hat's it, Kourt. You're done. I can finish up. This is the only stall left to do. It'll take me just a few—"
"Don't baby me, Storm! I can finish it! And I want to help with the foals. I'm fine. I'm–it's just a little stiff, today. That's all!"
Karla Storm Deverill Van Kirk eyed her younger sister with undisguised skepticism. "That hip is more than just stiff today, Kourtnay! You're as stubborn as Thomasyna, you know it? You are not fine, and I can't let you do any more. Kourt, don't fight me on this. Please, go sit someplace and rest."
"Ah, Storm, I can do it. It's almost breakfast time. I can sit then."
Stormi gazed into her sister's grey eyes and fought the natural urge to give in to Kourtnay's pleadings. It was, after all, her fault Kourtnay was disabled. Not that Kourtnay ever held it against her. Although, everyone else did. Well—not everyone . . . just their parents, Uncle Greggory and a few others of their relatives. Any of her family's friends or acquaintances who chose to listen to them didn't matter—too much. She never had to see any of them often enough.
"Kourt, I've let you help with the chores from the first day we started working here. Nick's already told me, more than once, that he doesn't want you doing anything that'll aggravate your hip. Actually, it was more than that—it was a command. Although, I don't know why he thinks you'll listen to me any better than you've listened to him! What he should do is make Nicky tell you. Him you'd listen to!"
Kourtnay smiled, blushing faintly. "No, I wouldn't. Not for this. I want to do the morning chores with you, Stormi. This is the first place we've been able to work together in three years. I know I was of more use to you watching Kailey so you could work. No one wanted to hire me anyway," she admitted, and added, "They wouldn't've hired you, either, if I hadn't been there to watch her for you." She made a sweeping gesture with one slender hand. "But here—DreamWind's different. They've given me the same chance to work as they've given you—more or less. And they never once asked you who was going to watch Kailey while we worked. Everyone watches her!"
Stormi leaned against the door of the stall she'd just mucked out and heaped fresh bedding into. Pushing a lock of her dark auburn hair out of her eyes, she said, "Once your hip's been taken care of, and they see you really are going to be fine, they'll let you work more with the horses. But right now, I have to agree with Nick and Anetra, Kourtnay. You aren't able to move fast enough if something were to happen."
"Nothing's going to happen if you let me play with a couple of the foals. Who'd know?"
"Kourt—"
"It'd be no different than you—"
"I'd know it, Kourtnay! And I'd have to put you on leave for six months."
Two pairs of expressive smoke grey eyes turned in the direction of the speaker. He'd snuck up on them with the silent grace of his Sioux ancestors and now regarded them both with his penetrating emerald gaze. "And I have told Nicky to speak to you, but he's chosen to disregard my wishes. Or else you've persuaded him—as you're trying to do, again, with your sister— that you're perfectly capable of amazing feats despite your disabilities."
Nicholas Tollefson stopped between the girls and put a hand out to Kourtnay's chin. "You are as stubborn as Thomasyna—or as any of my girls would be—they're all alike! Don't smile—I'm not sure it's a good thing! Most of the time, I'm sure it's not!"
"But, Dad, if I just lay around, it's worse! Please!"
His look, his tone softened. "Kourtnay, I promise, once you've agreed to keep the appointment I've made for you, and I hear it from Dr. Doyle, I'll reconsider. For now, put that shovel right there against the wall and go sit as Karla asked you to do. I've a bit of business with her, and once we've discussed it, we'll help you to the house."
"I can take myself," stated Kourtnay firmly. Letting her shovel drop against the wall, she limped away.
Not able to watch her sister's departure with indifference, Stormi bit her lip. Despite Kourtnay's claims, it was obvious that she was experiencing a good deal of pain even as she'd made them. No, her bullheadedness in this regard was not a good thing. She should have refused Kourtnay's help from the very first day. Thing was, she knew she'd be no different herself. In fact, she'd be far more bullheaded than Kourtnay—or any of the Tollefson girls. Or even the boys, for that matter! She was most definitely a "Do as I say, not as I do" type!
"Well, if I hadn't been sure Wednesday, I would certainly be today that it's been her own decision to come down here with you mornings," observed Nicholas. He brought his gaze round to meet hers. "Amazing how you can get any of my offspring to do your bidding—or mine—but you don't insist on obedience from Kourtnay. Not that anyone really has to insist with her. She's generally very willing to do whatever anyone asks of her—except this one thing."
