Читать книгу Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 16

Long after Lissa left the bed in the guest house and went home, Sullivan lay still, staring at the ceiling.

He always held something back while making love. And he’d never let go like that before. Not even with his ex-wife.

That didn’t mean sex with Kristin hadn’t been good. It had, at least in the early stage of their marriage. But somewhere along the way things had changed. He’d opened his heart and closed his eyes, blinding himself to reality.

Until he came home that stormy day in November and found Kristin gone.

She’d left a note that was supposed to make him understand why things hadn’t worked for her. For them. But her words only brought on a rush of pain, anger and resentment.

Instead of providing answers, her rambling explanation had merely provoked more questions: Why hadn’t she wanted to face him? Why hadn’t she mentioned her unhappiness sooner?

Even now, Sullivan still wasn’t sure exactly when their marriage had gone to hell.

But he knew the affair he and Lissa had embarked upon had just taken a downhill slide.

While making love with Lissa, he’d opened up his heart—this time, just a crack—and closed his eyes. And that’s when it happened, when he got that sinking feeling in his chest. The forewarning of disaster.

He wasn’t sure how Lissa felt about their little “fling,” as she called it. But on his part, there’d been more than lust going on. How much more, he couldn’t be sure. But it was enough to scare the liver out of him.

That kind of intimate release led people to ask for promises others couldn’t keep, commitments that would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment.

Been there. Done that. And Sullivan wouldn’t make the same mistake, wouldn’t set himself up for emotional suicide again.

Who was he to think that the career of a traveling consultant would be conducive to a stable relationship? And what about Lissa?

She was on a light-hearted quest for self-discovery. Why else would she dangle Martinelli on a string while sleeping with Sullivan?

The telephone on the nightstand rang, and he answered.

“Hello,” Donna said, her voice as sweet and gracious as ever. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. We’re having spaghetti tonight.”

Sullivan didn’t feel like eating. Not at the family table. The Cartwrights were slowly sucking him in. Making him comfortable. Too comfortable.

He couldn’t let that happen. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have dinner alone tonight. I’ve got another client, one I’ll be working with when I finish here at Valencia Vineyards. And we need to have a telephone conference. It’ll take quite a while.”

If there was anything to the Pinocchio tale, Sullivan’s nose would have sprouted a couple of feet by now. Not that he didn’t have a client to talk to. But the conversation would take all of three minutes.

“That’s too bad,” Donna said. “But I understand. I’ll have Lissa bring you a plate of food.”

“Don’t do that,” Sullivan said a little too quickly. A little too panicky. “I’m not really hungry this evening.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Positive.”

He had to pull back. To cut his losses and get out while he could.

After all, Lissa was interested in Martinelli. And with Sullivan’s luck, he’d open his heart to the beautiful, green-eyed Lady Godiva and she’d walk away.

Just like his ex.

And if there was one thing he’d learned through his parents’ crappy marriage and the painful reinforcement he’d received from his own marital breakup, it was to keep a sexual relationship light. Unencumbered.

Sullivan had to keep his eyes wide open, if he planned to keep his heart in one piece.

Early the next morning, before Lissa left for the office, the phone rang.

“Honey,” her mom called from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m wearing rubber gloves. And I’m up to my elbows in oven cleaner, grit and grime.”

“Sure.” Lissa answered in the hall.

“Miss Cartwright?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Doctor Margolis at Hidden Valley Veterinary Clinic.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. “How is Barney doing? Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s much better this morning, although not completely out of the woods. Of course, he doesn’t like the charcoal we’ve been giving him to absorb the poison. But he seems to be on the road to recovery.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “When can he come home?”

“I’d like to keep him just a bit longer. Why don’t you pick him up after lunch?”

“Thanks, Doctor. We’ll be there around two o’clock.”

We’ll be there?

It was a natural assumption, wasn’t it? Sullivan would probably want to go with her. After all, he’d been worried about Barney, too.

