The question of a good-night kiss, let alone anything else in that line, did not arise, however. Jonas took her to her door, wished her good night, and loped off to his cabin.
Verity tried to tell herself it was just as well and that she was vastly relieved. The truth was that she was more than a little disgruntled. She felt off balance. She also regretted the derogatory comments she had made about Jonas’s lifestyle. If she’d kept her mouth shut she might have wound up having a nightcap and a good-night kiss with her professional dishwasher. Instead, she ended up reading for an hour before she could fall asleep.
Her father had frequently told her that her tongue was her worst enemy, Verity reflected as she turned out her light. Maybe he was right. She had yet to meet a man who didn’t run from it.
But Jonas hadn’t really run from the sharp-edged sword of her tongue. He had simply sidestepped it, sliding out of the way in the manner of a fencer dodging an opponent’s thrust. If she wasn’t careful, he might easily slip through her guard with his next move.
Verity just wished she knew whether she wanted to win or lose the battle.
On Tuesday the No Bull Cafe reopened for the light but steady weekday crowd that kept it going during the off season. The local people showed up during the week, as did a few tourists who happened to be passing through town and had seen the restaurant mentioned in a guidebook. And as usual, a few spa patrons could be counted on to drift over for lunch or dinner.
Verity managed to keep herself and Jonas busy during the day to prevent any time for awkward moments during which either one of them might be tempted to bring up the subject of their relationship.
Relationship. The very word made her nervous and fretful, Verity decided that evening as she and Jonas closed the cafe. She didn’t think that what she and Jonas had at that point qualified as a relationship, and, as far as she could tell, Jonas seemed not to be worrying about the issue at all. In typical male fashion, he appeared blithely unaware of all the soul-wrenching questions that were plaguing her. That annoyed Verity.
She told herself that any man who remained oblivious to the agonizing uncertainty in which she was mired was certainly not a sensitive enough male to interest her. Unfortunately, Verity was intelligent enough to know she was lying to herself. Brains could be a great curse.
But Tuesday brought an unexpected event. Laura called late that afternoon.
“Verity? I want to make reservations for three. Rick and I have a special guest staying at the spa and we want to take her to dinner at your place. Any problem?”
“Nope. I’ll put you down for seven. How’s that?” Verity opened her reservation book and jotted a note.
“Sounds fine. You’ll want to meet our guest, Verity.”
“Who is it?”
“Caitlin Evanger” Laura waited for recognition to hit. “The Caitlin Evanger? Caitlin Evanger, the artist?”
“One and the same,” Laura affirmed proudly.
Verity was entranced. “I heard she was a total recluse.”
“She is. She’s got some physical problems. Apparently she was in a serious car accident years ago and never fully recovered. She came to Sequence Springs to take the waters, as they say in Europe.”
“I’ll be thrilled to meet her,” Verity declared, aware of Jonas listening in on the conversation as he moved around the dining room setting up tables.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Laura warned. “She hates attention.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll try not to embarrass you with a lot of fawning and groveling. See you at seven, Laura.” Verity hung up the phone and grinned at Jonas. “How about that? We’re going to be feeding a famous artist this evening. Caitlin Evanger. Ever hear of her?”
“I think so.” Jonas folded a napkin with great precision and placed it properly on the table. “The name is vaguely familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of her work, though.”
“I have,” Verity declared enthusiastically. “There was an exhibition of her stuff a few months ago in San Francisco. I went to see it. Her paintings are absolutely fascinating, Jonas. There’s this incredible, hard edge to them and yet they’re not cold or lifeless. You can almost feel the passion under the surface, but you get the impression that it’s a very dangerous passion and therefore it’s overlaid with this amazing sense of discipline, if you know what I mean.”
Jonas cocked one brow and gave her an odd look. “I think I know what you mean.”