She didn't answer him. She could have insisted. Actually, she had a good deal of power over Kourtnay. But since her accident, she felt she had no right to insist that Kourtnay do anything. If she had insisted that night that Kourtnay remain at SeaCrest—if she had just engineered her escape from Dean entirely on her own—
"You can't blame yourself for what happened that night. You weren't at the wheel, after all. You weren't even in the car! In any case, you shouldn't let your feelings get in the way of what you know is in her best interest."
She wanted no reassurance from anyone, even from her employer whose opinion had come to mean a lot to her in the short time she and Kourtnay had been working at Dreamwind. Annoyed that he'd read her mind, she retorted, "Oh, yes-—you're a fine one to talk! She only has to call you Dad, and you're ready to back down yourself! You didn't-—but you wanted to!" She made an expressive gesture that took in his powerful build and his six foot six stature. "You're bigger than I am, you know. You've got the same influence, not to mention she also works for you!"
His lips twitched, and he said, "A mere four inches taller than you are, Karla. And she doesn't quake at either one of us. Let's agree that she's difficult to deal with occasionally, and leave this discussion alone for now. I have a message, plus—"
At that, Stormi heaved a sigh. Not giving him any opportunity to finish, she uttered, "Oh, please! Not my mother again! I've got too much to do today. You told her you couldn't possibly spare me, didn't you?"
He looked apologetic. "I said I could spare you for the morning. I'll expect you back after lunch. As for—"
"Oh, I'll be back before that! We won't be able to stand each other for longer than a cup of coffee. A sip, actually. From a very small cup!"
"Karla, I'll see you after lunch. No, don't argue! It'll get you nowhere. It will however, make me wonder whether I should go ahead with my decision."
She eyed him with misgiving, and yet with some hope. "What decision is that?" Be great if he was finally going to allow her to take over Rogue's training again. It was her fondest wish. However, if he ever came to realize that her early risings weren't solely on account of morning chores— that the half dozen or so animals off limits to everyone but himself and Anetra had received much more than a casual visit from her around dawn . . . ah, he'd retract that decision in a humongous hurry!
"The decision to make everyone but myself and Anetra accountable to you."
His pronouncement took her entirely off guard, and she stared at him in disbelief. She had the grace to feel some guilt over her unauthorized visits to the forbidden pastures. "Oh, no! Nick, you're not serious, are you? I've only been here a month. Less! How could you-—why would you make such a decision like that when Geoffrey's really the best one for that job! Nicky even! Although, I'm not sure why you don't keep it yourself . . .!"
"Twelve of my sons and daughters would probably follow you off the Newport Bridge were you to jump—then there's one who'd probably rescue you if you were that foolish. I'm taking on two projects that'll require a good bit of my time if I'm to accomplish anything with them. I need to know I have someone I can depend on to make sure the rest of the place gets taken care of." He held her gaze with a serious regard. "That's you."
While his faith in her lifted her spirits immeasurably, she couldn't make herself accept the promotion gracefully. "Which one are you referring to that would save me? Tristen? Adrien? Timothy? Look, Nick—they may not accept me as boss. They may feel slighted by this. After all, they are your sons, and this place is family owned and operated. The twins are older than I am, and Geoffrey and Nicky older still!"
"And they will all, as I mentioned, follow you blindly."
"No, they all wouldn't. Nicky would follow Kourtnay blindly, no doubt. But Geoffrey wouldn't follow anyone blindly." Nick raised an eyebrow, and she amended, "Well, all right, you say he's followed Helene Stanley blindly, but I haven't seen that yet. In any case, he certainly wouldn't follow me to paradise never mind off the Newport Bridge!"
"He'd follow you as blindly as he does Helene . . . if he'd only admit to himself you're worth a thousand of her! And if you weren't so wrapped up in the twins and Brett—well, the twins . . . I suppose Brett doesn't enter into these idiotic games you've allowed to go on these past few weeks with as much passion and determination as they and Timmy do. But, in any event, if you—"
"Well, don't suggest that I've encouraged Timothy, Nicholas, because I haven't! I've shamelessly used his infatuation for me to get him to pull his weight around here. But that'll end when he learns for a certainty I've no real interest in him. He's too young—in every way!"
