To Tell the Truth Page 6

  "It seems to me you should be blaming those sleeping pills for that." Mrs. Davison sniffed her disapproval. "A girl your age shouldn't be taking them."

  Andrea wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. "The doctor prescribed them for me."

  "Those pills may help you sleep, but they don't cure the cause of your not sleeping," the housekeeper observed caustically. "It seems to me the doctor should have recognized it."

  "I…" Andrea started to protest, then closed her mouth. There was no point in debating the issue. "What time are Mrs. Collins and her daughter supposed to arrive?"

  "This afternoon some time. Mr. Grant told me to plan to have dinner for them, but not lunch. He isn't sure if her husband's coming or not, but I have a room ready just in case. You've met Mrs. Collins before, haven't you?"

  "Yes, a year ago. No, two years ago it was," Andrea corrected tiredly. "She seemed very nice."

  "Oh, there's no doubt, she's a real lady," Mrs. Davison assured her. "She used to spend a couple of weeks here every summer, her and her husband, but that was when her daughter was wearing braces. Once they came off, her visits were less frequent and shorter. Mr. Grant is her daughter's godfather, but I imagine he told you that."

  "Yes."

  "The last time I saw her, she was such a pretty little thing, so happy and full of life, and kind like her mother," the housekeeper sighed, shaking the water from the lettuce and placing it on the drainboard. "It's hard to believe that little Nancy is twenty years old and engaged. Oh, it'll be good to see her again."

  "Yes," Andrea agreed automatically. She hadn't met the girl before, but she remembered Mrs. Collins showing pictures of her daughter.

  "It'll be good to have visitors staying in the house again." The iron-gray head gave an aggressively affirmative nod. "These past months since Christmas, this place has seemed like a mausoleum."

  The pallor in Andrea's cheeks intensified. Her cloud of depression had seemed to darken everyone's spirits. She had already guessed that John's invitation to Mrs. Collins had been issued in the hopes of channeling Andrea's attention away from her misery and heartache, and providing a distraction to ease the pain. His thoughtfulness touched her, but Andrea doubted that his plan would have any lasting success.

  Finishing one of the doughnuts, she pushed the saucer with the other aside and drained the last of the coffee from her cup. She fixed a bright smile on her face, one that her jangled nerves couldn't endorse, and turned to the housekeeper.

  "Can I help you with lunch?" she inquired.

  "The casserole is in the oven and everything else is done except this salad," Mrs. Davison replied. "You could cut some flowers from the garden. It'd be nice to have a few spring bouquets scattered about the house."

  It was not the kind of task that Andrea had in mind. This was one of those times when she didn't particularly want to be alone with her thoughts, although there were times when she had to be alone. But she had offered to help, and Mrs. Davison had made a suggestion. There was little else she could do but agree.

  With an acquiescing nod, Andrea left the house by the rear door, stopping at the small utility shed to collect the garden shears, a small oblong wicker basket and a pair of cotton gloves. Ignoring the dull throb of her head, she vowed to concentrate on her task.

  Through the irises, the late tulips, the daisies and the roses, she succeeded. The route of her snipping had taken her to the white board fence separating the house grounds from the orchard. The pear trees were heavy with blossoms, their scent faintly perfuming the May air.

  May and December. Once, the coupling of those two months would have reminded her of the snide comments made about her marriage to John. Now, she could only consider that the heartbreak she had felt in December was just as agonizing in May.

  Leaning on the board fence, she stared at the beautiful white blossoms, a symbol of spring and the rebirth of life. It seemed as if she had only lived those few short days with Tell. Her life before and after was a vacuum.

  "It isn't fair," she whispered in self-pity. Surely she had been punished enough.

  The haunted, dispirited look filled her eyes, eyes that were too tired to cry—but the tears were shed within. Wrapped in the torment of lost love, Andrea didn't hear the footsteps approaching as she stared sightlessly at the flower-laden trees.

  "If it was any other time of year, I would swear you were out here planning to steal some pears," a low voice teased.

