Garden Of Fantasy Read online

Green fire flickered in his eyes for an instant as his gaze seemed to swallow her. There was male appreciation, male desire...male fantasy? Had she just issued a come-on? "I mean, I'm grateful for the ride and you could dry off..." She trailed off, wondering if she was making matters worse.

  A slow, lazy smile twitched up the corners of his mouth. "I'll take a rain check. Okay?"

  She was grateful for the pun and kept her sigh of relief to herself. "Sure."

  As her hand unlatched the car door, he said, "Tomorrow evening has to be an improvement. Don't forget your swimsuit."

  His tone suggested he'd like to see her in it. But she skipped that to protest, "Osgood isn't serious!"

  "Who knows? He might give the project to the one who can swim the most laps." She must have looked shocked because he admitted, "Maybe that's going too far. But not by much. You'll probably have the edge as it is. He's partial to women, particularly young, pretty ones."

  Nash sounded matter-of-fact but there was an underlying thread. "That sounds like a warning."

  "It is."

  "Are you warning me against Osgood or warning me not to use feminine wiles to win him over?"

  He appraised her steadily. "Osgood has a certain charm, especially for women with their heads in the clouds."

  She bristled. "If you're talking about his money..."

  Nash shrugged. "It has a persuasive quality."

  She found the most formal tone she could muster. "Mr. Winchester, I want the contract, not Osgood's money." She straightened in the seat, sliding toward the door. "Furthermore, my professional life depends on my capabilities--not my sex."

  With a twinge of guilt she remembered that John's capital had set her up in Lancaster. But that was different. It was his fault she'd lost her job and her reputation. He owed her. Besides, she was paying him back. Next month she'd send the final payment.

  Thunder grumbled and Beth prepared herself to spring out of the car and run. Politely, she said, "Thanks for the ride," then opened the door and sprinted for the house.

  As she reached her porch, she could picture Nash's last enigmatic smile, and as she inserted her key in the lock, she realized she was still wearing his jacket.

  ****

  An hour later, pretending to buck his nephew off his back, Nash used his shoulder muscles to give the four-year-old the ride of his life.

  Davie giggled and held on tighter as his brother Jason yelled, "Ride 'em cowboy!"

  Roger, the oldest and used to bossing his brothers, called, "Hold on with your knees. Wave your hands in the air."

  Nash's sister rescued him a few minutes later. "Okay, boys. Give your uncle a break. He's not Superhorse."

  "Aw, Mom."

  "Not yet."

  "You're not tired, are you, Uncle Nash?"

  Nash laughed at the simultaneous dismay, gently shook Davie from his back, and sat on the living room carpet with his arms propped in back of him to hold him up. Bending his knees, he grinned at his sister. "Superhorse?"

  Shannon's long, straight mahogany-brown hair slipped over her shoulder. "Come to think of it, you don't look like a horse. But you look thirsty. Come into the kitchen and get a glass of lemonade."

  Shannon's sons were waiting expectantly as if hoping Nash would turn down their mother's offer and keep playing. Not wanting to disappoint them, he said, "Let me talk to your mom for a little while, then we can play a game of Yahtzee before I tuck you in."

  Appeased for the moment and at Roger's direction, the boys nodded, put a video in the VCR, and clicked it on. Nash shoved himself up and followed Shannon to the kitchen. She took a Tupperware pitcher from the refrigerator and poured lemonade into the glass Nash pulled from the cupboard.

  Nash rearranged the knit shirt sticking to his shoulders, glad he kept clothes at his sister's. He stared at Shannon. She was pretty, although she thought she was fifteen pounds overweight. He didn't think so and neither did her husband Wayne. But Shannon was always trying to perfect herself, to become more, to become better. He respected her for that, but he wished she could simply relax and enjoy who she was.

  "What's up, Nash?" was her unexpected question as she handed him his drink and caught him off guard.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  She emitted an unladylike snort. "This is Shannon. The sister who knows you better than you want to believe. You're distracted and I want to know what's cooking. Problems at work?"

