The Ties That Bind (3 page)

"If you can't do it properly, get someone else to market your products for you." Garth scooped out the last of the salad.

Shannon suppressed her irritated response for the sake of keeping peace at the table. "I'll think about it," she mumbled.

"You know, he might have a point," Dan said thoughtfully. "I know I'm going to look for an agent on this next book. The business side of things is hard for people like us."

"Do all artists and writers make such lame excuses for not paying attention to the business side of their work?" Garth asked.

Shannon took a deep breath and smiled brilliantly as she overrode the sarcastic question with one of her own. "Dessert, anyone? I've made strawberry shortcake."

"Sounds fantastic," Dan said.

"I'll give you a hand," Annie announced.

Shannon fled to the kitchen with her friend close behind. She could only hope that Garth would not start in on another lecture about the responsibilities of fatherhood in her absence. Oh, well. Dan could take care of himself. He was a quiet, competent sort of man. Soon the unfortunate dinner party would be over.

Annie and Dan took their leave an hour later. Shannon stood on the front step to see them off and wondered if Garth would depart now that the others had gone. As annoyed as she had been with him at various points in the evening, she suddenly realized she didn't want him to leave right away. As the Volkswagen disappeared into the evening fog, she closed the door and turned and smiled tentatively at the man sitting on the sofa covered in material she had silk-screened in a flower pattern. He was watching her with a curiously detached but expectant expression.

"Is that your Fiat parked outside?" he asked. "Why, yes." She was startled at the unexpected question. "Not much to it, is there?"

"I like it," she said with a shrug, again sensing disapproval but choosing to ignore it. "Would you, uh, like a glass of brandy before you leave?" She walked over to the old pine sideboard and picked up the brandy bottle and a glass.

"It depends. Is this the point in the evening where I'm supposed to seduce you?"

The shock of the coldly outrageous question caused Shannon to flinch. The glass in her hand fell to the floor with a shattering crash.

"I THINK YOU'D BETTER GO," Shannon said very quietly as she dropped to her knees to pick up the shards of glass. She kept her attention on her task so the embarrassed chagrin that must be in her eyes would not be so evident to Garth. "It's getting late, and I'm sure you've had enough socializing for the evening."

She heard him move from his seat on the sofa, but she didn't glance up. A few seconds later he crouched in front of her, reaching out to pick up some bits of the shattered glass. "Isn't that what this was all about?" Garth asked coldly.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please, Garth. Leave."

He put out a hand and tilted her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes. The icy gaze was as remote as ever, but there was an element of assessment in it that disturbed Shannon more than she already was.

"I assumed part of my social obligations for the evening included making a pass," Garth said with breathtaking calm. "You pursued me rather persistently this morning. I got the feeling that you had the rest of the evening scheduled. It's all right, Shannon. I'll be happy to oblige."

"You can stuff your sense of obligation into the nearest trash can on your way out the door." Shannon jerked her chin out of his grasp and resumed picking up the remaining glass. "Goodnight, Garth."

He hesitated. "Look, Shannon, there's no need to play coy now. You certainly weren't acting that way earlier today. You were very up-front, in fact. It was refreshing, in a way."

"Please leave, Garth." Shannon got to her feet and carried the bits and pieces of glass into the kitchen. He followed, dumping the small shards he had picked up into the trash. There was nowhere else to retreat, so Shannon turned to face him, bracing herself against the sink. "You've made a few wrong assumptions, and I suppose it's my own fault. Don't worry, I won't mislead you any further."

He watched her broodingly. "If you want me to stay, Shannon, just say it. I prefer honesty. It's such a damn rare commodity."

Her initial shock and mortification gave way to a flash of temper. "I do not want you to stay," she bit out, each word emphasized as strongly as possible. "How's that for being up-front and honest? I want you out of my house immediately. You have completely misinterpreted my actions, and I don't feel like explaining them to you. Now get out."

