First Impressions (17 page)

“What are you thinking?” he demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, stepping back to view the results. “It's perfect, just as I knew it would be.” She gave a satisfied nod before taking out the old silver star that would adorn the top.

Vance accepted it from her, then eyed the top branch. “I'm not going to be able to get this on there without knocking half of everything else off. We need a ladder.”

“Oh no, that's okay. Let me up on your shoulders.”

“There's a stepladder upstairs,” he began.

“Oh, don't be so fussy.” Shane jumped nimbly onto his back, hooking her legs around his waist for balance. “I'll be able to reach it without any trouble,” she assured him, then began scooting up to his shoulders. Vance felt every line of her body as if he'd run his hands over it. “There,” she said, settled. “Hand it to me, and I'll stick it on.”

He obliged, then gripped her knees as she leaned forward. “Damn it, Shane, not so far; you're going to fall into the tree.”

“Don't be silly,” she said lightly as she secured the star. “I have terrific balance. There!” Putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the results. “Step back a bit so I can see the whole thing.” When he had, Shane gave a long sigh, then kissed the top of his head. “It's beautiful, isn't it? Just smell the pine.” Carelessly, she linked her ankles against his chest.

“It'll look better with the overhead lights off.” Still carrying her, he moved to flick the wall switch. In the dark, the colored lights on the tree seemed to jump into life. They shimmered against garland and tinsel, glowed warmly against pine.

“Oh yes,” Shane breathed. “Just perfect.”

“Not quite yet,” Vance disagreed.

With a deft move, he pulled her around into his arms as she slid down from his shoulders. “This,” he told her as he laid her on the rug, “is perfect.”

The lights danced on her face as she smiled up at him. “It certainly is.”

His hands weren't patient tonight, but neither were hers. They undressed each other quickly, laughing and swearing a bit at buttons or snaps. But when they were naked, the urgency only intensified. Their hands sought to touch, their mouths hurried to taste—everywhere. She marveled again at his taut, corded muscles. He filled himself again on the flavor and fragrance of her skin. They paid no more notice to the warmth of the lights or the tang of pine than they had to the chill of the snow. They were alone. They were together.

Chapter 13

It wasn't easy for Shane to keep her mind on her work the next day. Though she made several sales, among them the tilt-top table she had so painstakingly refinished, she was distracted throughout the morning. Distracted enough that she never noticed the discreet sold sign Pat had attached to the Hepplewhite set in lieu of a price tag. She could think of little else but Vance. Once or twice during the morning, she caught herself glancing at the Christmas tree and remembering. In all of her dreams, in all of her wishes, she had never imagined it could be this way. Each time they made love it was different, a new adventure. Yet somehow it was as though they had been together for years.

Every time she touched him it was like making a fresh discovery, and still Shane felt she had known him for a lifetime rather than a matter of three short months. When he kissed her, it was just as thrilling and novel as the first time. The recognition she had felt the instant she had seen him had deepened into something much more abiding. Faith.

Without doubt, she was certain that the excitement and the learning would go on time after time over the comfortable core of honest love. There was no need to romanticize what was real. She had only to look at him to know what they shared was special and enduring. With another glance at the tree, she realized she'd never been happier in her life.

“Miss!” The customer considering the newly caned ladder-back chair called impatiently for Shane's attention.

“Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry.” If the smile Shane gave her was a bit dreamy, the woman didn't seem to notice. “It's a lovely piece, isn't it? The seat's just been redone.” Calling herself to order, Shane turned the chair over to show off the workmanship.

“Yes, I'm interested.” The woman poked at the caning a moment. “But the price . . .”

Recognizing the tone, Shane settled down to bargain.

It was just past noon when things began to quiet down. The morning's profits weren't extraordinary, but solid enough to help Shane stop worrying over the large chunk of her capital that she had given to her mother. The wolf wasn't at the door yet, she told herself optimistically. And with luck—and the Christmas rush—she could hold him off for quite some time. Two or three good sales would keep her books from dipping too deeply into the red. Professionally, she wanted little more at the moment than to calmly tread water. Personally, she knew precisely what she wanted, and she had every intention of seeing to it quickly.

She was going to marry Vance, and it was time she told him so. If he was too proud to ask her because he didn't yet have a steady job, she would simply have to persuade him to see things differently. Shane had made up her mind to take a firm stand that very day. There was an excitement bubbling inside her, a sense of purpose. Today, she thought, almost giddy from it, nothing could hurt her. She was going to propose to the man she loved. And she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

“Pat, can you handle things if I go out for an hour?”

“Sure, it's slow now anyway.” Pat glanced up from the table she was polishing. “Are you going to another auction?”

