When he stood, she held up a hand to still his automatic protest. "I'd rather."
She could tell from the itching along her spine that he watched her walk out of the restaurant, that his eyes didn't leave her until she turned out of sight and reached for the door.
Chapter Three
Samantha expected the helicopter ride to be an agony of persistent questions from Cal, blended with her apprehension about flying.
She'd messed up yesterday, telling him she needed to go away. Somehow, she'd stirred his curiosity. Usually his curiosity focused on computer matters—on questioning executives about their needs, exploring new ways of making computers serve people, taking apart his new electronic organizer to examine the circuitry.
His curiosity was the driving force behind Tremaine Software. She'd occasionally seen it trained on a person, had sat in airports with him, enjoying his speculations about passersby. She'd always been grateful that when he trained that curiosity on her, it was limited to questions like: Why did you decide on the open house? What makes you believe it's a better solution than the employment agency we used before?
After last night's personal questions, she'd prepared herself for more, rehearsed her lines. I prefer not to discuss my personal life. I appreciate the ride, Cal, hut it doesn't give you the right to question me.
She was ready for him, but the only question he asked was, "Did you arrange the car rental?"
"Yes."
"Good."
She fastened her seat belt and watched him walk around the helicopter before settling in the pilot's seat. She took five careful, deep breaths, concentrating on relaxing her body to escape the tension that had accompanied any sort of flying since last December.
"All set?"
"Yes."
She wondered if she'd be in Nanaimo early enough to slip up to the hospital before she met the lawyer, early enough to see Dorothy for herself before she listened to whatever the social worker had to say. She needed to know if her grandmother was telling the truth about her minor medical problem. If it was only indigestion, why would Dorothy be hospitalized?
This morning she'd called June at the employment agency, and tonight after she and Dexter had— hopefully— regained custody of Kippy at this afternoon's family court session, she would drive Kippy back to Seattle in the rental car and get her settled with the temporary nanny. Then, tomorrow, she'd be able to focus on the open house, knowing Kippy was in expert hands.
Samantha jumped at the sound of Cal's voice.
"What?"
He handed her a set of headphones. "Once I start the engine, the headphones will blank out some of the noise and let us talk without shouting."
"Thanks."
She didn't want to talk, not today.
She watched as he flicked switches, wondering how these machines really worked, whether she'd feel panic when he swept them up into the air. She felt the urge to ask questions, nervous talk, and suppressed it. The engine began humming, and she saw the helicopter's blade slowly rotate.
A moment later the helicopter lifted, tilting forward and sweeping upward into the sky, sweeping panic into Samantha's throat. Then, as they lifted over Seattle's harbor, the world straightened and they flew level, out over the water.
It was perfectly all right, she told herself, watching Cal's hands on the controls.
"How long have you had this helicopter?"
"Three years." He studied something out the side window, his voice oddly intimate through the headphones. "Brent and I used it for fishing trips in the mountains. Then Brent moved to California, and I bought his share."
He'd bought Brent's share of the business, too. The documents were filed under AGREEMENTS in the company minute book.
"You should have gone away this week. You could have had a few days fishing before the open house, instead of going nuts waiting for the event."
He flashed her a grin. "How could I have harassed you, watching over your shoulder, with no cell phone reception? Have you ever been up in a helicopter before?"
"No."
"Nervous?"
"Not now."
Below, a sailboat leaned into the wind, crossing Puget Sound toward Port Townsend. She twisted her head, watching. "What do we do about customs?"
"I called ahead. A customs officer will meet us at the airport."
Had he checked entry procedures since he offered her the ride yesterday, or had he always known? "Have you ever been fishing on Vancouver Island?"
"No. I haven't done much fishing at all lately."
And he probably wouldn't for some time, she thought, once he began the new project. She'd expected his curiosity to make this journey difficult, but he seemed relaxed, and she felt her tension ease in response.
He gave her a sideways grin. "I'm pretty hyped about this new project. I doubt if I could sit waiting for fish to bite. You've been going flat out for quite a while yourself, getting us into the new premises. Great location, by the way. Several of the project leaders have mentioned that they appreciate looking out over the harbor instead of the rock-face view we had in the old place."
"Thanks." It was a bonus that Cal was so often appreciative of her efforts.
"Is this where you came in December?"
"Yes."
"You didn't look all that rested when you came back after Christmas."
She turned away to stare at a small island passing by on their right. She didn't want to talk about December. She'd come back in shock from the plane crash that took her sister and brother-in-law's lives, knowing Dorothy too was still grieving deeply. It was only after she'd made her first couple of monthly visits to Dorothy that she realized having Kippy was the best thing that could have happened to help them recover from Sarah's death.
Now the authorities were threatening to take Kippy from Dorothy. She mustn't let it happen, couldn't allow Sarah's child to stay in foster care.
She realized Cal was still waiting for an answer and said, "I brought along copies of some of the likely resumes that have come in this week for the development jobs. Do you want the details?"
"Give me a rundown," said Cal.
The closer Cal flew to Nanaimo, the more distracted Sam seemed. Was she thinking about problems ahead that she needed to resolve, and if so, exactly what problems?
