Finally, her nerves raw, Roanna had crept to the window and peeked out. No one, naked or otherwise, stood on the veranda enjoying the night. As quietly as possible she had closed her doors and gone back to her chair. Sleep had escaped her, though, and once again she had endured the slow passage of time.
"Roanna?" Lucinda prodded, and Roanna realized she'd been sitting there daydreaming.
Murmuring a vague apology, Roanna pushed back her chair. She had a meeting at two with the organizers of this year's W. C. Handy Festival in August, so she would just stick her head in the study door, ask Webb his opinion of Lucinda's plan, then escape upstairs to change clothes. Perhaps, by the time she returned, he would have tired of paperwork and she wouldn't have to endure another evening of exquisite torture, sitting at his elbow, listening to his deep voice, marveling at the speed with which he assimilated information-in short, reveling in his presence while at the same time wondering if he thought she was sitting too close, or making too much of every opportunity to bend over him. Even worse, had he wished she would simply go away and get out of his hair?
When she opened the door, he looked up inquiringly from the papers in his hand. He was leaned back in his chair, the master of his space, his booted feet propped comfortably on the desk.
"I'm sorry," she blurted.
"I should have knocked."
He stared at her in silence for a long moment, his dark brows drawing together over his nose.
"Why?" he finally asked.
"This is yours now." Her reply was simply made, without inflection.
He took his feet off the desk.
"Come in and close the door."
She did but remained standing there by the door. Webb stood and came around the desk, then leaned against the edge of it with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out. It was a negligent position, but if his body was relaxed, his gaze was sharp as it raked over her.
"You don't ever have to knock on that door," he finally said.
"And let's get one thing straight right now: I'm not taking your place, I'm taking Lucinda's. You've done a good job, Ro. I told you yesterday that I'd be a fool if I shut you out of the decision-making process. Maybe you thought you'd get to spend your days with the horses now that I'm back, and you will have more time for yourself, I promise, but you're still needed here, too," Roanna blinked, dazed by this turn of events. Despite what he'd said to her after the commissioner's meeting, she hadn't thought he had really meant it. A part of her had automatically dismissed it as the type of thing Webb had done when she was little, reassuring her to keep her from being upset, pretending that she was important to anything or anyone. She had stopped letting herself believe in fairy tales on the night she had stumbled into a pool of blood. Very likely, she had thought, she would bring Webb up to speed, and then her usefulness would be at an end. He'd handled everything by himself before Her mind stopped, startled. No, that wasn't true. He had taken most of the work on his shoulders, but Lucinda had still been involved. And that was before he'd had his property in Arizona to oversee as well. Silent joy spread through her, warming the corners of her heart that had already begun to chill as she prepared herself for being replaced. He really did need her.
He'd said she had done a good job. And he'd called her Ro.
He was watching her with a sharply intent gaze.
"If you don't smile," he said softly, "then I can't tell if you're pleased or not." she stared at him, perplexed, searching his face for a clue to what he really meant. Smile? why would he want her to smile?
"Smile," he prompted.
"You remember what a smile is, don't you? The corners of your mouth turn up, like this." He pushed the corners of his mouth up with his fingers, demonstrating. It what people do when they're happy. Do you hate paperwork, is that it? Don't you want to help me?"
Tentatively she stretched the corners of her mouth, curling them upward. It was a hesitant, fleeting little smile, barely forming before it was gone and she was regarding him solemnly once more.
But evidently that was what he'd wanted, "Good," he said, straightening from his relaxed perch on the desk.
"Are you ready to get back to work?"
"I have a meeting at two. I'm sorry."
"What kind of meeting?" "With the organizers of the Handy Festival."
He shrugged, losing interest. Webb wasn't a jazz fan. Roanna remembered why she was there.
"Lucinda sent me to ask what you think of having a welcome-home party."
He gave a short laugh, immediately realizing the implications.
"She's going on the attack, huh? Are Gloria and Lanette trying to talk her out of it?"
He didn't seem to need an answer, either that or her silence was answer enough. He thought it over for all of five seconds.
"Sure, why the hell not? I don't give a damn if it makes everyone uncomfortable. I stopped caring ten years ago what people think of me. If anyone thinks I'm not good enough to deal with them, then I'll take Davencourt's business elsewhere; it's up to them."
She nodded and reached for the door handle, slipping out before he could make any more strange demands that she smile.
Webb returned to his chair, but he didn't immediately pick up the file he'd been studying before Roanna's entrance. He stared at where she'd been standing, poised like a doe on the verge of fleeing. His chest still hurt as he remembered that pathetic excuse for a smile, and the look almost of fright that had been in her eyes. It was difficult to read her now, she kept so much hidden and gave so little response to the world around her. It grated at him, because the Roanna he remembered had been as open as anyone he'd ever known. If he wanted to know how she felt about anything now, he had to pay intensely close attention to every nuance of her expression and body language, before she managed to stifle them.