  Andrea pushed herself away from the fence with a start. Using a gloved hand to brash a dark gold strand of hair from her face, she concealed her broken look, allowing herself the precious seconds she needed to put on her mask of composure.

  "Good morning, Adam," she greeted the sandy-haired man evenly.

  "Andrea," he smiled naturally, a winning smile that added to his all-American look. His gaze turned to the trees. "I don't know which part of the season I like best. When the trees are white with blossoms, or the first green pears are loading the branches, or in the fall when gold globes weight the branches."

  "It depends which feeling is uppermost in your mind at a particular time," she answered lightly.

  "What do you mean?" He slid her a curious glance.

  "If you're feeling particularly aesthetic, then the blossom time is the best. The green pear urge is hard to ignore when you're hungry, and you can't ignore the fall greed when you start counting the profits hanging on the trees."

  Adam Fitzgerald threw back his head and laughed, "I should have known you would make some remark like that!"

  Recently, twisted by the pain that dogged her every footstep, her tongue had become bitterly cynical. "You work too hard sometimes, Adam. At harvest time Carolyn hardly ever sees you. She couldn't…you're always here. And when you aren't here, you're at some logging camp."

  "There's a lot of work to be done. John's given me a lot of responsibility. Carolyn understands that," he replied patiently.

  "She's much more understanding than I would be," Andrea told him, then sighed ruefully. "I should be saying how grateful I am for the way you take care of everything for John. I know how much he relies on you. Instead, I'm condemning you for doing too much."

  "Well—" Adam shrugged "—Carolyn and I will be married next month. In a few years, she'll probably be glad that I'm not around so much."

  "Oh, no," Andrea disagreed fervently—a protest that came from her own conviction that if she were married to Tell, she would miss him every minute he was away from her for the rest of her life, regardless of the reason for his absence.

  "As long as I'm not gone for very long," he qualified with a mocking smile. "You never did tell me what you were daydreaming about while you were staring at the trees."

  "Actually—" Andrea stalled, absently glancing at the basket and the velvet softness of the budding pink rose that touched her hand "—I was thinking that these roses would look nice with a spray of blossoms, and I was wondering if I dared cut one and escape with my life."

  "It looks to me as if you already have plenty of flowers in that basket," was his typically male response.

  "Mrs. Collins and her daughter are arriving this afternoon. Mrs. Davison thought it would be a good idea to have flowers scattered through the house, and it's a big house."

  "I suppose we could spare one small twig of potential pears," Adams surrendered good-naturedly. "Come on, I'll give you a hand."

  Holding the flower basket and the shears in one hand, he helped her climb over the fence with the other, then gave them back to her and vaulted over himself. Now that she was committed to adding pear blossoms to her flowers, Andrea decided to pick just the perfect fanning spray to use as a backdrop for the roses.

  With Adam following indulgently behind her, she followed the path between the white yard fence and the rows of trees, searching the limbs for the right branch. Several yards farther, she spotted the one she wanted.

  "Do you see that small branch where the blossoms fan out, Adam?" She pointed toward it. "Can you reach
it?"

  "I think so." Taking the shears from her, he stretched his long arms, clasping the branch and snipping it from the tree. "There you are."

  "Thank you." She took the spray from him and placed it in the basket with the rest of the flowers.

  "Now that I've assured myself that you aren't going to vandalize the orchard, do you suppose we could go to the house?" Adam grinned. "I came to go over the timber leases with John and, I hope, to persuade Mrs. Davidson or someone to invite me to lunch."

  "I think that can be arranged," Andrea replied lightly.

  Their route along the fence had taken them toward the front of the house. As they turned to cross the fence, they were level with the entrance. This time, Adam agilely vaulted the rails ahead of her, turning as she stepped on to the first board. She reached out to hand him the basket of flowers so her hands could be free to climb the fence. Instead of taking the basket, Adam's hands closed around her waist and lifted her right over the fence.

  At the same instant, she realized that a car had stopped in the driveway and doors were being opened and closed. As she made her laughing gasp of protest, Andrea glanced toward the driveway. She stared at the man stepping from the car, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the buttons partially unbuttoned to reveal the tanned column of his throat.

