Always (19 page)

She must have seen the anger on his face. “What’s wrong, Ross?”

Wrong? What indeed was wrong? There was apparently plenty wrong, because instead of asking for the truth, he did what he’d promised himself he would never do again. He kissed her.

His fingers delved deep into the rich thickness of the hair behind her jaw, setting her chignon tumbling loose down her back. She let out a small sound of surprise when he pulled her to him, but she didn’t resist. She clung to his coat when his mouth pressed to hers, then her soft lips parted, and he tasted of memories so forbidden and sweet, they sent his rational mind into a spin.
Wrong?

This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. What the hell was he doing?

He pulled back abruptly and released her. She jumped back, too, her eyes wide and blinking, one trembling hand rising to touch her lips. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry. I—” He cut off, painfully reminded of a similar summer night four years before. What was the matter with him? Was he doomed to keep repeating the same mistake with her all over again?

“I’m sorry, Em,” he began again. “I don’t know what made me—”

“I’ve got to go in now.”

Before he could say another word, she was hurrying up the flagstone path. She flung open the door and vanished into the house.

Stunned at his own recklessness, Ross stood in the dappled evening shade of the chestnut tree, staring after her. It all started with that question. What was her secret? Part of him yearned for an answer, part of him demanded to know, yet there was another part of him, a part that was just as insistent, that turned away. He was afraid of what her answer would be.

Chapter Thirteen

“Emily, I wish you'd reconsider.”

Karen stood with her black veil folded back from her face, her hands on her burgeoning mother-to-be hips in sisterly disapproval.

Emily was not about to budge from her curled-up position on the brocade sitting room sofa. She wore a gray cotton housedress and no shoes, hardly an ensemble in which to gallivant about town. “Karen, I just don’t feel like going out today.”

Dorcas stood by her mother’s side, her little forehead creased in puzzlement. She too was in full mourning black; however, she was anything but correspondingly somber. After all, today was Whit Monday. “But why, Aunt Emily? It’s fun. Didn’t you know? There’s a circus in town. Don’t you like the circus? Are you afraid of the elephant?”

Emily couldn’t help but smile. If anyone could have convinced her to travel into town today to partake of Lancaster’s annual Whit Monday festivities, it would have been her niece.

Dorcas’s attitude toward her had changed considerably—the result of a penciled portrait Emily had done for her. “Mammy, look!” she had cried. “Aunt Emily made a pretty picture of me!”

And it
had
been a pretty picture, a beautiful picture, a picture of four-year-old innocence. Funny how that absently sketched portrait had transformed Dorcas’s attitude from one of distrust to one of adoration.

“Afraid of the elephant?” Emily leaned forward, feigning insult that Dorcas would suggest such a thing. “Why, no. I positively love elephants, and elephants love me.”

“Then why don’t you want to come with us?”

“Oh, Dorcas, my dear, sweet baby—”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Of course not.” Emily tried to appear properly remorseful. “I’m sorry, but it’s just that I’m tired today, and—”

“Tired is right,” Karen interrupted sternly. “You look terrible. You’ve been working too hard, that’s what’s the matter. You need to get out and have some fun.”

Emily was well aware of the fact that she looked terrible. She felt terrible. She’d gotten precious little sleep the past few nights, but working too hard was the least of her problems. Before she could offer any further argument, Henry stuck his head in the door. “Your mother’s on the porch waiting, Karen.”

“Just a minute. We’ve just about got Emily talked into going with us.”

Henry, bless his practical heart, merely expelled a sigh of masculine impatience. “We’ll miss the horsecar into town if we wait much longer.”

“You’d better get going,” Emily urged. “I’ll be fine.”

Karen looked from Emily to Henry then back to Emily again, loath to relent.

As for Dorcas, it might have been true that she now adored her aunt Emily, but there was a circus in town, and that was that. “No elephants for you!” she announced, then bounded to her father.

Henry bent to catch her up in his arms. “If Emily wants to stay home, leave her be. Let’s go.” And then father and daughter were gone.

