Susan locked up and whipped down the window shades.
“And I hear you just got married? I think it was Mrs. Wilding who told me. Just the thing, just the thing. I never could figure out, with you being so sweet and pretty…”
God in heaven. Susan bit the inside of her lip, not an easy thing to do when one was smiling, and resisted the urge to lift one foot and then the other impatiently. At last Mrs. Riffler ambled off in the opposite direction. Susan walked sedately to the corner, turned out of sight of the building and took off at a dead run for her car.
A little breeze was stirring on the tree-lined street, but the sun was beating down as if it were mid-July. This year autumn would be late; a long, hot summer was lingering in the warm days. Susan hustled into the driver’s seat of her Mazda and burrowed for the car keys in her purse at the same time as she hurriedly tried to roll down the windows. The little car was stifling.
Stabbing the key in the ignition, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror and snatched up her purse again. She looked terrible. There were circles under her eyes, her hair needed styling… They’d been working so hard on the house, and Griff had worked even harder than she had. It was at the fun point, though, really. The plaster dust and the painting debris were gone; now the name of the game was curtains and paintings and furnishings…at least for her. Griff was building storage cabinets in the basement; insulating; he’d insisted on a new furnace…
She brightened her cheeks with blusher and fluffed up her curls with a hairbrush. All that adrenaline pumping in her veins urged speed, yet still she took another second for a quick spray of perfume and a last glance in the mirror. Griff would notice what she looked like. He would also be extremely difficult to live with if she seemed the least bit tired. Rather like the domineering male counterpart of a mother hen.
The car engine seemed to feel it had done enough running all week. Susan generously gave it four more opportunities to change its mind. It ran for Griff, dammit. What was it he’d told her to do? Something about punching the thing or keeping her foot off the accelerator if it flooded. And when all else failed, swear. All right, then… Subjected to Griff’s colorful language, the engine promptly zoomed, and shortly after that Susan was zigzagging through traffic. Actually, she thought wryly, her Mazda was just smart enough to know Griff had threatened to buy her a new car.
Twenty minutes later, she jammed on the brakes in the driveway, only to discover Griff’s car wasn’t there. Impossible. The drive to Sheila’s and back couldn’t have taken an hour, and two hours had passed. Susan snatched up her purse, opened the car door and decided to just breathe for a minute and a half. Truthfully, she was grateful for these few moments. This was the first occasion when they would really have Tiger for any period of time since the wedding. Yes, those prenuptial outings had always gone well, but she hadn’t been Griff’s wife-or his children’s stepmother-then. Tiger-officially Charles Griff Roth Anderson-could well come up with a suddenly different reaction to her, once he realized she was here to stay.
Her toes hadn’t connected with the cement driveway before Griff’s Mercedes station wagon appeared beside her. She didn’t even need to see Griff’s face to know that something was wrong. He was not the kind of driver who lurched to a stop, nor did she miss the crisp thud of a slammed door, though Tiger bursting out of the car took all of her immediate attention.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said affectionately, and offered open arms.
Tiger swung into them. She wasn’t kidding herself that the hug meant anything yet-Tiger hugged stray dogs, too-but at least there was no hesitation in his warm, wriggling body as he grinned up at her. “Looks like a neat place. Any secret passages?”
She had been waiting for that one. “A dumb dumbwaiter.”
“A dumb dumbwaiter?” Tiger echoed, all instant fascination.
Susan chuckled. “I’ll show you, kid. And I can hardly wait till you see your room.”
He took off for the door, and Susan, still smiling, headed for Griff’s hug. He was ready for her, but his arms squeezed her so tightly that she glanced up. Those dark brown orbs were full of storm; not to mention the tension she could feel in his heartbeat, in the arms still wrapped around her shoulders. When she left that morning, he’d been in a wonderful mood. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he said tersely.
She almost shivered. When his emotions were all leashed up, Griff could be a dauntingly formidable man.
“The door’s locked,” Tiger called back to them, clearly disappointed.
“I’ve got the key.” Susan glanced once more at Griff, then turned helplessly to his son.
Tiger was more than ready to claim all her attention. He had to explore the dumb-as-in-nonfunctional dumbwaiter immediately; then he raced through each room, opened drawers and abandoned them, tested lights… To Susan’s eyes, he was a beautiful child, all blond hair and big dark eyes like Griff. He was simply his father in miniature, carefree, mischievous form; how could anyone help loving him? His jeans were too short for him, and his old sweatshirt had the number twelve on it…as well as a hole in the shoulder. Obviously favorite old clothes, she thought affectionately as she raced up the stairs after him. In another year, he would doubtless be all gangling legs and arms.
“This is it? My room? The one I get all to myself?”
Laughing, Susan stood behind him. “Oh, Tiger, I could hardly wait for you to get here. We thought about doing up this room first thing, and then decided we’d wait for you. This afternoon, we want you to go with us and pick out exactly what you’d like. I thought maybe you’d prefer bunk beds and blue carpeting-you told me one time you liked blue. I don’t mean we’re going to drag you shopping all afternoon, just that we want you to show us the kind of thing you like…”
Griff stepped into the room behind them. Tiger glanced back at his father uncertainly, and Susan again felt the strange tension emanating from her husband. Her smile never faltering, she leaned back against Griff and dragged his arm around her waist. “No bed, Tiger. But we’ve got a sleeping bag for this time, or you can sleep on the couch downstairs, and by the time you come for the next weekend-”
“When he comes next time, we’ll have our kind of weekend,” Griff interjected flatly.
“Pardon?” Whatever was he talking about?
Tiger looked at his dad again and shrugged nervously. “Mom kind of gave me this list, Susan.” He dug a wrinkled piece of paper from his jeans pocket. “Like I don’t know. Mom said this is what we were supposed to do.”
She unfolded the piece of paper: four pairs of pants, three dress shirts, four play shirts, tennis shoes, socks, a winter coat, dress shoes… It didn’t take Einstein to figure out why Sheila had deliberately decked out Tiger in too-short jeans and a holey T-shirt. So much for favorite old clothes. And since Griff paid out more in child support in a month than Susan earned in a year at her store, she now knew exactly why Griff was barely controlling his temper.
Disappointment flooded through her for the day planned with Tiger that was not to be. Susan only had to glance once at the child to know she would follow through with Sheila’s plan and not with their own. Griff was clearly furious, and just as clearly anticipating ignoring his ex-wife’s wishes…but Susan was the one on the tightrope. Not for a lapful of diamonds would she cause friction between Tiger and his mother, nor would she confuse her role with Sheila’s. “Perhaps if we can get through the list, we could still-”