Tempest in Eden Read Free Page A

enthralled young girl. Stretching out her hand to clasp his, she pulled him forward. "John, this is my daughter Shay."
    With no compunction, he took both her hands in his and let his eyes, a disturbingly familiar blue, roam freely over her face. "Shay, you're as beautiful as your mother." He kissed her on the cheek. "Forgive an aging man his impatience, but I was so eager to give my name to your mother, I wouldn't allow her the time to organize a formal wedding."
    Shay smiled warmly at him. "You've made her very happy. I'd rather be a witness to that than the exchanging of vows."
    "She's brought me more happiness than I ever thought to know again. You're welcome in our home anytime."
    "Thank you."
    He squeezed her hands once more before releasing them and turning toward Ian. "I see that you've met my son."
    "Yes," Shay said, her eyes dancing with reawakened mischief. "I already feel like I know him very well."
    "I'm so glad," Celia gushed. "John and I wanted the two of you to become close friends."
    "You'd be amazed at how close I feel to him," Shay replied meaningfully. Her mother glanced at her warily, and Shay was immediately contrite. She knew that her impish grin and salty tone alerted Celia that she was up to something. Having seen first-hand the happiness this marriage had brought her mother, she didn't want to do anything to spoil it. Putting her devious bent aside, she said humbly, "Ian and I were having a nice getting-acquainted discussion when you drove up."
    "Yes," Ian said. After a significant pause he added, "We were discussing how one's conscience should be one's guide."
    "Oh!" Shay choked on her coffee in startled outrage, her head coming up with a snap. She glared at him. "My conscience isn't one bit offended."
    "Then maybe you should examine your morals."
    "Ian…" John Douglas began uneasily.
    "Oh, dear," said Celia. "And I was so hoping—"
    "My morals are in great shape," Shay retorted, tilting her head back to look directly into Ian's face.
    "You couldn't prove it by me."
    "I don't need to prove anything to you," she snapped. She barely heard her mother's plea to calm herself. "I've never put much merit in the narrow-minded, pious, petty opinions of self-righteous prigs like you." Her breasts heaved with anger as she stared up into his chiseled face, gone hard with rage. "Excuse me," Shay said, moving swiftly toward the door. "I'm going to shower and change before dinner."
    She stomped up the stairs and ran the coldest water she could stand. But, rather than calming her, the shower fueled her agitation. "What a boor," she muttered as she dressed in a swirling skirt and peasant blouse of printed muslin. The soft, sheer fabric felt good against her skin as she lifted her arms to sweep her hair into a careless topknot. She let several curling tendrils lie with beguiling negligence on her neck and cheeks.
    Ian Douglas represented everything she disdained. He was judgmental, stodgy, unyielding in what he considered to be the rules of propriety. He looked upon people like her with stern disapproval for their liberated outlook on life.
    After nearly thirty years, she couldn't change herself, nor did she want to. Her father had been the only one who'd ever understood her. He alone had encouraged her independent nature, her liberal tolerance, her freethinking, her mischievous personality. When he had died, she'd lost not only a loving parent, but also her closest friend and staunchest ally.
    She missed him still. He had been a physician, a man admired by his patients and constituents, adored and pampered by his wife, and loved by his daughter. They had shared a rare relationship, open and honest. While her mother had always been reluctant to discuss certain aspects of life with her daughter, Shay's father had always gone to great lengths to answer her every precocious question in detail. He had found her curiosity refreshing and entertaining, and had admired and encouraged her acceptance of other people, no matter