Rekindled Dreams (20 page)

“Vena, are you going to answer me?” He leaned his hips against the counter and crossed his arms.

“Are you sure this cocktail party is a good idea?”

“I do. Mainly because you suggested it.
”

What?
Her eyes shot wide. “Me?”

“You’re the one who said we should take me to the cattlemen.”

She blinked to fight back hot tears. “Yeah, I did say that.” Me and my stupid big mouth.

****

Hearing defeat in her tone, Finn turned Vena toward him and examined her eyes. What was so wrong? Both hands cupped her face, and he gave her a gentle kiss. “Tell me.” He felt her strain to move away but held his grip firm, waiting for a response.

With a twist of her head, she broke off the gaze and glanced down.

He saw moisture along her lash lines and ached to know what she was feeling.

“This party scares me—”

“Vena, that’s—”

“Let me finish...please. You’ve seen me in front of a crowd. Saying I don’t do well is an understatement—I freeze up.” She shook her head. “How can I possibly act as hostess?”

“We’ll hire out the job.” He rubbed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

“Why would you want me there? Every time you turn around, Finn, I’m messing things up for you.” Her head jerked.

He released her, but not because he wanted to.

Vena moved to the table and grasped the top of a chair. “You come here for peace to think through a decision. Instead, you get a friend who barges her way in and is suspected of being on the brink of a nervous breakdown. You ask for quiet, and I interrupt a meeting with your backers, throwing a pall over your All-American image. You listen to my problems with my museum work and end up bailing me out of jail. You drive me to a demonstration I’ve called—in a drunken craze, I might add—against police brutality, and you end up on the evening news supporting streetwalkers.” She paused to catch her breath. “Shall I go on?”

When she related the past week in that light, maybe the woman had a point. Since her arrival, she had turned his life upside down and backward. Something that, a month ago, would have bothered the hell out of him. But didn’t. “You left out the best one.”

“Really?” Her voice was disbelieving. “Which one was that?”

With long strides, he closed the distance between them. “When the reporter accused us of having an affair, pardon me—an illicit relationship.” He slid his hands around her waist and locked them. “We came back to The Shamrocks and started one. Always did figure I ought to be enjoying the rewards of whatever I was getting in trouble for.”

Raising her arms to his neck, she smiled. “That sounds like a real politician’s answer—sure to please anybody. Is it the truth?”

Rather than speak, he let a kiss be his answer. With his lips, he demonstrated the depth of what was in his heart. Being with Vena was easy, maybe because they’d known each other for so long. He didn’t have to act to meet someone else’s standard. He’d allowed himself to dream again about a life that included his passion for historic buildings.

His arms tightened and he broke off the kiss. “I want you there, Vena. You give me confidence. I need you.” He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her perfume, wondering when she’d become so important in his life. “Just stay close beside me and look beautiful.”

“I don’t know. That last part sounds like an impossibility.” She played with the edge of his shirt.

Tamping down the sensations her tickling fingers aroused, he lifted her chin with a finger and gazed into her eyes. Did the discovery of his true feelings show? “Stop saying that. I think you’re beautiful. Being there would mean a lot to me.”

“Only if you promise I won’t have to stand before the group and talk.”

“All right.” He lifted her by the waist and spun in circles. “This will be great. You’ll see, everything will work out. And I promise, no speeches.”

****

Two days later, Vena returned to The Shamrocks after a long walk through town. Her ideas for the vignettes had finally come together, and she’d created several scenarios. Once back in Los Angeles, she’d fill in the final clothing details from the museum’s selection of photographs.

Los Angeles...so different and so far from Dry Creek. Her stomach knotted, and she quickly shoved that thought far away. Leaving Finn was not something she wanted to consider.

Plans for the cocktail party cut into her private time with Finn. Instead of faking enthusiasm for an event which threatened to divide them forever, she’d dedicated her energies to writing the vignettes. Passages from Minnie’s jour
nal were pure inspiration. Vena had poured her concerns about their relationship onto the pages until her workspace disappeared under sheaves of typed copy. More scenes than she could possibly use for the museum project.

Vena opened the front door and stepped into the entryway. “Finn? You here?
Thia?”

No one answered, so she tromped upstairs, booted feet clumping on the stairway runner. Her bedroom door was ajar, and she pushed it fully open.

Thia lay on the bed, reading the typewritten papers spread out on the antique quilt.

The scene was reminiscent of their growing-up years. “Hey.” Seeing
Thia going through her things riled Vena, and she fought to keep her voice calm. “What are you doing?”

Thia
sat up and shook the papers. “
Elfie, did you write this?”

Elfie?
Vena stilled, too shocked to answer. Her sister hadn’t used her nickname in years.

Thia
scanned the top paper, her gaze skimming down the page, and shifted one sheet to the back. “What is this? A short story?”

With a snap, Vena recovered her wits and crossed the room. She grabbed the papers from the bed and the floor, stacking them any which way she could. “What are you doing in my room? This is private—” She hesitated, fighting to keep anger from tainting her words. Pulling the pages from
Thia’s hands would be too rude. “Go ahead and laugh. Like always.”

“What do you mean
like always
?” Thia’s eyes widened, and her lips rounded. “When have I laughed?”

“When I hid in Nana’s attic and wrote stories.”

“That was ages ago. We were what…eight or nine?” She waved a manicured hand in the air. “You know kids can be mean.”

“Even sisters,” Vena whispered through tight lips. Maybe that behavior was only a childhood thing, but her reaction had continued into adulthood. She slumped into the chair and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry I yelled. Maybe I’m not ready to show this to anyone.”

