Absolutely, Positively

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Not in so many words,” Molly admitted.

  She was not altogether certain why Olivia had shown up at the door ten minutes ago. It was nearly nine o’clock. An hour earlier Josh had dragged Harry off to the parking garage on the pretext of showing him a brand-new Ferrari that he claimed was lodged in one of the stalls. There was more than enough Trevelyan blood in Harry to make him take a serious interest in that particular lure.

  What Harry had not known when he agreed to go downstairs to view the mythical car was that he was about to be abducted in a stretch limousine that Brandon had hired for the evening.

  Molly had had a few anxious moments, but the fact that Harry and Josh had not returned to the condominium meant that the plot had been successfully carried out. Pleased at the promising start to her scheme, she had finished the dinner dishes and was about to curl up with a book when Olivia had arrived.

  As far as Molly could tell, Olivia simply wanted to talk.

  “Doesn’t it worry you that he hasn’t told you that he loves you?” Olivia asked.

  “He’ll get around to it.” At least Molly hoped Harry would eventually get around to figuring out that what he felt for her was love.

  “Harry does things in his own time and in his own way. He’s different.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “It’s true.” Molly smiled over the rim of her teacup. “I come from a long line of people who were all a little different. I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

  “Yes, but Harry’s differences, as you call them, go rather deep.”

  “Olivia, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  Olivia looked briefly uneasy. “What is it?”

  “What did you see in Harry in the first place? It’s obvious that the two of you were a bad match.”

  Olivia sighed. “You may not believe this, but I honestly thought at the beginning that we were a very good match. I met Harry at a small reception in his honor after he gave a talk on the contributions of eighteenth-century Enlightenment thinkers to the development of psychology.”

  “You figured you had something in common?”

  “Well, yes.” Olivia frowned. “Harry is very well respected in the academic world. He’s intelligent. Well educated. He seemed well-grounded emotionally. At least he did at first.”

  “Ah, yes. His infamous self-control.” Molly grinned. “When did you discover that it conceals a seething cauldron of dangerous passions and dark desires?”

  Olivia went blank. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. I’m just teasing you. When did you decide that the two of you were not cut out for each other?”

  Olivia shifted slightly in her chair. “Are you sure you want to go into this?”

  “Absolutely. I’m dying of curiosity.”

  “To be honest,” Olivia said, “it became clear very quickly that Harry had a serious emotional disorder which had to be dealt with therapeutically before he would be able to form a healthy, normal relationship with a woman.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I tried,” Olivia said, grimly earnest. “Lord knows I tried. He wouldn’t talk to me. He refused counseling or therapy. I told him there was medication now that could help him. He wouldn’t even speak to a doctor about it. And then…”

  “Then, what?”

  “Well, he began to make me nervous, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Why?”

  Olivia gazed out into the night. “I had the feeling that he wanted something from me, something I could not even begin to give to him. I didn’t know what it was that he seemed to need. I just knew I couldn’t supply it.”

  “What did you want from him?” Molly asked.

  Olivia shot her a swift, searching glance. “A healthy, well-balanced, mutually satisfying relationship, of course. A marriage based on respect and trust and compatibility.”

  “And you didn’t think you could find that with Harry?”

  “It was impossible. Harry…” Olivia struggled for the right words. “Harry seemed so restrained at first. But toward the end of our engagement he became stranger. He started to overwhelm me.”

  “Overwhelm you?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. I never really understood it, myself. I had never encountered his particular symptoms in my clinical practice, and I had never studied such a syndrome when I was in school. I’m sure his odd behavior is the result of a posttraumatic stress disorder, but it was not clear what was going on. I became very frightened. I knew that I had to get out of the relationship.”

  “And Brandon was there, waiting to rescue you?”

  Anger flashed in Olivia’s eyes. “He didn’t rescue me. I rescued myself.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Brandon and I had come to know each other during the weeks I was engaged to Harry. I admit that there was a strong attraction between us from the start. We both knew it and tried to ignore it. But Brandon realized that I was becoming increasingly anxious about Harry’s bouts of depression and his…his intensity.”

  “You talked to Brandon about Harry’s behavior?”

  Olivia nodded. “I could talk to Brandon in a way that I could never talk to Harry. It was such a relief.”

  Molly leaned forward. “Olivia, it’s all right. Don’t torture yourself any longer with guilt.”

  “I don’t feel any guilt in the matter,” Olivia flared. Tears glittered suddenly in her eyes. “Guilt is a paralyzing, destructive emotion. I have no reason to feel guilty.”

  “No reason at all,” Molly soothed. “You and Harry were never meant to be a couple. Trust me on this. I’m absolutely, positively certain of it.”

  “What makes you say that?” Olivia demanded.

  “Harry connects emotionally in ways that you will never be able to explain with any fancy psychological theory. You will never truly understand him. As I keep telling you, he’s different.”

  Olivia’s teacup rattled in its saucer. “I tried to help him.”

  “I know.”

  “I did everything I could to get him into therapy.” Olivia grabbed her purse, reached inside, and snatched a tissue. She blotted her eyes. “Oh, God, you can’t possibly understand. It was like watching my father all over again.”

