Sweet Memories Read Free Page B

eyelashes? Didn’t every woman deserve to have eyelashes that could at least be seen? Theresa’s were the same hue as her hair—pale threads that made the rims of her eyelids look pink and sickly while framing eyes that were almost the identical color of her freckles, a pale tea-brown. She thought of the dark spiky lashes and the stunning green of Brian Scanlon’s eyes, and her own dropped to check her sweater once again, and tug it close together, as Theresa realized she could no longer avoid confronting him. She must return to the living room. And if he stared at her breasts with lascivious speculation she’d think of the strains of her favorite Chopin Nocturne, which always had a calming effect upon her.
    Amy and Jeff were sitting on the davenport while Brian faced them from the seat of the piano bench. When Jeff caught sight of her, he thwacked the guitar strings dramatically, and let the chord reverberate in fanfare. “There she is!”
    So much for slipping quietly into their midst.
    Brian was no more than five feet away, still wearing his formal garrison cap. She was conscious of a wink of silver on the large eagle medallion centered above the black leather visor as his eyes swerved her way, directly on a level with the objects of Theresa’s despair. Her pale brown eyes met his of sea green. The certainty of what would happen next seemed to lodge in her throat like a pill taken without water.  Now!  she thought.  Now it will happen!  She steeled herself for the sickening embarrassment that was certain to follow.
    But Brian Scanlon relaxedly stretched six feet of blue-clad anatomy to its feet and smiled into Theresa’s eyes, his own never wavering downward for even a fraction of a second or giving the impression that it even crossed his mind.
    “Jeff’s been demonstrating the old Stella. She doesn’t sound too bad.”
    Aren’t you going to gawk like everybody else?  She felt the blush begin to tint her face because he  hadn’t  looked, and to cover her fluster grabbed onto the first words that entered her mind.
    “As usual, my brother thinks of nothing but music.” Theresa strove to keep her voice steady, for her heart was knocking crazily. “And here you sit with your hat and jacket still on. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep, since neither one of these two had the courtesy to do it.”
    “I hope I’m not putting anybody out of their bed.”
    “Not at all. We’re putting you on a hideaway bed in the family room downstairs. I just hope nobody puts you out of yours, because it’ll be in front of the  TV  and fireplace, and dad likes to stay up at least until after the ten o’clock news.”
    He didn’t look! He didn’t look!  The exaltation pounded through her brain as Theresa led the way back through the kitchen to the basement door that opened into the room just behind the stove wall. Oddly enough, she seemed more aware of Brian Scanlon because of the fact that he’d assiduously remained polite and refrained from dropping his eyes. She took his guitar and he his duffel bag, and she led him downstairs into a large basement area with a set of sliding glass doors facing the rear yard. The room was paneled in warm pecan and carpeted in burnt orange that burst into a glow as Theresa switched on a table lap.
    Brian watched her hair light up as she paused above the lamp, then scanned the room, which contained a country pine coffee table, a cushioned davenport and pillowed rockers in the Colonial style. A fireplace was flanked by a television set, and at the end of the room where Brian stood, a thick-legged kitchen set of glossy pine was centered before the sliding glass door.
    “Mmm ... I like this room. Very homey.” His eyes came back to settle upon Theresa as he spoke.
    He seemed the type who’d prefer art deco or chrome and glass, but an appreciative reaction riffled through Theresa, for her mother had largely let her choose the colors and textures of the furnishings when they’d