Unfinished Business (5 page)

“It was hard for her to imagine, but she's doing a good job of it. I know you lost your father a few months ago.”

“Cancer. It was very difficult for him.”

“And for you.”

She moved her shoulders. “There was little I could do…little he would allow me to do. Basically he refused to admit he was ill. He hated weaknesses.”

“I know.” He laid a hand on hers. “I hope you've learned to be more tolerant of them.”

He didn't have to explain. “I don't hate my mother,” she said with a sigh. “I just don't know her.”

It was a good answer. One he appreciated. “I do. She's had a hard life, Van. Any mistakes she made, she's paid for more times than any one person should have to. She loves you. She always has.”

“Then why did she let me go?”

His heart went out to her, as it always had. “That's a question you'll have to ask her yourself. And one she needs to answer.”

With a little sigh, Vanessa sat back. “I always did come to cry on your shoulder.”

“That's what shoulders are for. Mostly I was vain enough to think I had two daughters.”

“You did.” She blinked the tears away and took a soothing drink of tea. “Dr. Tucker, are you in love with my mother?”

“Yes. Does that upset you?”

“It shouldn't.”

“But?”

“It's just that it's difficult for me to accept. I've always had such a clear picture of you and Mrs. Tucker as a set. It was one of my constants. My parents…as unhappy as they were together, for as long as I can remember…”

“Were your parents,” he said quietly. “Another permanent set.”

“Yes.” She relaxed a little, grateful that he understood. “I know that's not reasonable. It's not even reality. But…”

“It should be,” he finished for her. “My dear child, there is far too much in life that's unfair. I had twenty-eight years with Emily, and had planned for twenty-eight more. It wasn't to be. During the time I had with her, I loved her ab
solutely. We were lucky enough to grow into people each of us could continue to love. When she died, I thought that a part of my life was over. Your mother was Emily's closest and dearest friend, and that was how I continued to look at Loretta, for several years. Then she became mine—my closest and dearest friend. I think Emily would have been pleased.”

“You make me feel like a child.”

“You're always a child when it comes to your parents.” He glanced down at her plate. “Have you lost your sweet tooth?”

“No.” She laughed a little. “My appetite.”

“I didn't want to sound like an old fogy and tell you you're too thin. But you are, a bit. Loretta mentioned you weren't eating well. Or sleeping well.”

Vanessa raised a brow. She hadn't realized her mother had noticed. “I suppose I'm keyed up. The last couple of years have been pretty hectic.”

“When's the last time you had a physical?”

Now she did laugh. “You sound like Brady. I'm fine, Dr. Tucker. Concert tours makes you tough. It's just nerves.”

He nodded, but promised himself that he'd keep an eye on her. “I hope you'll play for me soon.”

“I'm already breaking in the new piano. In fact, I should get back. I've been skimping on my practice time lately.”

As she rose, Brady came through the connecting door. It annoyed him to see her there. It wasn't bad enough that she'd been in his head all day. Now she was in his kitchen. He nodded to her, then glanced down at the pie.

“The dependable Mrs. Leary.” He grinned at his father. “Were you going to leave any for me?”

“She's my patient.”

“He always hoards the goodies,” Brady said to Vanessa,
dipping a finger in the meringue on her plate. “You wanted to see me before I left?”

“You wanted me to look over the Crampton file.” Ham tapped a finger on a folder on the counter. “I made some notes.”

“Thanks.”

“I've got some things to tie up.” He took Vanessa by the shoulders and kissed her soundly. “Come back soon.”

“I will.” She'd never been able to stay away.

“The barbecue's in two weeks. I expect you to be here.”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

“Brady,” he said as he left, “behave yourself with that girl.”

Brady grinned as the door closed. “He still figures I'm going to talk you into the back seat of my car.”

“You did talk me into the back seat of your car.”

“Yeah.” The memory made him restless. “Any coffee?”

“Tea,” she said. “With lemon verbena.”

