A Good Man Walks In

by Ginna Gray

  Unconsciously, Travis's fingers massaged the puckered scar on his thigh, and his mouth twisted. He'd found excitement, all right. Maybe more than he'd bargained for.

  He was good at his job, though. Damned good. Especially undercover work. But lately... lately, he just hadn't enjoyed it like he used to. As time went on, the thought of spending the rest of his life going from one dicey situation to another held less and less appeal.

  Sighing, Travis slipped his hand under the thick fall of hair at the back of his neck and kneaded the tight muscles there. Hell, maybe he was just getting old. He'd be thirty-one in a few weeks—not a great age under normal conditions, but a man burned out fast when he lived on the edge.

  Travis sighed again. When David had left the Bureau a few years ago, he had thought his cousin was nuts, but now... now he wasn't so sure.

  About the only thing he was sure of at that point was he needed a change.

  Maybe the job David had offered him with Telecom International was the answer. The pay was more than double what he was pulling down with the Bureau and, God knew, that wouldn't be hard to take. Plus, he'd get to travel all over the world, which meant he'd have plenty of excitement without the risk of getting his throat cut in a dark alley some night, or of blowing his cover and having some drug kingpin waste him in one of any number of unpleasant ways. Yeah, anyway he looked at it, the Telecom job was a cushy one. He just wasn't sure it was right for him.

  Which was precisely why he was on Rincon Island. He'd hoped that in the quiet and solitude he would be able to think clearly and come to a decision about his future.

  Now, here was Rebecca Quinn.

  Only it wasn't Rebecca Quinn anymore, he reminded himself. It was Rebecca...? Rebecca...? What the devil was the name of that rich Dallas big shot she'd married? Edgar

  Howe? Hull?No...no, Hall. Thatwasit. Edgar...no, Evan. Evan Hall.

  The guy was always getting his picture in the papers, hobnobbing with the movers and shakers in Texas politics, attending society events, closing one big deal after another.

  Travis's mouth twisted. He remembered Erin showing him a clipping of Evan Hall and Rebecca coming out of the church on their wedding day five or six years ago. They had looked the picture of fairy-tale bliss. Rebecca, as usual, had been drop-dead gorgeous, in that elegant, quiet way of hers, and her groom had radiated confidence and masculinity.

  Erin and Elise had been Rebecca's maids of honor, and they had oohed and ahhed over what a great catch Evan was—so charming, so bright, so good-looking. Remembering that arrogant face with the cold eyes and practiced smile, Travis snorted. He'd thought the guy looked like a calculating bastard.

  Which, come to think of it, probably made him the perfect husband for Rebecca.

  He'd never liked her. Erin and Elise had always argued that he wasn't being fair, that if he'd just get to know her he would change his mind. Shoot, he knew her. They'd grown up in the same town, for Pete's sake. He'd known her all his life, and she'd always irritated the living hell out of him.

  Even as a small child Rebecca had been standoffish and quiet, always looking so perfect, with her long dark curls tied up in a pink ribbon, and dressed in fancy clothes with never so much as a scuff on her Mary Janes.

  As a teenager she'd been downright stuck-up. False modesty aside, Travis knew that in high school he'd been the big man on campus. He'd been captain of the football team and class president, and he'd been voted most handsome and most popular. Every other girl in school had flirted with him and vied for his attention, but not Rebecca. Oh, no. Not Miss Nose-in-the-air Rebecca Quinn. Most of the time she had looked right through him as though he didn't exist.

  Her father, Richard Quinn, was the wealthiest man in Crockett. Hell, he was the wealthiest man in Houston

  County, and Travis always figured Rebecca's aloofness was her way of reminding everyone of that.

  As far as he was concerned, she was just a spoiled Utile rich girl with the personality and charm of a block of ice. He'd never been able to figure out what Elise and Erin saw in her, but the three had been friends since their preschool days.