Verity felt a slow warmth rising in her cheeks. She wasn’t certain she wanted to analyze Jonas’s glance. It seemed safer to change the subject. “Good grief, I wonder if I’d better rethink the dinner menu. Maybe I should substitute orange and jicama salad for the carrots in dill sauce. Carrots are so ordinary.”
“The way you do carrots in dill is anything but ordinary,” Jonas said brusquely. “Don’t worry about the menu for tonight. I’m sure your celebrity guest will be able to find something on it to suit her.”
Verity gnawed thoughtfully on her lower lip. “Do you really think so?”
“Tell you what. If she doesn’t like what she sees on your list of specials, I’ll run into town and get her a hamburger.”
“Sometimes your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired, Jonas.”
At five minutes after seven that evening, Jonas found himself seating Rick and Laura Griswold and their guest, Caitlin Evanger. He had met Rick on Monday and liked him. Griswold was about Jonas’s age, with thinning hair and an easygoing smile, although tonight the smile seemed a bit forced. He kept himself in good shape and had the kind of outgoing personality that resort managers need. It was obvious that both he and his wife were very proud to be escorting their important client this evening, but it was equally obvious that they were finding the honor somewhat wearing.
Jonas had to admit that Caitlin Evanger was impressive. Definitely not the kind of woman who would be overlooked in a crowd. There was a sense of drama about her that made itself felt instantly.
She was tall, almost as tall as Jonas, with short, silvery blond hair that she wore slicked straight back from her high forehead. Physically, she appeared to be about thirty, but there was something in her face, a hard, weary cynicism, that gave Jonas the impression she was a lot older in some ways.
Her features would have been riveting at any age. Her stark hairstyle focused attention on her high, aristocratic cheekbones and small, perfectly shaped mouth. Jonas wondered idly if that mouth had ever been shaped into a genuine smile. He seriously doubted it.
He didn’t notice the jagged scar that marred her left cheek until she turned her head. The contrast between her beautifully classic profile and the savage line of ruined flesh was startling, but not nearly as startling as the cold gray stare that met his polite glance.
It was the kind of look that chilled a man straight to the bone. Caitlin Evanger’s gaze took in everything around her and made it clear that she would never be impressed by anything the world had to offer, let alone what a mere male could provide.
This was one cold lady, Jonas decided. Not the kind of woman a man imagined curling up with on a winter’s night. Verity had a few thorns on which a man could cut himself, and she also had a sharp tongue and a certain feminine arrogance, but there was no doubt about the fire inside. Caitlin Evanger was a glacier right to the core.
The artist wore a steel brace on one leg, which showed beneath the hem of her severe black silk shift. She used an ebony cane to make her way toward the table Verity had carefully chosen earlier. It was the one nearest the fireplace. Her movements were slow and deliberate because of the brace and the cane, but there was a regal quality about them. Everyone around her instinctively slowed down to match her stately pace.
“I’ll tell Verity you’re here,” Jonas said as he finished seating the Griswalds and their guest.
Laura smiled gratefully, her eyes tense. “Than
ks, Jonas.”
Jonas walked into the kitchen, aware that Caitlin Evanger was watching him the whole distance. He could feel those icy gray eyes on his back. It was enough to make him shiver from the chill.
He found Verity looking disheveled and flushed from the heat of the stove. The sight of her warmed him instantly. A few curling tendrils had come loose from the knot at the back of her head. She was concentrating intently as she arranged a picture-perfect salad of endive, blue cheese, and roasted walnuts. He smiled at the image she made.
“Your star guest has arrived,” he announced.
Verity’s head came up quickly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “She’s here? Where did you put her?”
“At that little table near the hall that leads to the rest-rooms,” Jonas said carelessly.
“Jonas!”
“Relax. I put her and Rick and Laura exactly where you told me to—near the fireplace.”
“Thank God. This is not a joking matter, you know,” she lectured severely. “I can’t wait to meet her. What’s she like?”
“You can’t miss her. She’s the one who looks like she should be wearing a brass brassiere and carrying a spear.”