  "No. Everything's smooth." At Shannon's leveling glare, he figured she wouldn't give up. He might as well pacify her. "I...met someone today."

  Her eyes widened. "A woman?"

  With a "sometimes I wish you weren't my sister look" he answered, "No. A zebra with orange and green stripes."

  She ignored his defensiveness and pressed. "And?"

  "And nothing. She got to me, that's all. She wasn't your usual cool, suit-dressing, sophisticated businesswoman. Just forget it. I probably read her all wrong. Must have been the weather."

  Shannon planted her hands on her hips and looked him square in the eyes. "We have something to talk about, brother, and it has nothing to do with the weather."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Shannon was as protective of him as he was of her. She'd probably noticed his recent restlessness, his dissatisfaction with life in general. And as always, she was going to tell him what she thought.

  Nash pulled out the chrome-backed kitchen chair with his bare foot, sat down, crossed his arms behind his neck, and rocked back. "I can see it coming. Lecture five thousand ninety-nine."

  Shannon narrowed her eyes. "This is nothing to kid about."

  Shannon cared; she worried. Too much. "A good sense of humor makes life easier," he philosophized, hoping to take the course of the conversation in another direction. Preferably away from him.

  "Your life isn't easy. It's lonely."

  "Not with you and Wayne and those three leprechauns in there," he protested.

  "You know we love you, but you need more than us. Do you

  ever add up how many hours a week you spend at your house, not figuring in sleeping time?"

  His chair hit the floor as he unfolded his arms. "I suppose you have it counted down to the minute."

  "You're exasperating!"

  "And your antennae are working overtime."

  Shannon rolled her eyes. Changing her approach, she touched her brother's arm gently as she sat down beside him. "It's been six years since Christy drowned, four since you and Monica were divorced. Don't you think it's time you let someone in?"

  "Christy would've been nine years old last month," he said quietly.

  "She's probably sitting in heaven on a cloud, wondering why her daddy's sad." Shannon radiated compassion, not pity because she knew he wouldn't accept it.

  "I'm not sad."

  "You're not happy." Her voice said she was sure.

  "I'm somewhere in between like most people."

  "Talk to me, Nash."

  He leaned forward on his forearms and closed his eyes for a moment. Shannon and Wayne had been as supportive as any two people could be without being effusive...without prying. He owed them. "When I'm alone in the house, sometimes I think I hear Christy's footsteps or her laughter."

  "You do. In your heart."

  After a long pause, he admitted, "I think about Monica sometimes."

  "Do you still love her?"

  He rubbed his chin pensively, not having given the idea much thought lately. "No. She focused all her energy into selling real estate so she could forget. I didn't want to forget."

  The memories were bittersweet. "I wanted to remember everything about Christy--the sound of her voice, the way she jumped up and down when she was excited, how she tried to touch the sky with her toes when I pushed her on the swing. I stopped talking about her because the pain in Monica's eyes was too hard to face."

  Shannon surveyed his face, searching. "You've never been open to discussing your marriage before. Did you divorce because of what happened to Christy?"<
br />
  There were so many reasons. The situation had been too complicated to merit a simple answer. "Eventually I tried to face life Monica's way by forgetting the past and going on. But I saw a future with more children. Monica wouldn't consider it."

  "So what's going on with you now?"

  He was grateful Shannon didn't push for more details. He'd shared more about his marriage in the last five minutes than he had in the last four years. "Now I'm restless. The emptiness is getting to me. I thought spending more time with you and the kids would help."

  "But it hasn't."

  "Not enough. And when I met that woman today, something about her...jolted me." She'd had a friendliness that was out of place in the business world or even in today's society with everyone so self-absorbed and afraid to get involved. She didn't wear a polite mask, but a sincere expression of what she'd thought of Osgood and the surroundings. And Nash had responded to it--without thinking, without calculating, without examining.

  Shannon shook her head, trying to understand. "I don't get it. You're around attractive women. The woman you took to the play last month could've been a model instead of a dentist."