  Which had made it damned difficult for him to avoid her. Back in Crockett, the McCalls and the Blaines lived only a stone's throw apart, and the kids of both households had worn a path through the woods between the two places. All of his life Travis had been as at home in his cousins' house as he had been in his own. He'd practically spent half his childhood running in and out of the Blaines' old Victorian barn of a home.

  Unfortunately, Rebecca had also, or at least, it had seemed so to him. Every time he'd turned around she'd been underfoot, always quiet, her expression solemn and unreadable.

  For as far back as he could remember, she'd always been there on the fringes of his life, right up to the time he'd left Crockett to join the FBI upon graduation from college. Since then he hadn't seen much of her, and that had suited him just fine.

  Now, here she was again.

  "Not for long though," he swore. Travis stomped back to the bed and flung himself down on his back. He flounced over on his side and punched his pillow. Come morning, she was outta there.

  After a few hours of restless sleep, Travis arose at dawn. He made coffee and paced the kitchen while he sipped the hot brew, checking the clock every few minutes. By six, he had convinced himself that most normal people were awake and ready to start the day, and he reached for the telephone.

  Travis placed the call to the cousin he figured was most likely responsible for the awkward situation in which he found himself. On the sixth ring Max answered, and at his slurred, "Yeah. Who is it?" Travis remembered the time zone difference and winced.

  "It's Travis. Look, I'm sorry to wake you, Max, but I've got to speak to Erin. It's important."

  "For your sake, buddy, it better be," Max said over a yawn. "You know how she is when someone wakes her up."

  "Yeah, I know," Travis muttered. About as cheerful as a grizzly getting a root canal.

  He turned and leaned back against the long curving counter that separated the kitchen and living room. On the other end of the line he heard a rustling noise and soft murmurs as Max tried to coax Erin awake. The man obviously knew his wife well.

  "Travis McCall, you wretch," Erin's sleep-raspy voice snarled into his ear a moment later. "This had better be important or I'm gonna skin you alive."

  Ignoring the threat, he snapped, "What the devil do you mean, sending Rebecca Quinn down here and telling her she can stay for the summer? I'm here for the summer. Remember?"

  "That's it? That's what you woke me up for? Travis, it's the middle of the night! It's still dark outside!"

  "Not here, it isn't. And don't change the subject. I want to know what you're going to do about Rebecca."

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing! What the devil do you mean, nothing?"

  "Look, Travis, I'm not going to turn Rebecca out, so you're just wasting your breath. She's recovering from a very bad... experience. She desperately needs solitude and peace for a while."

  "Dammit! So do I! But I sure won't get any with Rebecca here! How could you do this to "me, Erin? You and Elise know that I can't stand the woman. One of us will have to go."

  "There is absolutely no reason for either of you to change your plans. After all, it is a big house. Surely the two of you can manage to stay out of one another's way for a couple of months."

  "You can't be serious!" Travis snorted. "Share a house with Rebecca Quinn?"

  "Rebecca Hall," Erin corrected.

  "Whatever. Look, cousin. It'll never work. I promise you. Rebecca doesn't like me any more than I like her. Which is zip. Zero. Zilch. Not at all."

  "Tough. You're just going to have to make the best of it and work out some arrangement between the two of you, because I am not going to tell Rebecca to leave. Not after what she's been through."

  "Erin! You can't do this to me!"

  "Sure I can. Now you be nice to Rebecca, you hear. Bye, Cuz."

  "Er
in! Erin, don't you dare hang up on—"

  The phone clicked in his ear. Travis jerked the receiver out at arm's length and glared at it, then turned and slammed it back into its cradle and cursed.

  It was then he looked up and saw Rebecca standing in the middle of the living room.

  Chapter Two

  Travis winced. She had obviously heard the whole thing.

  For the space of maybe two heartbeats, Rebecca gazed at him, her expression stricken. Then she blinked and raised her chin a notch, and her features assumed that composed, slightly aloof perfection that Travis had always despised. She hadn't, however, been quite quick enough.

