Orchard Valley Grooms

Ten



“What? Take me off Dad’s hands?” Steffie echoed. Surely he wasn’t serious. No woman in her right mind would accept such an insulting proposal.



“You heard me.”



“Tell me you’re kidding.”



Charles shook his head. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. You want to marry me, then so be it. I’m willing to go along with this, provided we understand each other….”



“In that case I withdraw the offer—not that I ever made an offer.”



“You can’t do that,” Charles argued, looking surprised. “Your father thinks we should get married and, after giving it some thought, I agree with him.”



“That’s too bad, since I’m not interested.”



Charles laughed softly. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve been crazy about me for years.”



Steffie whirled around and crossed her arms, as though to fend off his words. “I can’t marry you, Charles.”



“Why not? I know you love me. You said so yourself before you left for Italy, and I know that hasn’t changed.”



“Don’t be so sure.”



“Ah, but I am. And recently you showed me again.”



“When?” she demanded, trying to recall the conversations they’d had since her return to Orchard Valley.



“The afternoon we met at Del’s.”



Steffie cast her mind back to that day. They’d met by accident as they’d gone in to pay for their gas. Steffie remembered how glad she’d been to see him, how eager to set things straight. But she couldn’t remember saying one thing that would lead Charles to believe she still loved him.



“I didn’t say anything.”



“Not in so many words, true, but with everything you did. The same holds true for the night I dropped off the azalea and you asked me to dinner. Remember?”



“Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?”



“A whole lot, as a matter of fact. You were continually making excuses for us to be together.”



Steffie’s face flooded with color. “What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked again.



He ignored her question. “We had fun that night, touring Orchard Valley. Didn’t we?”



Steffie nodded. She wasn’t likely to forget that evening. For the first time in her relationship with Charles, she’d felt a stirring of real promise. Not the kind of hope she’d fabricated earlier, but one based on genuine companionship. Charles had enjoyed her company and they’d laughed and talked as though they’d been friends for years.



“You told me that when you lived in Italy you were too busy with your studies to date much,” Charles reminded her.



“So?”



“So that led me to conclude that you hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else while you were away.”



“I hadn’t.”



“Your father came right out and told me on several occasions that he was concerned about you because you didn’t seem to be dating anyone seriously.”



Steffie glared at him, feeling trapped. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”



“Plenty. You loved me then, and you love me now.”



“You’ve got some nerve, Charles Tomaselli.” She glowered fiercely, hoping he’d back off. “What makes you so sure I’m in love with you now?”



“I know you better than you realize.”



“What nonsense!” She managed a light laugh. “You don’t know me at all, otherwise you—” She stopped abruptly.



“Otherwise what?”



“Nothing.” Otherwise he wouldn’t have believed the things she’d told him.



“Don’t you think it’s time we stopped playing games with each other?” he suggested.



“What games?” she snapped. “I gave those up years ago.”



Charles frowned as though he wasn’t sure he should believe her.



Hurt and angry, Steffie raised her hand and pointed at him. “That’s the reason I refuse to marry you,” she cried. Restraining the emotion was next to impossible and her voice quavered with the force of it. “I suppose I should be flattered that you’re willing to take me off Dad’s hands,” she said sarcastically. “Every woman dreams of hearing such romantic words. But I want far more in a husband, Charles Tomaselli, than you’d ever be capable of giving me!”



“What do you mean by that?” Before she had a chance to reply he muttered, “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid I’m going to be financially strapped with the newspaper, aren’t you? You think I won’t be able to afford you.”



Steffie was stunned by his remark. Stunned and insulted. “You know me so well, don’t you?” she asked him, her voice heavy with scorn. “There’s just no pulling the wool over your eyes, is there?” She drew in a deep breath. “I think it would be best if you left.” She walked across the kitchen and held open the back door. “Right now.”



Charles shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to leave.” He pulled out a chair and threw himself down. “We’re going to talk this out, once and for all,” he told her.



“You’re too stubborn.”



“So are you.”



“We’d make a terrible couple.”



“We make a good team.”



Steffie didn’t know why she was fighting him so hard—especially when he was saying all the things she’d always dreamed of hearing.



“I realize I’ve made some mistakes with this,” he said slowly. “It might have sounded callous, offering to marry you the way I did.”



