The Best Is Yet to Come Read online

  "Your stomach will do you in, one day," Ivy accused as she followed with her mother.

  "Only if I marry a girl who can't cook," Ryder returned. He sat down at the table wearily. "God, what a long drive."

  "Where did you come from?" Ivy asked as she set him a place at the table, which was already laden with food.

  "The stork brought me…" he began.

  "The stork couldn't have carried you," came the smug reply. "You were probably unloaded under a cabbage leaf by a backhoe…"

  "Keep it up," he dared. "Come on. One more remark about my weight and you'll be wearing your scrambled eggs."

  "Peasant," she said with mock arrogance.

  "I have earthy leanings, all right," he mused, watching her with a predatory smile.

  She went scarlet, grateful that her mother's back was turned. She couldn't meet his playful eyes. Remembering the feel of his mouth on her neck made her knees go weak. It was disloyal to go lusting after a man on the heels of her husband's death. Except that she'd lusted after Ryder since her fifteenth birthday, heart and soul. She'd managed to keep him from seeing it, but over the years her love had grown stronger. It was because of Ryder that she'd never been able to give herself fully to Ben. It had been Ryder whom she'd wanted, from the first day she'd seen him. But he'd been rich and she'd been poor and too young to catch his eyes. So she'd buried her hopeless longings and married Ben. She couldn't afford to try to go back to the past. She'd cheated Ben and now he was dead. She owed him loyalty if nothing less. Ryder didn't want her that way, anyway. He was only teasing. She was sure of it.

  Ryder, watching her, could see the wall going up. He sighed as he creamed the coffee Jean had just poured him. "I drove down from the Atlanta airport," he volunteered. "The house is cold and there's no heat…" He contrived to look pitiful. "You can stay with us," Jean said. "We have a spare bedroom."

  "Of course," Ivy seconded, but she wouldn't look at him. He hesitated, watching Ivy. "No, that's all right," he murmured. "I wouldn't want to impose. I can buy some thermal underwear and wrap up in a blanket."

  Ivy burst out laughing at that picture. Ryder could have checked into the local motel. For goodness' sake, he could have bought the local motel. And here he sounded as if he'd freeze without them.

  "You poor man," Ivy said, turning, vividly beautiful with her black eyes sparkling in her flushed, animated face.

  "Poor, in some ways," he agreed, smiling faintly while he stared and stared, mesmerized by her beauty. "You're a nice girl, Ivy," he mused, and forced his eyes back onto his plate as they all sat down. "I'll stay at the house, but I appreciate being invited to breakfast. I was starved, and this is delicious," he added, savoring a bite of perfect scrambled eggs.

  "Thank you," Jean said, grinning at him.

  "Can Ivy cook like this?" he asked.

  "Of course," Jean replied.

  Ryder pursed his firm lips and grinned. "My stomach hears wedding bells."

  Ivy went white. It was the shock, of course, the remembrance of grief, of what she'd lost. Ryder didn't feel things this deeply, she tried to tell herself, he wouldn't understand how much it hurt to joke about it, when she had Ben on her conscience. Ben. She'd killed Ben…!

  He caught her just as she went sideways, lifting her gently in his hard arms. "For God's sake…" he ground out, his face betraying a flash of helpless shock.

  "She'll get over it," Jean said. "She's hardly slept lately, or eaten very much. It's early days yet, and she loved him."

  "Yes," Ryder bit off coldly. "I know."

  Jean glanced at him and glanced quickly away, because what she'd glimpsed in his face was too private, too hellish, for words. "Here, put her on the sofa. I'll get a cold cloth."

  He didn't reply. He carried his light burden into the living room and put her down gently on the big couch. He knelt beside her, brushing back the long, silky hair from her still face. Like a sleeping princess, he thought irrationally, his eyes lingering, his heart aching…

  He watched those long, thick lashes slowly lift. Her eyes showed confusion and then she smiled at him. His hands in her hair tightened, clenched. It was all he could do not to bend his head that bare inch it would take to feel her soft, sweet lips under his. He was aware of Jean then, of her voice. He didn't hear what she said, but he got to his feet and moved back to let her put the cloth on Ivy's head. He felt as if he'd stopped breathing, but Ivy was all right. She was sitting up, now, and looking embarrassed.