  It couldn't be! Her mind was playing tricks on her. But the image remained and the man was stating back at her, cold, angry shock in his expression.

  It was Tell.

  Her gaze swung to the two women climbing out of the opposite side of the car. Andrea wondered what he was doing with Mrs. Collins and her daughter. Was he the fiancé that John had mentioned? Oh, God, she couldn't bear that!

  Then she watched his gaze flicker from her face to the man who had swung her to the ground. Not even that morning when he had condemned her so bitterly had she seen his handsome face look as forbidding and coldly arrogant as it did when his black gaze slashed back at her; his nostrils flaring in contempt and disgust.

  Andrea knew what Tell was thinking at the moment. He was concluding that she and Adam…Her stomach turned with a sickening rush as what little color she possessed receded from her face.

  "Good lord, Andrea! What's wrong?" Adam demanded earnestly, his hands clutching her shoulders.

  "It's…" She almost said it was Tell, but at that moment Adam had shook her gently, snapping her head from Tell's pinning gaze. "It's Mrs. Collins. They've arrived."

  He glanced over his shoulder. Mrs. Collins and her daughter were walking to the front door, neither of them having noticed Andrea and Adam. Tell was following them. Then Adam returned his attention to her.

  "There's no reason to be so upset because they're early," he reproved with a gentle smile. "You know Mrs. Davison is a genius in the kitchen. With a wave of her magic wand, she'll make the food stretch from three to six."

  "Yes, of course," Andrea agreed shakily. He had released her shoulder and she ran a trembling, perspiring palm down the side of her denim jeans.

  "There's another reason, isn't there?" He tilted his sandy head to the side.

  "What?" She clutched the basket handle tighter, wondering how much he had read into her stunned reaction. Adam was not only a hardworking overseer, but he was intelligent, too.

  "It's your clothes, isn't it?" He tucked her hand under his arm arid turned her toward the house. "You wanted to be wearing something a little more chic than blue jeans when the redoubtable Mrs. Collins arrived, didn't you? Well, don't worry about that. You would be eye-catching in sackcloth, but don't tell Carolyn I told you that," he teased lightly. "I don't want a jealous fiancée on my hands a month before our wedding!"

  "She knows better than that. I'm hardly the femme fatale that I'm painted," Andrea replied bitterly, remembering the conclusion that had been in Tell's eyes when he had seen her with Adam.

  "Hey, Andrea, this is Adam," he said, frowning. "When have I ever pointed a finger at your marriage? I know the circumstances surrounding it and what led John to propose this type of arrangement. I'm not condemning you for it. I never have."

  "I'm sorry." Her mouth moved into a faint, nervous smile of apology. "Sometimes I lose my thick skin and become slightly paranoid."

  "Well, hold your head up. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

  His gentle, bolstering words were just what she needed as he released her arm and reached around to open the front door. John was in the foyer greeting his guests, the Irish setter grinning happily at his side.

  Chapter Five

  ARMORED WITH PRIDE, Andrea walked directly to the wheelchair, taking a position at John's side. She was, after all, his wife and therefore the hostess. Her place was beside him greeting their guests. That one of them was the man she loved couldn't be considered at this time.

  "There you are, Andie," John smiled up at her. "Out picking flowers, I see."

  "Yes." Her side vision caught Tell's twisted, sardonic look that said it wasn't all she had been doing. Her fragile composure nearly dissolved, her smile cracking for an instant as she turned it toward the two women. She deliberately ignored Tell while she rebuilt her defenses. "I wanted to have some spring bouquets set around the house as a way of saying welcome."

  "That is thoughtful, Andrea, and the flowers look very beautiful," Mrs. Collins replied.

  "You remember Rosemary, don't you, Andie?" John inserted, introducing the woman who had just spoken.

  "Of course, I do. It's good to see you again, Mrs. Collins," Andrea acknowledged, switching the flower basket to the other side in order to shake hands.

