Fire and Ice

When Jan saw her irrepressible sister, she had to smother a laugh. “My, what a difference,” she said. “You remind me of Grandmother McPherson.”

“Well, it’s her house. Or it was.” She sighed. “I guess some of her rubbed off on me. At least this won’t shock your horrible future brother-in-law.”

“Care to bet?” Jan grinned.

Margie sighed, noticing how lovely Jan looked in her pale green sheath dress with its matching accessories. She was so radiant, so obviously in love with her Andy. Margie liked Andy herself. He was so open and friendly.

“Well, shall we go down?”

“Better, I guess,” Jan said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Margie went downstairs into the living room with her sister and sat nervously on the edge of the sofa.

“Will you relax?” Jan teased. “I’m the one who should be nervous. I’ve never been around Cannon for longer than the time it took to say hello.”

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Margie actually jumped.

Jan stared at her incredulously. She’d never seen Margie so keyed up. “It’s okay,” she soothed, touching her sister’s rigid shoulder as she went to answer the door.

Margie stood up, gathering her nerve. He wouldn’t get the best of her, she thought stubbornly. She wouldn’t let him put her down again.

She heard voices: Andy’s pleasant, friendly one—and a deeper, harsher one.

Her fingers clutched her purse as Andy came into the room, followed by Cannon. Andy was almost Cannon’s height, but he lacked the bulk and muscular trim of his older brother. He had light brown hair and light brown eyes, and a face that combined strength and tenderness. He was good-looking, but Jan obviously thought he was the handsomest man alive—if her expression was anything to go by. Andy put a protective arm around her and bent to kiss her softly, despite Cannon’s disapproving glare.

“I think I’ve got that invitation—from Mother herself,” Andy whispered to Jan before he lifted his head. “Evening, Margie,” he added in a louder voice.

“Good evening,” Margie said quietly, her nervous gaze going to Cannon. He was taking in her appearance with an I-don’t-believe-it stare, and seemed to have missed the hushed exchange between Andy and Jan.

Cannon looked more formidable than ever. His evening clothes accentuated his masculinity until it was threatening. The dark material clung to powerful muscles that seemed to ripple under the expensive cloth as he moved. He was graceful for a man his size, and light on his feet. His hands were dark and big, and beautiful in their own way. He wore only a single gold signet ring, and a thin, fabulously expensive gold watch nestled in the thick hairs at the back of his wrist. Margie wondered if the rest of his sensuous body was covered in that same dark hair, and she caught her breath at her uncharacteristic thought.

Cannon’s thick hair gleamed almost black under the light; his deep-set brown eyes glared at Margie.

“Shall we go?” he asked brusquely. “I’d like to get an early night.”

“God forbid that we should hold you up, Mr. Van Dyne,” Margie said sweetly as she picked up her shawl and threw it around her shoulders.

“Don’t worry, you won’t,” he said quietly, watching her. “I didn’t picture you in a Victorian house, Mrs. Silver.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I can imagine what kind of house you did picture me in,” she said with a faint smile. “Sorry to have shocked you.”

“It will take more than your surroundings to convince me that my first impression wasn’t more accurate,” he replied.

“Why, Mr. Van Dyne, honey,” Margie murmured, batting her long eyelashes, “how you do go on.”

“You go on,” he replied, standing aside to let her lead them through the door, “before I lose what little patience I have left.”

Jan threw a worried glance her way, but Margie didn’t see it. She was already rushing to get out the door Cannon held open. She had a vague notion that he’d enjoy slamming it in her face.

* * *

The restaurant was crowded, but Cannon immediately attracted the attention of the ma;afitre d’, who seated them at a table beside an imitation waterfall, complete with lush vegetation.

“My God, the swamp,” Andy muttered as Cannon ordered from the wine steward.

Margie grinned. “Did you think to bring mosquito netting?” she whispered.

“We may need one of those sticky strips to catch the bugs….”

“Would you two children mind behaving while we’re in public?” Cannon asked curtly, glaring from one to the other.

“Yes, Daddy,” Margie said demurely, lowering her eyes.

Cannon seemed to swell with indignation as the waiter handed him a glass of wine from the bottle he’d ordered. He took a sip and nodded, waiting until the waiter filled the other glasses and left their menus before he spoke.

“You two may not be wildlife enthusiasts,” Cannon commented gruffly, while Margie almost burst out laughing at the misapprehension, “but you might at least appreciate the engineering that was responsible for this waterfall.”

Margie didn’t dare look at Andy; it would have been disastrous. Instead, she buried her nose in the menu. “It’s very nice,” she agreed, with a straight face. “If they forget to bring water and glasses, we can always dip in here.”

“Oh, Margie.” Jan groaned, burying her face in her hands.

A smothered, strangled sound emerged from Andy’s mouth before he slapped his napkin against it and faked a cough.

Cannon’s big hands were crushing a part of the menu. “If either of you order anything with alcohol in it, I’ll walk out and leave you,” he told Andy and Margie. “My God, are you already high on the scent of the wine?”

Margie lifted her composed face and glared at him.

“Margie,” Jan squeaked, “you did promise….”

Margie nodded, moving the wineglass toward Cannon. “You’re absolutely right, darling, I did. I won’t even wade in the fountain this time,” she added.

Cannon scowled at her. “How old did you say you were? Twelve?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “No fair,” she said. “This is supposed to be an opportunity for us to learn to get along.”

“It will take more than this,” he said flatly.

“Amen,” she agreed. “But I happen to be hungry, if you don’t mind not spoiling my appetite. I skipped breakfast and lunch.”

“That typewriter is going to be the death of you,” Jan murmured, and caught herself barely in time. She’d begged Margie not to mention her profession just yet. Cannon had enough against the flamboyant brunette without putting such a weapon in his hands.

“Typewriter?” Cannon caught the word immediately and stared pointedly at Margie.

Margie thought fast. “I do a political opinion column for our local weekly newspaper,” she said.

“And you skipped meals because that took all day?” he asked suspiciously.

“I do a political opinion column every week,” she returned, “and I have to keep at least two weeks ahead in case I decide to run away to Bermuda with my latest boyfriend.”