The Ties That Bind

stupid and naive, Shannon."
    "Oh, Garth." Worriedly Shannon glanced at the contract and back at his calm face. "I don't think you should leave that here," she stated carefully.
    "Why not?"
    She waved a hand, trying to find the right words. "Because it scares me, if you want to know the truth. I don't ever want to see that proposal again. Every time I look at it I think about you finding it in my tote bag Sunday morning."
    He caught her waving hand, holding it gently captive. "That's not what I want you to think when you look at it, Shannon. I want you to see it lying here in front of you for the next few days and think about the fact that I trust you with it. I can't undo the things I've said about your getting used by someone in my world, but I can at least prove I trust you. It's a start, honey. A foundation for us."
    She went still, seeing the intensity in his gaze. "You don't trust very easily, do you, Garth?"
    "No. But I'm willing to show I trust you."
    Shannon gave a soft exclamation and went into his arms. "I'll take care of the proposal, Garth."
    "I know you will." He stroked her back, his face in her hair. "By next Monday this whole mess will be finished. The sealed bids will have been turned over to Carstairs and then all we do is wait for the decision. Monday is the deadline." He paused, his hand still moving warmly on her spine. "I'll be back Friday evening."
    Shannon forced a smile and looked up into his face. "I'll be here."
    "I know. Honey, we've gotten off to a rocky start, but everything's going to work out. I know it will." He kissed her, his desire a volatile force held firmly in check by his self-control. Then he lifted his head. "I've got to get going."
    "Yes." She didn't want him to leave. There were too many uncertainties left between them, too many things left unsaid. But Shannon also knew nothing was likely to get cleared up if he stayed. She walked him to the door and stood on the step as he slid into the Porsche and turned the key. Garth lifted his hand once in farewell and then he was gone.
    Slowly Shannon went back into the cottage. She stood looking down at the bid proposal for several long moments, trying to comprehend exactly why Garth had left it. She certainly didn't want it in her house. It brought back too many miserable memories.
    But Garth was trying to show her that he trusted her. Coming from him, it was a major step. It was more than just a simple, symbolic gesture. The proposal was important to him and it was clear someone had attempted to hand it over to a rival. Shannon, by virtue of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, could easily have been cast in the role of thief. Realistically speaking, Garth had had every right to be furious with her that morning he'd discovered it in her tote. Furthermore, Shannon admitted with a small groan, he'd had every right to assume she was guilty.
    Apparently he was willing to prove he didn't think her guilty. She should value the gesture he was making, Shannon told herself. It was a major concession from a man who didn't completely trust anyone.
    Shannon picked up the document and glanced around the kitchen. The copy of the proposal made her nervous. If she'd had her way, Garth would have taken it with him. She certainly didn't want it in her house. Restlessly she strolled from room to room, wondering where to store it.
    In the end, she dropped the document into a silk-screened box used for storing her personal papers. The box was tacked to the inside of the closet door in her studio. When she shut the door, the box and the proposal were out of sight and out of mind. On Friday when Garth arrived she would hand the document back to him and tell him that, although she appreciated the gesture, she really didn't want to be responsible for the proposal any longer.
    Taking a firm grip on herself, Shannon went back to work. Assuming the San Francisco buyer would accept the slightly revised contract. Shannon had a lot of work ahead of her. She put on her smock, attached the stencil design to the silk screen and inked the screen. Then she put the first square of canvas underneath the frame and picked up the squeegee. Fifteen minutes into the task, Shannon's mind finally began to clear. She concentrated on her work and refused to let herself think of the coming weekend.
    The phone rang in the living room about one o'clock that afternoon. It was Annie O'Connor.
    "I was just calling to see if you wanted to go to Verna's yuppie vegie play this