“No,” Shane told her blithely. “I'm going on a picnic.”

Leaving Pat staring behind her, Shane raced upstairs.

It took her less than ten minutes to fill the wicker basket. There was a cold bottle of Chablis inside it, which she had splurged on madly. It might be a bit rich for the peanut butter sandwiches, but Shane's mind wasn't on proprieties. As she raced out the back door, she was already picturing spreading the checked tablecloth in front of Vance's living room fire.

Wet, slushy snow sloshed over her boots as she stepped off the porch onto the lawn. The perfect day for a picnic, she decided, letting the hamper swing. The air was absolutely still. Melted snow dripped from the roof with a musical patter. The fast water in the creek broke through thin sheets of ice with an excited hissing and bubbling. Shane paused to listen a moment, enjoying the mixture of sounds. The feeling of euphoria built. She found it the most exquisite of days, with the sky coldly blue, the snow-laced mountains rising and the naked trees slick with wet.

Then the low purr of an engine intruded. She looked back, then stopped as she recognized Anne pulling up in the drive. All of her joy in the afternoon slipped quietly away. She hardly noticed the fingers of tension that crept up to the base of her neck.

With her faultless grace, Anne picked her way over the melting snow in calfskin boots. She wore a trim fox-fur hat now to match her coat, and a small, smug smile. There were ruby studs, or clever imitations, glinting at her ears. Though her daughter stood rigid as a stone, she glided up to greet her with the customary brush of cheeks. Without speaking, Shane set the hamper down on the bottom step of the porch.

“Darling, I had to drop by before I left.” Anne beamed at her with a cold gleam in her eye.

“Going back to California?” Shane asked flatly.

“Yes, of course, I have the most marvelous script. Of course, I'll probably be weeks on location, but . . .” She gave a gay shrug. “But that's not why I dropped by.”

Shane studied her, marveling. It was as though the ugly scene between them had never taken place. She has no feelings, Shane realized abruptly. It meant less than nothing to her. “Why did you come by, Anne?”

“Why, to congratulate you, of course!”

“Congratulate me?” Shane lifted a brow. It was easier somehow knowing that the woman in front of her was simply a stranger. A few shared genes didn't make a bond. It was love that did that, or affection. Or at the very least, respect.

“I admit I didn't think you had it in you, Shane, but I'm pleasantly surprised.”

Shane then surprised both of them by giving an impatient sigh, “Will you get to the point, Anne? I was on my way out.”

“Oh, now, don't be cross,” she said placatingly. “I'm really thrilled for you, catching yourself a man like that.”

Shane's eyes chilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Vance Banning, darling.” She gave a slow, appreciative smile. “What a catch!”

“Strange, I never thought about it quite that way.” Bending, Shane prepared to pick up the hamper again.

“The president of Riverton Construction isn't just a mild triumph, sweetheart; it's a downright
coup.
”

Shane's fingers froze on the handle. Straightening, she looked Anne dead in the eye. “What are you talking about?”

“Only your fantastic luck, Shane. After all, the man's
rolling
in it. I imagine you'll be able to turn this little shop of yours into an antique palace if you want a hobby.” She gave a quick, brittle laugh. “Leave it to cute little Shane to land herself a millionaire the first time around. If I had a bit more time, darling, I'd insist on hearing the details of how you managed it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Cold panic was beginning to rush through her. She wanted to turn and run away, but her legs were stiff and unyielding.

“God knows why he decided to dump himself in this town,” Anne went on mildly. “But it's your good fortune he did, and right next door too. I suppose he means to keep it for a little hideaway once the two of you move to D.C.”
A fabulous house,
she thought on a flash of envy.
Servants, parties.
Carefully, she kept her tone gay. “I can't tell you how thrilled I was to learn you'd hooked up with the man who owns virtually the biggest construction firm in the country.”

“Riverton,” Shane repeated numbly.

“Very prestigious, darling Shane. It does give me cause to wonder how you'll fit in, but . . .” She shrugged this off and aimed her coup de grâce. “It's a shame about that nasty scandal though.” Shane merely shook her head and stared at Anne blankly. “His first wife, you know. A terrible tangle.”

“Wife?” Shane repeated faintly. She felt the nausea rising in her stomach. “Vance's wife?”

“Oh, Shane, don't tell me he didn't mention it!” It was exactly what she'd hoped for. Anne shook her head and sighed. “That's disgraceful of him, really. Isn't it just like a man to expect some wide-eyed girl to take everything on face value.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval, thinking with inner appreciation that Vance Banning was going to take his knocks on this one. She didn't think of Shane at all.

“Well, the very least he might have done was tell you he was married before,” she continued primly. “Even if he didn't go into the nasty business.”

