Shades of Twilight

Once that had happened, they would pretend they’d never had any doubts about him at all, and he would be welcome everywhere. After all, You could hardly vilify someone you had invited into your home. That just wasn’t done.

"Are You out of your mind?" Gloria demanded.

"No one will come. We’ll be humiliated."

"Don’t be silly. Of course people will come, they wouldn’t dare not to. It went well yesterday with Mr. Whitten, didn’t it, Roanna?"

-Mr. Whitten lives in Huntsville, " Gloria replied, saving Roanna the necessity of a reply.

"What would he know?"

"He knew what happened, that much was obvious from his face. But being an intelligent man, he decided that if we have faith in Webb, then those horrible accusations couldn’t be true. Which they weren’t," Lucinda said firmly.

611 agree with Mother," Lanette said.

"Think of the embarrassment." "You always agree with her," Lucinda replied, her eyes glittering with the light of battle. She had set her course and wasn’t about to be swayed from it.

"If you ever disagreed, then your opinion would carry more weight, my dear. Now, if Roanna told me my party was a bad idea, I’d be a lot more likely to listen."

Gloria snorted.

"As if Roanna ever disagrees with you.

"Well, she does, on a regular basis. We seldom see eye to eye on every detail of a business decision. It pains me to admit that she’s right more often than not."

That wasn’t perhaps a blatant lie, Roanna thought, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. She never argued with Lucinda; she occasionally saw things differently, but she would simply present her case and Lucinda would make the final decision. That was a far cry from open disagreement.

The three of them turned to her, Lucinda with open triumph, Gloria and Lanette disgruntled at having her opinion valued over theirs.

"I think it should be Webb’s decision," she said quietly.

"He’s the one who’ll have to be on display."

Lucinda scowled.

"True. If he isn’t willing, there’s no point in even talking about it. Why don’t you ask him, dear. Maybe you can get his attention off that computer screen for five minutes."

They had taken a break for lunch and had finished eating but were now lingering over their iced tea. Webb had requested a couple of sandwiches and coffee while he continued to work. He’d been in the study until eleven the night before and had gotten up at six to resume his reading. Roanna knew because she had been awake at both times. ‘203

silently curled in her big chair and counting down the hours It had been a Particularly bad night; she hadn’t slept at all’ and she was so tired now she was afraid she would fall into deep sleep when she did go to bed. Those were the times when she was most likely to wake up somewhere else in the house and not remember how she’d gotten there.

It was Webb’s presence that had unsettled her to the point she couldn’t even doze. Both she and Lucinda had worked with him last night, going over reports, until Lucinda had become tired and gone to bed. After that, alone with him in the study, Roanna had become increasingly uneasy. Did he prefer not being alone with her, after what had happened? Did he think she was pushing herself at him, by’ staying there without Lucinda’s buffering presence?

After less than an hour she had excused herself and gone to her room. She’d taken a bath to calm her frazzled nerves, then settled in her chair to read. The words on the page hadn’t made sense, though; she couldn’t concentrate on them. Webb was in the house. He’d moved his clothes into the room next to hers. Why had he done that? He’d made it plain, back in Nogales, that he wasn’t interested in having an affair with her. There were three other bedrooms he could have used, but he’d chosen that one. The only explanation she could think of was that it simply didn’t matter to him if she was next door; her proximity was of no interest, one way or the other.

She would try to stay out Of his way as much as possible, she’d thought. Show him all the current files, answer any questions he had, but otherwise she wouldn’t bother him.

At eleven she heard him in the room next door, saw the spill Of light onto the veranda. She had reached up and turned off her lamp so he wouldn’t see her own light and know she was still awake after pleading fatigue an hour and a half before. In the darkness she had leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and listened to him moving around, picturing in her mind what he was doing.

She heard the shower, and knew he was naked. Her heart thumped at the thought of his tall, steely muscled body, and her breasts tightened. She could scarcely believe that she’d actually made love with him, that she’d lost her virginity in a cheap motel room on the Mexican border, and that it was the closest to heaven she was ever likely to get. She thought of the crisp hair on his chest and the tightness of his buttocks. She remembered how his hard, hair-roughened thighs had held her own thighs spread wide, how she had dug her fingers into the deep valley of muscle down the middle of his back. For one wonderful night she’d lain in his arms and known both desire and fulfillment.

The shower cut off, and about ten minutes later the splash of light on the veranda was extinguished. Through her own open veranda doors she had heard the click as he opened his doors to let in the fresh night air. Was he still naked? Did he sleep raw, or in his underwear? Maybe he wore pajama bottoms. It struck her as odd that she had lived in the same house with him from age seven to seventeen, and didn’t know if he wore anything to bed.

Then there was silence. Was he in bed, or was he standing there looking out at the peaceful night? Had he stepped out onto the veranda? He would be barefoot; she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Was he standing there even now? Had he glanced to the right and noticed that her doors were open?