"What I'm recommending, Karla, is that you quit honoring the winner of those poker games they play every morning over you. And while I know nothing anyone else may say will be likely to stop them. I'd break the games up myself . . . if I could find where they're holdong them!"
"Which is why they hold them in different places every morning. I know—I've heard them talking often enough. Besides, I've looked for them, too."
"Have you?"
"Yeah. I figure I should have the right to play for my freedom to choose who I see and when . . . or not to see anyone at all, if that's what I want. But they won't let me. Said they'd never honor my bid for complete freedom, anyway."
"Well," mused Nicholas fairmindedly, "I suppose I can't blame them for that. You are, after all, a young woman who can look almost every one of them straight in the eye. Which is an advantage you can take with them when you're issuing my orders to them for the day!"
He smiled at her look of reproachful amusement. He read in it also her reluctant acceptance of his promotion, and settled his hand upon her shoulder. "I've every faith in you, Karla. You were once owner and manager of your own place. Your status in the show circuit hasn't been matched. You might as well know that I hired you with this in mind from the beginning. Your quick reaction to a bad situation that day isn't the only reason I hired you and Kourtnay on the spot."
"No, it was because Mrs. Greene's thoughtless and stinging tongue caused your other hired help to quit on the spot! She can reduce a king to the status of a pauper in ten seconds or less! Not that I'm sorry she did it! For the half hour I was here before all hell broke loose, I wanted to send them packing myself. Why did Anetra feel they deserved a chance here?"
"I believe she regretted her generosity within a day of her having hired them. But we were hopeful, at the time, of their settling in after learning the ropes. Unfortunately, though, their equine passion exceeded their knowledge and ambition—-which wouldn't overfill a thimble."
"Ah! So they had one hundred per cent more than Timothy has!"
"And therein lies my great need of your expertise."
She laughed, and throwing up her hands, surrendered to his decision. "All right. I'll accept gracefully, then." She started to walk toward the small tractor that pulled the spreader she and Kourtnay had been tossing the waste into as they mucked the twenty-four box stalls housed in the main barn.
"You should know that this position comes with other responsibilities."
That drew her up short. She turned back to him. "What other responsibilities?"
"I want you to learn to manage the business end as well."
"Oh, why?" Stormi, betrayed into an unbecoming whine, sounded quite a bit like her three-year-old daughter rather than the self-possessed twenty-four-year-old she was. "Give that end to Kourtnay!"
His lips twitched, but he said, "I intended to, but Stephan asked me not to--yet, anyway. He's planning on offering her a job as his assistant once he's officially opened his office down the road. He felt if I made my offer to her first, she'd take it. I think he holds me in more esteem than he ought. She's happy here, I know, but it may only be because of her deep regard for my second born and not necessarily for the thrill of working at DreamWind!"
Kourtnay would be torn, that was true. It was a hard call to imagine which choice she'd make in the end. Stephan was wise to try to protect his interests. DreamWind possessed Kourt's heart as much as Nicky did. Seemed odd that Nick hadn't seen it. Moreover, Papa Ascott had never allowed Kourtnay near his account books. Stormi felt that her sister would definitely leap for the chance here.
For herself . . . to be forced to sit in an office, bored to tears over paperwork . . . "Why isn't Lyndsay so honored? Or any of your other talented children? Brett's good with figures. His days aren't taken up entirely with his yard and garden contributions!"
"They will be shortly. He has the haying to tend to, as well. And he does much of the farrier work. Thomi will no doubt relieve you of much of it while she's working to pay off her debt to me. But there again—since she's decided to end her acting career in order to work with Stephan once they're married, I want you to learn it. Should something happen to me or to Anetra . . . I want to know the place will run well without us."
"Nothing's going to happen to you! Or to Anetra! Besides, you're assuming that I'm going to become a fixture here. That may not happen, you know! Don't listen to Stephan! Ask Kourtnay! Right now at breakfast!"
"You planning on quitting today?"
"No."
"Tomorrow then?"
"No! Or next week, either. But—"
"Then, I'll expect to see you in my office after lunch this afternoon. Don't fail me!" He held his hand out for the shovel she yet held. "I'll finish here. You get changed and get over to Deverill Hall. And Karla—your mother's expecting you to have breakfast there. If you'd rather decline that part of her command, then have something here. Don't miss another meal!"
