Chapter Twenty-Two
Ben breezed back into town and the ranch house (but without expectations of getting into Caroline’s bed) two days later. His arrival actually came ahead of schedule, when no one was expecting him, so everyone was occupied elsewhere when he walked through the front door.
“Hey!” he called, setting down his luggage onto the foyer’s polished floor. “Anybody home?”
He heard the sound of giggles and the click of puppy claws approaching and turned for the usual exuberant greeting. “Oh, hi, Daddy!” said Sophie, with a wave, and kept on running.
Huh. Bit of a disappointment there.
Next to appear, as he took a few steps farther, was Mrs. Wyeth.
“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Taggart,” she said, unsurprised. And continued on her way, like a magnificent ocean liner pushing into port, toward the downstairs linen closet.
Ben frowned. The cook was still ruling her kingdom? Hadn’t Caroline planned to fire her, because their relationship was past repair, and nothing could be done to save it? Or had he dreamed that middle-of-the-night conversation?
He had just loosened the knot of his tie and pulled off his suit coat when Tom casually strolled on through. “Oh, hiya, Ben. Back, I see.” And disappeared into the kitchen.
At this the master of the house was beginning to feel a few twinges of annoyance. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they realize he might appreciate a little welcome? “Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.” Thank you, Robert Louis Stevenson. Now, could some member of the family kindly acknowledge his presence?
Caroline, he was surprised to see, had taken up residence at the marble counter and was staring intently at the screen of her laptop. In between clicks at the keyboard, she was nibbling on some sort of pastry and offering compliments all around.
“Emma, this is above and beyond your usual standard. I don’t know what you’ve put in the sweet roll dough, but it’s absolutely delicious.”
The cook turned from her clean-up at the sink with a smile. A smile! Ben about dropped his teeth. “Just a pinch of cardamom, Mrs. T. Really adds flavor, doesn’t it?”
“Tom, you simply must try this. Yes, Sophie, dear, you may have some, too. But not Jasper. He needs to stick with his dog food so he doesn’t get an upset tummy.”
Ben, standing in the doorway and feeling like a stranger in his own house, loudly cleared his throat.
Caroline glanced up, coolly, distantly. He did believe there might have been a hint of lip-curling involved. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hey, everybody.” Attempting good humor, he flung his jacket over the back of a chair and set down his briefcase. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, Daddy, we’re all just real busy,” Sophie, galloping around as if she riding a horse, laughed at him but couldn’t be bothered to stop for a hug. She was more intent, apparently, upon destroying the kitchen, judging by the racket and clatter and a crash of overturned chair.
“Honey, why don’t you and your puppy friend go outside for a while?” Caroline suggested over the noise. “Throw the ball for Jasper so he can run off some energy, and I’ll come out with you soon.”
“Hokay, Mom!” Away she went, the dog at her heels, and the back door slammed behind her.
Tom, munching away on the Bismarck he’d been presented, looked from husband to wife and back again, and beat a strategic retreat. “Think I’ll go on with Sophie, myself.”
That left only Emma Wyeth in the kitchen, and she, too, decided discretion was the better part of valor. Murmuring something about checking on Maria’s progress upstairs, she slipped away.
“Well.” Ben managed a tight grin. “Guess I have a way of clearing a room, don’t I?”
Easing off her stool, Caroline took down two glasses from the shelf and retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, only to state the obvious. “You’re back early.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Thought you might appreciate havin’ a little family time for the Fourth. We can take in the parade, do the carnival, and so on.”
“Certainly, if that’s what you want.” Calmly she went on pouring, then offered one of the filled glasses to him.
Now he was just plain exasperated. “It’s not just what I want, Carrie. I figured Sophie would want it, too.”
“Oh, we’ve already made plans. But you’re welcome to come along with us, if you want. Tom tells me there’s a lovely wooded spot outside Marigold that is just perfect for watching the fireworks. We’ll take some lawn chairs and a couple of blankets and make a picnic night of it.”
A faint blush colored his cheeks. He knew the spot, all right. It was the same place where he’d taken Caroline, so roughly and rapidly, and she had not only acceded but joyously responded to his every demand.
“Huh. Well, okay, then. Uh—you’ll let me know what time all your plans will be goin’ on, right? And where?”
“Certainly. Just as we agreed to, in the documents we signed.”
Good God. Could she act any more frigid or unfeeling? Clearly she was still carrying a mad around for whatever had gotten her upset a week ago, and he’d be paying the penalty for it. Too bad. Because he was horny as hell, and she looked good enough to eat, in a sherbet colored yellow top and a fetching little denim skort that showed every ripple of muscle across her backside.
“Huh,” he said again, awkwardly and helplessly, and picked up his things. “Is Marilou around?”
Caroline had already returned to her laptop, to whatever she was doing or researching or reading. Damn it. Couldn’t she act just the least bit happy to see him? Couldn’t she even ask how business matters had gone during his travel, and whether he had accomplished anything worthwhile?
He wanted first to jump her bones, and then he wanted lay his head on her breast and confess that some of the excitement of zipping around the country had gone. He no longer looked forward to visiting so many cities in so many days, or keeping track of the pelts he had collected from fellow corporate moguls brought down by hisown machinations.
“No,” said his wife. “I think she isn’t in today. She and Jimmy had some holiday plans to be away for a few days.”
“Away for a few days? She didn’t check with me. Who in the hell gave her permission—”
“Oh, I told her she could leave.” His wife’s aquamarine eyes widened innocently. “Since you weren’t here to do it yourself…”
One shrug of her rounded shoulder, one glimpse of her breasts beneath that thin summer top, and every moving part of his neglected body sat up and took notice. Foul mood or no, he wanted her fast and loose; he wanted to strip away every inch of her clothing, throw her onto the table, and assert his marital rights then and there.
Finally, for once, the working cells of his brain took precedence. Nope. No Hootchie Mama tonight. He had his pride, and he could live on it.
But not for long.
“Okay,” he responded lamely. “Guess that’s okay. I’ll—uh—just be in the office…if you need me…”
“By all means.”
Hell. Ben felt like tearing a leg off his favorite chair to gnaw it into pieces.
When had life gotten to be so complicated?