by Renee Roszel
Her mind couldn’t grasp what she saw, unable to get a firm hold on why a female psychiatrist was kissing a male patient who was supposedly uninterested in that sort of thing. Before she realized it, Raine was walking briskly, a crisp breeze teasing her short hair, as she hurried along a path of crushed clam shells winding through a garden—toward the point. Stumbling to a halt, she pushed her glasses more securely on her nose. For the first time, she became acutely conscious that something was very wrong. And something very basic inside her wanted answers—sound, clinical answers. She had to admit that she didn’t know what kind of therapy was currently considered successful with patients like Cotter, but somehow, she didn’t feel comfortable with Anona’s methods. Almost involuntarily, Raine continued her approach.
“Darling.” Raine stopped abruptly when she heard Anona’s throaty endearment. Barely breathing, she listened as the doctor went on. “Why can’t we go back to the house? I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Surely your professor friend and her charges are asleep by now.”
Raine strained to hear Cotter’s murmur. “I think it would be better if you went home, Anona. It’s bad enough that we’re out here together.”
Anona groaned. It was a sensuous sound. “But Cotter, what’s the point of this whole crazy stunt, telling that mousy professor that you’re gay so she’ll keep her hands off you? I know you’re irresistible, but isn’t that going overboard?” she mused. “I cut short my buying trip for the store because I wanted to be with you, and you’re telling me to go home? I ought to go back to New York and leave you to act out the part. It would serve you right.”
“That might be best, Anona,” he whispered. “I told you before, it can’t be helped.”
“Oh, darling, it isn’t fair. For once, would you think of us, and forget Carl and Nordie and all their crazy problems?”
The ensuing silence told Raine that the two were once again clasped in an embrace. She strained to piece together their words. Mousy professor? Act out the part? What exactly had Anona said? “Telling that mousy professor that you’re gay so she’d keep her hands off….” Raine pressed a burning cheek to the rough bark and closed her eyes. Anona Witlong was no doctor. And Cotter Hunt was definitely not gay. That much was clear. But could any man possibly be so conceited that he felt he had to ward off “mousy” professors with wild stories about sexual inconsistencies—and what was worse, enlist the help of his little sister and his girlfriend in doing so?
Raine knew she was no femme fatale. But she had no idea that any man would go to such lengths to avoid her! She licked a tear from her lip. The next one she wiped away angrily with a trembling hand, almost knocking her glasses off.
She turned away and leaned weakly against the tree trunk. She knotted her hands together as the full effect of Cotter’s prank took hold. How he must have laughed at her naive belief in his story. And he surely must have gotten a kick out of her admissions about herself told to him when she’d thought he’d understood the pain of being different. She could see him shaking his head at her professorial account of what it was like to be shunned.
Dropping her head, Raine tried to control her sense of betrayal. Now she knew the real reason he’d been amused so much of the time. He could afford to be polite—the joke was on her. And she knew why, on the beach, he’d been so remote. His whole objective had been to stay away from her. She thought she’d understood his unease. How wrong and foolish she’d been!
Her lips began to quiver, and she hugged herself to restrain the trembling. It was odd that she felt so devastated to find out that Cotter Hunt had no problem with women—he just didn’t want to cope with her! Usually, it didn’t make much difference to Raine how men felt about her. But Cotter’s ploy really hurt. How could she have allowed herself to be duped by a man with such an enormous ego? And how could she have been so wrong about him? She’d even told the man she liked him and insisted on his friendship! Good Lord! He must have squirmed at that.
She blinked away tears and stared up at the moon. “Damn!” she cursed in a soft whisper. Well, my dear Mr. Hunt, she vowed silently, no need to worry about my amorous attacks. I’ll keep my hands off you with pleasure!
Tugging at the skirt of her wrap dress, she tried to focus on the house. It was especially blurry from this distance. Making her steps as soundless as possible, she headed away from the cliff, from Cotter and from his unforgivable deception.