  “Oh, dear,” Molly whispered.

  Olivia did not appear to have heard her. She dabbed at more tears. “My father suffered from bouts of depression. They got worse as time went on. Mother tried to get him to see a doctor. So did I. But he refused. One day he went into the woods with a gun. He never came back.”

  Molly put down her teacup and rose from the sofa in a single movement. She went to Olivia and hugged her tightly. Olivia did not resist the offer. Instead, she turned her face into Molly’s shoulder and began to sob.

  Molly patted her gently. “Olivia, you’re an expert. Surely you don’t need me to tell you that you weren’t responsible for your father’s suicide.”

  “No. Lord knows, I’ve had enough therapy in the course of my training to deal with that.” Olivia’s tears began to subside.

  “And you probably don’t need me to remind you that Harry is not your father. You don’t have to worry about saving him. He’s not your problem.”

  Olivia sniffed once or twice and then raised her head. She managed a tremulous smile. “You know something? I think you missed your calling. You should have studied psychology.”

  “Thanks. But I prefer the tea and spice business.”

  “Maybe it’s your lack of formal training that makes it easier for you to see the situation more clearly,” Olivia mused as she dropped the damp tissue into her purse.

  “All I know is that you feel you failed with Harry, and your feelings about that are complicated because you were personally involved with him. I can only imagine what a mess it must have been.”

  “A mess
?”

  “Sure. There you were, engaged to a man you were beginning to view as a patient, rather than as a lover. A man whose problems reminded you of your father’s problems.” Molly waved a hand. “At the same time you were falling in love with another man who happened to be related to your patient-fiancé. To top it all off, your patient was growing increasingly weird, and he refused to go into therapy. No wonder you freaked and broke off the engagement. It was the only intelligent, sensible thing to do.”

  There was a short, sharp pause.

  “We do not generally use the term freaked in clinical psychology,” Olivia murmured. “But maybe it’s apt in this particular instance.”

  Molly blinked. “Was that a little joke I just heard? A bit of psychiatric humor? Olivia, you surprise me.”

  Olivia smiled wanly. “I’ve got a really good one about how many shrinks it takes to change a lightbulb.”

  Molly started to laugh. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  Olivia’s smile finally reached her eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to let go of the guilt I feel toward Harry. I think he’s in good hands.”

  Parker surveyed the noisy, crowded tavern with a scowl of acute disdain. A country-western band filled the room with a wailing tale of bad love and good liquor. The lead singer was dressed in a skintight silver lamé jumpsuit. None of the men who lounged at the bar had bothered to remove his hat. In the far corner a rowdy group had gathered around a pool table. It was obvious that money was on the line.

  “Who the hell chose this place?” Parker demanded.

  “We did.” Josh glanced at Brandon for backup.

  “Thought it would be neutral territory,” Brandon said with somewhat forced enthusiasm. He signaled to a woman dressed in rhinestone cowboy garb. “Have a beer, Granddad.”

  “I drink whiskey,” Parker grumbled.

  “Matter of fact, so do I.” Leon leered at the waitress as she approached the table. “Nice boots, honey.”

  Raleigh groaned. “Jeez, Uncle Leon. Don’t make an ass out of yourself, okay?”

  “Like my boots, mister?” The waitress glanced down at the red sequined cowboy boots that matched her hat.

  Leon grinned. “Yeah.”

  “You can have ‘em if you want ‘em. By the end of the evening my feet are dyin’ in these things.”

  “I could take care of that little problem for you, darlin’.” Leon waggled his brows.

  “No, thanks.” The woman gave him a laconic smile. “I’ve got someone else who likes to massage my aching feet.”

  “How big is he?” Leon asked with calculating interest.

  “It’s a she,” the waitress murmured. “And she’s five foot eleven, rides a Harley, and wears a lot of leather and metal. Plays the drums in a band called Ruby Sweat. Ever hear of it?”

  “Uh, no,” Leon admitted. “Probably not my kind of music.”

  “Probably not. Somehow, I doubt that you and my friend would get along,” the waitress said.

  Leon winced. “Figures. Go out with a bunch of Strattons and what do you expect?”

  Parker glowered at him. “Try not to make an even bigger fool of yourself than you already are, Trevelyan. I’ve got a reputation in this town.”

  Leon squinted. “A reputation for what? Flower arranging?”

  “Give it a break, Grandpa,” Josh hissed.

  Unperturbed, the waitress tapped her pen firmly against her little pad of paper in order to get the attention of everyone at the table.

  “May I take your orders?”

  “A beer for me,” Josh said hastily.

  “Same for me,” Brandon said. “And maybe some nachos.”

  Parker scowled. “If beer is all that’s available, I suppose I’ll have the same.”

  Raleigh followed suit. “Me, too.”

  Gilford frowned in consideration. “Do you have a selection from the local microbreweries, by any chance?”

  “Yes, sir, we’ve got one local brand,” the waitress assured him. “Skid Road.”

  Gilford looked pained. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that one.

  “It’s from a small brewery that just opened in Pioneer Square,” the waitress said.