He shrugged and turned to go. Shannon followed him to the front door, her eyes still reflecting anger and chagrin. Stiffly she held the door as he walked out onto the front steps. Garth turned once more to scan her face by the glow of the outside light. Then he nodded to himself and strode off toward his own cottage. In a moment he had disappeared into the evening fog.

Shannon slammed the door shut behind him, not caring if he heard the obvious manifestation of her temper, and slumped against the wood. Of all the stupid, embarrassing situations! What a fool she had made of herself. She should have abandoned the idea of getting to know him as soon as she'd discovered he wasn't really a writer or a poet or an artistic type of any kind. She couldn't imagine what had possessed her to ask Garth to stay late for a brandy.

Slowly she straightened away from the door, turned the old, worn-out lock and, with a groan of disgust, headed for the kitchen. It wasn't all her fault, she told herself bracingly. After all, Garth hadn't exactly been forthcoming about either his occupation or his assumptions. And he'd had the nerve to accept her invitation to dinner, during which he'd managed to drop more than one clangor into the conversation. His behavior was inexcusable. She would not berate herself further. Somewhat defiantly she helped herself to a shot of the brandy she had attempted to serve earlier to her guest.

Outside in the fog, Garth paused on the top step of his cottage and glanced back at Shannon's house while he dug his key out of his pocket. The heavy mist turned her front door light into a ghostly glow, and the bulk of her cottage was an unreal shadow. For a jarring moment his mind played with an unsettling fantasy of a fairy lady living in a gossamer castle.

He had been invited to dinner in the castle and had blundered badly. Garth shoved the key in the lock and sighed deeply. Odds were he wouldn't get a second invitation.

With a nagging sense of regret he closed the door and walked into the tiny kitchen alcove to find the bottle of whiskey he had brought with him from San Jose. He poured himself a generous shot and carried the glass out into the living room. There he sprawled in an old,
slipcovered
chair that probably dated from the forties. It brought to mind the fact that in a couple more years he, too, was going to hit forty. He wondered if by then he would need reupholstering as badly as the chair did. There was no doubt he was beginning to feel the wear and tear of his life.

Leaning his head back against the cushion, Garth closed his eyes and savored the bite of the whiskey. It would have been much more pleasant, he admitted to himself, to be sipping brandy with the lady in the castle next door. A picture of a handful of freckles scattered beneath intelligent, inquiring eyes popped into his head. There was more than intelligence and inquiry in that wide, feminine gaze. There was a hint of promise, too.

He didn't have to analyze his own actions to know why he'd behaved the way he had this evening. The reason was simple enough. He'd wanted to shatter the illusion before someone else did it for him.

From the moment Shannon had tumbled out of the fog this morning, nearly colliding with him, he had been wary. There was nothing unusual about that. It was Garth Sheridan's nature to be cautious with others. He had known too many people who couldn't be trusted. Normally he had no trouble keeping others at a distance.

But something was different in this case. Something was substantially different when it came to dealing with Shannon
Raine
. He hadn't planned to accept her dinner invitation because he hadn't been able to figure her out. He would have preferred to have her fully analyzed, assessed and understood before getting involved with her. Yet when six o'clock had arrived this evening he had found himself locking his door and walking the short distance between his cottage and the fairy castle.

Garth had had women pursue him before, but usually because they had learned he was a financially successful male who happened to be unattached and not terribly ugly. He was fairly certain it wasn't his innate charm that had drawn them. Charm was not his long suit. Men who were by nature loners and by experience accustomed to betrayal never developed charming personalities.

He considered that and winced. Even by his own standards he had been a particularly
uncharming
dinner guest this evening. Now as he sat drinking whiskey alone, it occurred to him that he'd probably destroyed a rather special and delicate bud without ever giving it a chance to flower, simply because he didn't trust flowers in general. Chances were Shannon would never give him a second opportunity to get to know her. He had seen the stunned embarrassment in her hazel eyes tonight and he'd seen something else there, too, something that he could have sworn was a degree of pain.

