by Lee Karr
Tyla was suddenly aware that the menus were spotted and the water glasses looked cloudy, as if they’d just come out of the dishwasher. The blare of Prince’s latest release vibrated off the ceiling. She’d bet anything that this wasn’t the sort of place he had in mind when he’d decided to ask her out.
A youthful waiter appeared at their table, a welcoming smile on his face. “Evening. What’ll you have, Dr. Templeton? The usual? Hot chocolate? French apple pie and a slice of cheese on the side?”
Tyla had intended to have coffee but she felt she couldn’t change the order without embarrassment. “Yes, thank you, Jerry.”
“I’ll have the same…only coffee,” said Clay smoothly. When the waiter had gone, he told Tyla, “This reminds me of my college days. There was a place like this just across from the Denver University campus. We used to settle all the world’s problems over a pitcher of beer.”
He shifted his long legs under the table, and as one of them brushed hers, she stiffened and so did he. The casual touch was like a match lighting a kindled fire. She could feel heat gathering inside her. His attempt at casual conversation only made the situation more bizarre. Nothing about the moment was ordinary. The unspoken emotional exchange between them destroyed all semblance of a polite social exchange. The things she’d already learned about this man were reason enough to maintain a professional distance from him. This afternoon his daughter had buried “Papa” deep in a sand grave. Tyla shivered.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? You suddenly look as if someone’s walking over your grave.”
Not my grave—yours! She kept her eyes away from his face. This was not the time or place to share the bizarre burials that had taken place in the sandbox. I shouldn’t be here! The tight control she had always maintained over her emotions was being threatened.
When Jerry arrived with their orders, she pretended interest in the warm apple pie but paid little attention to the taste of what she put in her mouth.
“You’re not from Colorado, are you? I’d guess California from the diplomas on your wall.”
Tyla managed a nod as she laid down her fork. As she answered his questions with superficial politeness, she was terribly conscious of undercurrents running deep between them.
They made idle conversation, and as soon as she could she said, “I think I’d better be going.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. “Is my company that wearing, Tyla?”
She was startled by the use of her first name and she stiffened as if some dangerous line had been crossed without her even realizing it. Her single mothers called her “Dr. Tyla,” which was fine. But Clay Archer wasn’t a client, as he had reminded her earlier. And he obviously didn’t intend to treat her as a doctor but as a woman.
His fingertips pressed gently into the soft mound of her palm as his hand tightened on hers. “You haven’t given me much of a chance, you know.”
“Mr. Archer-”
“Clay.”
She firmly removed her hand. “For your daughter’s sake, I think it best if we maintain some formality. And keep our efforts centered on Cassie, instead of pursuing any kind of a personal relationship.”
“Then you admit that such a personal relationship is possible?”
“Perhaps, under different circumstances,” she parried.
“I don’t understand. We’re both concerned about my daughter’s well-being, and I fail to see how a developing friendship between us could jeopardize her progress in any way. On the contrary, I would think that the results might be very positive.”
“What if Cassie decides I’m in league with Papa against her?”
“Against her? Exactly what do you mean by that?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” she countered. Even though she knew that she was stepping on dangerous ground, she couldn’t resist asking very quietly, “Do you have any idea why your daughter might hate you?”
Clay stared at her and gripped his coffee mug so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I swear to you, I don’t know.”
There was such anguish in his voice that she believed him. “Sometimes children believe things that aren’t true. They don’t understand why things happen or why people do what they do. They are confused and hide their fears so deeply that it takes time to bring them out into the light.”
“And what if that never happens? What if you fail?”
“I won’t fail. I promise you.” She had already been encouraged by the revelations that Cassie had made in the playroom.
“And once you find out the truth, what then?”
“It depends,” she said cautiously. Maybe she could put things right between him and his daughter…and maybe she couldn’t. She didn’t know what was hidden in Cassie’s mind or what the impact would be on him when she successfully brought it out into the light.
Chapter 6
The tension radiating between Tyla and Clay was almost palpable as they walked in stony silence back to the clinic. Her reserved parking spot was next to Barry’s, and the psychiatrist was just unlocking his car door when Clay and Tyla reached her car. Barry was obviously surprised to see Tyla with a male escort.
She quickly made the introductions. “Clay Archer, and Dr. Barry Reardon.”
Both men merely nodded, neither offering a hand for a handshake. A strained silence followed, and Barry showed no sign of getting into his car until Tyla was safely behind the wheel of hers.
