The Ties That Bind (4 page)

She glared up at him. "If you mean are most of them artistically and creatively oriented, yes. If you don't care for the breed you shouldn't have rented a cottage along the Mendocino coast. Everyone knows this is a haven for writers and artists and craftspeople."

"I didn't come here for the people."

Shannon thought about that for a moment. "No, I don't suppose you did. You surprise me, you know. I thought business types were fairly social by nature. You know, slick-talking salesmen, smooth-tongued corporate executives and so on. I would have thought you'd prefer a vacation spot that featured a couple of golf courses, maybe a tennis court and a few gourmet restaurants. Someplace where the rest of your kind hang out."

"Just because I make my living in the business world it doesn't mean I've completely adapted to the life-style," Garth said quietly.

Shannon, who had been anticipating a more cutting response, again experienced a shaft of embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made nasty remarks." She came to a halt. "Here's the grocery store. I won't be more than a few minutes."

"Take your time," he began to say and then realized she had already darted inside.

Shannon said hello to the clerk behind the checkout counter and then wheeled an old, crotchety cart toward the vegetable section at the rear of the store. She was acutely aware of Garth heading down the frozen-food aisle. This really was an awkward situation, she decided. The last thing she had expected from him was an apology, and she wasn't at all sure how to interpret it. She knew that in spite of her resolve to ignore him, she was weakening under his new, polite approach.

Perhaps Garth Sheridan was simply regretting the fact that he'd wrecked his chances for a short vacation affair and was trying to recover lost ground. If so, he had a surprise coming. She wasn't going to weaken that much. She was not setting herself up for any such affair. She would remain cool and polite and distant now that she knew the situation for what it was.

But in spite of her good intentions she couldn't resist frowning at Garth as he came around the corner of the aisle carrying a couple of cans of vegetables and two frozen entrees. Shannon spoke before she stopped to think.

"Why on earth do you want to buy canned
vegies
when there's nice fresh broccoli and some excellent tomatoes in the vegetable bins over there?" She waved in the general direction of the fresh vegetable section.

"It's easier to open a can."

She shook her head. "It's just as easy to cook fresh broccoli."

"Maybe it's easier for you, but not for me. I've never cooked fresh broccoli."

"Put those cans back on the shelf and I'll show you how to cook your own vegetables," Shannon said before she could change her mind. She held her breath, calling herself every kind of fool. Then, without a word, Garth replaced the canned vegetables and went to pick up a bunch of fresh broccoli.

"It's a deal," he said softly.

She was an idiot. That was the only explanation. A complete and utter idiot, Shannon berated herself while she stood with Garth in the checkout line. She asked herself what on earth she thought she was doing as they walked together back toward the cottages, and she decided she was probably nuts to be thinking of inviting Garth over for dinner again that night so that she could show him how to cook broccoli.

"Will there be anyone else coming?" he asked when she extended the invitation on the way back to the cottages.

"No," she responded.

He nodded. "Good. I don't enjoy social situations. I'll see you around six."

Shannon stared after him as he turned and headed toward his own cottage. She wondered what she represented to him if he didn't see her as a "social situation."

TWO DAYS LATER Shannon no longer worried how Garth viewed their relationship. Since the night of the broccoli-cooking exhibition everything between herself and Garth had somehow shifted into a new and gently rewarding course. She was aware of a bubbling sense of happiness and anticipation whenever she saw him or thought of him. It was at the back of her mind when she worked on her sketches, and it was there during the hours she spent drawing the blade of the squeegee down the silk-screen frame to produce her greeting cards.

Garth's attitude was becoming increasingly indulgent and familiar, but he had studiously avoided any overtly sensual approaches. It was as if he sensed he had nearly ruined things that first evening and was determined not to repeat his mistake.

On the afternoon of the second day, Shannon sat cutting out a stencil of a letter A that she had designed in a medieval Anglo-Saxon style. The A was a frame for a hunting scene with fanciful creatures playing along the legs of the letter.