With a grunt, he turned and took a carton of milk from the refrigerator. “I'm glad you stopped by to see him. He's crazy about you.”

“The feeling's mutual.”

“You going to eat that pie?”

“No, I was just—” he sat down and dug in “—leaving.”

“What's your hurry?” he asked over a forkful.

“I'm not in a hurry, I just—”

“Sit down.” He poured an enormous glass of milk.

“Your appetite's as healthy as ever, I see.”

“Clean living.”

She should go, really. But he looked so relaxed, and relaxing, sitting at the table shoveling in pie. Friends, he'd said. Maybe they
could
be friends. She leaned back against the counter.

“Where's the dog?”

“Left him home. Dad caught him digging in the tulips yesterday, so he's banished.”

“You don't live here anymore?”

“No.” He looked up and nearly groaned. She was leaning on the counter in front of the window, the light in her hair. There was the faintest of smiles playing on that full, serious mouth of hers. The severe tailoring of her slacks and shirt made her seem that much softer and feminine. “I, ah…” He reached for the milk. “I bought some land outside of town. The house is going up slow, but it's got a roof.”

“You're building your own house?”

“I'm not doing that much. I can't get away from here long enough to do much more than stick up a couple of two-by-fours. I've got a couple of guys hammering it together.” He looked at her again, considering. “I'll drive you out some time so you can take a look.”

“Maybe.”

“How about now?” He rose to put his dishes in the sink.

“Oh, well…I really have to get back….”

“For what?”

“To practice.”

He turned. Their shoulders brushed. “Practice later.”

It was a challenge. They both knew it, both understood it. They were both determined to prove that they could be in each other's company without stirring up old yearnings.

“All right. I'll follow you out, though. That way you won't have to come back into town.”

“Fine.” He took her arm and led her out the back door.

He'd had a secondhand Chevy sedan when she'd left town. Now he drove a sporty four-wheel drive. Three miles out of town, when they came to the steep, narrow lane, she saw the wisdom of it.

It would be all but impassable in the winter, she thought as her Mercedes jolted up the graveled incline. Though the leaves were little more than tender shoots, the woods were thick. She could see the wild dogwoods blooming white. She narrowly avoided a rut. Gravel spit out from under her wheels as she negotiated the last sweeping turn and came to a halt behind Brady.

The dog came racing, barking, his tail fanning in the breeze.

The shell of the house was up. He wasn't contenting himself with a cabin in the woods, she noted. It was a huge, spreading two-story place. The windows that were in place were tall, with half-moon arches over them. What appeared to be the skeleton of a gable rose up from the second story. It would command a majestic view of the distant Blue Mountains.

The grounds, covered with the rubble of construction, sloped down to a murmuring creek. Rain would turn the site into a mud pit, she thought as she stepped from her car. But, oh, when it was terraced and planted, it would be spectacular.

“It's fabulous.” She pushed back her hair as the early evening breeze stirred it. “What a perfect spot.”

“I thought so.” He caught Kong by the collar before he could leap on her.

“He's all right.” She laughed as she bent down to rub him. “Hello, fella. Hello, big boy. You've got plenty of room to run around here, don't you?”

“Twelve acres.” He was getting that ache again, just under his heart, watching her play with his dog. “I'm going to leave most of it alone.”

“I'm glad.” She turned a full circle. “I'd hate to see you manicure the woods. I'd nearly forgotten how wonderful they are. How quiet.”

“Come on.” He took her hand, held it. “I'll give you the tour.”

“How long have you had the land?”

“Almost a year.” They walked across a little wooden bridge, over the creek. “Watch your step. The ground's a mess.” He looked down at her elegant Italian flats. “Here.” He hoisted her up and over the rubble. She felt the bunching of his arm muscles, he the firm length of her legs.

“You don't have to—” He set her down, hastily, in front of a pair of atrium doors. “Still Mr. Smooth, aren't you?”

“You bet.”

