Once in a Lifetime. Gwynne Forster

notion. Besides, he liked his life as it was. He amended that. As it had been, and he’d make certain it stayed that way.

      “I’m bringing a friend home for dinner,” he told Henry several mornings later. With Russ and Drake in Philadelphia, he figured he had to do something to put a damper on what was becoming a cozy, family atmosphere with Alexis, Tara and himself. He behaved impersonally with her and kept his hands to himself, though at great cost. But they were like missiles, headed directly at each other, primed for a massive explosion. And nobody would believe what passed for conversation between them. Banality hardly described it.

      “Does this friend eat a lot, or does she pick at the food like she was scared it was gonna rise up and bite her?”

      At times, he would like to give Henry a piece of his mind, but that would be the same as cussing his father. “Just prepare enough for another adult.”

      “And here I was hoping you’d lost her in some nice place like the Bermuda wrangle.”

      “You mean Triangle. And, Henry, could you please stop meddling in my business?”

      “Humph. Guess you in a hurry for the Fourth of July fireworks. Them two women ain’t gonna like this. You think Alexis gonna hold still for that stuff Evangeline…’scuse me, Miss Evangeline puts down? I’m gonna eat a big lunch to give me plenty energy. I’ll need it for all the laughing I’m gonna have to do.” Henry looked up toward the ceiling and started whistling “Takin’ Care of Business.”

      Telford swallowed what remained of his coffee, picked up an umbrella and headed for the Eagle Park High School construction site. Henry had never liked Evangeline, and she’d never been special to him. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to dinner, but what else could he do? Heat flared in his loins every time he looked at Alexis; if he couldn’t cool down on his own, maybe after tonight she’d force him to do it. He was halfway across town before he remembered that he hadn’t told Tara good-bye.

      As soon as he reached the trailer that housed his temporary office at the corner of Mountain and Edgecomb, he phoned her.

      “Henry, is Tara eating breakfast?”

      “Ain’t you supposed to be asking her mother that? Hold on.”

      “Hi, Mr. Telford. Where are you?”

      “I’m at work. I had to leave early this morning, so I called to tell you good-bye.”

      “Good-bye. When you coming home?”

      “I’ll be there for supper. See you then.”

      “Lots of kisses. Bye.”

      He hung up. He hadn’t said what he felt, but enough to let her know he hadn’t forgotten her. Somehow, he felt lighter than before. That little girl had gotten inside him, and it wasn’t a question of liking it or not. It just was.

      Since the night they gave in to the fire burning in them for each other, he and Alexis hadn’t gotten close enough to touch, except at mealtime when they had Tara and Henry to help them use common sense. She hadn’t made one move toward him, and he knew it was because she didn’t think a relationship with him appropriate, much as she might desire it. So if she didn’t want him, he reasoned, seeing him with Evangeline shouldn’t bother her. Yeah. And the sun rises in the west. He’d cross that bridge when he got there.

      Alexis sensed a difference before she got to the kitchen; the house seemed empty for so early in the morning.

      “Just you and Tara this morning,” Henry told her. “Tel had to leave early.”

      So that was it. If she could sense his absence from a house that big, she had better avoid him altogether. Nothing in her contract said she had to eat her meals with him; indeed, most housekeepers—and that’s what she was, no matter if the contract specified homemaker—didn’t eat with their bosses. She slapped her forehead. Not being able to eat with Telford would devastate Tara.

      From somewhere in the distance she heard Henry’s voice. “…and wear that long red thing at supper tonight. Telford’s planning to commit social suicide.”

      “What? What does that mean?”

      “Means he’s bringing company.”

      Cold marbles danced around in her belly, and moisture beaded on her forehead. “Are you telling me he’s bringing a woman friend home with him this evening?”

      She’d learned that Henry never answered a question directly if he could do it some other way. He raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, come in here looking good. Course, you’d make her look bad if you showed up in dungarees. And fix the supper table real nice.”

      Although she appreciated his gesture of friendship, she was too annoyed to show it. “What makes you think I care who Telford Harrington brings here?”

      “’Cause you do. But don’t worry none. She won’t spend the night. Never has. He ain’t that crazy.”

      That conversation weighed on her as she did the morning chores. Put on that caftan? No way. She intended to wear her red silk sleeveless jumpsuit. He’d get an eyeful whether she was sitting down or walking away from him. She set the table with the best Harrington appointments, added candles and a bouquet of red, white and yellow roses and surveyed the result with satisfaction.

      She dressed Tara in a jumpsuit that matched her own, combed the child’s hair out and sprayed it with a lilac scent. Then she showered, put on the red suit, fastened gold hoops to her ears, let down her hair below her shoulders and dabbed Obsession perfume where it counted. She didn’t believe in going to war unless you meant to win.

      For whatever reason he’d brought a woman home with him, he remembered that they ate at seven. It wasn’t she, but Henry, who usually opened the door for the brothers, but when the bell rang at a quarter of seven, she beat him to it. Telford gaped at her, speechless and obviously dumbfounded until Tara ran between them and hugged his legs.

      “Mr. Telford, I got your telephone call today.” Tara held her arms up for a hug, but he didn’t see the child. His gaze was glued to Alexis.

      “Can I have a hug?” That got his attention, and he reached down, lifted her and stroked her back. “Do you like how I look?”

      “You’re beautiful, and I like it.” She kissed his cheek and he set her on the floor.

      “What a touching little scene.”

      His head snapped around. “Oh. Sorry. Ms. Moore, this is Mrs. Alexis Stevenson, our homemaker.”

      Alexis sized her up and smiled. The woman wouldn’t resist being catty. She extended her hand. “How do you do, Ms. Moore. This is my daughter, Tara.”

      “Hi, Miss Moore.” Tara’s greeting lacked enthusiasm.

      “Sure you’re a housekeeper?”

      Alexis let a smile drift over her face. “If you want to know how competent I am, I guess you’ll have to ask Telford.” With that double entendre, she led them to the living room, aware that she’d made Evangeline Moore blanch. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment, she didn’t know or care. “Would you like something to drink, Ms. Moore? Lemonade or iced tea?” She figured that, as homemaker, she was also hostess. And since she was certain that her tactics didn’t please Telford, she didn’t bother to look at him.

      “I’d like a dry martini,” Evangeline said, “and shake it well.”

      Alexis sat down, crossed her left leg over her right knee and swung her left foot. “That’s Telford’s domain. I have no idea how to mix a martini.”

      She had to stifle the giggles that threatened to spill out of her when she finally looked at Telford and saw his murderous glare. She wanted to dance for joy. He’d get her for it later, but she didn’t care. He started to the refrigerator, and Tara ran to him.

      “Mr. Telford, is Miss Moore your mummy?”

      “What?”