Tempest in Eden Read Free

of the house where she'd parked.
    "I'm sorry," she said quietly. The only noise in the room was the gurgle of steaming coffee as he poured it into a mug. "Mom didn't tell me anything about you. I didn't know."
    "Sugar?"
    Her head came up to meet his stunning blue eyes. "Pardon?"
    "Sugar.For your coffee."
    "Oh, no … no. But cream or milk, please," she said, taking the mug from his outstretched hand. He went to the refrigerator and removed a carton of half-and-half, which he set on the table within her reach. "Thank you."
    "You're welcome," he said formally, pouring himself some coffee. He took a seat across the table. For long moments he said nothing, only stared at the landscape through the windows and blew gently on his coffee to cool it before taking hesitant sips. At last he said quietly, "A drunk driver ran into us broadside one night. She was killed instantly. I walked away without a scratch. It's been almost two years. Better to tell people straight out. It saves them from asking and spares me having to answer."
    Again a heavy silence ensued. Shay's love of life and everything in it was offended by such a waste of a valued human being. Her heart went out to the man who had suffered a senseless loss. She felt compelled to let him know she wasn't a stranger to heartache. "I was married, but it ended in divorce," she said thoughtfully. "Now we're a statistic. One of the thousands."
    "As is Mary."
    "Yes." Shay drank her coffee slowly. Covertly she eyed him over the rim of her mug. In profile, his features looked more stern then they did face on. Perhaps it was the brilliance of his eyes that relieved some of the rigidity of his jaw and chin. Were those eyes what had compelled her to mention her unfortunate marriage? She never talked about the episode in her life to anyone. It was a closed subject. She had erased the memory, if not the pain, had even gone back to using her maiden name. Yet she had spoken of it to Ian Douglas. Why should a man she had just met inspire such confidence?
    "Where do you live?" he asked at last, as if to fill the silent void.
    "In Woodville, near Greenwich. It's small. Mostly commuters to New York live there."
    "What do you do?"
    His eyes were incredibly blue, and she found it hard to keep her mind on the subject. "Do?" she repeated, distracted. The doltish vagueness in her voice yanked her back into the present. "Do? Oh, I work in a gallery. We carry inexpensive works of art, decorating items, things like that."
    "In Manhattan?"
    "No, in Woodville. When I have to go to the city, I drive to Greenwich and take the train. But that's only once or twice a week."
    "Once or twice a week? What takes you to New York once or twice a week?"
    "I—"
    She was cut off by the loud blaring of an automobile horn. They turned simultaneously to see a Mercedes sedan coming to a stop beside Ian's station wagon. As Shay watched, a silver-haired man got out of the driver's side, came around to the passenger side, and offered his hand to Celia. Her mother smiled happily as she took her husband's hand. He planted a soft kiss on her mouth before ushering her toward the back door.
    Ian was there to greet them, holding the screen door open. "I thought my hostess and host had abandoned me," he said, slapping his father on the back. "Hi, Dad. Celia," he said more gently, leaning down to kiss her proffered cheek.
    "Sorry we're so late getting back. Celia had an extensive grocery list. I hope you're hungry." John Douglas's eyes swept the room until they lighted on Shay. "Hello. You must be Shay."
    "Darling, I'm so glad you came." Her mother extricated herself from John's arms and hurried to embrace her daughter. "How are you?"
    "Fine," Shay said into her mother's soft, carefully coiffed brown hair. She hugged her gently and gazed down into a face that reflected deep joy. Smiling broadly, she said, "I don't need to ask how you are. You're positively radiant."
    "And all because of John," her mother said in the soft voice of an