Emily had to admit that there were times when a male point of view was most welcome. This was one of those times. Karen was left without a leg to stand on.

“Oh, all right, all right.” Bustling to the door, Karen adjusted her veil and shook a parting finger. “Next year, you’re coming. Whether you like it or not.”

The front door squealed on its hinges before swinging closed.
Next year,
Emily thought. Who said she would still be here next year?

She rose to cross the carpeted floor of the sitting room. Pushing aside a lacy window curtain, she peered outside until her family had crossed through the Kissing Bridge and were well on their way on the other side toward the busy pike. If they were lucky, the horsecar wouldn’t be too full on its return circuit to town. From as early as daybreak, rural folks, both on foot and in all manner of conveyances, would be congesting the main roads. Whit Monday drew crowds from all around. It was a rollicking, late spring holiday marked by town fairs, parades, and often a traveling circus. For the children, it was an event preceded by as much breathless anticipation as the Fourth of July.

Emily dropped the curtain. She had told her sister the truth. She was tired, exhausted, in fact, but that wasn’t all that kept her home today. There was too good a chance she would run into Ross and Johanna, and she didn’t think she could bear that. After what happened the other night, she was left feeling much too vulnerable. Even now, if she allowed herself to stop for even a moment and remember, she would be able to feel Ross’s lips pressed against hers, a unique heady mix of warmth and raw passion, a mix that was purely Ross, a mix that she remembered all too vividly.

Emily moved to the sofa and sank back against the red velvet upholstery. Tucking her legs beneath her, she closed her eyes. That single, rushed kiss had shaken her down to her very foundations, but, in reality, it had meant nothing. They’d both been tired, and he’d been frustrated with her. She knew she couldn’t read any more into it than that. She also knew that she couldn’t afford to let him get to her emotionally. But he wasn’t making it easy.

She remembered one time when they’d had an argument over something silly. How old had she been then? Thirteen? The argument had escalated, and soon she’d imparted her lofty opinion that Johanna Davenport was nothing but a shallow, two-faced snob and that any boy who couldn’t see past Johanna’s pretty face to that plain truth was a bosom-faddled blockhead.

Needless to say, that hadn’t set very well with Ross. He’d been justifiably insulted, but very soon, Ross being Ross, his anger had cooled. Ironically enough, it was Emily who had stayed angry the longest, perhaps in an attempt to protect her own feelings. She’d hoped that if she managed to stay angry with him, then it wouldn’t hurt so much if he ended their friendship. Better yet, if she managed to persuade herself to hate him, then the fact that he didn’t care for her more than as a friend wouldn’t hurt so much, either. It was very simple, really, except Ross had never been one to leave well enough alone.

A day or so after their argument, he’d approached her at the shop, asking if everything could be smoothed out between them again. They could forget all about what had happened. Why not? He could take a joke. That was what he’d said, then after no answer from her, he’d just shrugged and walked away. But not for long.

Emily soon learned that it was very difficult to stay angry with someone who insisted upon chatting with the back of her head every time he was in the vicinity or who offered to open the door every time she went to leave. The harder she tried to ignore him, the cheerier Ross got. Dad blast it, why couldn’t he just leave a girl stay mad if she wanted to stay mad? If it was better for the both of them if she just stayed mad forever?

Then, one afternoon, she’d arrived at the shop to discover a slim, rectangular parcel wrapped in newsprint and blue ribbon tucked into the pocket of her work apron. Ripping it open, she’d found a box of sixty-four assorted soft French pastel crayons, something she’d been saving her pennies toward for months, and a card that read
, It’s lonely by the creek these days. I miss you. Can I have my illustrator back?

Emily let out a bothered sigh. No, Ross had never been one to leave well enough alone.

A knock at the front door shattered her train of thought.

*

Ross knocked on the front door of the Winters house for the second time and waited. He was relying on his instincts. Everybody was in town for Whit Monday festivities, but if Emily hadn’t been sleeping any better than he had for the past few nights, there was a good chance she would be home. She wouldn’t be in any more of a mood to celebrate than he was.

