ever smiled anymore. He was, as he had always been, deeply tanned, but there were glints of silver in the short blond hair above his ears, and his hairline was higher around the temples than it had once been. Tall, broad-shouldered, and lean, he exuded restless energy even at this late hour. There was an air about him of one born to command, as, indeed, he had been.
‘‘You do need to rest, Callie, you know you do.’’ This came from the bald man, who was seated beside Callie and who looked at her with undisguised concern.
‘‘You stay out of this, Ira! I’m not an invalid yet.’’ Callie glared at the speaker.
Seth made an impatient sound. ‘‘The fact remains that it would be stupid to stay there and exhaust yourself, when Big John is getting the best possible care and has absolutely no need of any of us. You need to take care of yourself now, Mother, not everybody else.’’
‘‘Just what I keep telling her.’’ Ira nodded in vigorous agreement, his gaze on Callie’s face. She narrowed her eyes at him warningly.
‘‘How’s Mr. Archer?’’ This subdued question came from Martha, who stood near the counter with the caterers. In her flowered robe and slippers, she looked as at home in the kitchen as a loaf of bread.
‘‘He’s had a heart attack, Martha,’’ Callie said, as though she could scarcely believe it herself. ‘‘They’ve got him in intensive care. I never even got to see him at the hospital. They let Seth in for a minute, then chased him out. Visitors aren’t allowed, although they will let one person sit with him.’’
‘‘Is it bad?’’ The words, instantly regretted, came out of Olivia’s mouth before she could stop them. Mentally kicking herself, she stood just inside the butler’s pantry, peeking like a guilty child around the doorjamb. As the eyes of everyone in the room focused on her, her greatest wish was to sink straight through the floor. Instead, she gathered her composure and stepped out into plain sight. Not for anything would she let them—Seth—see how intimidated she felt.
‘‘Bad enough,’’ Seth said shortly, his gaze raking her from head to toe. More than ever conscious of the deficiencies of her appearance, Olivia just managed not to flinch beneath that weighing look. She would be greatly changed from his memories of her, of course, and the knowledge was humiliating. Nine years ago she had been a headstrong teenager, convinced that the world was her oyster, sexy and flaunting it and head over heels in love with love. Now—what was she now? A twenty-six-year-old single mother, with five dollars and change in her purse and a lifetime’s worth of hard lessons under her belt: the very antithesis of the girl she had been.
Callie looked at her, her face softening. ‘‘Oh, Olivia, come and sit down, honey. What a homecoming for you! But we’re so glad to have you with us again!’’ Then, with a glance at the wide-eyed help, she added more severely, ‘‘Amy, you and Laura can go on home if you’re finished. Martha, is there any coffee? I think we could all use a cup.’’
The caterers, routed from their positions as interested observers of this family drama, loaded up their arms with Tupperware dishes and headed for the door with murmured good-byes and plenty to prattle about the next day. Martha turned to the coffeemaker with a great show of getting busy. Olivia, meanwhile, reluctantly approached the table, all too conscious of her borrowed pink bathrobe, bare feet and legs, scrubbed face, and brushed straight hair pushed haphazardly behind her ears. Seth, Callie, Ira, and Mallory looked her over with very different expressions: Seth’s was borderline hostile, Mallory’s just barely interested, Ira’s curious, and Callie’s—dear Aunt Callie’s!—was warmly affectionate. Olivia smiled at Callie alone, and sat down at the far end of the table.
‘‘Is your little girl—Sara—asleep?’’ Callie asked kindly. ‘‘She’s
‘‘You do need to rest, Callie, you know you do.’’ This came from the bald man, who was seated beside Callie and who looked at her with undisguised concern.
‘‘You stay out of this, Ira! I’m not an invalid yet.’’ Callie glared at the speaker.
Seth made an impatient sound. ‘‘The fact remains that it would be stupid to stay there and exhaust yourself, when Big John is getting the best possible care and has absolutely no need of any of us. You need to take care of yourself now, Mother, not everybody else.’’
‘‘Just what I keep telling her.’’ Ira nodded in vigorous agreement, his gaze on Callie’s face. She narrowed her eyes at him warningly.
‘‘How’s Mr. Archer?’’ This subdued question came from Martha, who stood near the counter with the caterers. In her flowered robe and slippers, she looked as at home in the kitchen as a loaf of bread.
‘‘He’s had a heart attack, Martha,’’ Callie said, as though she could scarcely believe it herself. ‘‘They’ve got him in intensive care. I never even got to see him at the hospital. They let Seth in for a minute, then chased him out. Visitors aren’t allowed, although they will let one person sit with him.’’
‘‘Is it bad?’’ The words, instantly regretted, came out of Olivia’s mouth before she could stop them. Mentally kicking herself, she stood just inside the butler’s pantry, peeking like a guilty child around the doorjamb. As the eyes of everyone in the room focused on her, her greatest wish was to sink straight through the floor. Instead, she gathered her composure and stepped out into plain sight. Not for anything would she let them—Seth—see how intimidated she felt.
‘‘Bad enough,’’ Seth said shortly, his gaze raking her from head to toe. More than ever conscious of the deficiencies of her appearance, Olivia just managed not to flinch beneath that weighing look. She would be greatly changed from his memories of her, of course, and the knowledge was humiliating. Nine years ago she had been a headstrong teenager, convinced that the world was her oyster, sexy and flaunting it and head over heels in love with love. Now—what was she now? A twenty-six-year-old single mother, with five dollars and change in her purse and a lifetime’s worth of hard lessons under her belt: the very antithesis of the girl she had been.
Callie looked at her, her face softening. ‘‘Oh, Olivia, come and sit down, honey. What a homecoming for you! But we’re so glad to have you with us again!’’ Then, with a glance at the wide-eyed help, she added more severely, ‘‘Amy, you and Laura can go on home if you’re finished. Martha, is there any coffee? I think we could all use a cup.’’
The caterers, routed from their positions as interested observers of this family drama, loaded up their arms with Tupperware dishes and headed for the door with murmured good-byes and plenty to prattle about the next day. Martha turned to the coffeemaker with a great show of getting busy. Olivia, meanwhile, reluctantly approached the table, all too conscious of her borrowed pink bathrobe, bare feet and legs, scrubbed face, and brushed straight hair pushed haphazardly behind her ears. Seth, Callie, Ira, and Mallory looked her over with very different expressions: Seth’s was borderline hostile, Mallory’s just barely interested, Ira’s curious, and Callie’s—dear Aunt Callie’s!—was warmly affectionate. Olivia smiled at Callie alone, and sat down at the far end of the table.
‘‘Is your little girl—Sara—asleep?’’ Callie asked kindly. ‘‘She’s
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