Inside there was subflooring and drywall. She saw power tools, sawhorses and piles of lumber. A huge stone fireplace was already built into the north wall. Temporary stairs led to the second level. The scent of sawdust was everywhere.

“The living room,” he explained. “I wanted plenty of light. The kitchen's over there.”

He indicated a generous space that curved off the main room. There was a bay window over the sink that looked out into the woods. A stove and refrigerator were nestled between unfinished counters.

“We'll have an archway to keep in tune with the windows,” he went on. “Then another will lead around to the dining room.”

She looked up at the sky through a trio of skylights. “It seems very ambitious.”

“I only intend to do it once.” Taking her hand again, he led her around the first floor. “Powder room. Your mother found me this great pedestal sink. The porcelain's in perfect shape. And this is a kind of a den, I guess. Stereo equipment, books.” When he narrowed his eyes, he could see the finished product perfectly. And oddly, so could she. “Do you remember Josh McKenna?”

“Yes. He was your partner in crime.”

“Now he's a partner in a construction firm. He's doing all these built-ins himself.”

“Josh?” She ran a hand over a shelf. The workmanship was beautiful.

“He designed the kitchen cabinets, too. They're going to be something. Let's go up. The stairs are narrow, but they're sturdy.”

Despite his assurances, she kept one hand pressed against the wall as they climbed. There were more skylights, more arches. The eyebrow windows, as he called them, would go over the bed in the master suite, which included an oversize bathroom with a tiled sunken tub. Though there were a mattress and a dresser in the bedroom, the bath was the only finished room. Vanessa stepped off subflooring onto ceramic.

He'd chosen cool pastels with an occasional vivid slash of navy. The huge tub was encircled by a tiled ledge that sat flush against another trio of windows. Vanessa imagined soaking there with a view of the screening woods.

“You've pulled out all the stops,” she commented.

“When I decided to move back, I decided to do it right.” They continued down the hall, between the studded walls. “There are two more bedrooms on this floor, and another bath. I'm going to use glass brick in that one. The deck will run all around, then drop down to the second level on the west side for sunset.” He took her up another flight of splattered steps into the gable. “I'm thinking about putting my office up here.”

It was like a fairy tale, Vanessa thought, circular in shape, with more arching windows. Everywhere you stood there was a lofty view of the woods and the mountains beyond.

“I could live right here,” she said, “and feel like Rapunzel.”

“Your hair's the wrong color.” He lifted a handful. “I'm glad you never cut it. I used to dream about this hair.” His gaze
shifted to hers. “About you. For years after you left, I used to dream about you. I could never figure it out.”

She turned away quickly and walked to one of the windows. “When do you think you'll have it finished?”

“We're shooting for September.” He frowned at her back. He hadn't thought of her when he'd designed the house, when he'd chosen the wood, the tiles, the colors. Why was it that now that she was here it was as if the house had been waiting for her? As if he'd been waiting for her? “Van?”

“Yes,” she answered, keeping her back to him. Her stomach was in knots, her fingers were twisted. When he said nothing else, she forced herself to turn, made her lips curve. “It's a fabulous place, Brady. I'm glad you showed it to me. I hope I get the chance to see it when it's done.”

He wasn't going to ask her if she was going to stay. He didn't want to know. He couldn't let it matter. But he knew that there was unfinished business between them, and he had to settle it, at least in his own mind.

He crossed to her slowly. He saw the awareness come into her eyes with his first step. She would have backed away if there had been anywhere to go.

“Don't,” she said when he took her arms.

“This is going to hurt me as much as it does you.”

He touched his lips to hers, testing. And felt her shudder. Her taste, just that brief taste, made him burn. Again he kissed her, lingering over it only seconds longer. This time he heard her moan. His hands slid up her arms to cup her face. When his mouth took hers again, the testing was over.

It did hurt. She felt the ache through every bone and muscle. And damn him, she felt the pleasure. A pleasure she had lived without for too long. Greedy for it, she pulled him closer and let the war rage frantically inside her.