  "Sorry about that," she said. Her eyes went to Ryder, who looked like death walking. "Ryder, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "It was just…"

  "I know what it was. I'm sorry, too," he replied tersely. "Perhaps I'd better go."

  "Without your breakfast?" Ivy asked. "And what for?"

  "I don't want to upset you any more," he said.

  Jean mumbled something about putting away the cloth and left the room, but neither of them noticed.

  "You won't," Ivy continued, puzzled by that coldness in his eyes.

  "He's dead," he said curtly. "Nothing you can say or do or feel or think will bring him back. If the mention of the word wedding has that kind of effect on you…"

  "It doesn't, normally," she shot back. "I haven't been eating properly and I'm just weak!"

  "And touchy," he added. "After six months, still touchy and nervous and overwrought."

  "I have a right to be," she said angrily. "I loved him!" she said. Maybe if she said it enough, she could make herself believe that she had, that she hadn't cheated her husband because of what she'd felt for Ryder.

  He didn't say anything. He just stared at her, his face pasty under his tan, his eyes fierce and intent.

  "I did!" she cried. "I did, I did!"

  She put her face in her hands and the tears came, hot under her fingers. "I can't live like this," she whispered brokenly.

  "You can, and you will." He lifted her off the sofa, holding her firmly with both hands. "This has got to stop. Six months is long enough to grieve. You're going to start living again."

  "That sounds like a threat. What are you going to do, take me on as a new construction project?" she challenged tearfully. "Remodel me? Renovate me?"

  "Something like that," he said absently. He whipped out a handkerchief and mopped her up, his fingers deft and sure on her pale face. "Now stop wailing. It upsets me."

  "Nothing upsets you," she said, obediently blowing her red nose. "Well, maybe little things do," she corrected. She smiled faintly. "Like the day your car kept cutting off in traffic and you drove it back to the construction site and dropped a wrecking ball right through the windshield."

  He chuckled. "Damn it, good enough for it. I'd had it in three different shops and nobody could fix it."

  "I'd love to hear what you told the insurance company."

  "I didn't call the insurance company, I just bought another car," he said. "From another manufacturer," he added, grinning.

  "It must be lovely, to have that kind of money."

  "I can't eat it," he said lazily. "Or drink it. Or snuggle up to it on a cold winter night. I could use it for wallpaper, of course, or make cigarettes out of it…"

  "You're nuts."

  "Thanks, I'm crazy about you, too. How about breakfast, before I starve to death? Carrying you in here used up my last few ounces of strength."

  She laughed helplessly. "All right. Come on, bottomless pit." She frowned suddenly. "You said you ate on the plane… ?"

  "When it left Germany," he replied. "And I'm starving. My God, airlines need to consider hardworking men and pregnant women when they serve food!"

  "You're obviously a hardworking man, since you'd hardly qualify as the other…hey!"

  He made a vicious swipe at her posterior, and she jumped clear just in time with a shocked laugh.

  "No fighting at the table, children," Jean said, wagging a finger at them, "or I'll hide the food."

  A corner of Ryder's mouth tugged down as he glared at Ivy, who'd retreated to a strateg
ic position behind her mother.

  "All right. She's safe. For now." The way he said it, and the look in his pale eyes, made Ivy melt inside. But she had to pretend that she wasn't affected. She turned away, making a joke of it, and refused to take him seriously.

  She had to forget what had happened out on the porch. It was disloyal to Ben. She didn't deserve to be happy. She wouldn't let herself have Ryder, even if he was finally within her reach, because she'd caused Ben to kill himself with her hopeless longing. It wouldn't be fair to expect happiness at such a price.

  Chapter 2

  Ryder answered Jean's teasing questions about his latest jaunt, but his eyes kept going to Ivy. She felt them on her, curious, searching, and she was more nervous with him than she'd ever been.

  "I said, do you want some more bacon, darling?" Jean asked her daughter for the second time, smiling as Ryder grimaced—he hated bacon.

  "What? Oh, no, thanks, I've had enough." Ivy smiled. She sipped her coffee slowly.

