by Dana Ransom
“Yes?”
Charley blushed but was determined. “Do you know what ingredients go into lasagna?”
Later, as she was putting the noodles, herbs, and cheeses away, she was certain she’d lost her mind. Just in case, she told herself again that if it didn’t turn out, she could always throw it all away after it got furry. And the wine wouldn’t go to waste. She’d been extravagant there, and it had felt good, knowing she’d gotten the best. As tempted as she was to pop the cork now, she made herself store it on its side the way the wine merchant suggested. Then she went to see about the next step on her agenda. The upgrade to voice mail.
After she recorded a timid-sounding message, she sat back, reassured. Better than a dead bolt for keeping the world at bay. She turned off the telephone ringer and set to her next task. A harder one—the mail.
There was an incredible amount. With what she’d picked up at the post office added to what she already had, she felt like Santa at the North Pole on December 23. But if there was one thing she could do well, it was organize and prioritize. It took several hours, but she finally had the mail sorted into categories: well-wisher cards, bills, charitable institution requests—she hadn’t known so many existed!—wacko letters asking her to invest in wild schemes or proposing marriage, and bona fide offers. The latter she listed on a separate sheet of paper, then all the stacks went into individual boxes.
Then, the last and hardest. With a clean sheet of note paper in front of her and a calculator to her right, she wrote a big number five at the top of the page and followed it with all those zeroes. She divided the page in half. On one side she listed the practical things she could do with the bounty she’d received. Then, thinking wistfully of Jess’s goading smile, on the other side she wrote down the things she wanted, had fancifully dreamed of having. It was hard to get started. After fifteen minutes all she had written was “a nice pair of low-heeled shoes” and “a new raincoat.” She stared at those two painfully practical items and suddenly began to laugh. How typically Charley Carter. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to focus on her own wants. Even her dreams were dull. What did she want? What would she have if she could have anything her heart desired? She found herself frowning and laughed again. She was taking this far too seriously. In fact, she took everything in her life too seriously.
Grinning rather foolishly, she wrote “a week on an exotic island beach nude sunbathing with Jess McMasters.” Now that was a dream. After thoroughly stirring up her libido imaging it, she wrote beneath it “diamond earrings.” Now that was just as impractical. Where would she wear diamonds? Except she’d always admired them. No, she’d always wanted them. Yes, she had. Nothing flashy, just a bit of tasteful sparkle. And a matched set of real leather luggage. She cringed when she thought of picking up her old battered bags at the airport. “Luggage,” she wrote. “Silk underthings.” She blushed at that. She’d gotten a dainty set as a gift, and they’d felt so delicious against her skin. What did it matter if no one else saw them? She’d feel good wearing them.
Once she got started, it was fun. Like Christmas, only better. She let her imagination go and let greed run rampant through her soul. It felt wonderful. After an hour of hedonistic pleasure, she had listed everything from a spa beauty treatment to cooking lessons. She ran the tip of her index finger across that last, smiling to herself.
And though she didn’t write it down on her list of heart’s desires, mentally she added a final item.
A man with whom to share her good fortune.
If she truly could have anything she wanted, she realized with a guilty heart, that man would not be Alan Peters.
THE WOMAN’S face, her pleading eyes, her silent scream.
Charley’s own cry woke her as she jerked upright and covered her mouth with shaky hands. It took several taut seconds for her orientation to return. She’d been lying on the couch, watching the start of an old movie. It was playing out its final minutes now, so she placed the time at about eleven o’clock.
The woman’s face. When would the horror of it let her go? Her heart chugging as frantically as it had during that terrible slice of time when all their lives were altered, Charley reached for the phone. If she spent another minute surrounded by the terror of that morning, she would go completely mad. Desperately she flipped through the pages of the phone book with its unbroken spine, then dialed. Everything inside her had shut down except for the need to reach out, to connect with a saving reality.
“Please be there. Oh, please be there,” she panted softly, clinging to the receiver as if it were a life preserver for her sanity.
The ringing stopped and she heard a brusque masculine voice.
“McMasters.”
“Oh, Jess—”
“I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Charley expelled her breath jaggedly. He wasn’t home. She closed her eyes against the sudden blinding start of tears. “Oh, Jess, I need you.” She forced herself to replace the receiver in its cradle, severing the link, unaware that she’d spoken the words aloud. Impulsively she grabbed it up again and hit the redial button. She had to hear his voice. Just one more time. And the low tones repeated, soothing the raw state of her nerves. Then the beep sounded and carefully she hung up.
Jess.
Sinking back upon the couch cushions, Charley summoned his image to mind and clung to it like a charm against the stark memories.
TWO A.M. JESS was yawning as he dropped his keys into his coat pocket and hung it by the door. Next he kicked off his shoes and shuffled in his socks into the living room.
It was done. And it was damn good. Now for a cold beer, a hot shower, and a dreamless night’s sleep. But the minute he opened the refrigerator, a snarl from his stomach reminded him of its empty state. Oh, well, he needed something to go with the beer anyway. He took a steak out of the freezer and chucked it into the microwave to thaw. On the corner of his counter the strobe-like blink on his phone demanded his attention. After grouping mushrooms and an onion on a cutting board, he flicked it on and set to slicing.