  Rosemary Collins was the same age as John, in her fifties. She had retained her youthful beauty. Her hair was still a dark brown, although a close inspection might detect a few gray hairs. Her eyes were a soft brown and her face relatively unlined and wearing a smile with easy grace. The years had added a few pounds, but she was still matronly slim.

  "Please, call me Rosemary," she corrected with friendly warmth, then slipped a hand on the young woman's elbow standing at her side and drew her forward. "This is my daughter, Nancy."

  Large, expressive blue eyes studied Andrea curiously from a slender oval face framed by silky fine brown hair. Andrea's smile stiffened slightly as she accepted the girl's hand. She doubted that she could shrug off as paranoia the sensation that Nancy Collins was wondering why she had married a man as old as John.

  "Your mother has told me about you. I'm glad I'm finally getting to meet you," was Andrea's polite greeting.

  "I've been looking forward to it, too," the girl replied, smiling naturally and with the same kindness as her mother.

  As the handclasp of greeting ended, Andrea caught the flash of a diamond solitaire on Nancy's left hand, poignantly reminding her of the one hidden in her dresser drawer. She couldn't say why she had kept it. Perhaps to remind herself of what she had lost—as if she needed any reminder.

  John's hand touched her arm and Andrea braced herself for the introduction to Tell. She knew she would never be able to offer sincere congratulations to him on his engagement to Nancy. Wildly she searched her mind for some ambiguous remark that would not make her look like a fool.

  "Tell, I don't believe you've met Andrea, either," John began.

  But his introduction was abruptly halted by Tell's slicing response. "Yes, I have."

  Andrea had been carefully avoiding looking directly at him until it was absolutely necessary, but his words shocked her into staring. Her heart stopped as his piercing gaze slashed her to ribbons.

  His hard mouth was lifted at one corner in a mocking curl, deriding the pleading look in her eyes. "Actually," he said lazily, "I saw her when we drove in, picking flowers." He placed cutting emphasis on the last words, before he glanced at John. The sardonic expression was replaced by impassive courtesy. "But we haven't been formally introduced. She is your wife?"

  John took hold of her hand. It was a touch of warmth that she desperately needed as cold fear raced through her veins. She looked down with gratitud
e at his reassurance that she was not alone.

  "More than that, Tell. She's my secretary, my companion, my supporter and—"

  "Your youth?" Tell's quiet insertion held no sarcasm of mockery, but Andrea knew it was there. Concealed from John, but it was there.

  Swallowing nervously, Andrea watched the slight narrowing of John's gray eyes as he silently studied Tell. "That, too, I suppose," he admitted after a long moment. "But let me formally introduce you. Andrea, this is Tell Stafford, Rosemary's son. My wife, Andrea."

  Her son? Not Nancy's fiancé? Her knees nearly buckled at the announcement. The different surnames had thrown her. In the unexpectedness of seeing him again, Andrea had forgotten that Tell had told her his mother had married again when he was a child. She hadn't realized the additional agony she had felt picturing him in the young woman's arms until it was suddenly cast away.

  The discovery made the beautiful smile she gave him blissfully warm and natural. If anything, his expression hardened under the glow of her look. Her hand had been automatically extended in greeting. He glanced at it pointedly. Instantly, her joyous relief dissipated as she thought for one humiliating moment that he was going to rudely ignore her outstretched hand. Then his lean brown fingers closed over it, releasing her hand almost immediately, almost as if there were contamination in her touch.

  "And of course all of you remember Adam Fitzgerald," John continued, allowing a slight pause for Andrea and Tell to acknowledge their introduction before drawing the group's attention to the man standing just inside the door, "my manager and my legs."

  As everyone turned to greet Adam, Andrea slipped back to take a less obtrusive position behind John's chair and escape their notice for as long as possible. But Tell noticed her attempt to fade into the background, sarcastically raising one dark brow in mockery. Andrea's gaze fell away from his arrogant contempt.

  The respite was brief. Much too soon Andrea was pushed to the foreground when John suggested that she show their guests to their rooms, while he quickly went over the timber leases with Adam before lunch. Hotly aware of Tell's dark eyes boring into her back, she led them up the stairs, wasting little time directing them to their respective rooms.