Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,41
love and a piece of my mind when he gets in! Although I don’t think you’ll get much chance to yell at him”—the housekeeper chuckled—“he’ll probably just say hi and bye until tomorrow. It is getting dreadfully late, and it will be a full day.”
Sloan grinned in return. “I’m not sure yet if I’m going to yell, hit him, or keep my mouth shut and kiss him in relief! Oh!” she asked, concerned for the graying lady who had cheerfully made her own life so much more pleasant with her courtesy, “Shall I turn off the TV? Will the noise disturb you?”
“Don’t be silly,” Florence protested, shaking her head. “In fact, you could blast it, and the neighbors would know before I did. I’m a heavy sleeper—you’ve heard my alarm clock. It’s worse than a power drill because that’s about all that will wake me up.” She yawned again. “And all that scotch! My dear, I will probably pass out rather than fall asleep!”
Sloan chuckled. “Well, good. Then I won’t worry if I do decide I’m going to yell at Wes.”
“Yell away.” Florence yawned, moving toward the stairs with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Straighten him out on these late hours of his before the wedding!”
It was a good thing, Sloan thought wryly as she watched Florence walk up to bed, that she and Florence had imbibed in the scotches. Her emotions were running the gauntlet—from eager anticipation to anxious worry to frustration and therefore to growing anger. She really might be ready to yell her head off by the time he came in.
What was taking so long? Wes had called on Wednesday night, and everything had been fine. The “farm,” as he called it, was running smoothly; his brother and sister-in-law were going to be able to make the wedding. The man had definitely said he’d be in on Friday night.
She was going to have a thing or two to tell him about phoning in the future if he was held up!
“Ummmph!” she said aloud to the clock with disgruntled anger. “He only has forty-five minutes of Friday night left!”
Sloan watched the clock for a few more minutes as she listened to the news drone on. With a sigh she despondently sauntered into her bedroom and changed into a slightly worn peignoir set. Her new ones were packed, but if she was going to wind up sleeping in a chair as she fitfully waited, she might as well be dressed comfortably.
Tiptoeing, she checked on the kids and then Florence. Chuckling softly as she reclosed the older woman’s door, Sloan had to agree that she slept like death; her soft snores were already deep and steady.
Downstairs, she curled into the sofa before the TV and, turning up the volume, convinced herself that she was going to pay attention to the old Boris Karloff movie coming onto the screen. It was something about a mummy, she realized, yawning with exhaustion herself. Then, somewhere along the line, she drifted into a doze. She awoke ecstatically to see car lights flashing across the walls through the drapes. The sound of tires on gravel assured her she hadn’t been dreaming, and she leaped to her feet to throw open the front door with eager relief and an excitement that quickly turned to stunned surprise.
It wasn’t Wesley walking up to the house, but Cassie.
Sloan whistled her sister’s name in disbelief. “Cassie! What are you doing here? Do you have any idea of what time it is?”
Cassie shrugged, brushing past Sloan. “I came to have a cup of tea with my sister on the night before her wedding.”
“Oh, I see,” Sloan murmured sardonically, crossing her arms over her chest and following Cassie into the kitchen, still so surprised she forgot to close the door. “Clear as day.” Cassie was calmly filling the kettle with water. “That’s what you told George,” Sloan stated.
“That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?” Cassie questioned serenely.
“Precisely,” Sloan acknowledged dryly. “Okay, Cass, what is this all about?”
“You have to call off the wedding,” Cassie said bluntly, not watching Sloan as she set mugs on the table.
“What?” Sloan shrieked.
“Will you hush up!” Cassie hissed. “You’re going to wake your whole house.”
Sloan waved a hand in the air impatiently. “No one is going to wake up. The kids have been in bed for hours, and Florence is in another world. Now what in the world are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Cassie said miserably. “You can’t marry Wes. You’re my sister,