Resisting the urge to salute, she started to pass him. He half turned, having one more requirement to reinforce. "I'll allow your slip to pass unpunished this time—only because no one else was here with us. And because it was an accurate description of that day's events. Still, I need you to remember to find other words to describe your feelings and other things. Get into the habit of getting out of the habit!"
She glanced up blankly. What slip? Then, before she needed to ask it aloud, she knew. While hell breaking loose described the events of the morning in the boarder's barn where Mrs. Greene's mammoth mule and Mr. Wilson's Quarter Horse mare got into a heated disagreement that left the ornery Cedric lamed, what happened several hours later when her cousin, Stephan Deverill, had the audacity to spring a wholly unexpected and unwelcome proposal upon Nick's eldest daughter, Thomasyna, seemed worse than hell.
The valuable colt Thomi had been riding as a favor to her father had broken both knees and his neck in the fall that occurred during Thomi's wild flight from Stephan. Thomi herself had lain unconscious in the emergency room for thirty-six hours. For a while, it hadn't been certain she would survive.
Her stubborn will, though, wouldn't let her do anything else. And she made remarkable progress once she woke up. Or at least, that's what she wanted everyone to think. Like Kourtnay, she had bad days, but made light of them. One day, both of them would probably be sorry they hadn't listened to wiser counsel.
Meanwhile, Thomi was slowly succumbing to Stephan's charms. A circumstance, he'd been hopeful of—no, confident of—from the beginning.
Stormi had several and varied opinions of this circumstance. But for now, she buried them. Her own situation was tied closely with it. And just now, she hadn't a wish to consider any part of it. No doubt she'd be forced to all too soon at Deverill Hall.
She drew a breath then, and responded to his recommendation, "I'm sorry—I am trying to."
He nodded. "Yes, and I appreciate that. But, occasionally, you get caught up in your passion, and let go with some colorful moments I can't let slide anymore. Your youngest devotees are too ready to follow you down paths I don't wish them to go!"
Recalling four-year-old Daine-Anthony's indignant outburst at his older brother, Timothy, in which the lad had recommended Timmy to rot in hell with all the other mud turtles that had pissed him off that day, Stormi apologized for her lapses, promised again that she'd put a guard on her tongue, and left the barn before his all seeing gaze could detect that she meant it all only for the while she was physically at DreamWind.
In the presence of her parents or her uncle Greggory, she couldn't and wouldn't make any promises at all.
Up at the house, Lyndsay, Brett and Anetra worked to get breakfast on the table for their large family. Already platters of bacon, sausage, ham and pancakes were on the dining room table awaiting Nick's return. Those of his thirteen children still at home took a seat and either waited patiently or complained incessantly at his continued absence.
"He's coming; give him another minute or two! He's finishing up the last stall. Shouldn't be all that long!" Storm said as she entered the kitchen in time to hear seven-year-old Jacqlynn's latest whine. She went to wash up in the sink. "You need any help?"
"I'm ready to stuff socks in that kid's face," uttered twenty-two year-old Lyndsay. She thrust a loaded platter into Stormi's hands almost before she had time to dry them. "If you'll set these eggs on the table, that'll be a help."
"Go change and get out of here," said Anetra as she filled a pitcher with fresh milk from Brett's Jerseys. "Your mother's called twice already to make sure you were, in fact, coming!"
Stormi rolled her expressive eyes in resignation, accepted the plate from Lyndsay, holding it way above Anetra's reach as the older woman made an attempt to take it from her, and she walked into the dining room. Maybe she would have breakfast here first. She'd need all her strength about her in order to deal with her parents. To have to listen to their endless insistence that she, once more, reconcile with Dean.
Never gonna happen! Why wouldn't they give it up? Although, they might if he would.
Would that ever happen? Probably only over one or the other's dead body. And probably hers. It was a reality she chose not to deal with. Yet.
Nearly everyone at the table greeted her with enthusiasm. Nicky, left arm possessively about Kourtnay, raised his right in a wave. She smiled at him, her gaze going from him to Kourtnay appraisingly. Those two couldn't sit any closer if they were in the same seat!
"What?" Kourtnay prompted.
Before she could answer—if indeed she had one to that challenge— Kailey called out urgently, "Momma! Momma! I d'wanna go with you to Gamma's house. I d'wanna see her ‘cause her don't wike my Nicky and my Thom'syna! And her don't wike you, eider! I d'want you to go. Hers not nice to you!"