SHANNON HAD WALKED into town to collect her mail the next morning without any sense of anticipation. Therefore, the letter on buff-colored paper with its distinctive return address took her by complete surprise. She tore it open on the post office steps and scanned the contents with mounting excitement. Then, feeling enormously more lighthearted than she had ten minutes earlier, she decided to treat herself to a cup of tea at the small cafe across the street. Maybe one of her friends would be there. She wanted to tell someone the good news.

The cafe was busy with a healthy-sized morning crowd, but everyone she saw seemed to be a tourist. A little disappointed, she took a stool at the counter and ordered her tea, then read the letter a second time. She was poring over the contents when Garth Sheridan straddled the stool beside her.

"Good news?" he asked calmly, signaling the waitress for coffee.

Shannon frowned for an instant and then relaxed. She was too elated to be angry at anyone this morning, even Garth. "A buyer for a San Francisco boutique says she wants to visit me in a couple of weeks to talk about my new line of tote bags. She says she loves the sample I sent and wants to discuss production and shipping schedules. She isn't from one of the big chains, but this shop is a very elegant one off Union Square. It would be a wonderful outlet for the bags. Very classy."

"Congratulations. What are your production and shipping schedules?"

Shannon flushed, some of her elation fading. "I'm not sure. Do you think she'll be expecting a
minifactory
in my home? I wonder how many bags a week she'll want. It takes time to hand-screen the fabric and then it has to be stitched together. Annie is going to help me with the sewing, but we haven't really discussed how many she could do a week. She has to have time for her
macrame
work, after all. I can't expect her to devote all her time to the bags. Of course, this buyer may not want too many at first-" Shannon broke off, nervously tapping the buyer's letter on the countertop as she considered all the problems ahead.

"If you want to impress the buyer you'd better have the logistics worked out before she arrives. You'll want her to think you're in complete control of the business end of things. Otherwise she'll probably think she can take advantage of you. And if she thinks that, she will." Garth stirred his coffee.

'Take advantage of me? Why should she do that? Are you always so cynical, Garth?"

"Usually. I've been in the business world a long time."

"Don't remind me." Shannon's voice was laced with remembered chagrin.

There was a pause and then Garth said carefully, "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression about my, uh, occupation. I suppose in your world businessmen aren't exactly at the top of the social heap."

"Especially when they accept dinner invitations and then proceed to insult the hostess and her guests," Shannon retorted with spirit.

He had the grace to wince. "If I'd been a surly brooding poet, would you find it easier to forgive me?"

Startled, Shannon eyed him with a skeptical gaze. "Is this some sort of apology?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He met her eyes. "Now who's being cynical?"

"After last night, I'm inclined to be cautious."

A faint smile edged his mouth. "I doubt if you know the meaning of the word."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenged as the waitress slapped the check on the counter. Before she could grab the slip of paper, Garth reached out and picked it up.

"Never mind. I'll buy this morning. I owe you something for the excellent dinner last night. I don't think I even remembered to thank you for it."

"No, you didn't."

"Finished? We can walk back to the cottages together."

Shannon struggled for an excuse and came up with what seemed a reasonable one. "I was going to pick up some groceries first."

Garth nodded. "Not a bad idea. I'll need some things for dinner, too."

Shannon sighed to herself and accepted the inevitable. Short of staging a small scene, there was no smooth way to avoid him. Grudgingly, she left the counter and waited while he paid the tab. He followed her out onto the sidewalk, and together they turned toward the grocery store at the far end of the town's single business street.

"The fog has almost cleared off," Garth noted politely. "Should be a nice, warm afternoon."

"Probably." Shannon was embarrassed by her short response, but she was determined not to add anything else. Let Garth try to force the conversation for a change.

"You like living here." It was an observation, not a question.

"I love it."

"Are all your friends artsy-craftsy types?"