But another thought gnawed at Raine, and she struggled to repress it. More than anything, she wanted to run to her car and escape to her apartment at Orono. But the anthropology project loomed before her; it was too important to drop just because she’d been hurt and humiliated. After all, the students were depending on course credit, and she was counting on the money. Personal feelings would have to be shelved and controlled. She’d managed that way all her life. She would just have to manage again.
When she reached the path to the garden, she decided to walk off her frustrations. Wandering among the bushes and ornamental shrubs seemed like a good way to heal her wounded spirit. The air in the garden was filled with the scent of damp earth and roses. She breathed deeply, trying hard to recapture her objectivity, and walked farther into the tangle of foliage.
An old-fashioned bench appeared in the darkness, and Raine sat down. This place certainly was secluded. Perfect for her state of mind. She had just seated herself and leaned back against the cool wood slats when she heard voices in the distance. She couldn’t make out the words but, from the tone, she could tell it was an argument. She sat straight, listening. Cotter’s deep voice was not raised, merely coaxing. But Anona’s was shrill. After a brief, final outburst, Raine heard the thud of a car door and then the roar of a motor as a car squealed past.
Raine frowned, listening. The stillness was so complete that it was intimidating. She could swear that Cotter had not gone with Anona, and it was clear that he was not following in his own car. She didn’t know if she could hear the front door close from here. Probably not. Cotter, no doubt, had gone inside.
She sat back again, wondering if Anona had decided to go back to New York. It seemed so. And as Anona had said, it would serve Cotter right. The gravelly sound of footsteps on the path made her stiffen, and she looked up in time to see a tall figure approach. Realizing it was Cotter, she bolted to her feet.
When he saw her, he stopped. His face was barely visible in the shrouded darkness, but Raine could see a glint in his eyes as he scanned her from head to toe. “Well, hello.” White teeth appeared in an easy smile. “I had no idea anyone was still awake. What are you doing out here?”
How dare he act so…so innocent. She blinked back hot tears as her anger surfaced. Her emotions were clouding her reason, though she tried to see the situation clearly. With a bitter smile quivering at the corners of her lips, she lifted a trembling hand and pushed him aside, heading for the house.
He recovered his footing and was about to speak when Raine interrupted, grinding out fiercely. “Oh, don’t panic, Cotter. I’ll keep my hands off you! You’re not nearly as irresistible as you think!” Whirling away, she ran down the path, aware only of the hot sting in her eyes and the odd, shadowed look in his gaze.
Chapter Five
Cotter pulled his Land-Rover into the cavernous garage. In his side-view mirror he saw his sister, clad in a white lab coat, pink rubber gloves, jeans and sandals. She was running toward him, waving something in the air. Shaking his head, dreading the consequences of her enthusiasm, he stepped from behind the wheel and closed the door. He leaned against the car door and waited for the evening’s bizarre greeting.
“Cot! Cot! Get a whiff of this.” She was short of breath by the time she’d run all the way from the converted stables. She waved a limp, green-black object under his nose. The stench was unnerving. He clasped her by the wrist and lowered the object from his face. “Why the hell are you attacking me with a rotten pickle?”
She beamed at him. The past week of working on the study had made Nordie hap
py. That made one of them, anyway. She was laughing. “How did you know it was a rotten pickle?”
He ran a hand through his hair, smiling faintly. “Do you forget? Our roots are buried deep in rotten pickles. Wait until you run across a diaper—or spoiled chicken. Now those are smells worth writing home about.” He dropped a hand to her shoulder. “But don’t share the experience with me. I’ve smelled it all.”
She clutched the pickle behind her back. “Oh, yeah. Our fortune is built on a foundation of refuse.”
“Well put.” He cocked his head in the direction of the stables. “Don’t you have something important to do with that pickle—preferably far away?”
“Naw.” She turned away and dropped it into a covered trash container. Peeling off her gloves, she added, “It’s been logged. We don’t keep the garbage; we just record it.”