  “All right. I’ll try it.”

  The waitress glanced expectantly at Harry, who sat at the head of the table. “What about you?”

  “Skid Road sounds fine,” Harry said.

  “Make ‘em all Skid Roads,” Gilford ordered.

  “You bet. I’ll be right back.” The waitress dropped her little pad into the pocket of her short red cowboy skirt and moved off into the crowd.

  Leon watched her with a wistful expression. “Cowgirls ain’t what they used to be.”

  “Shut up, you old coot,” Parker ordered. “Haven’t you heard of sexual harassment?”

  Leon feigned astonishment. “Why, no, I haven’t. Where do I go to get me some?”

  Josh heaved a long-suffering sigh and looked at Harry. “Are we having fun yet?”

  Harry considered the men who were seated at the table. The small crowd was composed of virtually every one of his nearest male relatives who was twenty-one or older. It was the first time he had ever seen them all together in one room.

  “I assume this bachelor party was Molly’s doing?” he said into the silence that had descended on the table.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Gilford muttered.

  “Just a wild guess,” Harry said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the waitress returning with a tray of Skid Roads. He wondered how soon they could all call a halt to this farce and go home.

  Raleigh frowned. “Now, Harry, I know what you’re thinkin’, and it wasn’t like that. We all wanted to give you a send-off. Isn’t that right, Uncle Leon?”

  Leon cocked one brow. “Sure.” He leaned back as the waitress set a bottle of beer down on the table in front of him. “Hell, I’m always willin’ to party.”

  Parker picked up his beer. “Would you mind answering one question for me, Harry?”

  “What’s that?” Harry asked.

  “I’ve got no objections to the idea of you getting married. It’s your business. But why in hell do you want to go and marry a bossy little piece like that Molly Abberwick? Son, take it from me, she’s going to make your life a living hell.”

  “You can say that again.” Leon shook his head. “I’ll tell you something, that lady’s got balls.”

  Harry looked at him. “No balls.”

  “Huh?” Leon blinked in confusion.

  “She’s got guts, but no balls.” Harry took a swallow of beer. “There’s a small but significant difference. Maybe you’re not particular, Uncle Leon, but when it comes to things like this, I prefer accuracy.

  There was a moment of stunned silence around the table. Everyone stared at Harry. And then Brandon’s mouth twitched. A moment later he exploded in laughter. Josh joined in with a howl of amusement. Gilford started to grin.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Leon muttered. Then he started to chuckle. Parker and Raleigh traded strange looks.

  Harry was the only one who noticed the three burly men in denim and leather who sauntered into the tavern at that moment. They appeared no different than many of the other tavern patrons, but something about them sent a stab of unease through him.

  The newcomers surveyed the room with expressions of drunken anticipation.

  “Damn.” Harry set down his beer. “I think it’s time to leave.”

  Raleigh glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Yet.” Harry started to reach for his wallet. He saw the newcomers start toward the Stratton-Trevelyan table.

  With an instinct for trouble that had served him well over the years, Leon looked up expectantly. He grinned when he saw the three men bearing down on the table. “Well, well
, well.”

  Parker frowned. “What’s going on here?”

  “With any luck, the evening is about to liven up,” Leon assured him happily.

  The three men reached the table. The one in the lead sported a couple of days’ growth of beard and a greasy ponytail. He hooked his broad thumbs into a wide leather belt.

  “Say, now, this wouldn’t be the bunch of sweet-cakes that belongs in that fancy limo parked out front, would it?”

  “Who you callin’ a sweet-cake?” Leon asked pleasantly.

  “Now, see here,” Parker said. “This is a private party.”

  A second man grinned, displaying darkened teeth. “Too bad. We wanna have some fun, too.”

  Leon gave him a toothy smile. “Not at our table.”

  “Don’t see why not,” the first man replied. He swept out a long, hairy arm, caught hold of the edge of the table, and turned it on its side.

  Bottles and glasses went flying. Chairs scraped. The Strattons and Trevelyans scrambled to their feet. A shout went up at the nearby tables.

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” Leon waved one crutch with enthusiasm.

  “Oh, shit,” Raleigh said. “This is gonna be one fun bachelor party, ain’t it?”

  Harry seized his beer bottle before it hit the floor. He held it the way he would have held a knife. He caught Josh’s eye. “Front door,” he ordered. “Now.”

  “Right.” Josh glanced at the makeshift weapon Harry held and grabbed his own bottle. He started to back toward the door.

  Gilford looked outraged. An expression of surprise crossed Parker’s face. Harry shoved both of them toward the front door.

  He didn’t see who threw the first punch, but he saw Leon swing a crutch in response. The man with the oily ponytail doubled over with a choked gasp.

  In the end it didn’t matter who started the fray. The result was entirely predictable by all the known laws of science. The tavern erupted into a free-for-all. Screams, shouts, and curses rang out. The band turned up the volume in a desperate attempt to drown out the crowd.

  Intent on getting his relatives to the safety of the limo, Harry moved quickly. He ducked the swinging fist of one of the denim-clad men and came up under the blow to plant a solid punch into a bulging stomach.