She'd been damned secretive about this urgent personal journey. Until last night, he hadn't realized how little he knew about Samantha Jones. They'd flown together on commercial jets several times, to San Francisco, New York, and once to London. They'd met frequently for planning sessions, working lunches and dinners. Twice, she'd attended major trade fairs with him, and several times she'd acted as his hostess for business dinners. Since Sam came to work for him, Cal had spent more time with her than with any of the women he'd dated. He knew she took her coffee black, preferred fish and chicken to beef, and would rather read a mystery than watch a movie on long flights.
Twenty-four hours ago, if someone had asked him, he would have said he knew Samantha Jones very well indeed. Certainly, he knew that he could tell her he needed fifty more developers and support staff, with premises for them to work in, and she'd listen carefully, then say simply, "I'll look after it."
And she would. Despite the way he'd been hovering this week, he knew she'd do exactly what she'd promised. But yesterday he'd realized that he didn't know anything personal about her, nothing beyond her relationship with Tremaine Software. She had an M.B.A. from the University of Washington's business school, but he had no idea where she'd lived before attending. He knew she was unmarried but didn't know if she had boyfriends, lovers, or even an ex-husband.
Hell, she could be living with a man and, if she didn't tell him, he'd never know. If she was in a relationship, she probably wouldn't tell him.
He didn't know where she spent those weekends she took away from Seattle. He didn't know where she lived, although he could probably find that out by looking in her personnel file.
The only personal details he
knew were scraps gleaned over dinner yesterday. She had a sick grandmother, she'd grown up on Gabriola Island, and her parentage or birth circumstances must be such that she'd managed to acquire dual American and Canadian citizenship.
By the time he brought her back to Seattle, he fully intended to know more. Tremaine's relied heavily on Sam, and he had a right to know exactly who she was.
When he brought the helicopter to a stop outside the hangar at Nanaimo's Cassidy Airport, Sam immediately scrambled out.
"Customs," said Cal, gesturing to the uniformed man approaching.
The formalities were brief, and within moments they were alone on the tarmac again. "In that door," he told her. "I'll bring your bag to the car rental counter."
She snagged a tendril of hair that had blown free and tucked it behind her ear. "I'll carry it in. I appreciate the ride, Cal. I'll be back late tonight, in the office early tomorrow morning."
"I'll fly you back."
He saw her eyes widen, realized she didn't want him to hang around and decided immediately that he wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll find my own ride home," she said sharply.
He shook his head. "You'll want to be here for more than a couple hours. Stay overnight. If we take off at six tomorrow morning, we can be back in the office before nine."
The wind whipped around her, molding her jacket tightly against her breasts. She wrapped her arms around her midriff as if she were cold. "Cal—"
"Get inside, Sam. I'll bring your bag."
She hesitated, probably trying to think of a way to get rid of him; then she shrugged and turned toward the terminal.
He pulled her bag and his own out of the chopper before he locked it. Then he hurried into the terminal, keeping her bag with him while he reported in and closed his flight plan. By the time he was clear of the paperwork, she was just turning away from the car rental counter, computer bag slung over her shoulder and keys in her hand.
When she saw him, she held her hand out for her overnight bag.
"I'll carry it to the car. You can give me a ride into town."
He saw her drag in a deep breath. "Cal, I'm uncomfortable about this."
"We've shared a car before."
"Yes, but... that's not...." He was fascinated by her confusion. "I appreciate the ride—the flight—but this is my private life, and you have no—I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place."
He shook his head and held the door for her. She stepped quickly outside, her words lost to him in the sudden gust of wind.
"Windy and warm," he said, catching up a few steps down the concrete walk. "I can't help wondering why you're so prickly about this. I need you back in Seattle to look after the open house, and I know you're determined to be there. I'm trying to make the business of getting here and back as smooth as I can for you. Why is it a problem for you to take some help with transportation?"
She stopped behind a white Ford Escort, popped the trunk, and swung her computer in. He put her overnight bag in beside the computer, then watched as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her suit jacket and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.
"You're hovering, " she said, "looking for clues. I know my asking for time off makes you curious, but I won't let you treat me the way you treat a computer problem. You don't want a ride into town, you want a chance to find out what I'm doing here."
"If you told me what's going on, I wouldn't have to probe."
They'd clashed horns before, but it had always been business, and he'd never seen this hot, irritated look in her eyes. It made him wonder if her coolness was soul-deep, as he'd always believed, or a mask.
"I'll let you off in downtown Nanaimo at the Coast Bastion Inn," she said abruptly, "but I can't fly back at six tomorrow. I'll pick you up at the Coast at six-thirty. If you need to know why the delay, you can forget the whole thing. I've been working eighteen hours a day for weeks and I deserve a few hours off the leash."
He opened the back door and put his overnight bag in the backseat, then slid into the passenger seat. Sam reversed out of the parking space and before she flashed a glance at him, they were on the highway, headed north to Nanaimo.
"Did you intend all along to stay over?" she asked. "You brought an overnight bag. "
"I was a Boy Scout."
"Be prepared?"
"That's right."
He saw her gaze flick to the side view mirror. "I apologize if I've been a bit...."
