’ve got plenty to discuss.”

Steffie wanted to argue, but knew there wasn’t any point. She merely shrugged and remained where she was, standing a few steps from the back stairs. She didn’t look at Charles. The silence between them lengthened, until she couldn’t endure it any longer.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” she said in a harsh voice. “It certainly wasn’t necessary.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I’m not in the mood to go riding and I don’t imagine you are, either.” In other words, she wasn’t in the mood to go riding with
him.

“I’m not here to ride.”

“Then why are you here?”

Apparently Charles didn’t have the answer because he got to his feet and walked over to the window. Whatever he saw must have fascinated him because he stood there for several minutes without speaking.

“Why are you here?” she asked a second time, on the verge of requesting him to leave.

He finally turned around to face her. “I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Steffie refused to admit that she’d fared no better, so she made no response.

“I kept going over the things your father said and the things you told me,” Charles went on.

“Did you come to any conclusions?” Pride demanded that she not look at him, or reveal how much his answer meant to her.

“One.”

Steffie tensed. “What’s that?” She had to look at him now.

His eyes finally met hers. Although nearly the entire kitchen separated them, Steffie felt as though he was close enough to touch.

“It seems to me,” he began, “that since your father’s so anxious to marry you off, and you seem to be just as eager, then fine.”

“Fine?” she repeated, wondering if this was some joke and she’d missed the punch line.

“In other words,” Charles returned shortly, “I’m willing to take you off his hands.”

“W
hat? Take me off Dad’s hands?” Steffie echoed. Surely he wasn’t serious. No woman in her right mind would accept such an insulting proposal.

“You heard me.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

Charles shook his head. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. You want to marry me, then so be it. I’m willing to go along with this, provided we understand each other….”

“In that case I withdraw the offer—not that I ever
made
an offer.”

“You can’t do that,” Charles argued, looking surprised. “Your father thinks we should get married and, after giving it some thought, I agree with him.”

“That’s too bad, since I’m not interested.”

Charles laughed softly. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve been crazy about me for years.”

Steffie whirled around and crossed her arms, as though to fend off his words. “I can’t marry you, Charles.”

“Why not? I know you love me. You said so yourself before you left for Italy, and I know that hasn’t changed.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Ah, but I am. And recently you showed me again.”

“When?” she demanded, trying to recall the conversations they’d had since her return to Orchard Valley.

“The afternoon we met at Del’s.”

Steffie cast her mind back to that day. They’d met by accident as they’d gone in to pay for their gas. Steffie remembered how glad she’d been to see him, how eager to set things straight. But she couldn’t remember saying one thing that would lead Charles to believe she still loved him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not in so many words, true, but with everything you did. The same holds true for the night I dropped off the azalea and you asked me to dinner. Remember?”

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“A whole lot, as a matter of fact. You were continually making excuses for us to be together.”

Steffie’s face flooded with color. “What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked again.

He ignored her question. “We had fun that night, touring Orchard Valley. Didn’t we?”

Steffie nodded. She wasn’t likely to forget that evening. For the first time in her relationship with Charles, she’d felt a stirring of real promise. Not the
kind of hope she’d fabricated earlier, but one based on genuine companionship. Charles had enjoyed her company and they’d laughed and talked as though they’d been friends for years.

“You told me that when you lived in Italy you were too busy with your studies to date much,” Charles reminded her.

“So?”

“So that led me to conclude that you hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else while you were away.”

“I hadn’t.”

“Your father came right out and told me on several occasions that he was concerned about you because you didn’t seem to be dating anyone seriously.”

Steffie glared at him, feeling trapped. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”

“Plenty. You loved me then, and you love me now.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Charles Tomaselli.” She glowered fiercely, hoping he’d back off. “What makes you so sure I’m in love with you now?”

“I know you better than you realize.”

“What nonsense!” She managed a light laugh. “You don’t know me at all, otherwise you—” She stopped abruptly.

“Otherwise what?”

“Nothing.”
Otherwise he wouldn’t have believed the things she’d told him.

“Don’t you think it’s time we stopped playing games with each other?” he suggested.

“What games?” she snapped. “I gave those up years ago.”

Charles frowned as though he wasn’t sure he should believe her.

