Wild About Harry Page 4

  He tilted his head back and looked up at the moon for a long time, then gave a ragged sigh. "We were always honest with each other, you and I. Nothing held back. When I laid eyes on that woman, Ty, it was as though somebody wrenched the ground out from beneath my feet."

  While the damning words echoed around him, Harry struggled to face the incomprehensible reality. He hadn't been with Amy Ryan for five minutes before he'd started imagining what it would be like to share his life with her.

  He hadn't thought of taking Amy to bed, though God knew that would be the keenest of pleasures. No, he'd pictured her nursing a baby...his baby. He'd seen her running along the white sand on the beach near his house in northern Queensland, with Ashley and Oliver scampering behind, and he'd seen her sitting beside him in the cockpit of his jet.

  This was serious.

  He touched his friend's headstone as he passed, and started toward the well-lighted parking lot. "If you know what's good for you, Harry," he muttered to himself, "you'll give the lady her money and then stay out of her way."

  Harry got behind the wheel of his rented vehicle and started the engine. Nothing must be allowed to happen between him and Amy Ryan, and the reason was simple. To touch her would be to betray a man who would have trusted Harry with his very life.

  3

  * * *

  Amy didn't sleep well that night. She was filled with contradictory feelings; new ones and old ones, affectionate and angry ones. She was furious with Tyler for ever dying in the first place, and with Harry Griffith for thawing out her frozen emotions. She was also experiencing a warmth and a sense of pleasant vulnerability she'd never expected to know again.

  After Oliver and Ashley had gone to camp, Amy didn't put on a power suit and go out to network with half a dozen potential clients as she normally would have done. Instead, she wore jeans and a pastel blue sun top and pulled her heavy shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. She was in the spacious room that had once been Tyler's study, balancing her checkbook and listening with half an ear to a TV talk show, when the telephone rang.

  Amy pushed the speaker button. "Hello?" Harry's smooth, cultured voice filled the room. "Hello, Amy. It's Harry Griffith."

  "I know," Amy answered automatically, before she'd had a chance to think about the implications of those two simple words. She laid down her pen and closed the checkbook, feeling vaguely embarrassed. She wanted to say something witty, but of course nothing came to mind; in an hour or a day or a week, when it was too late, some smidgen of clever repartee would come to mind in a flash.

  "I enjoyed last night's visit with you and the children," he went on, and Amy leaned back in her chair, just letting that wonderful voice roll over her, like warm ocean water. "Thank you for inviting me, Amy."

  Amy closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. She needed to be on her guard with this man, lest she say or do something really foolish. "Uh...yes... well, you're very welcome, of course." That was really brilliant, Ryan, she added to herself.

  "I'd like to return the favor, if I might. I've made an appointment to look at a rather unique house over on Va-shon Island tomorrow, and I could really use some company—besides the real estate agent, I mean. Would you and Ashley and Oliver care to go out and offer your opinion of the place?"

  Amy's heart warmed as she thought how her son and daughter would enjoy such an outing, especially when it meant close contact with Harry. She wasn't exactly averse to the idea herself, though she couldn't quite admit that, even in the privacy of her own soul.

  "It would give you and me a chance to discuss that business you mentioned last night." That was the best attempt at setting up a barrier Amy could manage.

  Harry sighed. "Yes, there is that. Shall I pick the three of you up tomorrow, then? Around nine?"

  A sweet shiver skittered down Amy's spine. "Yes," she heard herself say. But the moment Harry rang off, she wanted to call him back and say she'd changed her mind, she couldn't possibly spend a day on Vashon. She would tell him she had to clean the garage or prune the lilac bushes or something.

  Only she had no idea where to reach the charming Mr. Griffith. He hadn't left a number or mentioned the name of a hotel.

  Feeling restless, Amy pushed the microphone button on the telephone and thrust herself out of her chair. So much for balancing her checking account; thanks to Harry's call, she wouldn't have been able to subtract two from seven.

