Experiment In Love by Rita Clay Estrada

responsibility toward her? Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t trying to get something on her father, was he?
    Without thinking she blurted out, “Just how well do you know my father?”
    “Not very,” he said calmly, as if he had been waiting for that very question. “We’ve met at various social functions.”
    “And that’s all?”
    “I spent the weekend at his home two years ago.” That stunned her. Despite her knowledge of his life, she had never thought of her father’s home as being anywhere but with her mother.
    One dark brow rose as he quickly eyed her pale complexion. “You’ve never been there?”
    “No. But I’m sure you gathered that from our meeting yesterday. I’m from the wrong half of the family, so to speak.”
    “That doesn’t stop a strong-willed girl from passing by the old homestead.”
    “Well, yes, I did once. But it was dark and all I saw was a long low ranch house surrounded by a wide expanse of lawn,” she admitted.
    “That’s just what it is. Only the family doesn’t live there as much as they used to, except for his daughter, Laurie.”
    “Where are they?”
    “I believe his wife spends most of her time in Washington, D.C. She can’t move around much, but in close quarters she’s quite the social butterfly.”
    “Can’t move around?”
    “She’s been confined to a wheelchair for the past ten years or so.”
    Her befogged brain was whirling again, striking out against her own ignorance. She had never wanted to know about that other family and had refused to read about them, to hear about them. Now she saw that her refusal had cost her dearly. It was too much to comprehend all at once. She laid her head back on the seat, closing her eyes in hopes that she would absorb all this before they reached their destination.
    Unconnected thoughts ran through her mind. She remembered the time she had broken a bone in her foot in a fall from a horse and for a solid week she had been in a wheelchair. The smallest things had irritated her; the fact that the front of the house had a step that she had never noticed until she tried to wheel herself out the door and fell; the sink was too high for her to get her own glass of water; everyone except her could play volleyball or dance on the patio or reach things on high shelves. She had had to have another pair of hands to do practically everything. But her father had been marvelous. He had spent the entire week at the house, talking, playing chess, making a game out of everything, including showing her the fundamentals of the stock market in the daily paper. Now she knew why she had seen a sadness in his eyes every time he had glanced at that chair. It explained so much.
    Ten years was a long time. But his wife’s illness had come after he had reentered her mother’s life. He had still done the unforgivable.
    A hand on her shoulder shook her lightly. Warm, tobacco-scented breath fanned her cheek. “Wake up, princess. We’re here,” Kurt whispered, inadvertently using the wrong words.
    “Don’t princess me,” she snapped, instantly awake at his use of her father’s pet name for her.
    “Sorry. Come on. It’s time we ate something. I’m starving and Mrs. Webb, my housekeeper, has a late lunch waiting.”
    It wasn’t until they were out of the car that Victoria had a chance to look around. The house was on the crest of a large, steep hill blanketed with ground-hugging plants that ran all the way down to the valley. It was stucco and redwood, contemporary in design, with enormous double entrance doors.
    Forgetting all her arguments against coming, Victoria followed him into the bright interior. The freeform entry extended directly into one of the largest living rooms Vicky had ever seen. She turned slowly, counting at least four different conversation areas, all taking full advantage of the glass walls that afforded a view of the bay and yacht basin.
    “Do you pay for that view by the square inch or by the panel?” she asked dryly.
    He