Hurt and angry, Steffie raised her hand and pointed at him. “
That’s
the reason I refuse to marry you,” she cried. Restraining the emotion was next to impossible and her voice quavered with the force of it. “I suppose I should be flattered that you’re
willing
to take me off Dad’s hands,” she said sarcastically. “Every woman dreams of hearing such romantic words. But I want far more in a husband, Charles Tomaselli, than you’d ever be capable of giving me!”

“What do you mean by that?” Before she had a chance to reply he muttered, “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid I’m going to be financially strapped with the newspaper, aren’t you? You think I won’t be able to afford you.”

Steffie was stunned by his remark. Stunned and insulted. “You know me so well, don’t you?” she asked him, her voice heavy with scorn. “There’s just no pulling the wool over your eyes, is there?” She drew in a deep breath. “I think it would be best if you left.” She walked across the kitchen and held open the back door. “Right now.”

Charles shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to leave.” He pulled out a chair and threw himself down. “We’re going to talk this out, once and for all,” he told her.

“You’re too stubborn.”

“So are you.”

“We’d make a terrible couple.”

“We make a good team.”

Steffie didn’t know why she was fighting him so hard—especially when he was saying all the things she’d always dreamed of hearing.

“I realize I’ve made some mistakes with this,” he said slowly. “It might have sounded callous, offering to marry you the way I did.”

“I’ll admit that
taking me off Dad’s hands
does lack a certain romantic flair,” she agreed wryly. She crossed over to the counter for a coffee mug, filling it from the pot next to the stove. If they were going to talk seriously, without hurling accusations at each other, she was going to need it.

“I was angry.”

“Then why’d you come here?” she asked, claiming the chair across from him.

“Because,” he answered in a tight, angry voice, “I was afraid I’d lose you again.”

“Lose me?” That made no sense to Steffie.

“You heard me,” he growled. “I was afraid you’d return to Italy or take off on a safari, or go someplace equally inaccessible.”

“Portland. I’m moving to Portland, but it isn’t because of what happened with you. I intended to do that from the moment I got home.” She folded her hands around the hot mug. “Why should you care where I go?”

“Because I didn’t want you leaving again.”

“Why do you want me to stay, especially if you believe the things I told you yesterday?”

His eyes held hers. “I don’t believe them.”

“You gave a good impression of it earlier,” she reminded him. A fresh wave of pain assaulted her and she looked away.

“That’s because I was furious.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“No, it hasn’t,” he agreed, “but the simple fact is I don’t want you to leave again.”

“Unfortunately you don’t have any say in what I do.”

Charles frowned. “Now
you’re
angry.”

“You’re right about that! Did you really think I was so desperate for a husband I’d accept your insulting offer? Is that what you think of me, Charles?”

“No!” he shouted. “I’m in love with you, dammit! I have been for years. I had to do something to keep you here. I don’t want to wait another three years for you to come to your senses.”

His words were followed by silence. Steffie stared down into her coffee, and to her chagrin felt tears well up in her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

Charles stood abruptly and walked to the window again. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed outside. “It’s true.”

“It couldn’t be.” She wiped the tears from her face. “You were so…so…”

“Cruel,” he supplied. “You’ll never understand how
hard it was not to make love to you that first time in the stable. I’ve never been more tempted by any woman.”

“I…tempted you?” Her voice was low and incredulous.

He turned around and smiled, but it was a sad smile, one full of doubts and regrets. “I remember when you started hanging around the newspaper office. I was flattered by the attention. Soon I found myself looking forward to the times you came by. You were witty and generous and you always had an intelligent comment about something in the paper. I quickly discovered you were much more than a pretty face.”

“I never worked harder in my life to impress anyone,” she murmured with self-deprecating humor.

But it didn’t take Steffie long to get back to the point. “If that was how you felt, then why did you ask me not to come around anymore?”

“I had to say something before I gave in and threw caution to the wind. You’d recently lost your mother and you were young, naive and terribly vulnerable. I struggled with my conscience for weeks, trying to decide what I should do about you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m six years older than you. That made a big difference.”

“The gap in our ages hasn’t narrowed.”

“True enough, but you’re not a girl anymore.”

“I was twenty-two,” she argued. “At least by the time I left.”

“Perhaps, but you’d been pretty sheltered. And you
were still dealing with your grief. Your entire life had been jolted, and I couldn’t be sure if what you felt for me was love or adolescent infatuation.”

