“I, er...”
“Didn’t seem your usual type, though. This one knows how to smile. Unlike that last one you got involved with.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead, and wished he’d had a cup of coffee before taking this call. “Ashley wasn’t that bad,” he felt obligated to protest.
His father snorted. “She would’ve made your life hell. This one sounds different. From what I’ve heard, Joyce thinks the two of you are made for each other.”
Was everyone talking about this? Andrew shouldn’t have been surprised; he knew how rapidly gossip spread through his circle. But he had never grown resigned to being the focus of it.
“George Carlisle says you took one look at this girl and got knocked on your butt. Says he never saw such a dumbstruck look, never thought he’d see one like it on your face. He found it highly amusing.”
“I’m sure he did,” Andrew groaned.
The worst part was, he knew that George had been entirely accurate in summing up his reaction to Nicole. Andrew had foolishly, and futilely, hoped it hadn’t been quite so obvious to the onlookers.
“Better hang on to this one, boy. Nice girls like that don’t come along every day. Don’t run her off with that stuffy air of yours. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up a dried-up old bachelor like my brother. I tell you, when he died so young, it made me take stock of my life and the way I wanted to live it. That’s when I split with your mother. I didn’t want to spend whatever years I had left being miserable.”
“I didn’t realize you were all that miserable with Mother,” Andrew said, instinctive loyalty to his mother hardening his voice.
“Well, I was. And she felt the same way, no matter how much she might gripe about me running out on her. Hell, anyone can see she’s happier with Lowell Hester than she ever was with me.”
Andrew didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
“I’ve got to go. Got plans of my own for this afternoon. Save some time tomorrow morning to discuss that account with me, will you?”
“Yes, of course. What—”
But Andrew was suddenly talking to a dial tone. Without further ado, his father had disconnected.
Shaking his head, Andrew hung up the phone. Buffy licked his hand, then climbed onto his lap to try to reach his face again.
“I do not like to be licked,” Andrew told the dog sternly. “At least not by you,” he added in a mutter. And then he set the animal aside and climbed out of bed to look for Nicole.
Buffy at his heels, it took less than ten minutes for Andrew to discover that Nicole wasn’t anywhere in the house. That aching emptiness flooded him again, making him rub his bare chest as though to ease the hollow discomfort. The dog seemed to sense his mood; it kept its distance, looking at him with what appeared to be sympathy.
Nicole would be back, Andrew thought, reassuring himself that her things were still scattered around his room. Wherever she’d gone, she hadn’t left for good.
This time.
How would he deal with it when she was truly gone from his home, from his life? And why did it hurt so badly to even think about it, when it was an outcome he’d been expecting from the beginning of this whirlwind affair?
“Damn,” he said.
His mother’s dog sneezed, as though to echo the sentiment.
10
NICOLE STILL HADN’T returned by two o’clock Sunday afternoon. Martha had come home from church and prepared lunch. Andrew hadn’t been hungry, so she had put the food away for later. Andrew had thanked her and told her to take the rest of the day off to visit with her friends. She’d promptly taken him up on his offer, though she didn’t leave without urging him one more time to eat something.
As the hours crept by, Andrew paced. His mother’s dog paced right at his heels, as though it, too, were anxiously awaiting Nicole’s return. In fact, Andrew nearly stepped on the mutt more than once. He thought about putting it in the laundry room and closing the door, but he couldn’t seem to do so.
It wasn’t that he wanted the dog’s company, he assured himself; he just didn’t want his mother accusing him of not taking good care of her pet.
At two-thirty, Nicole breezed into his den, smiling brightly, obviously unaware that he’d been counting every minute she was away from him. His first impulse was to ask her where she’d been, who she’d been with, why she hadn’t told him she would be gone. He bit the questions back, knowing he had no right to ask them.
She looked beautiful in a bright red dress of some soft knit fabric. Long-sleeved with a high neck, it was hardly a revealing garment, but the wide black belt emphasized her slender waist in contrast to her nicely rounded breasts and hips, and the full skirt swayed gently around her beautiful legs when she moved. He didn’t like not knowing who had admired her in that dress.
He hadn’t realized how possessive he could be until he’d met Nicole.