Did she dare hope that they’d taken a step toward being a real couple? It sure felt that way yesterday afternoon when he’d supported her through Barney’s ordeal. And when he’d made tender, mind-spinning love to her.

Of course, when he hadn’t joined them for dinner last night, her old insecurities had flared, suggesting he might be pulling away from her. But she quickly dismissed them. After all, Sullivan had a conference call to make, another client he needed to speak to. And Lissa understood that.

Still, as she’d stared at his empty seat, felt the loss of his heart-tingling smile, she’d realized how difficult it would be to let him go, once his job at Valencia Vineyards was finished. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come back.

Lissa and Sullivan had found something special, something worth holding on to.

Hadn’t they?

“Who was it?” her mother called from the kitchen.

“It was the vet. Barney is doing better.”

Before Lissa reached the front door, the phone rang again.

At this rate, she’d be late to meet Sullivan at the office. She sighed heavily, then grabbed the receiver from the lamp table near the sofa. “Hello.”

“Lissa? It’s Jared.”

The call took her aback, but only for a moment. She’d talked to the man after the reception, when he’d called to ask how everything went. But she didn’t think he’d called to chat today. “Hi, Jared.”

Did he have the results of her blood test? Would she be able to donate bone marrow to Mark?

“I have some bad news,” he said.

“I’m not a match?” She couldn’t imagine any news that would be worse than that, other than a setback in Mark’s condition. She said a quick prayer, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“No.” His voice sounded rough and ragged. “You’re not a match.”

“I’m really sorry.” The words seemed so hollow, so insignificant. But not because they weren’t sincere. She knew what this meant to Mark, to Jared, to everyone who loved the little boy. They’d have to search for an unrelated match. And that narrowed their chances of finding a bone-marrow donor in time.

“And there’s something else,” Jared said. “The paper work we found at the Children’s Connection indicated Olivia’s child had a different blood type than the lab reported for you.”

Her heart went out to the poor man. The records he’d found had been painstakingly pieced together. But that left all kinds of room for error. “Maybe you were mistaken, Jared. I might not be your daughter after all.”

“Actually,” he said, “the preliminary tests indicate you are my daughter, but that’s where things get confusing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Originally, I came to the vineyard looking for Adam Bartlite. His name was listed on one of the scraps of paper we’d found in the salvaged file. Your address was on a different piece. I put those two bits of information together when I shouldn’t have.”

Obviously. But she understood his desperation, his need to find a donor for his son. “Jared, I’m still not following you.”

“There was yet another scrap of charred paper in the file. One that listed the blood type of a child born to Olivia Maddison.”

“And my blood type doesn’t match that one?” Lissa furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. My parents were told my mother’s name was Olivia. And that was before the fire destroyed any of the paperwork.”

“I think Olivia may have given birth to twins who were separated at birth—a boy and a girl. Although it’s rare, you have different blood types. Your brother was adopted by another family. And his name is Adam Bartlite.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I intend to find out.”

Lissa leaned against the side of the sofa. Her life had certainly taken a strange twist. Once the adopted daughter of Ken and Donna Cartwright, her family had grown to include Jared, his wife and three half siblings. And that wasn’t all. She might have a brother. A twin brother.

“I didn’t mention this before,” Jared said, “because I didn’t think it was relevant. But multiple births run in my family. And Olivia told me she’d had a twin who died as an infant.”

“I’m stunned,” Lissa said. “To say the least.”

“Me, too. But a twin birth is the only possible explanation.”

“And now you need to find Adam,” Lissa said.

“Yes.”

Her real brother. Did he look like her? Did they share any of the same mannerisms? The same likes and dislikes? Had her twin been blessed with a loving home, as she had?

“I’d like to meet Adam,” Lissa said. “When you find him.”

“It may take some time. I just came to this conclusion this morning, after the doctor called to give me the lab results. But I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Jared. And if you need any help looking for Adam, I’ll do what I can.”

“I appreciate that.”

When the telephone disconnected, she stood in the living room for the longest time, trying to sort through things.