  "You look as if you haven't eaten for weeks," Ryder observed, studying her over his empty plate. He was leaning back in his chair and he looked impossibly arrogant.

  "She hardly eats anything," Jean muttered, getting up from the table. "Talk some sense into her, Ryder, will you?" she called as she disappeared.

  Ryder toyed with his cup, glancing up at Ivy with suddenly piercing gray eyes. "I think what you need most is to get away from things that remind you of the past. Just for a little while."

  She considered that. "That's a nice thought," she agreed. "But I have a total of twenty-eight dollars and thirty-five cents in my checking account."

  "Oh, hell, what do you think I'm suggesting, a tourist special with a sight-seeing jaunt by bus thrown in?" he grumbled. "Listen, honey, I've got a cabin in the north Georgia mountains, a villa in Nassau and a summer house in Jacksonville. Take your pick," he said. "I'll even fly you there myself." She smiled at him. "You're a nice man, Ryder," she said. "But I couldn't."

  "Why not? I won't try to seduce you," he said, and smiled faintly, although there was no humor in his eyes. Her breath caught and he saw her stir restlessly at the suggestive remark. "I'm just offering you a vacation."

  "I'm not sure what I want to do, just yet," she said, faltering. "You aren't afraid of me, are you?" he asked curiously. "Surely not, as long as we've know each other."

  She stared at him then, her eyes faintly hunted. "Yes," she confessed. "I think I am, a little. Do you mind?"

  His smile was gentle and puzzling. "As a matter of fact, Ivy, I don't mind in the least," he said. "I'm flattered."

  Despite her marriage, she felt frankly naive in some respects. She stared at Ryder curiously and thought that he'd probably had more women than most men she'd been acquainted with. The thought of Ryder in bed with a woman shocked her, angered her. She was grateful that her mother came back in time to spare her any more embarrassing remarks.

  "I wrapped you up some biscuits to take with you," Jean said, coming out of the pantry with a small sack in hand. She closed the door, picked up the coffeepot and returned to the table.

  "You angel," Ryder said, grinning. "Come home and cook for me. Ivy can feed herself."

  "Brute," Ivy said indignantly.

  "You have Kim Sun," Jean reminded him as she refilled their cups. "By the way, where is he?"

  "Shivering, I expect, and trying to make cherry crepes on an open hearth." He sighed. "He's making me a new dish for dinner." He looked hunted. "Wouldn't you like to invite me to dinner, and save me?"

  "Kim Sun is a wonderful cook!" Jean burst out.

  "When it comes to French pastry, maybe," he muttered. "He'd gone through two pounds of flour when I left the house. I just asked him to fix me some eggs and he muttered something in Korean that I know I'd have fired him for, if I could have translated it."

  "He makes marvelous pastry," Ivy offered.

  "I can't live on desserts. When I hired him, I didn't know about this one fatal flaw—I didn't know he could only cook desserts. He was a pastry chef, for God's sake, he can't even boil a damned potato!"

  "He spoils you rotten," Jean reminded him.

  He glared at her. "He also has the world's sharpest tongue and he treats me like dust under his shoes. I'm going to fire him!"

  "Oh, is that why you sent for his parents and got them a house to live in and…" Ivy began, amused.

  "You can shut up," he enunciated curtly. He finished his coffee and got up. "I've got to go. He may have burned the house down by now."

  "If you'd called us, we'd have had the gas company turn things on for you," Jean said.

  "I thought about it, but I was in a big hurry to get home." He bent to kiss Jean's cheek. "Thanks for breakfast."

  "Anytime."

  His pale eyes shot to Ivy, lingering on her face. "Walk me to the door, Ivy," he invited.

  She got up, too, sticking her hands into her pockets. "Poor soul, he can't find his own way out." She shook her head. "What do you do when you're in the city, hire a man to point?"

  He glanced at her. "I got the distinct impression earlier that you'd be delighted to show me to the door," he said softly.

  She flushed. "You…you do come on pretty strong," she said as they reached the hall, out of Jean's earshot.

  "And if I didn't?" he asked carelessly.

  "I like you just the way you are, Ryder," she said with unconscious warmth, looking up.