  "This lady's different. Something on the inside lights her up." In the car she'd surprised him by being less friendly. And nervous. It was strange. He hadn't changed his attitude. He'd been a perfect gentleman, never mind the racy thoughts when he caught a view of her dress plastered to her breasts. He wasn't exactly a stranger. Sure, she didn't know him, but she knew of him. He'd seen it in her eyes. So why the nervousness? It must have been the embarrassment over her wet clothes.

  Shannon broke into his thoughts. "You could ask her out."

  If circumstances were different. "There's a problem. I have an ulterior motive for wanting to get to know her. I always try to learn what makes my rivals tick. That way I can usually predict the style of their designs. In combination with their past achievements, I know what I'm up against. Beth Terrell hasn't done anything major to this point, so I have to learn her style from her."

  Shannon's green eyes were puzzled. "You try to figure out what they're going to do so you can do the same?"

  "Hell, no! I try to figure out their pattern, to see if it fits the client. If it doesn't, I cross them off my list of competitors. If it does, then I plan better, bigger, more exotic." The other two architects, Rosenthal and Adams, usually stuck to what had worked in the past, the known, the traditional. Unless Osgood's taste had shifted to the ordinary, they were not a serious threat.

  His sister shrugged. "So, for business reasons you have to get to know this...Beth. Why don't you combine business with pleasure?"

  Nash shook his head vehemently. "I don't do that, Shan. That's asking for trouble. This project's worth a lot of time and money. Too much to risk it for a fling."

  "You think a fling is going to erase the emptiness? Ha! You're not the fling type."

  Sisters. Shannon thought she knew him backward and forward. "I'm not a 'type.' I'm just trying to figure out how to handle this without getting sucked in."

  "Would getting involved be so terrible?"

  "Shan, I don't know if I'm ready. I don't want to make my life or business any more complicated than it is."

  As if sensing Nash wouldn't share more in the silence that followed, Shannon confessed, "My life's going to get more complicated." At his raised brows, she added, "I'm going back to work."

  "Do you want to?"

  She moved restlessly in her chair. "Wayne's going to open his own security systems business instead of working for someone else's firm. He's tired of the trips out of town and so am I. So we need extra money until he gets the business going."

  "I could help."

  Her sparkling green eyes sent him a thank you. "Wayne won't let you."

  "His damn pride." Nash picked up his lemonade.

  Shannon clucked her tongue and defended her husband. "Male pride. You'd be the same and you know it. He wants to take care of his own family."

  Nash thought about it for a moment. "I do understand. But you don't want to go back yet."

  She avoided his gaze. "I didn't say that. Paralegal work has always fascinated me."

  "But?"

  She smoothed her dirndl skirt over her knees. "I feel guilty."

  Nash was about to take a sip of lemonade, but at her words he put down the glass. "I don't understand."

  "It's Davie. I don't like putting him in day care. I always said I'd stay home until all of them were in school."

  "It's only for a year, honey." Nash tapped her wrist. "He'll be in kindergarten next year."

  "That'll mean a half day with a baby-sitter. I know I'm a mother hen, but I want to be here for my kids."

  Nash knew why she felt so strongly. "The way Mom tried to be, the way Dad never was."

  Shannon raised her eyes to the heavens. "Thank goodness Wayne is a terrific father and husband. I can depend on him as Mom could never depend on Dad. I know he'll always be here for me."

  "You two are lucky." Nash took a long swallow of his drink.

  "You could be too," Shannon said agreeably.

  He wondered.

  ****

  His beach towel hooked over his shoulder, Nash squinted against the sun as he walked toward the redwood deck surrounding Osgood's strawberry-shaped pool. Swimming in backyard pools was difficult...would probably always be

  difficult. If only the gate had been locked, if only Monica had watched their daughter more closely, if only he hadn't planned another out of town park.

  He closed his eyes against the sun and the memories, hurried his pace, and found himself at the edge of the deep end. When his gaze found Beth Terrell, a rush of hot desire zipped down his spine. Blond lights wove through her hair, blinking at him in the sun when she tilted her head. Her turquoise one-piece bathing suit was modestly cut at the breasts and crisscrossed her back, but as she talked and gestured to Rosenthal, a colleague Nash had beaten out of more than one project, he saw high-cut legs that made his stomach clench.