As she worked she pondered the fact that she was soon going to be ready for Garth to repeat his "error" of the first night. She wouldn't mind now at all if he showed some interest in making a pass. The thought made her smile as she used the fine, sharp blade of her knife the way she would a pencil to cut out the portions of the design that would be printed in red. The canvas fabric she intended to silk-screen the next day would have to be run through the screening process a different time for each color used. She would start with the red. When she had finished with that batch she would let the ink dry and then run the fabric sections through again to apply the yellow portion of the design. The process would continue until she had completed the illustration on each canvas square. Then the fabric would be sewn into tote bags. She wanted some especially good examples of her work for the buyer who was due to pay her a visit.

It occurred to Shannon that she might have to find a subtle way of letting Garth know she was no longer adverse to the idea of taking their relationship to a more intimate level. He was being so cautious that it was almost humorous.

Shannon finished cutting the film and set the knife down on her worktable. Critically she examined her creation and was satisfied with the sharp, crisp lines. It should print well. Tomorrow she would attach it to the frame and run off a few samples. Laying the film down on the table, she leaned forward on her elbows and studied the cottage across the way.

The afternoon sun was warm, and the day was balmy with a pleasant breeze off the sea. There was no sign of Garth, however. He didn't seem to be making any effort to enjoy the fine day. He rarely appeared in the afternoons, Shannon realized. She was beginning to wonder how he spent his time inside the cottage. It hadn't seemed polite to ask.

Idly she glanced at the calendar on the wall and saw that she had circled today's date in red. In tiny letters she had noted "T of S at 8. Must go Verna prod." Hastily Shannon deciphered the cryptic reminder and came to a sudden decision. Hopping down off the drafting chair, she left the cottage and went to knock on Garth's front door.

There was a short delay before Garth appeared at the door. He looked at her bemusedly for a moment, as if he had been in another world when she'd knocked. His shirt was open, the sleeves were rolled up on his forearms and he was barefoot. His dark hair was in disarray, as if he had been running his fingers through it. All in all, he appeared to have been very much involved in something when she had knocked. His expression cleared abruptly as he realized who stood on the threshold. Shannon was certain that he was pleased to see her. She wished his eyes would soften a bit more often the way they did now. He had terrific eyes.

"I just came over to see if you'd like to go with me to a local theater production tonight," Shannon began lightly, glancing curiously around the room. There was a pile of business documents and papers spread out on the old table in the corner. "A friend of mine is producing and directing it, and it should be interesting. They're doing The Taming of the Shrew and I can't wait to see how Verna has interpreted it. She's a strong feminist with very radical feelings on the subject of women's roles. I can't imagine how she'll handle Kate and
Petruchio
." Shannon plowed to a halt, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Uh, are you working?"

"I was."

"On your vacation?"

Garth shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not? Well, because you're supposed to be on vacation. What's the point of taking time off if you keep on working?"

"This is something that has to be done, Shannon. It's a crucial bid proposal my company will be submitting in a few weeks."

"Is that right?" She wandered over to the table and glanced down at the array of papers. "Good grief! They're all stamped Confidential." She backed away from the table and threw him an uncertain glance. "I guess I shouldn't be looking at them."

"They're company confidential, not government confidential." He came forward and shuffled the papers into a neat stack. "I don't think it much matters if you look at them. You've said yourself you flunked your cash register training course and business, in general, doesn't seem to be your forte. I doubt you'd find much of interest in these." He gave her a look of indulgent amusement.

"Let's not be patronizing," Shannon murmured sardonically. "Maybe I'm a corporate spy in disguise, sent her to arrange a so-called accidental meeting with you and then steal your bid proposal."

To her surprise he didn't seem to find the comment amusing. "No," Garth said evenly, "I don't think you're the company spy type."

"Have you known many?" she demanded, mildly resentful of his certainty. She was pretty sure it stemmed from his condescending attitude toward her lack of business acumen. Besides, no woman enjoys being told she lacks some aura of mystery, Shannon decided.

