The Summerhouse (The Summerhouse 1) - Page 32

I should have studied law, Thomas thought. Maybe if he had, he’d be able to think of a clever defense of himself, but medicine didn’t prepare one for defenses. He put his shoulders back. “It was a natural mistake to make,” he said. “I thought that she was probably—”

Brooke put up her hand to cut him off. “I can’t bear to hear this. That lovely girl, and you . . . you . . .” Stepping backward, she sat down on a heavily padded club chair, and when she looked up at her son, she looked as though she might cry. “Twenty-four hours ago I would have sworn that if I had taught my children nothing else, it was good manners. I know that you children grew up in a different age than I did, but we had—”

“Flagpole sitting and swing dancing,” Frank said loudly, looking at his wife. “I think we should cut out the melodrama,” he said, then turned to his son. “Look, the situation is that you’ve once again put your foot in it and now that beautiful girl is leaving. If she does, for one thing, it will make it very boring around here, but the major problem is that your mother is going to be in hot water with her sister. Thomas, you’re young and you don’t yet fully understand what you have to do in this world to keep peace in a family. If that girl storms out of here and your aunt Dot finds out about it, then one of those annoying family feuds is going to start, and those things can take years to die down. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas for years to come is going to be filled with ‘what-you-did.’ And I can tell you from experience that it makes for extremely unpleasant get-togethers.”

Thomas’s frown deepened. “I told you that I’d apologize to her. I don’t know what else I can do. If I apologize and she still decides to leave, that isn’t my fault, is it?”

Brooke, still seated, opened her mouth to speak, but her husband beat her to it. “Son, there’s logic and there’s women. They don’t have anything to do with each other.”

“Really, Frank!” Brooke said. “What a dreadful thing to teach your son.”

“Someone should teach him something!” Frank snapped back. “Come on, Thomas, you’re smart; what can you do to make her want to stay?”

For a moment Thomas looked blank. His mother thought that it was nice to see him without his perpetual frown, but she did wish he hadn’t been so very stupid. Unfortunately, Frank was right and her younger sister was going to be livid when she heard that her protégée had walked out after spending less than a day with them.

“Buy her a new fishing pole?” Th

omas said.

For a moment neither Brooke nor her husband spoke; then they looked at each other and started laughing.

It was Brooke who recovered first as her husband turned and looked out a window. He was shaking his head in disbelief and exasperation.

“Thomas, darling,” Brooke said, and all her earlier annoyance was gone. “How shall I put this? You made the mess, so now you have to clean it up. When Madison does leave here, I want her to tell my sister that she had a wonderful time. Actually, I want her to say that she had the best time of her life.”

Thomas did not like being laughed at. He wasn’t about to explain that he’d seen Madison fishing and that she would probably really like a full set of fishing gear. Instead, he thrust his hands into his pockets and the crease between his eyes deepened. “I see. You would like me to leave.”

Frank turned back to face them. “Just the opposite. After what we saw yesterday, I’m sure that Madison was going to want to leave within a day or two anyway, even if you hadn’t shown up and insulted her. Her husband seems determined to ignore his beautiful wife, and you know your brother; he’ll want to stay up every night partying. If Madison goes out with them . . .” He looked at his wife.

“I see,” Thomas said. “You want her to have a good time, but you don’t want her going out with that wild crowd my brother hangs around with when he’s up here. You don’t want someone as dishy as this Madison exposed to limitless alcohol and—” He gave his mother a hard look. “And whatever else that Scotty and his crowd do. I don’t know much about her, but I doubt if a girl raised in the backwoods of Montana is prepared for the crowd my little brother runs with.”

Neither Frank nor his wife liked to admit out loud the truth about their younger son, but they couldn’t deny it. “Exactly,” Frank said at last.

“So,” Thomas said stiffly, as he was still smarting over their laughter, “you want me to show her a good time and to keep her away from Scotty’s crowd. And, while I’m at it, I’m to keep her away from jealous little twits who will make her visit hell with their backbiting and snide remarks. And what else? Since she and her husband seem to despise each other, I assume I’m to keep her away from him too. Is that about it?”

Brooke gave her son a weak smile. “I think you have it perfectly.”

“What I wonder,” Thomas said, “is what the two of you would have done if I hadn’t insulted her?”

“Begged,” Frank said cheerfully. “Thomas, you’re the only one who can do this. She’s young. She won’t want to spend time with us old folks. And Scotty’s friends will eat her alive. We were going to talk to you about this morning, but then you—”

“Got to her first.” Thomas turned away from them both. He loved his aunt Dot. She was the one who’d encouraged him to go to medical school. His father said that Thomas’s brains came directly through his mother’s family. Brooke’s younger sister, Dot, had a medical degree and two PhDs. She was a dynamo in the world of physical therapy, having written the textbook that was used in medical schools all over the country.

So what would Thomas say to this aunt who had done so much for him when Dot heard that this girl she’d taken under her wing had left after just a few hours as their guest? “I thought she was maybe working with that husband of hers in a blackmailing scheme, and I told her so two minutes after I met her.” No, he didn’t think that would get him off the hook.

He turned back to his parents. “All right. I’ll fix it. Leave it to me,” he said, then he left the room. He’d had enough of feeling four years old.

Eight

“You’ve been what?” Madison said, staring at Thomas Randall. He had knocked on the bedroom door, and she’d said, “Come in,” expecting Frank to be there to help her with her suitcase. Instead, a solemn, scowling Thomas had opened the door, stepped inside the room, then closed the door behind him. Madison had walked around him and opened the door.

Now, her hand still on the knob, she glared at him. “You’ve been what?” she said again, this time in a lower voice.

“Ordered to be your slave for as long as you’re here,” he said without the slightest bit of humor in his voice.

She didn’t know him, but there was something about the way his eyes darted off to one side that was suspicious. “So why don’t I believe you?” she asked.

At that Thomas let out a sigh and walked further into the room. “Look, if I promise not to molest you, could we close the door? This could become embarrassing.”

Tags: Jude Deveraux The Summerhouse Science Fiction
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