Steffie closed her eyes and let the warmth of his words revive her. “It was love,” she told him. A love that had matured, grown more intense, in the years that separated them.

“It probably doesn’t mean much to you now, but I want you to know how hard it was for me the night I came home and found you in my bathtub.”

“But you were so angry.”

“It was either that or take you into my room and make love to you.”

Steffie still felt confused. “You laughed at me when I told you how I felt that day in the stable….”

“I know,” he said simply. Steffie heard the pain and remorse in his voice. “I’ve never had to do anything that’s cost me more. But I never dreamed you’d leave Orchard Valley.”

“What did you expect me to do? I couldn’t stay—that would’ve been impossible. So I did the only thing I could. I left.”

Charles’s hand reached for hers, twining their fingers together. “I’ll never forget the day I learned you’d gone to Europe. I felt as if I’d been hit by a bulldozer.”

“I had to go,” she repeated unnecessarily. “It was too painful to stay.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “I know.” Slowly he raised her hand to his lips. “I’ve waited three long
years to tell you how sorry I was to hurt you. Three years to tell you I was in love with you, too.”

Steffie attempted with little success to blink back the tears.

“If it had been at any other time in your life, if I could’ve been sure you weren’t just trying to replace your mother’s love with mine—then everything would’ve been different. But you were so young, so innocent. I couldn’t trust myself around you, feeling the way I did.”

“And you couldn’t trust me.”

He nodded his agreement. “I’m sorry, Stephanie, for rejecting you. But it was as painful for me as it was for you. Perhaps more so, because I knew the whole truth.”

“You never wrote—not once in all that time. Not so much as a postcard. Not even an e-mail.”

“I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I didn’t dare give in to the impulse.”

“So you waited.”

“Not patiently. I expected you to come home at least once in three years, you know.”

“I dreaded seeing you again. I was thousands of miles away from you and yet I still loved you, I still dreamed about you. It didn’t seem to get any better. Even after three years.”

“A few weeks ago, you’d finished your classes and you were in the process of deciding if you were going to stay on in Italy.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Your father. He was the only way I had of getting information about you, and I used him shamelessly.”

“He told me you started coming by for visits shortly after I left.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t figure out how I felt about you. I don’t think I could have been any more obvious if I’d tried.”

“Dad didn’t have a clue until recently and then only because of the—” She stopped when she realized what she was about to tell him.

“Of what?” Charles prodded.

“I…it would be best if you let Dad explain that part.”

“All right, I will.” He looked away from her momentarily. “Although you never seriously dated anyone, there
was
someone in Italy, wasn’t there? A man you cared about?”

“Who?” Steffie frowned in bewilderment.

“A man named Mario?”

“Mario…a man?” He was four now, and the delight of her heart while she’d lived in Italy.

“He caused me several sleepless nights. Your father only mentioned him once. Said you ‘adored’ him. I went through agonies trying to be subtle about getting information on this guy, but your father never brought him up again.”

“Mario,” Steffie repeated, smiling broadly. “Yes, I did adore him.”

Charles scowled. “What happened?”

Still smiling, Steffie said, “There was a slight discrepancy in our ages. I’m more than twenty years older.”

“He’s a kid.”

“But what a kid. My landlady’s son. I was crazy about him.” Spending time with a loving, open child like Mario had helped her through a difficult period in her life.

“I see.” A slow, easy smile slipped into place. “So you like children.”

“Oh, yes, I always have.”

“I hope that young man appreciates everything he put me through.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t, but I certainly do. I know what it’s like to love someone and have that someone not love you.”

Charles considered her words for a moment. “I’ve always loved you, Stephanie, but I didn’t dare let you know. I couldn’t trust what we felt for each other then—but I can now.”

She avoided his gaze. She had to ask, although she was afraid to. “If that’s true, why were you so angry when Dad suggested we get married?”

Charles sighed. “Frustration, I guess. I’d intended to propose the night we went for dinner. I had everything planned, down to the last detail.”

“But why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t, not when the past still came between us. You made it clear you didn’t want to discuss our misunderstandings. So my hands were tied. I hate to admit it, but I was nervous—even if you didn’t seem to notice.”

“I made it one of my wishes—I didn’t want to talk about the past,” she recalled, experiencing an instant twinge of regret.