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given the baby.’
‘I can’t say we know a Claire Christian…do we, Thelma?’ Tory’s father said.
‘Sorry.’ Her mother smiled apologetically. ‘I expect your parents are thrilled about little Keilly, aren’t they? Is it their first grandchild?’
‘They are. And it is. So far…’ Jonathan confirmed dryly.
Tory gave him a thoughtful glance. Her own parents might not think any man was good enough to marry her, but that didn’t stop them wanting grandchildren of their own. Could Jonathan’s parents, now that they had one grandchild, possibly be putting the same emotional pressure on him? Probably, she decided. It seemed to be the way with parents that they wanted to see their children happily settled.
Although if Jonathan had reached the age of thirty-two or thirty-three without succumbing to matrimony, and he had come alone on his visit to the island, it didn’t look as if it was a possibility in the near future!
‘And Gideon’s parents?’ her mother continued happily. ‘I expect they’re thrilled, too?’
Jonathan’s expression didn’t change, and yet Tory felt other, subtle changes in him as he sat next to her, his body tense now, a certain wariness in his eyes.
Because her mother had mentioned Gideon’s parents? Or because she had mentioned Gideon himself? Did the two men not get on?
She found the latter hard to believe. The two men were very alike. Gideon was also forceful, very self-possessed—like this man, to the point of arrogance. Or perhaps Jonathan just didn’t think Gideon was good enough for Madison? Tory believed older brothers could be like that, too.
Not that Tory had any siblings of her own, older or younger, but she could imagine Jonathan being quite protective of his ‘little sister’…
‘Gideon’s parents are both dead,’ Jonathan finally answered harshly, putting his knife and fork down on his almost empty plate. ‘And now I really think I should be going; I’ve interrupted your Sunday afternoon for long enough,’ he added, with what seemed to Tory a deliberately forced softening of his tone.
Her mother looked surprised. ‘But we haven’t had dessert yet,’ she protested with light rebuke.
Tory knew only too well, no one was allowed to leave without eating her mother’s desserts!
She stood up. ‘Would you like to help me clear the plates, Jonathan?’ she suggested. ‘Then you can sample Mum’s cherry pie and tell her which one you prefer—the apple or the cherry.’ She smiled at her blushing mother.
Perhaps it wasn’t quite the thing to do to ask the guest to help clear away, but it had seemed to Tory that Jonathan needed a brief respite from a conversation that seemed to be getting a little too personal for his liking. Or comfort!
Not that she could say what could possibly make him feel uncomfortable talking about his sister and her husband; she just knew that it was.
Unless it was just that he had had enough of their provincial company for one day. After all, being based in Reno, involved in the running of casinos, he would obviously be used to a much more sophisticated form of entertainment. And company!
‘Thank you for that,’ he said quietly once they reached the kitchen, putting the plates he carried down on the side.
Tory looked at the muscled width of his back as he stood turned away from her, once again wondering why a man like him had decided to bury himself on the Isle of Man for an indefinite period, and once again coming up with no answer!
Or perhaps, like her, he just needed some time and space to be able to think…?
Also, like her, he wasn’t about to discuss what he was thinking about with a third party…
He turned sharply, as if sensing her puzzled gaze on him, his expression immediately guarded. ‘I meant, of course, for helping me avoid insulting your mother by missing out on dessert,’ he explained.
Oh, sure he did! ‘Of course,’ she repeated dryly, still not absolutely sure of his reason for saying he was leaving a few minutes ago. If it was because she and her parents simply bored him, then he was rude! But, then, she had already known that, hadn’t she?
He gave her a piercingly searching look, a look Tory withstood with calm indifference. He was wasting his time trying to disconcert her in that particular way; she was more than used to being in the spotlight.
Jonathan was the first one to break away from their locked gazes. ‘Would you like me to carry anything through for you?’ he offered distantly.
‘The cream.’ She opened the fridge and took the jug of cream out. ‘Unless you would prefer ice-cream? I believe Americans prefer it with their dessert?’
During the last five years she had been to America at least a dozen times herself, and had always noticed this preference with pie. Although Jonathan McGuire probably thought she had just watched a lot of American programmes on the television!
He gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘You believe correctly,’ he drawled.
She took the ice-cream from the freezer, carrying through that and the pie while Jonathan carried all the other things.
Her father turned to smile at them both as they came into the room. ‘I was just saying to your mother, Tory; perhaps Jonathan would like you to take him out for a ride this afternoon?’
Tory gave her father an irritated frown. She did not want to spend any more time in Jonathan McGuire’s company than she had to. Besides, he was their guest, not hers.
She wasn’t daft; she knew exactly what her father was up to. There was a good war film on the television this afternoon, and her father didn’t want to miss it! If he could manage to persuade Jonathan to go out with Tory, then he would be able to watch it.
Jonathan looked puzzled. ‘But I thought you told me it was best to stay in this afternoon?’ he reminded Tory. ‘Something to do with the bikes on the TT course?’ he added.
‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ her father told him jovially. ‘Tory hasn’t been round the course herself for a couple of years; I’m sure she would love to take you. Wouldn’t you love?’ he pressed hopefully. ‘It’s an experience everyone should have once in their lifetime!’ he assured Jonathan.
‘You ride a motorbike?’ Jonathan no longer looked puzzled—he looked astounded.
Tory bristled at his disbelieving expression. She had been born on the island, lived here all her life until six years ago, still spent as much time here as work and other commitments would allow, and motorbikes were a fact of the island, whether you liked them or not. Five years ago Tory had bought her own motorbike, on the basis that if you couldn’t beat them, you joined them!
‘Yes, I ride a motorbike,’ she confirmed stiffly. ‘I’ll take you out on it when we’ve finished lunch. If you would like to go?’
If you dare! her tone implied.
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