Patty, Matt, Matt again, Jerri, Matt a third time. He listened idly as butter sizzled in his sauté pan. Then after the next click came a barely-audible whisper.
“Oh, Jess, I need you.”
“Oww! Son of a—” He stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking fiercely to stem the flow of blood.
The whispery plea was followed by an empty click and then two more messages, so it must have come in earlier in the evening.
Oh, Jess, I need you.
Charley.
Still nursing his throbbing thumb, Jess reached for the phone and punched in the numbers he had scrawled on a notepad. Two rings and then her voice. “I’m sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name and a short—”
Jess hung up. His pulse was laboring. Behind him the butter began to smoke. What was he going to do about Charley? What the hell was he going to do?
Somberly he stabbed his forefinger down on the erase button and went to scrape the vegetables into the pan, trying to put Charley Carter out of his mind. Let it go, Jess. Let her go. But by the time the meal was prepared to his liking, Jess found he had no appetite. Gaze touching upon the neatly typed, double-spaced article lying on the table, he carried his uneaten meal to the garbage can and dumped it. Then he picked up his beer and headed for the recliner. The long night was just beginning.
SHE NEEDED TO talk to somebody before making her final decisions. Her conscience insisted that she make that person Alan. Though she was still annoyed with him for his behavior the night before, Charley attempted to forgive him. She touched the droopy flowers on her tabletop. Of course, he would expect her to channel the bulk of her funds into their project. It was what they’d been working toward, together, as a team. Before the accident, before Jess, she’d k
nown no dissatisfaction with their plans. She’d been content to let him lead their lives. He had such clear vision, such singular devotion. It was easy to get swept up in it.
But she couldn’t avoid the change in their relationship. Suddenly she was more than an assistant in his grand plan. If they were a team, she was the more equal partner. She controlled the direction of their future and was somewhat disturbed that their directions weren’t quite the same. She fought down the urge to give him control. It suddenly became very important for those decisions to be hers. But she needed to know what he thought. She owed him that.
So, with her briefcase stuffed full of lucrative offers and her head spinning with half-formulated dreams, Charley headed to her car. She stopped briefly to talk with an awkward openness to the reporters lying in wait. They didn’t intimidate her as they once had. She was beginning to see what a useful tool the press could be. If only she could find the courage to utilize it.
There was a sense of relief in returning to the lab, almost as if the familiar smells and familiar chaos could convince her things could go back to normal. Alan was studying slides, and for a moment she just stood, watching him, examining her feelings as carefully as he did those tissue samples. There was a sense of fondness, of respect, of irritation, as well. But no warming surges of want. Not the complex longings she’d come to identify as love. This was the man she’d agreed to marry. Hadn’t she ever loved him?
He glanced up at her then and smiled excitedly. “Charlene, take a look at this.” No greeting, no indication of shame or anger after their last meeting. Work. Always work. That was his one clear purpose.
Obligingly she set down her case and purse and went to peer into the microscope. A twist of a knob brought the small dot of light into focus. And she was aware of her own enthusiasm rising.
“When was this taken?”
“I did it this morning. I’d like you to prepare another one. I’ll need a cleaner example for my findings, and you’re much better at it than I ever could be. If you would.”
Alan asking? That was different. But before she had a chance to evaluate the change, he’d put his hands upon her shoulders and was massaging them lightly.
“Charlene, about yesterday . . .”
She straightened to look him in the eye. And waited. She wasn’t about to make it easy for him to apologize by going halfway. He would have to come to her this time.
“I realize how upsetting all this must be to you—the accident, the burns on your hands, the sudden burden of all that money. I want to help you, Charlene. Maybe I didn’t make that clear enough before. I’m sure you’ve had time to reconsider what we discussed and have come to the sensible, reasonable conclusion.”
Charley’s brows lifted slightly as she drawled, “Which is?”
“That I know what’s best.” He continued to rub her upper arms convincingly. “You’ve been under a tremendous amount of strain. You’re confused. Trust me to know what’s in your best interest.”
“My best interest,” she repeated quietly. Indeed. His condescending words twisted the knobs in her head until everything was in perfect focus. And she didn’t like the picture at all. It was the picture of their entire relationship in one revealing image. She and Alan never had discussions. He decided and she went along. Did he even know what her interests were? Or was he too absorbed in his own to see or care that she held opinions other than his?
“That’s very kind of you,” she began in a neutral tone. “But I have some ideas of my own that I want to explore.”
His expression froze immediately. “Such as?”
Her sudden reluctance surprised her. Why should she be afraid to ask Alan for his support? This was the man she’d been ready to wed. She took a breath.
“I’ve been thinking that this whole situation could be used to promote awareness of what we’re working toward. Now that I’ve got the public eye, I could use it to—”
“Wait a minute,” he cut in curtly. “What are you talking about, Charlene? Are you thinking of becoming some kind of media crusader? You?” He looked her over in a manner of cool evaluation, and for the first time she felt unattractive in his eyes. Was that how he saw her? The pain of it lanced through her. “Don’t waste your time pretending to be some glamorous spokesperson. It will only distract you from what you are good at. Put your talents and your money to work where they can be of some benefit. Behind me. Don’t confuse good intentions with good sense. Now, let’s not hear any more of this nonsense.”