"You haven't been nice to her, eider!" Kourtnay chided her little niece. "Been stinking nasty to her since we came here! And since you've found your blabby little tongue again, you've been worse—if that's possible!" She tossed a challenging glance at the big man across from her. "All your fault, Geoffrey! She's talking, again, because of you! Probably snubbing her mother because you do!"
Geoffrey sipped his grapefruit juice, ignoring her jibe—and Stormi who set the platter down in the center of the table, rather nearer Tristen than Geoffrey. No sense in leaving herself open to his cool slights this early in the morning. Whatever Nick thought, she couldn't detect in his eldest son the slightest glimmer of even friendship. He seemed impervious to her undeniable beauty, her hypnotic voice which entranced just about everyone else, and her superior height which didn't diminish her shapely curves. Perhaps he preferred tiny blondes. Helene, she'd been told, was blonde and tiny. Not quite as tiny as the ebony haired triplets, but still. Maybe he had a problem with auburn haired women. Except, of course, his mother—and small children, like Jacqi and Kailey.
Since he kept himself aloof, she hadn't a clue what went on inside the gray matter encased in that handsome head. But she wanted to . . . despite the danger that would likely put both of them in.
Kailey stood in her chair and leaned against Geoffrey. Laying her little arm across his broad shoulder, she said with an adorable pout, "I wuv my Daddy Geoff, but her don't! And I want her to! And I want my Daddy Geoff to wuv her, too!"
"Yeah, well, he don't!" retorted Adrien, the younger and darker of the twenty-six-year old twins. "Which is fine with us! How come you don't hate him for that?"
Kailey played with a lock of Geoffrey's thick black hair. "I wuv him, that's all! He nice to me, and he don't hurt us!"
"Well . . . he can't hurt what he won't get close to," observed Tristen, who was identical in every way to his twin except for his fairer coloring."Or no—he can't be hurt by what he won't get close to. Although, it seems to me that it's inevitable someone's going to be hurt when he's playing Dad to her daughter and pretending she doesn't exist!"
"Yes, well, again, not that we mind!" Adrien raised a finger as he spoke. "We don't need him thinking he's got a prayer in taking her away from us!"
"Well," said Brett smugly, "Today, your prayers weren't answered, were they? "
Adrien cast him a dark accusing glance. "You cheated, I know you did! I can't prove it, yet, but you cheated!"
Brett met his gaze and smiled, admitting nothing. Tristen demanded a rematch for, apparently, the umpteenth time, but Brett wouldn't be swayed. "It wouldn't matter. I'd win again, anyway!"
"He's been letting you boys win!" called Anetra from the kitchen. "Did you really believe your skill has improved all that much?"
"Yes!" responded Tristen and Adrien. "Don't even suggest it's otherwise!"
Brett only chuckled wickedly. He looked up at Storm who stood debating just where it was she wanted to sit this morning. "You'd lose, too. I know you want to demand the chance to gain freedom from us!"
"I think it's only fair—"
"Fair but useless. You'd lose. And you'd be mine forever—and they'd be sobbing their losses for longer than!"
"Oohooo! We accept that challenge, boy!"
"No! Look, guys—"
The back door banged shut. Nick, having heard the discussion as he crossed the porch, for the opened dining room windows overlooked the back yard, poked his head in to survey the occupants. "Karla, there's no need to wait for me! Eat and leave!"
"Everyone else is waiting!"
He gave her a look that sent her for the vacant chair beside Kourtnay, but four-year-old Daine-Anthony called urgently for her to sit beside him. Since that would put her only one small boy away from the man that most disturbed her peace of mind, she hesitated in granting Daine his wish.
The plea in Daine's hopeful blue-green eyes, though, won her over. She sat, careful not to allow her gaze to dwell deliberately in Geoffrey's direction. His cool indifference hurt more than she'd ever admit. She'd thought she'd succeeded in convincing everyone else that, since she had no interest in him, his lack of same in her meant nothing. But on too many occasions, she'd let her guard down, and now Timmy and Jacqi had photographic proof of her fondest dream. And they hadn't minded sharing those moments with the entire world.
They also had such proof that Geoffrey had allowed a wistful glance to dwell upon her, hinting that perhaps Helene's grip upon him was, in fact, slipping.