There’d been a lot of changes in her once simple life. Her family was growing by leaps and bounds, assuming Jared was right about her having a twin brother.

And then there was Sullivan. Lissa couldn’t wait to share the news with the man who’d become so much more than a lover. Did she dare dream that they might create a family of their own?

By the time she arrived at the office, Sullivan was busy working on another ad layout. He glanced up from the desk, no doubt wondering what had kept her. After all, she was never late to work.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Good news and bad. First of all, Barney is doing much better. And the vet thinks he’ll make it.”

“That’s obviously the good news. What’s the rest of it?”

She adjusted her hair, then sat on the edge of the desk. “I’m not a match for Mark, Jared’s son.”

“That’s too bad.” Sullivan leaned back in the tufted leather desk chair. “What happens now?”

“Well, Jared has reason to believe I might have a twin brother out there someplace. And he’s trying to find him.”

Before she could go into any further explanation, the office telephone rang.

Now what? She wondered, unable to quell her impatience. Or a sense of dread.

She lifted the receiver and tried to command an upbeat voice. “Valencia Vineyards.”

“Lissa, this is Gretchen Thomas with Through the Grapevine magazine. I’m sorry about not being able to make it to the reception last Saturday night.”

“That’s all right,” Lissa said, glad the woman hadn’t been in attendance. She didn’t think she could have stood by watching the reporter make goo-goo eyes at Sullivan. “Sometimes things don’t work out. I understand.”

“Well, my boss was at the reception and was very impressed with what you’ve created. He believes Virgin Mist is going to be well received by consumers and connoisseurs alike. So he suggested I do a bigger spread on both the wine and the vintner.”

“That’s great,” Lissa said, although her enthusiasm was muted by the fact she couldn’t donate bone marrow to her younger brother. And also by the possibility that she had a twin. Somewhere. For the first time in her life, she found it difficult to focus on business.

“So if you don’t mind,” Gretchen said, “I’d like to make an appointment to come out to the vineyard and interview you.”

“Sure.” Lissa glanced at Sullivan. She wasn’t excited about watching the reporter flirt and fawn over the man she was sleeping with, the man she loved. But the publicity would be good for the vineyard and Virgin Mist. “When did you want to come out here?”

“The sooner the better. If I can get a photographer to accompany me, I’d like to set something up for this afternoon.”

“That’ll be fine,” Lissa said, although she’d rather send Sullivan on an errand that would keep him busy until after the blond bombshell had left the premises. Maybe he could go get Barney at the vet—without her.

If she scheduled it right…

“Should we aim for one o’clock?” Gretchen asked.

The vet was out for lunch between twelve and two. So much for orchestrating Sullivan’s absence. But the article was too important. And Lissa’s jealousy was silly and misplaced. After all, Sullivan hadn’t given the busty blonde much attention when she’d made a play for him at dinner. “Sure, Gretchen, one o’clock will work out fine.”

“I think Roger, my photographer, is free, but I’ll confirm as soon as I know for sure.”

When Lissa hung up the phone, she told Sullivan what Gretchen had said.

“Having the editor of a wine magazine think that highly of Virgin Mist is a real plus. I guess we’d better turn on the charm when Gretchen arrives.”

That’s what Lissa was afraid of.

Sullivan would turn on the charm. And since his work at Valencia Vineyards was coming to an end, Gretchen would lure him into her eager arms.

Sullivan tried hard to keep his mind on his work. He needed to tell Lissa that their affair was over. That it was best they end things before he left—which, by the way, would be next week. Hell, maybe sooner than that. Some of the loose ends could be handled over the telephone.

But he thought he owed her more than an It’s-been-nice-knowing-you. He wasn’t sure just what he owed her, though. More than the Dear John he’d come home to find—that was for sure.

He supposed having an adult conversation over a glass of wine on the deck was better than a discussion over a scarred-oak desk in a stuffy office, so he decided to wait until the workday was over.

