women keep their maiden names.â
âIs that what youâre doing,â he asked, âor are you avoiding a straight answer?â
A flush began at her collar and rose to her hairline. Being evasive was as natural to her as breathing, a self-protective measure with infinite uses. She only lied outright if pressured into it, but often led people into the paths she wanted them to go, coloring the truth a little here and there to make herself more interesting, more normal, or less visible, according to what was needed. Few people recognized it or cared enough to call her on it. She might have known this man would be one of the few.
âNo,â she said baldly, âIâm not married.â
âBut you implied you were.â
âWhat does it matter?â Embarrassment and irritation made her snappish.
âIt doesnât.â His voice was flat as he turned his attention to the road, slowing as they approached a driveway ahead of them. âThatâs why it makes no sense. Never mind, forget I asked.â
She would be glad to forget it. She did, too, the instant she noticed they were turning into the drive, then saw the house at the end of it.
It was a Southern dream, a Greek Revival temple, square, white, two-storied, with galleries on all four sides that were lined with rows of massive columns reaching to the roof of ancient, moss-grown slate. The columns, of a girth too wide for a man to reach around, were plaster-covered brick. The steps, which led up to the front gallery, curved in the style known as welcoming arms. There was grace and ancient peace inthe majestic size of the place and also in the protective embrace of the huge live oaks that dotted the lawn. Similar scenes were familiar from a hundred magazine pictures and movies about the Old South, so Regina was forced to wonder if she only imagined its air of gracious hospitality, gracious living, or if it was real. Either way, it was still impressive.
âCome inside a moment,â Kane said as he pulled up on the circular drive before the front door and started to get out. âIâm sure I can find you a cup of coffee.â
She settled more firmly in her seat. Voice stiff, she said, âNo, thanks.â
âIâll be a few minutes, and you may as well be comfortable.â
âNo,â she repeated more forcefully.
A faint smile tugged one corner of his mouth and he shook his head. âThis isnât a seduction scene, if thatâs what youâre thinking. Itâs been a long time since I threw anybody down in the middle of a hardwood floor and had my way with them.â
âIâm glad to hear it,â she said tartly as she looked away from the amusement in his eyes. âBut Iâll still wait here.â
âSuit yourself.â
Regina flinched as the truck door slammed shut behind him. Then she lifted a shoulder. Let him get mad, she didnât care. She hadnât been taken in by his maneuvering, and wasnât going to be. That heâd gone striding into the house like a man who really had forgotten some papers changed nothing. She sighed, then leaned her head against the back of the seat.
The mental image his words had sketched was apotent one. She could almost see Kane drawing a woman down with him to a polished, rug-strewn floor. His shoulders would block out the light as he hovered above her. Behind his head, the celestial blue of the painted ceiling would swim with a misty swirl of clouds and cherubs and shimmering sun rays. Then he wouldâ
A light tap came on the window beside Regina. The daydream fled and she swung with a sharp gasp to see an older woman standing beside the truck. She was slender and poised, her hair graying in a manner as natural as it was attractive. She bore a strong resemblance to Kane. Regina reached to wind down the glass.
âGood morning, my dear. Iâm Vivian Benedict, Kaneâs aunt. He told me you were out here.
Sebastian Barry
Helen Steiner Rice
Lisa Lang Blakeney
E. Paul Zehr
Wendy Rosnau
Alyson Grauer
Unknown
Mark Lukens
Marian Hale
Daniel Silva