However, Geoffrey's manner hadn't changed a wit since then. If anything, he kept a greater distance from her than before. Pretended she didn't exist when he was able . . . and he was able pretty much twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It effectively kept her relationship with him on a business level. Only speaking with him on stable matters when necessary.
Didn't keep her from wishing for a real one, though. There had to be some way of chipping through his ten foot wall of ice . . . and unless he went and did something stupid, like actually persuade Helene Stanley to marry him, she had the time to figure out how to melt it down.
What are you thinking, you idiot! A dream is about all it's ever going to be! Mind broke into her thoughts and brought them thudding to earth. How quick you want to forget!
Stormi suppressed a sigh, acknowledging her mind's reproof. Dreaming of falling in love with any of the men of Dreamwind . . . or anyone else, was one thing. Actually trying to make it happen . . . just couldn't be. Stupid of her to let her heart break out of the gate and start a run for it. Stupid of her to let her daughter think it her only destiny.
Nicky's emerald glance surveyed the scene directly across from him, smiling faintly. Mockingly, too. He watched Storm fill a plate for Daine and then for Kailey. His lips parted to remark, but Kailey's demand cut it off before it was uttered.
"Daddy Geoff wants some pancakes, too, Mom." Kailey patted Geoffrey's arm reassuringly. "Don't worry. Her's gonna get you some!"
Involuntary chuckles of amusement escaped the lipss of almost everyone, both at the table and in the kitchen. Ignoring them all, Stormi motioned for Daine to get his eldest brother's plate, began filling it for him. While she often managed to be absent for several meals a week, she'd been present at breakfast often enough to know precisely what Geoffrey liked most. But her regard for him wasn't what had prompted her to obey her daughter's request. Nope, this small task stalled her leaving for Deverill Hall a few minutes more. Enduring Geoffrey's indifference at any time was far preferable to enduring her mother's.
Or . . . maybe not. She could put her encounters with her mother behind her the instant she turned away from her. Just bury all the cruel and thoughtless things uttered deeply away, and go on about her business. Geoffrey's slights had caused her sleepless nights . . .
Not even Lawron Merriwether had produced in her this sort of restless yearning. And she'd been, at the time, deeply—and inappropriately, most thought—in love with the mechanic who'd kept the vehicles at SeaCrest Park and Ascott Meadows in top form. A love that her marriage to Dean van Kirk, a man considered to be more her social equal, hadn't entirely severed.
Thoughts of Lawron still caused her pain. But Stormi shoved that door closed, unwilling to let memories creep out. Especially now. If she wasn't prudent, Lawron's fate could well become that of any one of the Tollefson men.
She placed Geoffrey's plate before him, meeting his eyes only fleetingly, letting Daine's need to have his pancakes cut up for him exact her whole attention.
"Such a touching picture of domestic serenity!" Nicky uttered the remark Kailey had unintentionally cut off moments earlier. It seemed, to him, even more appropriate now than when he'd first thought it.
Two pairs of eyes reproved him, one pair, an enigmatic green, the other, a deep smoke gray—a touch of reluctant amusement with her reproof. He laughed. "If Thomi could see this now . . ."
Anetra walked in with the last batch of pancakes and ham. "Nicky."
"Sorry, Mom. I couldn't resist. But I can hear her now, telling them all the same things everyone's been trying to tell her about Stephan. Come on, why keep pretending? We all want to break Geoffrey's head with bricks! He's being an idiot and even he knows it. Besides, look at them—seated close together with two adorable little children . . .!"
Suddenly, her desire to be as late as possible to Deverill Hall slid away. An unnerving sensation of claustrophia gripped her. As it did almost every time she came to the table. Only, now, thanks to Nicky, it seemed far worse. Standing abruptly, rolling a sausage inside a buttered pancake as she did so, she uttered, "I'm late! See you all later!" and strode away.
"Storm!" Anetra began, but then stopped, letting her continue on her way. "Nicky, sometimes you're not very bright!"
"Mom, someone has to—"
What someone had to do, Stormi didn't hear. She made sure she was out the door, and that it banged noisily shut behind her. That Nicky was only trying to help her win her dream, she didn't doubt. If he could be a little more subtle, perhaps she could welcome it!