He knocked on the front door again and wondered if he might be wrong, after all. Hadn’t he been thinking just the other night how very much he didn’t know about Emily these days? Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flutter of a curtain at the parlor window. Oh, she was home, all right. She just wasn’t answering the door.

Confident once again, Ross pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. “Come on, Emily! Open up!”

Still, he waited another full minute before the door squeaked part way open. Emily stood in the narrow space, her hand still gripping the inside door knob. Her hair was down today, loose and fluid about her shoulders. She looked very pretty and very vulnerable, despite the guarded defiance in her eyes. “Hello, Ross.”

“Good morning,” he said, trying his best to sound amiable. He’d already vowed to remain coolheaded no matter how she acted. “It took you a while to answer, but I was pretty sure you would be home.”

She didn’t seem to fall for the false cheer in his tone. At least, she didn’t smile. “Most people are in town. Why aren’t you with Johanna?”

“She’s gone out to Rocky Springs with her mother. I took the opportunity to get some work done at the office, then I thought I’d head back home to catch up on some writing.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t say any more, she just looked at him.

Ross took a deep breath. “I thought we should talk. About what happened the other night, I mean.”

“What’s there to say?”

“I’m sorry. I was out of line, and I don’t know why I—”

“I accept your apology,” she interrupted, effectively cutting off all manner of speeches he’d planned. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We were both tired, right?”

Ross could feel his aggravation rising.
It didn’t matter?
She was behaving as if nothing had happened while he’d lost three nights’ sleep over it. “You sure don’t make things easy, Em.”

“Neither do you,” she countered flatly.

He had no idea what she meant by that, but he managed to keep his voice even. “Well, since that’s all cleared up, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“This idea you have about resurrecting the print shop.”

She stiffened. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Before you slam the door in my face, do you think you could at least hear me out?”

She frowned.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea.”

“Then why don’t you come out here? It’ll only take a minute.”

Her gaze flicked away from him—to the porch swing and the empty front yard behind him. She apparently detected no signs of impending rescue. “All right,” she allowed grudgingly, “but just for a minute.”

Ross congratulated himself on this infinitesimal victory as Emily pulled the door closed behind her, then stood a good yard and a half away from him with her arms folded. It was her battle stance. All shields in place.

He gestured toward the empty porch swing. “You want to sit?”

“No.”

At this point, Ross had to remind himself of his vow to remain coolheaded. “I was thinking about your situation, and it occurred to me that if you could see some future for yourself at the
Herald
, maybe you’d give up this crazy idea of getting your father’s business started again.”

Even before he could finish, she dropped her arms and pulled herself up to full height. “It’s not a crazy id—”

“Wait.” Ross raised a hand. “Hear me out. This isn’t common knowledge, but it’s not a secret, either. Malcolm may throw his hat into the race for the state senate seat.”

“And that’s supposed to be good news? What’s that got to do with me?”

“If he wins, it’s likely I’ll be taking over the managing editor’s position.”

“Good for you.”

Ross ignored her sarcasm. “Listen to me. I know you’re talented, not only as an illustrator, but you’re a first-rate news reporter, too.”

“Thank you. But what are you really trying to say?”

“I’m saying that if you stay with the
Herald
, there’s a good chance of being promoted out of advertising. That is, if you’re interested.”

Though her breathtaking sea blue eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head as if assessing his words, somehow Ross doubted she was truly considering his proposal. “And if Malcolm loses the election?”

“I’d still do my best to see that you’re not overlooked when it comes time for a promotion.”

Emily let out a snort, then laughed. “You’re forgetting two things. First, you’re forgetting that I’m a woman.”

Never
, Ross thought, struggling with his temper. He wished he
could
forget she was a woman. His life would be a hell of a lot simpler.

“Malcolm doesn’t even like to hire women, much less promote them,” Emily continued. “Second, you’re forgetting that I would be compromising my principles if I were forced to write from a Democratic viewpoint.”