  Get a grip on yourself, Winchester. She might be a bathing beauty, but she wants Osgood's business as much as you do.

  Nash needed to study the projects Beth had designed. In his travels, he'd made friends all over the country. From asking around, he'd learned Beth had worked for a firm in Virginia before she moved here. Jack Reynolds, a friend who lived in D.C., was going to send him information about her work, and pictures too if he could get them. Then Nash would know what he was up against.

  Dropping his towel on the deck, Nash stepped up to the diving board. After a quick bounce and clean cut through the air, he swam a few laps and without making a conscious decision, bobbed up next to Beth. He slid his hands down his face to wipe off the water and shifted his weight to his left knee to take pressure off the right. The old basketball injury had been bothering him lately.

  Beside him, Beth laughed. "You look almost the same as the last time I saw you."

  She tilted up her head, allowing a few strands of hair to straggle over her earlobe. Yep, he'd remembered correctly. She was natural, fresh, friendly. And flushed. From the August heat, he guessed. Her cheeks grew even rosier when his gaze slid from her head to her toes and he said, "You don't."

  She wrinkled her nose and two enchanting little lines creased it. "I don't usually work in a swimsuit. But I'll do anything to snare a prospective client."

  Was she joking or serious? He felt his jaw muscles tense. "Anything?"

  She smiled. "Within legal limits."

  "What about ethical ones?"

  She looked as if she wanted to sock him. "You do have a one-track mind. I believe businesses are run on honest principles and most people play by the rules."

  Damn! He was too sensually aware of the hair falling over her brow, her suit clinging to her breasts, her creamy shoulders. "It's happened before. A woman with your appeal could get this resort on merits other than professional ones."

  She didn't answer but moved past him. "I'd better get dressed. T
he picnic's supposed to begin at seven. I can't say it's been a pleasure talking to you."

  Nash wanted to keep her from leaving, to talk to her just a little longer and prove himself wrong, but he berated himself for being foolish. Business. Keep your mind on business. The reminder didn't keep his eyes from following the graceful sway of Beth's body as she climbed the steps.

  ****

  Beth slipped the pink gauzy blouse over her head, careful not to smear her lipstick, then stepped into the matching skirt. Picking up the silver medallion belt strung on white leather, she tied it around her waist, then slid her feet into white sandals.

  As she stuffed the wet suit into her duffel bag, she pictured Nash's muscular shoulders, his hair-covered chest, then his face. It was craggy and lean--he wasn't model-handsome. But he was sexy. The sensual lower lip, the jut of a tapered jaw, the long well- proportioned nose, the swath of hair over his forehead that she suspected knew its place and stayed there when it was dry. The man had the power to make her forget her name. She couldn't believe she'd tried to flirt with him. And look where it had gotten her. Into an argument. Keep your distance, Beth. Her experience with John had shaped her responses to men, colored her instincts until she was no longer sure of her judgment.

  She left her bag on the coral vanity. Osgood had told her to make this, one of five lavish bathrooms, her own for the evening. Heeding Nash's warning, she'd watched Osgood carefully. He'd been friendly but respectful.

  When she'd finished dressing, she decided to take a look around the grounds, not knowing how long the picnic and meeting would last. Slipping out a door, Beth found herself in a side garden. Gigantic hanging planters overflowed with bridal wreath and fuschia. Boxwoods trimmed in the shape of a wagon wheel framed a bronze sundial.

  A deep voice flowed over her shoulder. "Kipperling from Texas designed this. What do you think?"

  Nash. She'd recognize that voice in a crowd of fifty. What was he doing here? Following her? Her pulse quickened and she concentrated on a broad stripe of late afternoon sun falling across the grass.

  She was determined to keep her manner businesslike after their encounter in the pool. "It's traditional. Well executed but not extraordinary."