“I’ll admit that taking me off Dad’s hands does lack a certain romantic flair,” she agreed wryly. She crossed over to the counter for a coffee mug, filling it from the pot next to the stove. If they were going to talk seriously, without hurling accusations at each other, she was going to need it.



“I was angry.”



“Then why’d you come here?” she asked, claiming the chair across from him.



“Because,” he answered in a tight, angry voice, “I was afraid I’d lose you again.”



“Lose me?” That made no sense to Steffie.



“You heard me,” he growled. “I was afraid you’d return to Italy or take off on a safari, or go someplace equally inaccessible.”



“Portland. I’m moving to Portland, but it isn’t because of what happened with you. I intended to do that from the moment I got home.” She folded her hands around the hot mug. “Why should you care where I go?”



“Because I didn’t want you leaving again.”



“Why do you want me to stay, especially if you believe the things I told you yesterday?”



His eyes held hers. “I don’t believe them.”



“You gave a good impression of it earlier,” she reminded him. A fresh wave of pain assaulted her and she looked away.



“That’s because I was furious.”



“That hasn’t changed.”



“No, it hasn’t,” he agreed, “but the simple fact is I don’t want you to leave again.”



“Unfortunately you don’t have any say in what I do.”



Charles frowned. “Now you’re angry.”



“You’re right about that! Did you really think I was so desperate for a husband I’d accept your insulting offer? Is that what you think of me, Charles?”



“No!” he shouted. “I’m in love with you, dammit! I have been for years. I had to do something to keep you here. I don’t want to wait another three years for you to come to your senses.”



His words were followed by silence. Steffie stared down into her coffee, and to her chagrin felt tears well up in her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”



Charles stood abruptly and walked to the window again. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed outside. “It’s true.”



“It couldn’t be.” She wiped the tears from her face. “You were so…so…”



“Cruel,” he supplied. “You’ll never understand how hard it was not to make love to you that first time in the stable. I’ve never been more tempted by any woman.”



“I…tempted you?” Her voice was low and incredulous.



He turned around and smiled, but it was a sad smile, one full of doubts and regrets. “I remember when you started hanging around the newspaper office. I was flattered by the attention. Soon I found myself looking forward to the times you came by. You were witty and generous and you always had an intelligent comment about something in the paper. I quickly discovered you were much more than a pretty face.”



“I never worked harder in my life to impress anyone,” she murmured with self-deprecating humor.



But it didn’t take Steffie long to get back to the point. “If that was how you felt, then why did you ask me not to come around anymore?”



“I had to say something before I gave in and threw caution to the wind. You’d recently lost your mother and you were young, naive and terribly vulnerable. I struggled with my conscience for weeks, trying to decide what I should do about you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m six years older than you. That made a big difference.”



“The gap in our ages hasn’t narrowed.”



“True enough, but you’re not a girl anymore.”



“I was twenty-two,” she argued. “At least by the time I left.”



“Perhaps, but you’d been pretty sheltered. And you were still dealing with your grief. Your entire life had been jolted, and I couldn’t be sure if what you felt for me was love or adolescent infatuation.”



Steffie closed her eyes and let the warmth of his words revive her. “It was love,” she told him. A love that had matured, grown more intense, in the years that separated them.



“It probably doesn’t mean much to you now, but I want you to know how hard it was for me the night I came home and found you in my bathtub.”



“But you were so angry.”



“It was either that or take you into my room and make love to you.”



Steffie still felt confused. “You laughed at me when I told you how I felt that day in the stable….”



“I know,” he said simply. Steffie heard the pain and remorse in his voice. “I’ve never had to do anything that’s cost me more. But I never dreamed you’d leave Orchard Valley.”



“What did you expect me to do? I couldn’t stay—that would’ve been impossible. So I did the only thing I could. I left.”



Charles’s hand reached for hers, twining their fingers together. “I’ll never forget the day I learned you’d gone to Europe. I felt as if I’d been hit by a bulldozer.”



“I had to go,” she repeated unnecessarily. “It was too painful to stay.”



His fingers tightened around hers. “I know.” Slowly he raised her hand to his lips. “I’ve waited three long years to tell you how sorry I was to hurt you. Three years to tell you I was in love with you, too.”