by Janet Dailey
The restaurateur halted, tilting his head curiously to the side while a bewildered expression crossed his face, his eyes darting from Andrea to the man next to her. "Do you mean you want two tables for one?"
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mr. Stafford was not going to be of any assistance. He seemed to find her quickness in making certain that the man realized they were not together secretly amusing.
"Yes," she said.
"Two tables for one does sound a bit ridiculous," the man named Stafford said softly. "Would you join me for dinner? It would be a pleasure, I assure you."
Andrea hesitated. The restaurant was crowded and curiosity still lingered. There was no harm in eating at the same table with this man.
"Yes, thank you." She smiled faintly.
Their host's smile mirrored an inner satisfaction as he led them to the table. He held the chair out for Andrea while Mr. Stafford took the one opposite.
"I'm sorry," her dinner companion said after they had been left to study the menus. His hand reached across the table to her. "I neglected to introduce myself. Tell Stafford is the name, from San Francisco."
"Andrea Grant." The firm clasp of his handshake eased the tension she hadn't been aware existed until it left.
"From California?"
"No, Oregon, originally," she answered. "Everyone here seems to know you. You must come to Squaw Valley quite often, Mr. Stafford."
"Tell," he corrected, adding with persuasive insistence, "please. Actually, it's Tellman but fortunately it's shortened to Tell. It was my mother's maiden name. May I call you Andrea?" At her nod of agreement, he continued, "I come to Squaw Valley as often as I can. Of late, it hasn't been as frequent as I would like it to be."
"What do you do?" she asked.
"My family owns a small chain of department stores in the Bay area," Tell Stafford answered easily, but there was a faint narrowing of his eyes that suggested he was judging her reaction. "And what about you?"
"I've been doing research and manuscript typing on a novel." Why in the world had she told him that, Andrea asked herself. It was too late to retract it now. She had to let it stand.
"For a writer?"
"The book hasn't actually been accepted yet. It's his first attempt at that length, but he does have a publisher interested in it," Andrea explained.
To her relief the waiter arrived to take their order. She had barely had time to look at the menu, so she allowed Tell Stafford to make his recommendations.
"Wine?" he questioned after inquiring how she liked her steak.
"Nothing alcoholic, thank you. Milk, please," she told the waiter.
During the meal, the conversation shifted to general topics. Tell Stafford was very adept at what might be described as table talk, Andrea learned He answered each question she put to him, yet when their coffee was served, she felt no nearer to discovering what there was about him that fascinated her. She would have been less than honest if she hadn't admitted that she found his dark looks attractive.
All in all, she had learned a great deal about him yet knew nothing. He was in his early thirties, unmarried, intelligent and possessed a keen sense of humor. His confidence was unshakable. But the knowledge was all superficial. The sensation persisted that he had learned more about her than she had about him.
"What's troubling you, Andrea?" He was leaning back in his chair, his head tipped to one side.
Guiltily, her hazel eyes bounced away from him, aware that her contemplative silence had stretched longer than she had realized. She started to deny that there was any basis for his question, then laughed and answered honestly.
"We've been talking for almost an hour, yet I have the feeling that I don't know you at all."
"That makes two of us." Tell smiled and Andrea liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Since the first time I saw you in the lobby, I thought there was something different about you. I've finally come to the conclusion that you don't have the attitude of a predator."
"A predator?" Andrea frowned with amusement.
"I've been stalked a few times, Andrea." The dark eyes sparkled across the table at her, his expression displaying no false modesty, nor was it bragging. She had never doubted that women found him physically attractive. She had, too, so his statement came as no surprise. "The stealth and cunning of a female is not something I admire in your sex. My mother claims that my chauvinistic side insists on doing the hunting."
"I see." His explanation disconcerted her. It was one thing to view him as a man who aroused her curiosity. Only in a most abstract way did she want to look on him as a potential lover. "You rarely mention your father. Is he alive?"
The corners of his mouth twisted upward, not into a smile because it didn't reach his eyes the way Andrea was by then accustomed to seeing.
"You're doing it again. Each time there's any mention of a man-woman relationship on a personal level, you veer away from it and onto another subject, but to answer your question, my father was killed in a car accident when I was about ten. My mother has since remarried to a very understanding man. He and I are good friends."
"That's good." Andrea smiled brightly. "Sometimes there's resentment when a parent remarries."
"You're not basically a shy woman, Andrea," Tell observed, studying the wariness that sprang into her face as he reintroduced his previous topic. "It isn't any embarrassment on your part concerning the sexual relationship. Yet I have the impression that you're determined to keep a certain amount of distance between us. You'll let me get just so close and no closer. Why the invisible barrier?"
The waiter arrived with their check, enabling Andrea to evade his question. When she insisted on paying for her own meal, refusal darkened his lean features. Then with an arched black brow and a mocking curve to his mouth, Tell relented, accepting the money she handed him. When they rose from the table, his hand closed over her elbow.
"I'll walk you to the lodge," he stated.
"That isn't necessary," Andrea protested.
But one glance at the resolute line of his jaw told her that in this he wouldn't yield. She was beginning to learn that he was a man who knew what he wanted to do and did it. No one stood in his way unless he allowed it.