Verity glowered at him and shoved the salad plate into his hands. “Very funny. Here, take this out to table number three. I’m going to say hello to our new guests.”
“Sure, boss lady.”
She ignored that, brushing past him into the dining room. Jonas shook his head in amusement and strolled out to table number three with the salad. One cold greeting from Caitlin Evanger would no doubt wash that silly excited sparkle out of Verity’s eyes. It never paid to get thrilled by a visiting celebrity. From the expressions on the Griswalds’ faces, Rick and Laura had already discovered as much.
To Jonas’s complete astonishment, however, it was soon apparent that Verity and her celebrity artist had hit it off quite well together. The Griswalds were obviously relieved to have someone take the burden of conversation off their shoulders, and Verity clearly had plenty to discuss with Caitlin Evanger. That didn’t surprise Jonas as much as the fact that Evanger seemed quite content to talk with Verity.
Jonas found himself keeping a speculative eye on the two women as he served the other tables. Strange. He’d never thought of Verity as the hero-worshipping type. Or should that be heroine-worshipping type? he wondered vaguely.
Verity had to keep dashing back and forth to the kitchen throughout the rest of the evening but at every free moment she returned to Caitlin Evanger’s table. It was obvious that she was fascinated with her guest.
Jonas’s indulgent amusement over Verity’s bright-eyed enthusiasm started turning into outright annoyance somewhere around nine o’clock. It occurred to him that Caitlin Evanger was getting a lot more attention from Verity than either he or the cafe was getting. Jonas was left to keep the dining room running. It was just fortunate for everyone concerned that Tuesday evenings were quiet, he told himself grimly. If Verity ran the place like this on a regular basis, the No Bull Cafe would have gone broke a long time ago.
By ten o’clock the restaurant was empty except for the Griswalds and Caitlin Evanger. Verity sat down at their table once again and this time she stayed there, leaving Jonas to finish cleaning up the kitchen alone.
That did it. Enough was enough. Jonas tossed aside the pan Verity had used to mix a dish of fettuccini and peapods and stalked out to the dining room. Verity’s crystal laughter greeted him. She turned around in her seat as he approached.
“Jonas, you’ll never believe this. Caitlin knows you.”
A sudden, cold alertness washed through Jonas. He glanced speculatively at the other woman. “Is that right?” he asked calmly. He was dead certain he had never met Caitlin Evanger before. No man would ever forget this chunk of ice.
Caitlin lifted her wineglass to her lips, her eyes on him. When she spoke her voice was as cool as the rest of her. “Vincent College. About five years ago. You gave an undergraduate history lecture on Renaissance warfare techniques and equipment. You used slides of several Renaissance paintings to illustrate your points. I was taking some art-history classes there at the time and I dropped into the hall to hear what you had to say. I had heard about you.”
Jonas hesitated a beat before answering. His stomach tightened as if someone had just put a sixteenth century blade in his hand and told him he might have to use it. This was the last thing he needed right now. How much did this strange woman know about him? he wondered. How much had she heard, and why was she here tonight? Something felt very wrong. Dangerously wrong.
“You have an excellent memory, Ms. Evanger.”
The gilded blond head nodded once in satisfaction. “I thought you looked familiar. When Verity mentioned your background in Renaissance history I began to put it all together.” Her gray eyes pinned him. “How on earth did you wind up here? You were making quite a name for yourself in academic and museum circles, as I recall.”
Before Jonas could find a way to deflect the pointed question, Verity interrupted. Her gaze was on Jonas’s face. “What sort of name was he making for himself, Caitlin?”
“At the time I took the classes at Vincent, Mr. Quarrel was well known on campus. In addition to his growing list of publications, he had recently exposed a fraudulent necklace that was supposed to have dated from the sixteenth century. It had actually been made in 1955. He saved a well-known museum a fortune. Apparently there had been other such instances in which he exposed similar frauds. Your Mr. Quarrel was gaining a reputation for being able to authenticate museum-quality artifacts. Your specialty was armor and weapons, though, as I recall, not jewelry. Isn’t that right, Mr. Quarrel?”