  For that brief moment he had glimpsed her vulnerability and her pain, and he knew ah instant of sheer amazement. He hadn't thought Rebecca capable of feeling any emotion that deeply;

  Guilt and embarrassment flooded Travis. He didn't like her, it was true, but he hadn't meant to hurt her. He was fond of women, and he'd been taught to honor and cherish them. It wait against everything he believed in to hurt any woman. "Look, Rebecca, I..." He grimaced and made a feeble gesture toward the telephone. "I, uh... that is..."

  "I'll leave on the next ferry," she said with immense dignity, cutting him off.

  Her cool acceptance made Travis feel worse. For a second he was tempted to accept the offer, but his conscience simply wouldn't let him. As a result, he reacted with anger when she turned and headed back to her room.

  "Dammit! Will you wait!" He darted around the end of the counter and sprinted after her, overtaking her before she reached the hallway. Stepping into her path, he forced her to a halt and glared. "Look, there's no need for you to go. Okay?"

  "But you just said—"

  "I know what I said." He rated his hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. "Look. So I don't like you? So what? You've always known that. And I'm sure the feeling is mutual. The point is, you're a friend of my cousins and you're here at their invitation. They'd both have my hide if I ran you off."

  "But you're family. And you were here first I can't expect you to leave.''

  "Damned straight. I don't intend to budge, either. But that doesn't mean you have to go."

  Rebecca tipped her head to one side and looked at him warily. "Then what are you suggesting?"

  "That...well..." He cleared his throat. "That, uh...that we both stay." It pained him to voice the words, and he grimaced. Lord help him, he couldn't believe he was doing this. "As Erin pointed out, this is a big house. We're both adults. Surely we can come to an arrangement."

  "What kind of arrangement?"

  '' We could work out a schedule for using the kitchen and laundry facilities, and...I don't know...just generally stay out of each other's way, I guess. It shouldn't be too difficult."

  Rebecca chewed at her lower lip. The small sign of nerves intrigued Travis. He'd never known her to be agitated or indecisive about anything before. He half expected her to turn him down flat with a polite, "No, thank you" but to his surprise, after a moment she nodded.

  "All right. I suppose we could try it for a few days. If it doesn't work out, I'll leave."

  "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Then let's sit down and make a timetable."

  They spent the next fifteen minutes ironing out a schedule that would accommodate them both. Since Rebecca was habitually an early riser, they agreed that she would take the first shift in the kitchen, and that she would have use of the laundry facilities on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. They would stick strictly to their separate wings, and on alternate nights, each would have sole use of the living room.

  The last was Travis's suggestion. "That way, if either of us is, uh.. .entertaining, we'll be assured of privacy," he drawled suggestively.

  With his bare heels hooked on the bottom rung of the bar stool, his knees spread wide, he swiveled around, propped his elbows on the counter behind him and fixed her with a heavy-lidded look.

  He was once again dressed in a pair of skimpy cutoffs and nothing else, and everything about him—his lazy sprawl, his half smile, the heated, insolent gleam in his eyes, his near-indecent attire—taunted.

  His attitude was blatantly provocative, a deliberate attempt to make her squirm. Travis knew it was not the way to promote harmony, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He'd never been able to resist needling Rebecca. Something about her got under his skin like a heat rash, making him prickly and aggressive.

  The reaction was alien to his basic nature. He was normally even-tempered, always laid-back and casual, especially in his dealings with women. He never asserted himself or went out of his way to draw their attention or provoke a reaction of any kind. He never had to. Women came to him. They always had. Somehow, though, whenever he was around Rebecca, he felt an all-consuming need to shake her up and wipe that look of serene indifference off her face any way he could.

  Travis knew his reputation with women. Hell, he'd done all he could to foster it. The image of a ladies' man came in handy at times, especially when he worked undercover; no one took a womanizer seriously or viewed him with too much suspicion.