  His jaw tautened at that softness in her lovely eyes. He had to drag his eyes away. "I worry about you," he said tersely. "You can't live in the past. You've got to start living again."

  "I know. It's the way he died…" She swallowed, folding her arms around her. "It's going to take time to cope with it once and for all."

  "I know that," he sighed. His eyes went over her in soft sketches. "If what happened out here disturbed you," he said suddenly, watching her color as he brought back his unorthodox greeting, "it's been a long dry spell."

  That she could believe, since he hadn't noticed her in that way in years. She threw off the pain and managed a dry smile.

  "Long dry spell, my foot," she scoffed. "What happened? Did your harem trip over their veils and break something?"

  "I don't have a harem," he remarked as they reached the front door. His pale eyes wandered slowly down her exquisite figure. "I've gone hungry for a long, long time," he said in a different tone.

  She flushed, because the statement seemed to have an intimate connotation, but when he looked up, his eyes were dancing.

  "Beast!" she accused, hitting his broad chest playfully.

  "Beauty," he replied.

  She started to speak and gave up. He was always one step ahead. "I give up," she muttered. "It's like arguing with a broom!"

  "I'm going down below Blakely to a farm equipment auction in the morning. Want to ride with me?"

  Of course she did, but she knew he only asked out of pity. He was an old family friend and he felt sorry for her. It only made her unrequited love for him more painful. "I have things to do here," she hedged.

  "Tomorrow is Saturday," he reminded her.

  "I know that." She searched for excuses, but they ran through her mind like sand through a sieve. Her big black eyes lifted, dark with frustration.

  "All right," he said. "No pressure. If you don't want to come, I won't hound you."

  She relaxed visibly. "I'm sorry, Ryder…"

  "Of course. Another time, then." He said it lightly, but he seemed brooding, preoccupied as he left.

  Later, when she mentioned the invitation to her mother, Jean was puzzled.

  "Why didn't you want to go with him?" she asked her daughter.

  She didn't want to have to explain that. She turned away. "It's too soon," she said. "Ben's barely been dead six months."

  "For heaven's sake, Ryder isn't asking you to sleep with him! He only wanted you to go for a ride. Honestly, Ivy, I don't understand you! Ryder's the best friend you have."

  "Yes, I know," Ivy said in a
nguish. And she thought, that's the whole problem.

  Even though she'd refused to go with him to the auction, Ryder came by the house on his way. He was driving the farm's four-wheel-drive this time, a big tan-and-brown pickup, and he was dressed in tan boots, tight jeans, and a chambray shirt that might have been tailor-made for him. A black Stetson was cocked over his pale eyes. Ivy stood at the back door and just stared at him, filling her empty heart with the sheer masculine perfection of him as he climbed out of the vehicle and strode lazily toward the porch.

  She was wearing a denim skirt and a long-sleeved white blouse with a patterned scarf carelessly knotted at her throat. She had on her boots, too, because she'd planned to go for a walk so that she wouldn't brood over having turned down Ryder's invitation. If she'd left five minutes earlier, she'd have missed him. She didn't know whether to be sorry or glad.

  She opened the door as he came up the steps, noticing the way his eyes narrowed and skimmed lightly over her figure before they found their way to her own.

  "Ready?" he asked with a taunting smile.

  "I was going for a walk," she began.

  "Jean, we're gone!" he called to her mother.

  "Have fun!" Jean called back from her bedroom.

  "But, I'm not going with you," Ivy began weakly.

  He swung her easily up in his hard arms, smiling at her consternation. "Yes, you are," he said softly.

  He turned and walked out the door, his taut-muscled, fit body taking her weight as easily as if she were a sack of feathers.

  His chest was warm and hard against her breast, and she smelled the tangy cologne he wore and the faint scent of shaving cream on his face. He had lines beside his silvery eyes, and thick black lashes over them. His nose was slightly dented from a few free-for-alls in his younger days. But his mouth…she almost groaned aloud just looking at it. Wide and sensual, chiseled, with a thin upper lip and slightly fuller lower one over perfect white teeth. She wanted so badly to lift her face the fraction of an inch necessary to put her open mouth to his.