“That’s a relief.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “You about finished for the day?”
“Completely.” She patted his hand. “Maybe you’d better not touch the coat. I’m not sterile.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
They strolled in silence up the front steps. At the door, Nordie turned to face Cotter. “Say, did you know a cop was out here today? Talked to Professor Webber for a while. Something about an investigation of some guy we’re collecting garbage from. We’re supposed to check his garbage carefully for some reason.”
Cotter lifted a brow. “Hmm. Do you know why?”
She shook her head. “Professor Webber probably does. She’s going to take the guy’s garbage personally. The cop—Detective Nooner, or Neuter, something like that—said the garbage study was a real stroke of luck for them. Wouldn’t arouse suspicion, with us collecting everybody’s trash on that street.”
They resumed their walk as Nordie chattered on. “You can ask Professor Webber the details. I just think it’d be exciting if we helped put some criminal behind bars.”
He laughed. “Nordie Hunt, public servant—private pain in the neck.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Thanks a lot!”
With a grunt he let go of her. “I’m going to do a little more work in my study tonight. Would you mind telling Hanna to bring me my dinner in there?”
Nordie wrinkled her nose in irritation. “Again? Every night this week?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What’s so important in the trash business lately? I realize that with you absent, Professor Webber has been paying fantastic attention to Carl, but you don’t have to put yourself into solitary confinement for him. Besides, I miss you when you’re not around.”
Her genuine expression melted him completely, and he beckoned to her. “Come into the study with me for a minute.”
Once they were inside and seated on the couch, he watched her face, enjoying the quiet moment.
“Well?” She slipped off her sandals and curled her feet beneath her. “What’s up?”
“The jig, little Miss Fixit.”
She scratched her ear, eyeing him curiously. “What’s that mean?”
“It means, Professor Webber knows I’m not gay.”
She gasped, clutching his hand. “You don’t mean it! How? You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No.” He shrugged. “She either saw me with Anona, or heard something last Sunday night.” He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, recalling the hurt and anger in her face when she pushed him. “She told me I’m not exactly irresistible.”
There was silence for a moment, when all he could hear was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and his thoughts drifted over the past five days. He’d wanted to say something to Raine—something to let her know that the pretense wasn’t just the cruel prank of a boastful playboy, as she apparently thought. But every time they had come face to face, in the hall or a room, she had either quickened her step or turned and headed in the opposite direction.
The last time he’d seen her had been that morning. They’d happened to come out of their rooms at the same time. As soon as she saw him she spun around and retreated into her room. He waited for a moment, wanting to knock at her door, wanting to tell her about Carl’s dangerously depressed condition, about Nordie’s practical jokes. The pain and hurt magnified in her huge, soft eyes bothered him more than he cared to admit. But he couldn’t betray Nordie or Carl. Besides, the sensitive, young professor had turned her nurturing attentions toward his ailing brother. He knew that. He’d seen Raine and Carl talking several times. Perhaps what had happened had been for the best in the long run. Still, somehow, Cotter felt a very real sense of loss every time she turned away from him.
He was drawn from his sober reverie when Nordie burst out in a delighted laugh that sounded uncomfortably like the cackle of a lunatic hyena. “Oh! She called you on that one!” She was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
He lowered his gaze to her. “Your sympathy warms me all over. Did I mention she pushed me? That should make your day.”
“Pushed you?” She shook her head, giggling.
He sat back, frowning. “Do you find everybody’s pain funny, or just mine?”
She took his wrists, pulling his hands into her lap. Pressing her lips together, she tried to calm herself. “Don’t you see the beauty of it, Cotter? Here I was working so hard at getting her not to notice you by telling her that you were gay—when the truth is what actually did it. You are full of yourself, Mr. Irresistible.”
He balled a fist and touched her chin with it.