  Not that it was all for show, of course. He liked women. A lot. And he'd learned early in life that women liked him. But if even half the stories about his exploits were true he'd be a physical wreck by now.

  Since arriving on the island he hadn't given so much as a thought to making contact with any of the local lovelies. He'd come there to do some serious thinking, and he didn't need or want that kind of distraction, but the chance to make Rebecca uncomfortable had been too tempting.

  "Is that arrangement all right with you?" he asked with a sardonic lift of one burnished gold eyebrow.

  Delicate color rose in Rebecca's cheeks. She shifted on the rattan sofa, her gaze darting around in an effort to avoid his bare torso. Travis grinned.

  "Certainly," she replied with a hint of frost in her voice. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way, I assure you."

  When they were done, Rebecca excused herself and went to her room. A few moments later, Travis had just poured himself a cup of coffee when she returned carrying a straw tote bag.

  She gave him a stiff smile. "You may go ahead and use the kitchen first this morning if you'd like. I have to go into Chapulta for supplies."

  "You don't have to do that. I stocked the cupboards when I arrived a week ago. There're plenty of groceries here."

  "Thank you. That's very generous of you, but I prefer to buy my own. If we're going to make this work, I think we have to remain separate in every way."

  "Oh, for crying out loud. It won't hurt you to have one meal on me before you go traipsing all that way. It's two miles to Chapulta. Besides, you're not going to find much there beyond a few staples. It's just a fishing village. You need to take the ferry back to Alhaja Verde to do any serious shopping."

  "I realize that, but I'm sure I'll find enough to last me a few days."

  "Fine. Suit yourself," he practically snarled, but Rebecca paid him no mind. She murmured a soft "goodbye" and stepped out through the open French doors.

  A moment after she had gone, Travis carried his coffee outside. The large, airy living room/kitchen formed the center of the beach house and the wings on either side angled off of it in a wide-spread V. A spacious deck ran all along the front, facing the ocean. Sipping his coffee, Travis stood by the rail and watched Rebecca stroll away down the beach.

  She walked with her back straight, her shoulders erect, her head held at a proud angle, her hips swaying gently with each stride of those long legs. Damn. Even slogging through ankle-deep sand, she still managed to look graceful and elegant ... and as aloof as a princess.

  He probably should have offered to let her take the speedboat that Max and Sam kept docked in the boat-house. Or, if she couldn't handle a boat, then the dune buggy that Erin used to zip around the island. He hadn't suggested either because merely being around Rebecca made him so agitated he couldn't think.

  Hell, knowing her, she probably would have refused both offe
rs in that ultra-polite way of hers, he told himself.

  Rebecca. Jeez, he couldn't believe, he'd agreed to spend the summer sharing a house with Rebecca Quinn. The maddening female had all the warmth and depth of feeling of a beautiful marble statue. How on earth was he going to tolerate the snooty woman for three months? Hell and damnation.

  * * *

  Rebecca walked on steadily, head high, jaw set, fighting the trembling ache deep inside her and the foolish urge to cry. It hurt. It shouldn't, but it did. Terribly.

  Which was perfectly ridiculous. She had gotten over her girlish crush on Travis long ago. His opinion no longer mattered to her in the least.

  Anyway, after all these years, heaven knew, she should be accustomed to his animosity. She'd been on the receiving end of it since she was five years old.

  However, she was discovering that it was one thing to tell yourself that someone disliked you, and quite another to hear that sentiment put so bluntly into words.

  The problem was, emotionally she was still raw and bleeding. Erin and Elise's summer house on Rincon Island was a refuge for her right now, a place of safety, but she had also come there to heal and regain her strength. She simply was not in any shape at the moment to deal with Travis's dislike.

  The best thing for both of them would be for her to stay out of his way, as he'd insisted.

  Swallowing her hurt, Rebecca trudged on toward the village at the south end of the island. There was some comfort, at least, in knowing that Travis had been oblivious to her adolescent crush all those years ago.