Jonas watched Verity as he answered. “Times change, Ms. Evanger. My specialty today is dishwashing. Mind if I finish clearing the table?”
“Oh, don’t worry about the dishes, Jonas,” Verity said quickly. “Why don’t you sit down and join us? Caitlin has been telling us all sorts of juicy gossip about the art world. It’s fascinating.”
“It’s late. I’d rather finish up, if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to give you any reason to complain about the quality of my work. I need this job.” He scooped up plates and silverware and went back to the kitchen. No doubt about it, he didn’t like that cold fish of an artist. He liked her excellent memory even less.
Jonas was willing to bet that he wouldn’t like Caitlin Evanger’s art, either.
Jonas allowed his memory to shift back to the end of his career at Vincent College. Images of himself dressed as a Renaissance nobleman, a sword in his hand, flashed through his mind. So did the image of a man lying on the floor at his feet. Blood stained the pristine white lab coat the wounded man was wearing. It also stained the tip of the sword Jonas was holding.
With grim effort Jonas shoved the pictures out of his head. He had learned to live with the old nightmare. Most of the time he could keep it buried in his mind. But Caitlin Evanger had brought it to the surface again. The sense of wrongness he felt about the woman increased.
Twenty minutes later, when the little group in the dining room finally broke up for the evening, Jonas knew he was in trouble. Verity was more than a little annoyed with him.
That didn’t bother Jonas. He was spoiling for a fight, himself. Everyone smiled politely as good-nights were said, but the moment the door closed behind the Griswalds and Caitlin Evanger, Verity turned on Jonas. Hands on her hips, she confronted him as he lounged in the kitchen doorway, wiping his fingers on a dish towel.
“I hope you’re satisfied with yourself, Jonas,” she began without preamble. “Are you always that rude to people like Caitlin Evanger, or did you single her out for some reason? Whatever the answer, I’d like you to know that I was thoroughly embarrassed.”
“Sorry about that.” Jonas tossed aside the dish towel. “Ready to go home?”
She stared at him. “Yo
u’re not sorry at all. What on earth is the matter with you tonight?”
“Nothing’s the matter. It’s late and I’d like to get to bed.”
“Don’t look at me—I’m not stopping you,” she snapped.
“Fine,” he growled. “Let’s go.” He headed toward her, turning out lights as he went. When he reached the door he took her arm in a forceful grip and steered her outside. She stood stiffly while he locked up for the night.
“Would you mind telling me why you’re acting this way?” Verity hissed softly as he again took her arm and prodded her in the direction of her cabin. “You’re behaving like a spoiled little boy who’s throwing a tantrum because things aren’t being done his way.”
“That’s better than acting like a silly, fluff-brained art groupie.”
“Art groupie!” She yanked her arm free of his grasp. “That’s a stupid thing to say. Just because I like Caitlin Evanger and her art is no reason to call me names.”
“You were hanging on that woman’s every word tonight. Talk about fawning. I never would have thought of you as having a fan mentality, Verity. You made a fool out of yourself. ‘I was stunned when I first saw Branded, Caitlin,’ ” he mocked, remembering one of the conversations he had overheard while clearing tables. “ ‘I couldn’t get it out of my head for days, Caitlin. Such a vivid commentary on the relationship between women and men in this society, Caitlin. Such artistic insight, Caitlin.’ ”
Verity moved before he could stop her. She yanked herself free of his grasp, whirled to face him, and came to a halt on the path in front of him. Jonas eyed her warily.
“I know what your problem is, Jonas Quarrel. Your feathers are ruffled tonight because you got an unwanted glimpse back into your own past, didn’t you? Caitlin Evanger reminded you of the time you were making a success out of your own life. She reminded you of the days when you were on the verge of making it big in the academic world. You had your act together back then and you were going to be someone. People were already paying attention to you. And then you got lazy and blew it.”
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