"Touchy?" he suggested.
"Yes." She glanced in the mirror again, then pulled out to pass a transport truck. "I don't like mixing personal and business life."
"Why is that, Sam?"
Her lips parted on an answer, then snapped shut again. Fascinating how her lips could be so soft and full, then in a flash of irritation, could turn rigid and impregnable.
"It's just information," he said mildly.
"Knowledge is power. What will you do with yourself all day?"
"Perhaps I'll rent a car and explore Gabriola Island. I remember spectacular cliffs there. What are they called … those sandstone cliffs sculpted by the winter storms?"
"Malaspina Galleries. You'd better stick to Nanaimo. Visit the museum. You can find out about the old mining tunnels that run under the harbor from Newcastle Island."
"You'd prefer it if I stayed away from Gabriola Island?"
"I don't care," she snapped.
"You'd prefer that I go back to Seattle?"
"Yes." It fascinated him that she was uneasy, almost twitching.
"I'll have my cell," he said as she slowed for a speed-limit sign, "in case you need me."
She stopped at a light and turned to met his eyes with her usual cool directness, the familiar Sam he'd assumed was the real woman, until yesterday.
"Cal, I won't need you."
By the time she dropped Cal at the Coast Bastion Inn, Samantha's nerves were frazzled. She was half an hour early for the appointment with Dexter Ames, not enough time to drive up to the hospital and visit Dorothy. Besides, she needed to calm down.
Why had she ever agreed to Cal's offer to fly her to Nanaimo?
Because it seemed logical, of course, but she should have known better. Yet how could she, when his helicopter had given her the time to approve the final changes in the caterer's menu, then spend an hour with Jason in human resources finalizing details on procedures for the screening of candidates at the open house.
She'd even managed a fifteen-minute telephone meeting with a local television producer, with the result that the TV station had decided to put Around Seattle's camera outside Tremaine's from three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Great exposure, and who knew: The extra publicity might tempt some hot but dissatisfied developer from Microsoft to print off a copy of his resume and meander down to Tremaine's.
Once Cal offered his helicopter, there hadn't been any real choice, but she wished she hadn't agreed to let him fly her back tomorrow morning. Unless Dorothy got out of the hospital today, she'd have Kippy with her, and she wasn't willing to spend two hours locked in a helicopter with Cal while he fired off a stream of questions about the baby in her arms.
Somehow, between now and tomorrow morning, she had to come up with an excuse to get out of that ride in Cal's helicopter.
She wasn't sure exactly when she'd be able to pick up Kippy from the foster home—shortly after the hearing, she assumed. If so, she would take Kippy to the hospital to visit Dorothy, then head to Dorothy's house on Gabriola to pack enough baby clothes to last a week or ten days—however long it took for Dorothy to return home able to care for the baby. Dorothy must have some kind of virus, stomach problems, maybe ulcers. Whatever it was, her grandmother had insisted it wasn't serious.
Samantha would straighten out the authorities, pick up Kippy, talk to the doctor, and head for one of the early ferries to Vancouver tomorrow morning. Hopefully, Kippy would sleep most of the journey, though she might be restless, upset by living with strangers, and then being taken off to strange plac
es by her Aunt Samantha.
Why couldn't the social workers use their energy seizing children who needed to be removed from their homes? Any fool could see Dorothy had more mothering skills in her baby finger than any ten foster mothers.
Cal would be angry tonight when she called him to cancel tomorrow's helicopter ride. And curious. Better to have him angry at her ducking out, than to let him see Kippy. The last twenty-four hours had proved that given enough information and enough rope, Cal could end up running her life. He was good at running things, but she’d drawn a firm boundary of privacy around herself from the beginning. The rest of the world had to live with unsatisfied curiosity. Why should he be different?
Samantha parked the rental car outside Dexter Ames's offices and yanked out her cell phone. After a minute on hold, she was put through to June.
"How’s the nanny search going?"
"Two good candidates," June told her. "A fifty-year-old retired nurse who's an active grandmother, and a twenty-four-year-old single mom with her own two-month-old baby. They're both reliable, good references, both looking for full-time work but willing to take something temporary meanwhile. The single mom would be bringing her own child with her."
Yet June had short-listed the girl along with the grandmother. "If you were hiring one of them yourself, June, which would you pick?"
"The single mom. I saw her with her baby."
"I need her to start at eight tomorrow."
One more detail resolved.
She switched the cell phone off, locked the rental car, and crossed the street to Dexter Ames's office. She thought of Dorothy's house, empty, silent. What if her grandmother was much sicker than she'd said?
Samantha pulled open the door to the lawyer's office and announced herself. She'd expected to wait, but was shown right in.
Dexter greeted her with a handshake and a frown. "The Ministry of Children and Families took your niece into custody Tuesday night on the recommendation of your grandmother's family doctor. He says Dorothy needs to go into a nursing home and isn't fit to care for a child. At today's hearing the Ministry will ask for an interim order of custody. Once they get that, they must return within forty-five days for the protection hearing. Unless something changes with your grandmother's condition, our only way to keep custody at the protection hearing is for you to apply for custody yourself with Dorothy's consent."
Think About Love Page 3