Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“You should have known better than to try,” she said. “You’re the one who remarked on my TFR. Except that it’s not temporary. I don’t relate well to men in that way. I never have.”

“Well, that creates a communication problem for us.”

“Why should it?”

“Because ‘that way’ is the only way I relate to women.”

They sat through another cycle of the traffic light in teeming silence. Then he said in a low voice, “One thing, though. About your kid, your baby… it being a shame that you lost it?”

She turned to look at him.

“I meant that. I don’t want you thinking that I said it just to soften you up.” He shot her a one-second glance. “I can be a bastard, but not that much of one.”

Maxey’s was already bustling when they arrived. The hostess, dressed in a short black dress and four-inch heels, was a rail-thin, platinum-blond beauty. Bellamy could have been invisible, because the young woman’s baby blues homed in on Dent. In a drawl practically dripping honey, she asked if he had a reservation.

“We’re just having drinks,” he told her.

Once they were seated on stools that looked too insubstantial to support an adult, they ordered glasses of mint-sprigged iced tea. When they were served, Dent said, “Sip slow. That’s an eight-dollar glass of tea. God knows what they charge for a cheeseburger.” Then he looked around the dining room, with its cloth-draped tables and creamy pale orchids in the center of each, and added, “If they even make a cheeseburger.”

“There he is.”

Bellamy had spotted her stepbrother, who was leaning across a table to shake hands with two diners. Steven had been a sullen but good-looking boy. He’d grown into an incredibly attractive man. His dark hair was swept back from his high forehead and left to fall in soft waves almost to his shoulders in a fashion that was distinctly continental. He wore a black suit with a white silk T-shirt that seemed color-coordinated with the smile he flashed as he moved from table to table to greet his patrons.

“Excuse me? Aren’t you Bellamy, Steven’s stepsister?”

She turned toward the man who had addressed her from behind the bar. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a pleasant smile.

“I thought it was you,” he said. “I recognize you from television.” He extended his hand. “I’m William Stroud, co-owner of the restaurant.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She introduced Dent. The two men shook hands.

“Does Steven know you’re here?” he asked.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

His smile remained in place, but she noted a flicker of misgiving in his eyes. “He’d want you to have the best table. Leave your drinks. I’ll bring them over.”

He rounded the end of the bar and escorted them to a corner booth on the far side of the dining room. “Steven sometimes sits here because you can see the whole room. I’ll get him.”

She watched as William Stroud wended his way through the tables and sidled up to Steven. He spoke only a few words to him before Steven quickly looked their way. His gaze lit momentarily on Dent, then focused on Bellamy and maintained eye contact with her as he said something to William, who nodded and returned to the bar. Steven started walking toward the booth.

“He doesn’t seem all that surprised to see us,” Dent murmured. “Or happy about it.”

Bellamy, by contrast, was overjoyed to see Steven. She slipped out of the booth and was waiting to embrace him when he reached her. She hugged him tightly and held on even as she felt him easing away.

She had loved him from the day Olivia had introduced him to his soon-to-be stepsisters. She and Steven had bonded instantly and had remained close friends until the event that had shattered all their lives. Their friendship, as strong as it had been prior to Susan’s death, couldn’t withstand the strain of the tragedy. The pall cast over the family, and over each of them singly, had remained through Allen Strickland’s trial and beyond.

By then, Steven was making plans to go away as soon as he graduated.

When he left for university, Bellamy had been disconsolate, sensing that his leaving would be permanent and that their separation would entail more than geography. Sadly, her foreboding had come about.

She clasped both his hands. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“Howard…?”

“No, no, that’s not why we’re here,” she said, quickly alleviating his concern. “His prognosis isn’t good, but he’s still with us.”

“He’s defied the odds by living this long.”

“He doesn’t want to leave Olivia,” she said, and Steven nodded solemnly in agreement. She motioned toward Dent. “You remember Denton Carter.”

“Of course.”

With apparent reluctance on both parts, the two men shook hands. “Swanky place,” Dent said.

“Thank you.”

Bellamy tugged on Steven’s sleeve. “Can you sit with us for a while?”

He glanced over his shoulder as though searching for a valid reason to excuse himself, or perhaps for rescue, but when he came back around, he said, “I can spare a few minutes.”

He slid into the booth next to Bellamy and across from Dent, placed his clasped hands on the table, and divided a look between them. “Let me guess. You’re here because of today’s column in that gossip rag. I thought—hoped—we were old news by now.”

“I’d hoped so, too,” she said. Steven had gone straight to the heart of the matter, no chitchat, no catching up, which saddened her immeasurably, but she had to address his consternation. “I tried to hide behind the pen name, Steven. I wanted to remain anonymous and never wanted anyone to know that the book was based on Susan’s murder.”

“For days after you were exposed, I had to dodge the press. Van Durbin sent a stringer here to interview me. I refused, of course. Things calmed down when you returned to Texas. Then this morning…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” he said, smoothing out his frown, “all that aside, I congratulate you on your success. I’m happy for you on that score. Truly.”

“You just wish I hadn’t become successful at your expense.”

“I won’t deny it, Bellamy. I’d rather not have been a character in your story or had our connection revealed.”

She looked out over the busy dining room. “It doesn’t seem to have hurt your business.”

“No, I must say that hasn’t suffered.”

“Your success is to be congratulated, too. Three restaurants now, and all of them sweethearts of every food critic.”

“It’s a good partnership. William manages the kitchen and bar. I handle the business and service training.”

“A division of labor that’s working well.” Bellamy smiled at William as he approached the booth with a tray of drinks.

He set a glass of tea in front of each of them. “I can bring you something else if you’d like. Bloody Mary? Wine? An appetizer?”

“This is fine, thank you,” Bellamy replied. “Thank you also for loaning us Steven for a while.”

“You’re welcome.”

He placed his hand on Steven’s shoulder and spoke directly to him. “If you need anything, I’ll be at the bar.” He gave the shoulder a squeeze before moving away.

Steven watched Bellamy watch William as he withdrew and made his way back to the bar. When her enlightened gaze came back to him, he said, “Yes, in answer to the question you’re either too polite or too offended to ask. William and I are more than business partners.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Last New Year’s Eve we celebrated our tenth anniversary.”

“Ten years ?” She was incredulous. “I’m not offended by anything except being excluded from knowing. Why didn’t you tell me?”