The night sky was still spitting snow, the tiny flakes making a light film on the sidewalk. The firm grip on her elbow had relaxed, but she could still feel the touch of his hand through her lined parka. Their silence seemed out of tune with the laughter and voices of the other skiers traversing the square.
"Were you very much in love with him?" The silence was shattered by his softly spoken question.
"Who?" Andrea stalled, glancing at Tell in false bewilderment. But the dark, knowing eyes weren't fooled.
"The man who's made you so afraid of becoming involved again," he answered calmly and confidently.
Stating straight ahead, Andrea neither admitted nor denied his observation. His perception was unnerving. She wished now that she had never accepted his invitation to dine at his table.
"You must have been very much in love with him," he concluded from her silence. "Was he married?"
There was anger in the glance she darted upward to his face, a resentment that he should continue to probe a wound that was so obviously still painful. He met her look and returned it, letting Andrea see that he wouldn't be put off by her silence—he demanded a response.
"No, he wasn't married," she answered tightly. "We were engaged. A month before our wedding he decided he cared for someone else."
"When was this?"
A breeze swirled around the corner of a building, sending a light curl across her cheek. She pushed it from her face with impatient irritation.
"Three years ago," was her stilted response.
"That's about the time you told me you lost your father," Tell remarked thoughtfully. "And your mother several months before that. The pain didn't seem to stop, did it?"
Keeping her chin at a defiant angle, Andrea rejected any sympathy or pit
y from him. But there was none mirrored in his tanned face as he reached past her to open the lodge door.
"It happens that way sometimes," he said, shrugging philosophically. "Do you have the key to your room?"
"Yes." Andrea produced it from her leather purse as his hand again touched her elbow.
"You mentioned that you and your parents came to Squaw Valley quite often in the winter. You must have a lot of happy memories here," he commented.
She almost breathed her relief aloud at the change of subject. It was strange the way the tables had turned. At dinner she had set out to find out about this tall stranger. Instead he was the one who was finding out about her private life.
"Yes, many memories," she agreed.
At the door to her room, Tell Stafford took the key and unlocked the door, handing the key back to her after he had pushed the door open.
"I haven't thanked you for sharing my table with me. I enjoyed your company."
He offered his hand and Andrea again felt the firm warmth of his grip. There was a dark sparkle in his gaze. She couldn't be certain, but she thought it was from amusement at the vaguely tense smile she gave him in return.
"Yes, thank you, Tell," she said stiffly.
"I'll probably see you somewhere on the slopes tomorrow," was his casual goodbye.
Chapter Two
AT THE END of her second run down Bailey's Beach, Andrea recognized the carnelian-colored ski-suited man waiting on the bottom. Sun goggles concealed the direction of Tell Stafford's gaze but he raised a ski pole in greeting as she approached.
In a way, she hadn't expected him to seek her out today, not after the resentment she had shown him last night. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She wasn't interested in him or anyone as a romantic companion for her holiday. But there was a traitorous burst of warmth in her veins at the smile that flashed across the masculine mouth.
"Are you ready to leave the gentler slopes behind for something more demanding?" he challenged as she stopped beside him.
"What did you have in mind?" The breathy catch to her voice was caused by the high altitude, Andrea told herself.
"Are you up to KT-22?"
"I think so," she said, nodding.
"Let's go." Tell dug his poles into the snow and pushed off towards the chair-lift that would take them to the famous Olympic hill.
It was a test of mettle that required a complete recall of all her former skill to keep up with Tell's slicing skis. She had guessed that he was an expert skier, but she had expected him to consider the years since her last time on skis and choose a route accordingly. He spared neither himself nor her.
The exhilaration that accompanied the successful completion of the run was beyond anything Andrea had experienced. Her senses were vibrantly alive to everything around her. It was like awakening after a long, troubled sleep and finding a fresh new world. She didn't need a second invitation to return up the slopes.
By the end of the afternoon, Andrea was happily exhausted. She had taken a couple of tumbles and knew there would probably be bruises, as well as stiff muscles, making themselves felt by morning but she couldn't remember when she had felt so complete and whole.
"I'll give you an hour in the tub to soak out the soreness and another haft an hour to dress," Tell stated with that smile that had added to the bewitching spell of the afternoon, "then I'll expect you in the lobby. No more time than that, because I'm starving."
"I'll be there," she promised gaily as they parted in the hallway, Andrea walking toward her room and Tell to his.
Not until she was lazing in a tubful of soothing bubbles did she realize that she had agreed to dine with him. Disobeying the warning voices that pleaded with her to stay away from him, she sighed contentedly. Except for that one moment last night, she had enjoyed his company.
She was beginning to feel alive again and it wasn't as frightening as she had thought. In fact, it was a wonderful feeling, she decided, picking up a handful of bubbles and blowing them into the air.
A lot of girls indulged in harmless flirtations. Why shouldn't she? Andrea argued silently. True, she hadn't come with that in mind, but where would she ever find a better holiday companion than Tell Stafford? He was good-looking, fun, maybe too worldly for her, but it would be exciting. She had lived on the fringe of life for three years. It was her turn to enjoy it.
