He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he eased down on a stool at the counter and opened one of his books. Dirty pictures began to flash through her mind, pictures of herself naked in bed with Colin. She added George Clooney, then tossed in Hugh Jackman just for fun. She played with the image a bit, letting the filmstrip unwind in her head, but then she realized she didn’t like what she was seeing. Instead of paying attention to her naked body, George and Hugh were talking football. She tried to refocus the film, but they were real sports fans, and the next thing she knew they’d abandoned her for a Chargers game. Which meant that she and Colin were alone. And naked.
Her nipples tightened. Luckily, he seemed to have lost himself in his book and didn’t notice.
It had only been a year since Emmett’s health had failed, and here she was having a sex fantasy about a man who hated her guts. Typical. Just when she’d thought she’d developed sense, all her old masochistic habits came banging at the door trying to get back in.
Promise me, Sugar Beth, that you won’t waste time mourning me. You’ve been living like a nun for more years than I want to admit to. It’s gone on long enough.
But it hadn’t been nearly long enough. She thought of him lying in bed all those months, his powerful body wasted, and the old anger-washed love filled her. Why’d you have to up and get sick on me, you old coot? Let alone die. I need you, don’t you know that?
He’d been the love of her life, and some days she didn’t think she could bear the pain.
Colin rose and returned to his office. She threw together his lunch, a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread, and—as further punishment—a big handful of organic bean sprouts. He was back at the keyboard, so she left the tray on the corner of his desk without interrupting him.
Colin’s treatise on her job responsibilities noted that he had a weekly cleaning service, but that she was supposed to tidy up after him, which included making the ducal bed and straightening the imperial bathroom. Since both activities gave her an excuse to explore, she headed upstairs. Gordon had grown bored with the writing life, and he padded after her.
Smoke-colored paint had replaced Diddie’s pink floral wallpaper, and modern copper wall sconces framed the windows on the landing. When she reached the top of the stairs, she glanced to the right and saw small changes: paint and moldings, different lighting, a slender steel sculpture resting on a block of frosted glass. To the left, however, everything had been reconfigured. Instead of a hallway leading to Diddie’s and Griffin’s separate bedrooms, a neoclassic arch framed a niche holding a set of double doors. She couldn’t believe it. The old attic door had been located at the end of a hallway that no longer existed!
She dashed into the master bedroom suite, a vast space with arches, art, and sleek furniture that included a king-size bed with four twisted metal posts. The nearest door led to a cathedral-size bathroom. The second door opened into a luxurious, cedar-scented, two-room closet complete with a teak bench. She looked everywhere but couldn’t find any access to the attic, and she headed for the other wing.
Her former bedroom, along with the old sewing room, had been converted into a state-of-the-art home gym. Another guest room held a small, book-lined study, while a third had been luxuriously refurbished for company. She poked into closets, peered behind chests, searched everywhere she could think of.
The attic door had vanished.
Ryan didn’t fall asleep until after midnight, but he awakened before five. He had an OSHA meeting scheduled for that day, and he wanted to be sharp, but he’d been having trouble sleeping for a couple of weeks. He should be sleeping like a baby. He had a wonderful life—a family he loved, a job that challenged him, a beautiful house, good friends. He was the luckiest guy in the world.
Winnie gave a soft sigh in her sleep and curled against him. She smelled faintly of the perfume she’d dabbed at the base of her throat before he’d come home from work. She always did things like that, made sure her hair was combed, her makeup fresh. Other men complained about their wives letting themselves go, but Winnie grew prettier all the time. She was perfect in every way: smart, kind, loving. So different from Sugar Beth, who’d been demanding, temperamental, vain, and spoiled.
But she’d also been glorious, an out-of-control thrill ride sending him from ecstasy to despair and back to ecstasy again in the wink of an eye. When she’d broken his heart, he’d thought the pain would kill him, and the adoration in Winnie’s eyes had been a salve to his young man’s wounds.
She draped her hand over his thigh in her sleep. She was naked. She slept that way a lot. Willing. Available. He still couldn’t get over how lucky he was. Sometimes, maybe, he wished she wouldn’t try quite so hard, but that was only because he felt guilty knowing she gave more to their marriage than he did. But what could he offer when she’d already thought of everything?
He wasn’t going to fall back asleep, so he slipped out of bed, and Winnie’s radar kicked in as usual. “ ‘S anything wrong?”
“Going for a run.” He tugged the blanket over her bare shoulder and pulled on his sweats. It was still too dark to run. He’d catch up on some paperwork first.
As he let himself out into the hallway, he saw that Gigi had hung another poster on her door, even though she was supposed to keep them in her room. She’d begun asking questions about Sugar Beth. Gigi called her She Who Must Not Be Named after the evil Voldemort in the Harry Potter books. Wiseass.
They’d never tried to hide the truth from her, so she’d always known about the blood relationship between Winnie and Sugar Beth, but the complexities behind that relationship were beyond a thirteen-year-old’s comprehension. He supposed it was only natural for her to be curious, but she’d been so rebellious lately that her questions had begun to make him uneasy. She was perfectly capable of accosting Sugar Beth on the street and asking her the same questions she’d been asking him. He’d finally told her she was forbidden to have any contact.
Now, if only somebody would do the same for him.
By the time he got to work, Ryan felt back in control again. The refurbished three-story Art Deco lobby with its great sweep of CWF windows greeted him. He’d never quite gotten over the fact that, at thirty-three, he was COO of the company where his parents had spent their working life, his mother as a file clerk, his father as a painter. He’d earned his position, along with the respect of the employees, through hard work and dedication, and he never took it for granted.
The factory had a good safety record, and his OSHA meeting was going well when his secretary pulled him away from the plant tour he was conducting to tell him the principal at Gigi’s school was on the line. Eva never called him, and he quickly excused himself to take the call in the loading dock office. “Eva, it’s Ryan. What’s wrong?”
“I have Gigi here. I need you to come in.”
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine. But Chelsea Kiefer has a broken wrist. Gigi pushed her into a locker.”
“Gigi wouldn’t push anyone.” He rested his hip on the corner of the desk and gazed through the window onto the loading dock. Craig Watson, one of his senior VPs, had taken over the tour, but Craig wasn’t up to speed on all the new safety regulations, and Ryan needed to get back. “Chelsea’s Gigi’s best friend. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding. Call Winnie. She’ll take care of this.”
“She’s in Memphis for the day. You’ll have to come in.”
He’d forgotten Winnie had a buying trip. He shifted his position to get a better view through the window. “I can’t leave right now, but one of us will be there around five.” If Winnie hadn’t gotten back by then, he’d juggle his schedule. An inconvenience, but he could manage it.
“This isn’t going to wait that long. Gigi is being belligerent, and Chelsea’s mother is furious. She’s talking about filing a police report.”
“A police report?”
“Yes, Ryan, a police report. Get in here right away.”