That was it. In his mind all was settled. She should back down and meekly accept his final decree. Well, it wasn’t settled. If anything, he’d just upset the whole foundation of their future. If he wouldn’t listen or let her have any say in the decisions of today, what chance was there that he’d be any more inclined to let her have a share in their life together? A life that suddenly looked very unappealing.
She was frowning as she turned away and ran squarely into an immovable wall. Her head jerked up. She gasped and every bone in her body melted. If not for the palms lending support beneath her elbows, Charley would have gone right down the drain set in the floor tiles between her feet. Jess. She couldn’t speak. Her heart bobbed up to clog her throat. She didn’t need words. Everything was plainly spoken in her dark, liquid gaze. For one insane second she wanted to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him wildly. But there was something about him that made her hold back that impassioned display. A guarded something shadowing his stare. And there was Alan boring a hole in her back with his furious glare.
“Am I interrupting something?”
How much had he heard? Charley’s face flamed hot. She forced a jerky swallow. “No. I was about to . . . I was about to prepare a slide. Was there something you wanted? Could you wait? It will only take a minute or two.” She was stammering like a flustered teenager. Her fingers clutched at the sleeves of his leather jacket. It was still cool from the morning air. As cool as his mood.
“I want to talk to you about something, Charley. I’ll wait.”
She took a calming breath. Her pulse was fluttering madly, distracting her from rational thought. He’d wait. Oh, Jess. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to see him until this moment. Avidly her gaze flew over him, hungry for every little detail, from his battered loafers and snug denim to the enticing texture of his nubbly wool sweater. Stretchy yarns did marvelous things to a well-developed upper body. Funny, she’d never noticed that so exquisitely before now. And leather . . . there was something about a man in a leather jacket that was primally exciting. The way a girdle of fur would have been on his prehistoric ancestors. Jess McMasters stirred everything primitive within her.
Then she looked up at his face. At the wind-rumpled hair that she longed to comb back with her fingers. At the strong jaw that could have used a shave. At those piercing gray eyes that saw so easily inside her soul. There were smudge-like crescents beneath them and a tightness at their corners and about his mouth that spoke of weariness and worry. A protectiveness of surprising force surged at those signs of self-abuse. And she had to wonder what weighed so heavily on his mind. Did it have to do with her? She needed to take him aside, somewhere separate, out of Alan’s domain.
“You look as though you could use some coffee.”
“About a gallon or so,” he admitted.
“Come on. You can drink it in my office while I finish up . . . if I can find a chair.”
He smiled faintly. And that ghost of his usual humor was what provoked her alarm. Why had he come to see her? She steered him back to her cubicle under Alan’s disapproving glare, dumped a heap of journals on the floor so he’d have a place to sit, and shoved over a stack of files to clear a spot for his coffee cup. She smiled an apology.
“It only looks like clutter to the untrained eye. It’s a case of too much volume, too little space. There’s an elaborate filing sys
tem . . . really.”
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t seem too interested in anything outside the contents of his cup. What was wrong?
Repressing an uneasy frown, Charley grabbed her lab coat. “Be done in a minute.”
Jess gave an absent nod and stared vaguely at her back wall while warming his hands on the coffee cup.
“What’s he doing here?”
Charley breezed by her disgruntled boss. “He won’t get in the way. I’ll have your slide in a second.”
But that didn’t satisfy him. Alan followed her around the counter and made himself an unavoidable nuisance at her elbow. “Why is he here?”
Charley stopped what she was doing and turned, placing arms akimbo. “Ask him if you’re so curious. Now please move so I can get on with this.”
Scowling, Alan shifted to one side. He watched her face, possibly noticing the flush of color and the keen nervousness that had quickened her movements the moment the other man appeared. Unfamiliar emotional turbulence provoked the demand, “Have you been sleeping with him?”
The utensils clattered noisily to the countertop from Charley’s awkward wrapped hands. She inhaled sharply, then spun on the glowering scientist. “Are you asking if we’ve been having sex?” Alan blinked at her directness, and she felt dangerously close to striking him. “No. No, we have not.”
“Charlene, I’m—”
“Sorry? I don’t think you are, Alan. Now, please let me finish so I can see to my guest. And might I remind you that I am doing this as a favor, not as an obligation.”
Jess came to his feet, startled from thought by the abrupt intrusion of her voice and by the violent jerk of his pulse. It settled into an agitated rhythm as he resumed his seat. Here, in her element, she had a different look about her, a kind of remote, all-business intelligence that couldn’t quite best the softness underneath. It had knocked his equilibrium crooked the second he saw her, and he had yet to recover it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, with her all calm and collected and him so jittery inside that he couldn’t keep his thoughts together. His professional air had deserted him along with his detachment. He was desperate to distract himself from the want to pull her down onto his lap when she moved around him.