“I don't . . .” Shane managed to swallow the sickness and continue. “I don't understand.”

“A spicy little scandal,” Anne told her. “His wife was a raving beauty, you know. Perhaps too much so.” Anne paused delicately. “One of her lovers put a bullet in her heart. At least that's what the Bannings would have everyone believe.” The shock in Shane's eyes gave Anne another surge of gratification. Oh yes, she thought grimly, Vance Banning was going to get back some of his own now. “Hushed it up rather quickly too,” she added, then brushed the matter away with the back of an elegantly gloved hand. “An odd business. Well, I must run, don't want to miss my plane.
Ciao
, darling, and don't let that handsome gold mine slip away from you. There are plenty of women just dying to catch him.” Pausing, she touched Shane's cap of curls with a finger. “For God's sake, Shane, find a decent hairdresser. I suppose he thinks you're . . . refreshing. Get the ring on your finger before he gets bored.” She brushed Shane's cold cheek with hers, then dashed off, satisfied she'd paid Vance back for his threats.

Shane stood perfectly still, staring after her. But she didn't see her. She saw nothing. Trapped in the ice of shock, the pain was dormant. That would have surprised Anne had she given it any thought. As a woman who knew nothing of emotional pain, she would assume Shane would feel only fury. But the fury was surrounded by pain, and the pain lay waiting to spring out.

The sun bounced glaringly off the melting snow. A breeze, chill and sharp, whipped through her carelessly unbuttoned coat. In a flash of scarlet, a cardinal swooped over the ground to roost comfortably on a low branch. Shane stood absolutely still, noticing nothing. Sluggishly, her mind began to work.

It wasn't true, she told herself. Anne had made it up for some unexplainable purpose of her own.
President of Riverton?
No, he said he was a carpenter. He
was
, she thought desperately. She'd seen his work herself . . . He'd . . . he'd worked for her. Taken the job she had offered. Why would he—how could he—if he was everything Anne had said?
His first wife.

Shane felt the first stab of pain. No, it couldn't be, he would have told her. Vance loved her. He wouldn't lie or pretend. He wouldn't make a fool of her by letting her think he was out of work when he was the head of one of the biggest construction firms in the country. He wouldn't have said he loved her without telling her who he really was.
His first wife.
Shane heard a soft, despairing moan without realizing it was hers.

When she saw him coming down the path, she stared blankly. As she watched him, her whirling thoughts came to a sudden halt. She knew then she'd been a fool.

Spotting her, Vance smiled in greeting and increased his pace. He was still several yards away when he recognized the expression on her face. It was the same stricken look he'd seen in the moonlight only a few nights before.

“Shane?” He came to her quickly, reaching for her. Shane stepped back.

“Liar,” she said in a broken whisper. “All lies.” Her eyes both accused and pleaded. “Everything you said.”

“Shane—”

“No, don't!” The panic in her voice was enough to halt the hand he held out to her. He knew that somehow she had learned everything before he could tell her himself.

“Shane, let me explain.”

“Explain?” She dragged shaking fingers through her hair. “Explain? How? How can you explain why you let me think you were something you're not? How can you explain why you didn't bother to tell me you were president of Riverton, that you—that you'd been married before? I
trusted
you,” she whispered. “God, how could I have been such a fool!”

Anger he could have met and handled. Vance faced despair without any notion of how to cope with it. Impotently he thrust his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “I would have told you, Shane. I intended—”

“
Would have?
” She gave a quick, shaky laugh. “When? After you'd gotten bored with the joke?”

“There was never any joke,” he said furiously, then clamped down on his panic. “I wanted to tell you, but every time—”

“No joke?” Her eyes glittered now with the beginnings of anger, the beginnings of tears. “You let me give you a job. You let me pay you six dollars an hour, and you don't think that's funny?”

“I didn't want your money, Shane. I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen.” Frustrated, he turned away until he had himself under control. “I banked the checks in an account under your name.”

“How dare you!” Wild with pain, she shouted at him, blind and deaf to everything but the sense of betrayal. “How dare you play games with me!
I believed you.
I believed everything. I thought—I thought I was helping you, and all the time you were laughing at me.”

“Damn it, Shane, I never laughed at you.” Pushed beyond endurance, he grabbed her shoulders. “You know I never laughed at you.”

“I wonder how you managed not to laugh in my face. God, you're clever, Vance.” She choked on a sob, then swallowed it.

“Shane, if you'd try to understand why I came, why I didn't want to be connected with the company for a little while . . .” None of the words he needed would come to him. “It had nothing to do with you,” he told her fiercely. “I didn't expect to get involved.”