  Amy paced in front of the natural rock fireplace, wondering where all this unwanted energy had come from. For two years, she'd been concentrating on basic emotional survival. Now, all of the sudden she felt as though she could replaster every wall in that big colonial house without even working up a sweat.

  She dialed Debbie's private number at the counseling center.

  "I'm going crazy," she blurted out the moment her friend answered.

  Debbie laughed. "Amy, I presume? What's happened now? Have you been visited by the ghost of Christmas Weird?"

  Amy gave a sigh. "This is serious, Debbie. Harry Griffith just called and invited me to go to Vashon Island with him tomorrow, and I accepted!"

  "That is terrible," Debbie teased. "Think of it. After only two years of mourning, you're actually coming back to life. Quick, head for the nearest closet and hide out until the urge passes!"

  Rolling her eyes and twisting the telephone cord around her index finger, Amy replied, "Will you stop with the irony, please? Something very strange is going on here."

  Debbie's voice became firm, reasonable. She had become the counselor. "I know a crazy person when I see one, Amy, and believe me, you're completely sane."

  "I saw Tyler again last night," Amy insisted. "He was sitting in the backyard swing."

  "Your deeper mind is trying to tell you something, Ryan. Pay attention."

  "You've been a tremendous help," Amy said with dry annoyance.

  Debbie sighed philosophically. "There go my fond hopes of writing a best-selling book, becoming the next self-help guru and appearing on Oprah."

  "Debbie."

  "Just relax, Amy. That's all you have to do. Stop analyzing everything and just take things one day at a time."

  Amy let out a long breath, knowing her friend was right. Which didn't mean for one moment that she'd be able to apply the information. "By the way, thanks for sending your cousin Max over last night. My virtue is safe."

  Debbie chuckled. "Too safe, methinks. Talk to you later."

  Amy said goodbye and hung up. She went into the kitchen and turned on the dishwasher. Almost immediately, water began to seep out from under the door.

  "Great," she muttered.

  As the rest of the day passed, Amy discovered that her normal tactics for distracting herself weren't working any better than the dishwasher. She had absolutely no desire to contact prospective clients, make follow-up calls or update her files.

  At two o'clock, a serviceman came to repair the damage Max had unwittingly done to the dishwasher. Amy watched two soap operas, having no idea who the characters were or what in the world they were talking about. She was relieved when it was finally time to pick the kids up at day camp.

  The announcement that Harry had invited the three of them to spend the next day on the island brought whoops of delight from Oliver and a sweet smile from Ashley.

  After those reactions, Amy could not have disappointed her children for anything.

  That night in bed, she tossed and turned, half hoping Tyler would appear again so she could give him a piece of her mind. Of course, she reasoned, he probably was a piece of her mind.

  When the first finger of light reached over the mountains visible from Amy's window, Oliver materialized at the foot of her bed. He scrambled onto the mattress and gave a few exuberant leaps.

  "Get up, Mom! You've only got four hours to get beautiful before Harry comes to pick us up!"

  Amy pulled the covers over her head and groaned. "Oliver, children have been disowned for lesser offenses."

  Oliver bounded to the
head of the bed and bounced on his knees, simultaneously dragging the blankets back from Amy's face. "This is your big chance, Mom," he argued. "Don't blow it!"

  Shoving one hand through her rumpled hair, Amy let out a long sigh. "Trust me, Oliver—while I may appear hopeless to you, I have not quite reached the point of desperation."

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth when Tyler's accusation echoed in her mind. You 're not happy.

  The assertion would have been much easier to deal with if it hadn't been fundamentally true. Amy loved her children, and she found her work at least tolerable. She had good health, a nice home and plenty of money.

  Those things should have been enough, to her way of thinking, but they weren't. Amy wanted something more.

  By the time nine o'clock rolled around, Amy had put on jeans and a navy sweater with red, white and yellow nautical designs. She wore light makeup and a narrow white scarf to hold her hair back from her face.

  "Am I presentable?" she whispered to Oliver with a twinkle in her eyes, when the doorbell sounded.