"I've known a few. The high-tech firms in Silicon Valley are always fighting a constant battle against corporate as well as international espionage. In my line of work spies of all kinds are a constant hazard. Almost as common as back-stabbing co-workers and hustling corporate-ladder climbers."

Shannon was appalled, not so much by the words but by his grim acceptance of his own world. "It sounds a little rough."

"You get used to it."

"Used to back-stabbing co-workers, hustling ladder climbers and spies? How could anyone get used to that?"

Garth smiled abruptly, startling her. Then, with lazy gentleness, he put out his hand and touched the curving sweep of her dark hair. "A man can become accustomed to a lot more than that, Shannon. He can also get used to the idea of not being able to trust anyone, especially a woman."

She went very still. "Are you like that? Unable to trust anyone at all?"

He let that pass. "What time is the play?"

"What? Oh, eight o'clock. Are you interested?"

"Definitely." His expression said he meant it. "I'll come over and pick you up around seven-thirty. Will that give us enough time?"

Shannon nodded, glad that he seemed to want to be with her but uneasy over the way he had switched the subject just as they were getting to a very important issue. If Garth didn't trust anyone, especially women, how did he really feel about her? She needed to know, Shannon thought as she said goodbye and left him to his bid work. She needed to know he trusted her, that she was the exception in his life.

It was only when she reached her own cottage that she asked herself just why it was so important that she be the exception. The answer wasn't one she wanted to deal with just then. Everything was too new, too uncertain between herself and Garth Sheridan.

But sooner or later she had to have all the answers about this man. The compulsion to know him completely was stronger than ever.

WHEN THE DOOR CLOSED behind Shannon, Garth moved to the window to watch her walk back to her cottage. For a long time after she had disappeared inside the other house, he stood lost in thought.

Something about Shannon reminded him of how it had all been back at the beginning of his career. Back before the reality of his world had set in and he had forced himself to face that reality. She was honest, enthusiastic, happy with the life she had created for herself. There was a gentle freshness about her that he found himself wanting to shield and protect. He hoped she never woke up to the same reality he had awakened to find. Any man with whom she got involved would have an obligation to keep her safe and untainted by the hard side of life. But how many men could be trusted to fulfill that obligation, he wondered. Certainly none that he knew.

Then he grinned ruefully at his own false altruism. He wanted to do more than protect Shannon from the real world-he wanted to keep her safe for himself, and he was honest enough to admit it. There was something in Shannon that he suddenly realized he wanted and needed. Something he hadn't touched or held in a long, long while. Perhaps he'd never really possessed what Shannon offered. The deep hunger that flared in him was unsettling. He made himself turn back to the pile of papers on the table.

THE THEATER HAD ONCE been a barn and the gray, weathered timber frame had been retained for atmosphere. A stage had been constructed in the center. Verna Montana's production of The Taming of the Shrew was done in the round. Garth and Shannon had excellent seats.

"What's the matter? Couldn't the actors afford costumes?" Garth muttered as the play opened. "I know small-town theater troupes are usually hard up for cash, but they could have at least come up with a few fake daggers and long skirts."

"Verna wanted to try something different, so she decided to do the play in modern dress. Now hush," Shannon whispered as the show began.

It was soon apparent that Verna's theatrical vision had been paired with her feminist ideology to create a radically new version of Shakespeare's play. Kate, of course, had always been a strong character in the original, but under Verna's direction she became a modern, politically astute feminist. Shannon watched in astonishment as she somehow managed to make
Petruchio
appear to be the manipulated one in the story. Flamboyant, strident and infinitely smarter than the man who was supposed to master her, Verna's Kate dominated the play. Every scene in which she was supposed to be tamed somehow became a scene in which
Petruchio
appeared to be subtly led around by a ring in his nose. While he assumed he was mastering his wife, she was finding him amusing and childishly simple to handle.