Another search on my computer told me that there were too many Michael Thomases and Eleanor Thomases in Austin, Texas, to even start to figure out which ones were his parents, if that was even where they still lived. For some reason, Skylar’s and my wedding invitations came to mind. I remembered that more than a few of our invitations went to Texas addresses.
Closing my eyes, I contemplated going online to our wedding website. The thought of pulling the site up and seeing Skylar’s and my engagement picture made the brunch Paula had prepared for me percolate in my nearly empty stomach. Another look out the window told me that night had fallen. This time of year, darkness came earlier than when the clock proclaimed it was nighttime.
The clock said only ten until six.
The one place I hadn’t looked was Van’s bedroom suite or up onto the third floor.
Beyond the windows the lights around the entrance to the house, garages, and driveway had turned on, shining their golden light. As I stepped from the library, I noticed the numerous lights now illuminated throughout the first floor. “Hello?” I called.
The only answer was the echo to my own voice.
No doubt there were timers or light sensors.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I took my time gazing out through the front windows. With the nightfall, I couldn’t see much beyond the snowy yard. However, during the day, I’d noticed how the blanket of white appeared to be covering levels, as if his yard went down level by level until it reached the bay’s shore.
Unlike the side of the house with all the lights, this side was relatively dark with only the illumination from the inside polluting the sky. Dimmed by the interior lights, I could see that the sky was peppered with stars and a low moon shone above some distant trees, giving the entire scene a blue hue.
I was about to go into the kitchen to choose which of Paula’s dinners we would eat when I remembered that she said other than the holiday turkey breast, the rest were Mr. Sherman’s favorites. Her eyes had glowed with excitement as she mentioned getting different ingredients for the dishes I liked.
As I turned on a few more lights, I heard the sound of doors opening.
The back entry, or entry from the garage, was similar to the front in that there were two sets of doors, one from the garage to what Margaret called the mudroom, and one from the mudroom to the house. It wasn’t unusual in cooler climates for homes to be constructed that way. The middle room basically stopped the cold air from outside or the garage from rushing into the warm house.
Despite my recent findings and millions of questions, as the leaded-glass French door opened, I couldn’t stop my smile. Van must have left his overcoat in the mudroom. I would be hard-pressed to answer the question of which Donovan was sexier, the GQ-suit-wearing man who was stalking toward me or the mountain man with the tight thermal shirt stretched across his wide chest.
Van didn’t stop until he had me in his grasp, his arm around my waist, pulling my hips to him. Not a word was spoken as his lips took mine.
My questions momentarily disappeared as his fingers splayed behind my head, pushing my face toward his as his lips consumed mine. All the while the fog of his expensive cologne clouded my senses. It was as his tongue joined the pursuit that I reached for his chest and my body melted against his, electrified by his touch.
My nipples beaded beneath my sweater and my core twisted.
Once our kiss separated, Van’s lips turned upward as his green gaze captured mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since I left your suite this morning.”
“I missed you.”
“Is the memoir complete? Did you run out of things to do?”
I shook my head and took a step back. “The memoir is most definitely not complete. It’s not started. I’m trying to figure out who you are.”
Something momentarily changed in his smile. “I’ve told you before. Don’t try. Just write what they want to read. Give them enough that the questions will be satisfied. Talk about what I did to build my businesses and my fortune.”
“Is that who you are?”
He took a step forward and lifting my chin, gave me a soft kiss. “I told you, I’m the wolf.”
“What happened around ten years ago?”
Van’s expression became stoic, statuesque. “In my businesses? I’d need to check the timetable.”
“No, with you.”
He feigned a smile. “Come, Julia, can you tell me what happened to you ten years ago?”
I thought for a moment. “I can tell you exactly what happened. I was a cheerleader in the eighth grade and Bobby Gerard refused to go to the dance with me because Skylar told everyone I was taken. The same thing happened every year.”
“The redundancy makes it easier to remember.”
Van shrugged off his suit coat and hung it over the back of one of the breakfast-bar high stools. I watched as he loosened his dark blue tie, removed his cuff links, placing them in his pocket, and rolled up the sleeves of his blue and gray striped shirt.