  Oliver had already rushed to answer the door, but Ashley examined her mother with a pensive frown and then nodded solemnly. "I suppose you'll do," she said.

  When Amy saw Harry standing there on the porch, looking rakishly handsome even in jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, her heart raced the way it did when she was trying to get in step with a revolving door.

  His too-blue eyes swept lightly over Amy, but with respect rather than condescension. "G'day," he said.

  The children's laughter seemed to startle Harry, though he looked suavely good-natured, as usual.

  "You sounded like Crocodile Dundee again," Amy explained with an amused smile. She was grateful to the children for lightening up the situation; if it had been left to her, she probably wouldn't have been able to manage a word. "Come in."

  Harry smiled at the kids and rumpled Oliver's hair. Then, as if he hadn't already charmed the eight-year-old right out of her sneakers, he bowed and kissed Ashley's hand. The effect was oddly continental, despite the child's diminutive size.

  Minutes later, after making sure that Oliver and Ashley's seat belts were properly fastened, Harry joined Amy in the front seat.

  "You're quite competent at driving on the right-hand side of the road," she remarked, strictly to make conversation, when Harry had backed the van out onto the quiet residential street. An instant later, Amy's cheeks were flooded with color.

  Harry's grin could only be described as sweetly wicked. "I've spent considerable time in the States," he responded after a time.

  Amy ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips. With Tyler, there had always been so much to talk about, the words had just tumbled from her mouth, but now she felt as though the fate of the western hemisphere hung on every phrase she uttered.

  Lamely, she turned to look out the window, all the while riffling through the files in her mind for something witty and sophisticated to say.

  "Mom isn't used to dating," Oliver put in from the back, his tones eager and earnest. "You'll have to be patient with her."

  Harry chuckled at Amy's groan of mortification, then sent a seismic shock through her system by innocently touching her knee.

  "It's all right," he assured her in his quiet, elegant, hot-buttered-rum voice. "Why are you so nervous?"

  Why, indeed, Amy wondered. Maybe it was because she was really beginning to believe that a ghost had set her up for a blind date!

  "Oliver was right on," she said after a few moments of struggling to get her inner balance. "I'm not used to—socializing."

  Harry grinned, skillfully shifting the van into a higher gear and keeping to the right of the yellow line on the highway. "Dating," he corrected.

  Amy's color flared again, and that only amused him more.

  "No wonder Ty was so crazy about you," he observed, keeping his indigo gaze on the traffic.

  Foolishly pleased by the compliment, if mystified, Amy did her best to relax.

  The lull obviously worried the children; this time it was Ashley who leaned forward to put in her two cents' worth.

  "Once Mom went out with this dude who sold real estate," the little girl said sagely. "Rumpel bit his ankle, and the guy threatened to sue."

  Amy shook her head and closed her eyes, beyond embarrassment. Then she risked a sidelong glance at Harry. "Rumpel has always been an excellent judge of character," she admitted.

  Harry laughed. "All the same, I'll watch my manners when the cat's about."

  The thought of Harry Griffith not watching his manners made a delicious little thrill tumble through Amy.

  Presently they arrived in west Seattle, and Harry took the exit leading to the ferry terminal. He paid the toll and drove onto the enormous white boat with all the sa-voir faire of a native.

  Ashley and Oliver were bouncing in their seats, but Amy made them stay in the van until the boat had been loaded. Their eagerness carried a sweet sting; riding on ferry boats had been something they did with Tyler. He'd taken them from stem to stern and, on one occasion, even into the wheelhouse to meet the captain.

  The four of them climbed the metal stairway to the upper deck, Oliver and Harry in the lead, and then walked through the seating area and outside. The wind was crisp and salty and lightly tinged with motor oil.

  While Oliver and Ashley ran wildly along the deck, exulting in the sheer freedom of that, Amy leaned against the railing as the heavy boat labored away from shore.

  She was only too conscious of Harry standing at her side, mere inches away. He was at once sturdy as a wall and warm as a fire on a wintry afternoon, and Amy was sure she would have sensed his presence even in a pitch-black cellar.