Of course, Lissa had been the one to suggest the temporary affair in the first place. And she was interested in Martinelli. It was possible that she wouldn’t give a rat’s hind end if they each went their own way in the next couple of days.

And maybe their lovemaking yesterday hadn’t affected her in the same way it had him. She could have been so caught up in emotion over her concern for Barney, that she hadn’t felt the same intimacy that he’d felt. The same gut-wrenching fear of getting in too deep.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, when he peered out the window for the fifth or sixth time since the clock had struck one.

“No.” He was just edgy. Unsettled. And waiting for the cavalry to arrive.

Where the hell was the Through the Grapevine magazine reporter? She’d take the focus off what had happened between Lissa and him. Although Sullivan still wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between them.

“Are you looking for Gretchen?” Lissa asked.

Maybe he was. But the tone of Lissa’s voice indicated female concern. Jealousy?

“She’s late,” is all he said. “And you have to pick up Barney.”

“Did you want to go with me?” she asked.

“I have some work to do later this afternoon. And I have to schedule my next client.”

Her face dropped, and her brow furrowed. Disappointment?

Since when had he not been able to read a woman’s expressions and at least have a good idea what she was thinking and feeling?

At a quarter past one, a white van with a grape logo on the side pulled up, and Gretchen Thomas climbed out. Tight-fitting jeans clung to the curves of her hips, complementing her long legs. And a formfitting pink T-shirt displayed her other assets to their fullest.

Damn. That woman was proud of her figure. Too proud, if you asked him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate looking at her.

He shot a glance at Lissa, saw her lean against the desk with her arms crossed and fix a solemn look on her face.

Anger? Hurt? Or was she merely disinterested?

Hell, he didn’t know for sure. Working with Lissa after yesterday’s killer bout of intimacy-in-the-buff left him uneasy.

Hey, maybe she thought he was acting strangely. And that’s what he’d read in her expression.

“I’ll get the door,” Sullivan said. Then he invited Gretchen inside, along with her sidekick, a pudgy male photographer who seemed to be enamored with the sexy reporter. Good luck, pal. She’s way out of your starry-eyed league.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sullivan.” Gretchen extended an arm in greeting, giving his hand a warm, lingering squeeze.

“Same here.” He still preferred not to mix business with pleasure, but he had a feeling Gretchen wouldn’t let that stop her.

“Hello, there.” Gretchen slid Lissa a smile, as though finally noting the vintner she’d come to interview. Noting the makeover, too, he suspected. But she didn’t acknowledge the change in Lissa.

“This is my photographer,” Gretchen said, nodding to the short, stocky man. “Roger Donaldson.”

While the men shook hands, Gretchen withdrew a small tape recorder, a pen and a pad of paper from a black canvas tote bag.

Lissa took a seat at the desk, and the reporter sat across from her.

“All right. Let’s get started.” Gretchen placed the tape recorder on the table and jabbed at the record button. “Tell me, Lissa, what made you want to become a vintner?”

“I’ve always admired my father. As a small child, I tagged along after him every chance I got. He taught me a love for the land and the vineyard. And naturally, I followed in his footsteps.”

Gretchen quickly got down to business, asking questions, scribbling answers. Sullivan had to give her credit. She seemed to know her stuff. And he suspected the magazine spread would be well-written, with the wine and vineyard presented in a positive light.

“How about a tour?” Gretchen asked.

Lissa glanced at her wristwatch. “Sure. As long as we can get it done within the next half hour. I’ve got an appointment at two.”

“I’m sure it won’t matter if you’re late,” Sullivan said. “As long as you get Barney picked up before the vet closes, it should be all right.”

Lissa nodded, then led Gretchen and Roger outside. Sullivan followed several steps behind.

Nearly two hours and two rolls of film later, Gretchen seemed pleased with what they’d accomplished. Sullivan had tried to keep a low profile, and surprisingly enough, the reporter had performed like a professional—until she closed her notepad and stuck it in the canvas bag she carried.