The Alexus Stephan had permitted his cousins to use during their stay in Rhode Island occupied a space in the family's parking lot. Right next to Geoffrey's black Silverado. It hadn't, at the time, been the only space available to him to do so. At any other time, he'd made sure the truck was as far from the Alexus as it could possibly be. Even parked it elsewhere than the family's lot if he felt a need for it.
She hadn't dwelled on wondering about this latest quirk. Parking next to her car and asking her to marry him were poles apart. Okay, maybe a move in the right direction, but nothing for Heart to get all gaga about. All right, all right, and that he'd actually allowed her to make up a plate for him was yet another miracle. He'd barely allowed her to pass butter to him before today. Generally reached across the table for one of the other butter dishes, however inconvenient it might be, both to him and the person he stole it from.
Such a—
"Wait! Wait, Sthorm! I wanna go with you! Can I? Mom thaid!" Daine-Anthony ran down the slope of the backyard toward her. He stopped at the edge of the lawn, and impatiently hopping in place, awaited her answer.
Stormi paused in the act of sliding behind the wheel. Those large, hopeful, blue-green puppy eyes were hard to ignore. She ought to say no, only because it would irritate her mother if she brought any small child other than Kailey—-whom she ignored wholly once she'd given and gotten the obligatory hug and peck on the cheek. Daine worshiped her as deeply as any of his older brothers did; it would be heinous if her mother snubbed him as cruelly as she had Nicky upon his first meeting with the Deverill clan not all that long ago.
But then . . . why should her mother always expect her day to be steeped in perfection? Why did she always strive to annihilate it in those of her daughters?
"All right, come on! You're sure she knows you want to come?"
Daine dashed across the driveway to the passenger side of the car. "Yup! She thaid no buggin' you, though. If you d'wanna bring me, then I gotta stay home!" He tugged open the door and scrambled into the back seat and into Kailey's booster seat. Dutifully, he clicked the seat belt about him, his face all smiles and happy expectation.
"Well, it's not me you're going to be bugging," replied Stormi, getting in. "Gonna be my mother!" She reached back to make sure he'd fastened everything securely. He had.
"How come?" asked Daine with interest.
"She doesn't like little kids." Starting the car, she headed it out of the parking lot and down the driveway.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've never asked her. She probably doesn't know herself. Or won't tell me, if I did ask."
"How come?"
"Because that's the way she is. Mean and miserable. I wish your mother was my mother!"
"Well, my mother can't be your mother. ‘Cause then you couldn't like Geoffrey so much. ‘Cause guys ain't apossa marry their sistersth—"
"Daine—"
"What? Nicky thaysth you wike Geoffrey thisth much!" And he spread his little arms as wide as they would spread there in the back seat. She watched him in the mirror, couldn't suppress a smile of amusement over it. The tot continued eagerly, "You weally do wuv Geoffrey, huh, Sthtorm? But he'sth bein' a damned snotfaceth, huh?"
Thankful that his father wasn't with them to have heard him express that sentiment, Stormi answered, "Yes, he is. But Daine, I don't want you saying it that way, okay? You can probably call him a snotface—I think. I'm not really sure about that. But I am sure your father would make me very sorry that you called your brother a ‘damned snotface'!"
"How come?"
"Because he doesn't like to hear anyone talk like that. Really, we should not be calling anyone names like that. It's not—"
"You called Misthter Witley a witlesth, sthupid, asth—"
"Daine!" ruthlessly cutting him off before he could finish repeating her entire insult.
"I didn't thay that! You did!"
"You don't have to repeat it. I know what I said. And I'm sorry you heard me say it!"
"How come you don't like him?"
"Because he is a witless, stupid—donkey's behind!"
"That ain't what you thaid. You thaid—"
"Daine," she said with the utmost patience, "how about if we forget what I said, and talk about something else. Don't ask ‘how come'. Unless, of course, you want to go home. Now."
"Okay. I won't talk ‘bout that. And I won't tell Dad you thaid his fwreakin' rulesth ‘bout not widin' Wogue and Fairwind're all a bunch of theep thsh—"
Storm sucked in a deep breath and rolled her eyes heavenward. Until now she'd really not taken seriously Nick's claims of her corrupting the speech of the little ones. Looked like she owed him a great many humble apologies.
"—thinure." finished Daine, making use of her own euphemism for the word. He grinned at her in the mirror. "You thought I wasth gonna say theep thit, huh, Sthorm?"
A great many very humble apologies!