She took the fist in both of her hands. “Okay, okay. I know you’re no egomaniac. But what difference does it make? We’re getting the results we wanted, aren’t we? How were we to know how she’d react? You figure her out.”
“I have enough trouble figuring you out.”
Nordie seemed not to hear. “Did Professor Webber shove Anona, too?” Nordie shook her head, giggling. “Now there’s a conceited something—and uninformed. Anona couldn’t tell Joyce Brothers and Anna Freud apart if her life depended on it. Imagine her asking, ‘Sybil who?’ I almost choked on my food.”
“Impossible. You haven’t choked on any of your words. But no, she didn’t push Anona. Anona left before Raine and I…talked. Anona went back to New York, I guess.” Cotter walked to the window and looked out. “Anona has her good qualities; she’s just a little spoiled.” He paused for emphasis. “Speaking of spoiled, if you feel like going anywhere, don’t let me stop you.”
“Okay, I get the hint. But before I go, I think you should know something. There’s an invitation for a big charity bash at the Penells’. It’s tomorrow night. Luckily, I found it under a pile of junk mail. Weren’t you intending to RSVP?”
He turned back, frowning down at the desk. The silver-lined envelope lay torn open in full view, with the engraved invitation standing beside it like a tent. Impossible to miss. “I planned to send them a check. You know I hate those kinds of affairs.”
“I know,” she agreed more gently than he’d expected. “But you’re going.” She raised her arms inclusively. “We all are. I accepted for us.”
He shot her a sharp look. “You did what?”
She nodded, her mouth set in a determined line. “It won’t do you any good to rant and rave, Cotter. It’s done, and everybody is looking forward to it. Even Carl. And besides, with an intelligent woman like Professor Webber as our houseguest, I figure it might help your image. Some of those tunnel-visioned snobs might quit looking down on my entrepreneurial garbageman brother.” She folded her arms across her chest, nodding in thought. “Oh, I realize that she isn’t your type—you like ’em shallow and dumb. But do the Penells of the world have to know that? I mean, for once let ’em see you with a real lady on your arm.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he mumbled tiredly as he dropped into his chair. “The woman doesn’t want my arm. She wants my head.”
Nordie didn’t seem to have heard him. She was checking her watch. “Well, I’d better get showered before dinner. See ya.”
Cotter remained quiet as she scooped up her sandals and left the room. Rubbing his temples, he focused on the invitation, feeling a headache coming on.
FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE, Raine was running late. But before scurrying down the curved staircase to the formal living room, she tugged again at the ruffled straps that kept slipping off her shoulders. She cursed in frustration. She’d never worn a dress quite so opulent or revealing. The wide scoop of the neck did more than hint at cleavage, and she wasn’t used to explicit clothing. With one last, calm-gathering breath she started down the stairs. The spiked, champagne-colored heels forced her to hold on to the railing. Even though she was moving down the curved staircase very slowly, the silk chiffon dress fluttered and billowed around her legs. She paused, touching the off-white dress. It was covered with hand-cut eyelash squares of glittering gold Lurex, making the cloth seem like gossamer. It surprised her a little that Nordie would lend her such an extravagant party dress.
With a nervous swipe at her hair, she entered the aqua-and-beige living room, decorated with French Provincial furniture. There was a rustle and a scraping of chairs as the men stood.
“Wow!”
Raine turned in the direction of the sound and smiled at George, a bookish student who rarely spoke unless spoken to. He was blushing uncontrollably.
“Thank you, George. You look very nice, too.” She felt her own cheeks redden but tried valiantly to keep her poise. With an effort, she raised her chin a bit higher and scanned the large room. “All of you look wonderful. I’ve never seen you so dressed up before.” Movement from the far corner of the room caught her eye, and she turned. To her horror, she saw Cotter walking toward her. His smile was courtly and his presence disturbingly regal. The perfectly groomed head of hair shone in the light of the chandeliers. His white dinner jacket flattered his broad shoulders. A black bow tie and gold cuff links provided elegant accents.