Her sister scooted to the edge of the mattress and leaned her elbows on her knees. “But, Vena, the writing is good.”

She thrilled at
Thia’s admiring tone. “You think so?” As she’d written, the story flowed, and she felt it growing stronger with each page. Probably all authors felt like that. But—

“I’m no expert with fiction, but I’ve done my share of copy editing for marketing and public relations programs. I’m genuinely moved by what you’ve written. I actually choked up in the part where Lola falls down the abandoned well, and Brady tears up the countryside to find her.”

One of the scenes she’d never use for the museum, but the emotions had just poured out. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. You really think it’s good?” Vena’s throat tightened at hearing her sister’s praise.

“Are you submitting it to a western magazine?”

“No, it’s a project for the museum. I’m in line for a promotion. So I thought having museum volunteers perform scripted action would make an eye-catching attraction.” She swept a hand at the pages strewn across her worktable. “Once I started writing, I couldn’t stop.”

Thia’s
stare sharpened. “This is more than scenes for a skit about old clothes. There’s a real story here.”

“Now you’re an expert on historical textiles, too?” Vena’s voice thickened with tension.

“Don’t get defensive. I’m paying you a compliment.” Smiling, she shook the manuscript pages in the air. “These are the start of a novel.”

“I knew I’d written too much but never counted the pages. I just got into the idea and had fun.”

Thia
stacked the papers on the desk and pointed to another stack. “Those, too? Looks like you have seventy or seventy-five pages here. That must amount to a healthy start on a book.”

Vena fought back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Nana knew my secret and had faith I eventually would.” She shrugged, downplaying the importance of
Thia’s support. “But being a novelist wouldn’t have been acceptable for the Fenton family name.”

“You’re being too hard on us. Poppy’s and Oswald’s expectations weren’t that tough.”

Really?
Vena snorted back a laugh. “Did we share the same parents?”

Thia
sat on the bed and leaned forward. “They were strict about grades and attending college.
That
was the only world they knew, and they wanted us to share it. If nothing else, they prepared us to cope in the real world. I’ll bet if you talked to them, really talked, you’ll learn what I learned when my marriage fell apart.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “They just want us to be happy.”

“Where are Poppy and Oswald these days?”

“New Zealand until the summer and then South Africa. When was the last time you talked?”

Guilt stabbed at her chest, and Vena thought back to a rushed conversation echoing with airport announcements. “A couple of months ago.”

“Really? Well, you know you have to be the one to initiate contact.” She waved a hand at the papers. “Tell them about this, or maybe the journal you found. That’s old and might relate to their studies. Frankly, I don’t think they knew how to relate to a dreamer like you.”

Vena wanted to believe
Thia, but years of thinking one way didn’t change from one moment to another. “Thanks for the kind words about my story. Now I have to figure out what to use for the brochure and what to toss.” Maybe she should give Poppy and Oswald a call…

“That’s a cinch. You’ve written some good descriptions and with a little editing, they’ll sparkle. Just say the word and I’d be glad to help.”

Vena stared at her sister, mouth agape. When had Thia learned generosity?

“Close your mouth, Vena, you’ll catch flies.”

“Sorry. I’m a little surprised at this side of you.”

“Having your husband dump you for a dumb, young model can devastate your self-image. This opportunity to use my abilities to help Finn came at just the right time.”

“So, there’s no chance you’ll reconcile?”

“None.” Tightening her lips, she stood and straightened her skirt. “This morning, I received word from my attorney. Thad’s filed for divorce. You believe that? He’s the one who cheats, and then files for irreconcilable differences. Doesn’t even give me the satisfaction—” She spun and walked to the window. “Don’t look at me with pity. I’ll be fine.” Her shoulders rose as she sucked in a deep breath. “I always am.”

Vena wished she knew what to say. Comforting a vulnerable Thia was not a skill she’d ever needed. “Why did you come to my room? Did you want to see me?”

Thia
stopped fidgeting with the curtains and turned. “I wanted to discuss what you’re wearing to the cocktail party.”

Ah, the despicable party. Vena glanced at the closet door and then straightened when she noticed it too was ajar. Her body tensed.
Thia had obviously inspected her wardrobe. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“View this with an open mind, okay?”
Thia walked to the closet and opened the door. “Your choice of clothing must be a careful one. You shouldn’t call unflattering attention to yourself, or to Finn.”

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Vena sensed a confrontation coming. “What do you mean?”

“The things you wear are fine for everyday here in Dry Creek. They’re so…” her hand moved in a rolling motion. “…you. They show the artistic side of Vena.” She reached inside, pulled something off the rack, and held it behind her back. “The image for the cocktail party is the serious, supportive ‘friend’ of a potential candidate for Montana senator. See the difference?”

Unfortunately, she did and hated the image. “Dull. You want me to dress dull.”

“Not exactly dull.” Thia extended her arm out to her side and primped and pulled at the garment on the hanger. “See, I’d call it conservative. You don’t want to hurt Finn’s chances, do you?”

Not any more than she already had. “No, of course
not.”As she peered at the navy blue fitted dress with white collar and cuffs, her thoughts wrapped up in Thia’s last comment. Was there a destructive reason behind all her mishaps since learning of his political interest? She quickly dismissed the thought—she was not that type of person.

“I didn’t think so.” Her gaze narrowed and she stepped closer. “You two have something going, don’t you?

While nibbling at her lower lip, Vena glanced away, reluctant to share anything about Finn at this moment. Especially since they’d not put a label on what they had together.