chuckled. “It isn’t absurd, considering the way he was watching you dance with me that night at the bar.”
“He was too busy dancing with Shelby to notice,” she murmured. “Justin went home and got drunk afterward,” she added, neglecting to mention her own participation.
“Shelby cried all night.” He sighed. “Hell of a thing, isn’t it, Abby, the way they still care about each other. Six years, and they’re as far apart now as they were then.”
“And both of them dying inside,” she added. She thought about herself and Calhoun and hoped that she wasn’t going to end up like Shelby, grieving for a man she could never have. She forced a bright smile. “Where are we going?”
“To that new Greek restaurant,” he told her. “They say the food is really good. Have you ever had Greek food?”
“No. I’m looking forward to trying it,” she said, and the conversation was back on safe territory again and away from the disturbing subject of Calhoun.
* * *
Meanwhile, Calhoun was pacing in Justin’s study at the house, his dark eyes black, his hands linked behind his back, scowling.
“Will you stop?” Justin muttered as he tried to add figures and ignore the distraction of his restless brother. “Abby’s not our responsibility anymore. She’s a grown woman.”
“I can’t help it. Tyler’s been around. He’s no boy.”
“So long as Abby isn’t interested in him, none of that will matter.”
Calhoun stopped pacing and glared at him. “And what if she is? What if she’s throwing herself at him on the rebound?”
Justin laid down his pencil. “Rebound from whom?” he asked, lighting a cigarette.
Calhoun rammed his hands into his pockets and stared out the dark window. “From me. She loves me,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Justin replied, and for once his tone was sympathetic.
Calhoun hadn’t realized how much Justin knew. He turned, his dark eyes curious, wary. “Did she tell you?”
Justin nodded. He took a draw from the cigarette, watching it instead of his brother. “She’s young, but that could be an advantage. She isn’t cynical or world-weary or promiscuous like most of your women. And she hasn’t got a mercenary bone in her body.”
“She’d want marriage,” Calhoun replied tautly. “Happily ever after. I don’t know if I could adjust to being married.”
Justin looked up. “How are you going to take to a life without Abby in it?”
For an instant, Calhoun looked hunted. He stared at the carpet.
“And what if it doesn’t last?” he replied harshly. “What if it all falls apart?”
Justin blew out a cloud of smoke. “Love lasts. And if you’re worried about being faithful to her,” he added with a pointed stare, “you may find that fidelity isn’t all that difficult.”
Calhoun’s dark eyes snapped. “Oh, sure. Look at you. Happily ever after. Your perfect relationship fell apart,” he said, hurting and striking out because of it. “And how many women have you consoled yourself with in the past six years?”
Justin stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrow and glittering. He smiled then, faintly. “None.”
Calhoun didn’t move. He hadn’t expected that answer, despite Justin’s clamlike attitude toward his private life.
“I had an old-fashioned idea that sex came after marriage with a woman like Shelby,” Justin said quietly. “So I held back. After she broke it off, I found that I wasn’t capable of wanting anyone else.” He turned away, oblivious to Calhoun’s shocked expression. “These days I find my consolation in work, Calhoun. I’ve never wanted anyone but Shelby since the day I met her. God help me, I still don’t.”
The younger man felt as if he’d been hit by a two-ton weight. His heart ran wild. Justin’s words echoed in his mind. He couldn’t even feel desire for the ravishing blonde Abby had seen him with in Houston. He hadn’t felt it with anyone since that night he’d brought Abby home from the bar and seen her naked to the waist. Was that what he had to look forward to? Would he end up like Justin, imprisoned in desire for the one woman he couldn’t have, alone for the rest of his life because he was incapable of wanting another woman?
“I didn’t realize,” Calhoun said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Justin shrugged. “One of those things,” he said philosophically. He sat down behind his desk. “You may not believe in marriage, but you may find that a relationship can tie you up properly without a ring or a legal paper. And I’ll throw your own question right back at you,” he added, cocking his head at his brother. “How many women have you had since you noticed Abby?”
Calhoun’s face grew hard and remote. He glared at Justin, then turned and left the room.
Justin lifted an eyebrow and chuckled softly to himself as he bent over his figures again.
* * *
Abby had a nice supper with Tyler, and the moussaka she sampled was delicious, like the elegant baklava they had for dessert and the faintly resinous wine they drank with their meal. But while she was listening to Ty talk about his new job, she was thinking about the empty future, about living without Calhoun. She’d gotten used to listening for his step in the hall late at night as he went to his room, to seeing him across the table, to watching television with him, to being near him at work. Life was so empty now, so cold. She felt as if she’d never know warmth again.
“The only bad part of it is that I’m going to get loaned out,” Tyler was telling her resignedly as he drank a demitasse of Greek coffee after dessert. “Old man Regan has a daughter in Arizona who’s coping with a dude ranch and two of her nephews for the summer. I’m going to be sent out there to get the place in shape, I gather, while my assistant looks after things here.” He grimaced. “I hate dude ranches. And I don’t much care for the woman trying to run this one. Apparently she thought she could and talked Regan into it, but she seems to be losing her shirt.”
Abby glanced at him. “What’s she like, do you know?”
“I don’t have a clue. She’s probably one of those feminists who think men should have the children and women should earn the living. I’ll be damned if she’ll tell me how to do my job.”
Abby could see the fireworks already, and she smiled behind her cup at the mental image. Tyler was so much like Justin and Calhoun, a reactionary, a holdover from the old West. It would be fascinating to see how he coped with a modern woman.
He took her home minutes later, bending to kiss her cheek at the door of Mrs. Simpson’s house. “Thanks for keeping me company,” he grinned. “I enjoyed it.”
“So did I.” She smiled up at him. “You’re a nice man. Someday you’ll make some lucky girl a nice husband.”
“Marriage is for—”
“The