In this faintly euphoric state where nothing could possibly go wrong, Andrea dressed for her date with Tell. A date…even that word brought a smile. She hadn't had a date in years. A glow of excitement radiated from within as she hurried to the lobby to meet Tell.
When his dark gaze ran admiringly over her slimly curvaceous figure, there was a surge of satisfaction in knowing how well the brown slacks and the matching gold and brown striped sweater suited her coloring. Minus the wariness that had held her distant the night before, Andrea found herself willingly following his lead. The lightest touch sent new fires of life through her system.
After eating at one of the more informal spots, Tell didn't take her back to the ledge. "Will your legs take a couple of hours of dancing, or are you too sore?" There was a glitter of laughter in his eyes as he looked down at her.
"I don't feel the least bit tired," Andrea admitted, "although I can't say how coordinated my legs will be. I can't remember how long it's been since I had as much exercise as I did this afternoon."
His arm slipped around her shoulders as he turned her into one of the lounges. "We probably should have called it a day earlier."
"I'm not complaining." She shook her head firmly and smiled. "I wouldn't have changed anything today. It was all magnificent."
"I thought it was, too." There was a promise of something else in his low, husky voice.
Somehow, Tell succeeded in finding an empty table in one corner of the crowded lounge. The possessive touch of his hands on her shoulders kept her firmly in front of him, making certain that they weren't accidentally separated in the jostling group of people. A bearded waiter in the perennial sweater and slacks was at their table within seconds.
"What'll you have?" the man asked with a faintly impatient look.
"A Coke," Andrea responded quickly.
"A Coke and what, lady?" the waiter asked, the line of his mouth thinning out.
"A plain Coke. Nothing else," she explained.
With a raised eyebrow he turned to Tell. "And you?"
"Scotch and water." As the waiter departed, Tell let his lazy, contemplative gaze swing to Andrea. "You actually don't drink, do you?"
"I've heard that liquor is an acquired taste. I simply haven't acquired the taste." There was a defensive shrug to her shoulders. "And I'm not really interested in trying. I'd rather get high on a Sierra sunset."
"There's no need to be embarrassed about it," Tell said gently.
"I'm not…" Then Andrea smiled at herself and nodded ruefully at him. "I suppose I am self-conscious about it."
"And defensive." His mouth quirked mockingly.
"And defensive," she admitted with a laugh.
The fingers of one hand had been nervously twirling the ashtray in the center of the small round table. Tell leaned forward, stopping the action as he covered her hand with his.
"Then stop it," he commanded softly.
The warmth of his hand traveled up her arm and down her spine, melting the stiffness with which she had been holding herself. His dark eyes held her gaze. At the moment, the pull of his virile attraction was more heady than any drink could have been. Then the waiter arrived with their drinks and her hand was released as Tell sat back in his chair.
The disturbed cadence of her heart refused to return to normal. Andrea was glad of the few moments of silence that followed the arrival of their drinks. It was one thing to respond to his attention and quite another to be carried away by it.
"Hey, Tell, how are you?" The voice broke into the silence as a hand clasped Tell's shoulder in greeting.
There was a scrape of a chair leg and a
tall, slender man was sitting himself down at their table. His face was bronzed to a teak shade by the winter sun and his hair was bleached a wheat gold.
"Hello, Chris." Tell's mouth curved upwards, a cynical hardness deepening the grooves in his cheeks. "Why don't you join us?" he mocked.
"You know me, Tell," the man returned, his blue gaze turning to Andrea, "I never wait for an invitation. I haven't seen you around before, have I, beautiful face?"
"You're getting slow, Chris. She arrived yesterday." The coolness in Tell's voice surprised Andrea and she returned the stranger's look warily, darting a questioning glance at Tell, "Andrea, this is Chris Christiansen, one of the ski instructors here. Andrea Grant," he introduced.
"Andrea," the man repeated her name. "That's a beautiful name, Andrea. It belongs to a beautiful woman. How about a dance?"
"She's with me," Tell said firmly before Andrea had a chance to answer.
There was a measured glance at Tell, then the admiring blue eyes were directed at Andrea. "Is that right?" Chris asked, letting his voice and eyes caress her.
"Yes, that's right," she replied evenly, completely unmoved by his attention, but a warmth radiated through her when Tell's dark gaze burned over her.
"Well—" there was a sighing shrug as Chris rose to his feet, still gazing down at her "—if you change your mind, beautiful face, and decide you want another teacher, I'm always around. See you, Tell."
As he disappeared into the crowd, Andrea's hand was taken in a vice-like grip and she was pulled to her feet as Tell rose. "Let's dance," he ordered, a tightness in his brief smile.
They were barely on the small dance floor before he turned her into his arms. There was little room to maneuver in the crowded area. Held closely against him, Andrea didn't object to the crush. She liked the hard circle of his arms and the broad shoulders on which to rest her head. But she didn't submit to that pleasure immediately.
Tilting her head back, she gazed at the uncompromising set of his mouth inches above her. "I didn't know you taught skiing," she murmured curiously.
"What?" Tell frowned.