Page 36 of A Man for Amanda
Trent glanced down at his own feet and grinned to himself. They were a symbol of sorts of the way one hot-tempered brunette had changed his life. “They’re not basketball shoes, they’re running shoes.”
“What’s the difference?” Sloan narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not wearing a tie. How come you’re not wearing a tie?”
“Because I’m in love.”
“Yeah.” With a short oath, Sloan sat back. “See what it’s doing to you? It makes you nuts.”
“You hate ties.”
“Exactly. Damn woman’s been driving me crazy since the first time I saw her.”
“C.C.?”
“No, damn it. We were talking about Amanda.”
“Right.” Settling back in the seat, Trent smiled. “Well, some woman’s always driving you crazy. I’ve never seen anyone with a more... admirable affection for the gentler sex.”
“Gentler my ass. First she runs into me, then she knocks me on my butt. I can hardly say two words without having her claw at me.” After calling for another drink, he leaned across the table. “You’ve known me for over ten years. Wouldn’t y’say that I was a kind of even-tempered, affable sort of man?”
“Absolutely.” Trent grinned. “Except when you’re not.”
Sloan slapped a hand on the table. “There you go.” Nodding agreement, he pulled out a cigar. “So what the hell’s wrong with her?”
“You tell me.”
“I’ll tell you.” He jabbed the cigar toward Trent’s face. “She’s got the devil’s own temper and a mule’s stubbornness to go with it. If a man can keep his eyes off her legs, it’s plain enough to see.” He picked up his fresh whiskey and scowled into it. “She sure enough has first-class legs.”
“I’ve noticed. They run in the family.” As Sloan downed the liquor, Trent winced. “Am I going to have to carry you home?”
“More’n likely.” He settled back to let the whiskey spin in his head. “What you want to go and get yourself married for, Trent? We’d both be better off hightailing it outta here.”
“Because I love her.”
“Yeah.” On a sigh, Sloan let out a lazy stream of smoke. “That’s how they get you. They get you all tangled up so you can’t think straight. Used to be I thought women were God’s own pleasure, but I know better now. They’ve only got one reason for being here, and that’s to make a man’s life misery.” He squinted over at Trent. “Have you seen the way her skirt jiggles when she walks—especially when she’s in a hurry, like she always is.”
On a chuckle, Trent lifted his glass again. “I take the Fifth on that one.”
“And the sassy way her hair moves when she’s yelling at you. Her eyes get all snappy. Then you grab ahold of her to shut her up, and God Almighty.” He took another quick slug of whiskey, but it did nothing to put out the fire. “You ever missed your step and gone down on an electric fence?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It burns,” Sloan murmured. “Burns like fire and knocks you senseless for a minute. When you get your senses back, you’re kind of numb and shaky.”
Carefully Trent set down his drink and leaned closer to study his friend. “Sloan, is this leading where I think it’s leading, or are you just drunk?”
“Not drunk enough.” Annoyed, he shoved the glass aside. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I set eyes on her. And since I set eyes on her it’s like there was never anyone else. Like there’s never going to be anyone else.” With his elbows propped on the table, he rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m crazy in love with her, Trent, and if I could get my hands on her right now, I’d strangle her.”
“Calhoun women have a talent for that.” He grinned at Sloan. “Welcome to the club.”
It rained all day so I could not go down to the cliffs to see Christian. For most of the morning I played games with the children to keep them from becoming fussy about being kept indoors. They squabbled, of course, but Nanny distracted them with cookies. Even the boys enjoyed the tea party we had with Colleen’s little china dishes. For me, it was one of those sweet, insular days that a mother always remembers—the way her children laugh, the funny questions they ask, the way they lay their heads on your lap when nap time approaches.
The memory of this single day is as precious to me as any I have had, or will have. They will not be my babies very long. Already Colleen is talking about balls and dresses.
It makes me wonder what my life would be like if it could be Christian who would stroll into the parlor. He would not nod absently as he opened the brandy decanter. He would not forget to ask about his children.
No, my Christian would come to me first, his hands outstretched to meet mine as I rose to kiss him. He would laugh, as I hear him laugh during our stolen hours at the cliff.
And I would be happy. Without this bittersweet pain in my heart. Without this guilt. There would be no need then for me to seek the quiet and solitude of my tower, or to sit alone watching the gray rain as I write my dreams in this book.