  "Have you seen pictures of this place we're going to look at?" she asked, and she sounded squeaky in her effort to keep things light.

  Harry shook his head. "No, but the agent described it to me. Sounds like a terrific place."

  Amy swallowed. So far, so good. "You'll be renting it, I suppose?"

  "Buying," Harry responded. "My company is opening offices in Seattle. I'll be here about six months of the year."

  Amy had a peculiar, spiraling sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Oh." She was saved from having to make more of that urbane utterance when Ashley and Oliver returned to collect Harry. They each took a hand, and in moments he was being led away toward the bow.

  Wishing she'd had a chance to warn her son and daughter not to promote her like some revolutionary new product about to hit the supermarket shelves, Amy watched the trio stroll away in silence.

  When Harry returned from inside, he brought coffee in plastic cups. The kids had a cinnamon roll but, instead of eating it, they were feeding bits and pieces to the gulls.

  "They're very beautiful children," he said. The sadness in his tone resonated inside Amy like a musical chord.

  "Do you have any kids?" she asked.

  Harry sighed and stared at the receding shoreline and city. "I had a stepdaughter once. She died with her mother in a plane crash."

  Amy winced inwardly. Losing her husband had been torment enough. To lose Tyler and one or both of her children would have been unbearable. "I'm so sorry," she said.

  Harry's smile was dazzling, like sunlight mixing with sparkling water early on a summer morning. "It's been a long time ago now, love. Don't let it trouble you."

  "Have you any other family?" Amy wasn't to be so easily turned aside.

  "My mother," Harry answered with a grin. "She's a Hun, but I love her."

  Amy laughed.

  "What about your mother?" Harry asked. "Is she beautiful, tike you and Ashley?"

  Once again, he'd used an invisible emotional cord to trip her. She tightened her grip on the railing and felt her smile float away on the tide. "She died when I was four. I don't remember her."

  It seemed perfectly natural for Harry to put his arm around her shoulders. Amy felt comforted by the gesture. "You've had a great deal of loss in your life," he said gently. "What abou
t your father? Do you have one of those?"

  Amy nodded, squaring her shoulders and working up a smile. "He's a doctor, always busy. I don't see him much."

  "Do I detect a note of loneliness?" Harry asked, letting his arm fall back to his side again. He seemed to know intuitively when to touch and when not to, when to talk and when to keep silent.

  A denial rushed into Amy's throat. Lonely? She had her beautiful children, her friends, her job. "Of course I'm not—"

  "Lonely," Harry finished for her, arching one eyebrow.

  Amy sighed. "Okay," she confessed, "so sometimes I feel a little isolated. Doesn't everybody have moments like that?"

  The wind lifted a tendril of Harry's perfect hair. "Some people have decades like that," he replied, leaning against the railing now, bracing himself easily with both forearms. "Even lifetimes, poor souls."

  A brief boldness possessed Amy. "What about you?" she asked. But an instant later she wished she could call the question back because it made her look like such a naive fool. Of course a rich, handsome, sophisticated man like Harry Griffith would never be subject to such a forlorn emotion as loneliness.

  "There were days—nights, more particularly—when I honestly thought I'd die of it," he confessed, looking Amy directly in the eye.

  She didn't think Harry was lying, and yet she couldn't imagine him in such a state. He was obviously a jet-setter, and women were probably willing to wrestle in the mud for the chance to be with him.

  He smiled. "I can see by your expression that you're skeptical, Mrs. Ryan," he teased.

  Harry Griffith was as suave and handsome as Gary Grant had been in his youth, and Amy could well imagine him as an elegant jewel thief. "Well, it's just—"

  He cupped her chin lightly in his hand and stroked her lips with the pad of his thumb, making them want to be kissed. "Being surrounded by people doesn't make a person immune to emotional pain, Amy."

  She could feel herself being pulled toward him by some unseen inner force. Harry's mouth was descending toward hers, at just the right angle for the kiss she suddenly craved, but Oliver prevented full contact.