The three of them stood awkwardly by her Volvo until Clay said stiffly, “Well, good night, then. It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Templet on. You’ll let me know when you want to set a time to visit the house?”
The formal use of her name did not escape her. “Yes, I will, Mr. Archer. Thank you.” She smiled but his expression remained stony.
He gave a curt nod, turned on his heel and left her staring after him.
“An unpleasant fellow,” Barry remarked as he opened Tyla’s car door for her. “Why on earth would you schedule a consultation with him after your group therapy?”
Tyla took a deep breath and slid into the driver’s seat. “I didn’t.”
“Then what—” Barry raised an eyebrow.
“He was waiting for me, and I agreed to go for a cup of coffee. Not a good idea,” she admitted as she gave Barry a weak smile.
“Something about this Archer kid has you all worked up, Tyla. Better ease up a bit.”
“I’ll try. Thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime. Remember, we’re on for dinner Saturday night.”
“Right. I have it on my calendar. I’m anxious to talk to you about—” She broke off, realizing that it wasn’t very flattering to admit she was going out with him just to get some information.
“That hurt, lady,” he said with mock pain on his round face. “But to relieve your mind, I pulled the case record on Lynette Archer today. As I told you, she only came to see me briefly but what she said about her hus’ band was pretty negative. No wonder their daughter’s mixed-up.” Barry shut Tyla’s door, gave her a slight wave and said, “See you tomorrow.”
Cassie wasn’t the only one mixed-up, Tyla admitted to herself on the drive home. Her own feelings were in a tangle. Tonight was the second time that she’d been in Clay Archer’s presence and sensed a dark foreshadowing revolving around him. The impression was beyond words, beyond interpretation, but it was there and the feeling brought a cold prickling to her skin. She’d promised to find out the basis for Cassie’s emotional disturbance. But at what cost? she asked herself. For the first time since she’d left California, Tyla wished that she’d chosen a different profession. If she’d met Clay under any other circumstances, they could let a relationship develop between them without any considerations beyond their attraction to each other.
Her apartment seemed emptier than usual as she kicked off her shoes and changed into a soft cashmere robe. She thought she was used to coming home to a lonely apartment by now, but tonight the familiar rooms seemed positively unwelcoming.
>
She wandered out on the balcony and viewed Denver’s brilliant nighttime skyline. Multicolored lights spread to the western foothills, which were mounted against the heavens in a jagged line. Crisp June night breezes touched her face, and as her gaze drew in the panorama of lights and sky, her taut nerves began to ease.
More than a year had passed since she’d left California and joined the Colorado Mental Health Clinic, determined to put behind her a brief, unhappy affair that had culminated in a dead end. After three years of living together, her live-in lover, Dr. Ken Roderick, had expanded his career and his taste for forbidden fruit. One affair too many had ended the relationship, and Tyla’s career became her life.
She found working with disturbed children rewarding and had received national recognition for successful research projects. She regularly published articles in professional journals and was recognized as an authority on the technique of play therapy. In addition to her heavy caseload, Tyla found some time each year to teach and lecture on college campuses across the country. Keeping busy had put her personal life on hold, but this evening a nagging emptiness changed her bone-deep fatigue into a prodding restlessness.
The clock struck midnight before she finally climbed into bed. She tried to read an article in a medical journal, but Clay Archer’s face kept getting in the way and she drifted into a replay of their conversation at the café. Was he really as attracted to her as he claimed to be? Successful, sinfully attractive, he obviously knew his way around women. As much as she would like to believe that his flattering attention was sincere, she couldn’t accept his overtures as genuine.
“Damn,” she swore as she put down the magazine and turned out the light. Traffic sounds on a nearby busy street drifted through her open window, and the sharp wail of an ambulance siren retreated into the distance. Then suddenly a sharp ringing assaulted her ears.
What was that? Her telephone? She turned and looked at the phone, but it was silent. Why was she picking up the impression of a ringing telephone? Her hand was shaky as she reached for the receiver and put it to her ear and heard the hum of a dial tone.
She hung up the receiver. The moment was like a dream. But she was awake. Wide-awake. From where had the ringing impression come? Even though she had heard nothing on the phone, hovering somewhere in her consciousness was the echo of a small child crying.
Had she picked up a telepathic message? Her past experience had proved to her that the human brain was nicely set up as a human transmitting-and-receiving station. A storehouse of positive energy, the brain contained fifty billion neurons and dendrites that could send forth impulses to be picked up by another mind, at the same time, in the past or in the future.
She remembered the case of a man who swore he couldn’t turn off the radio station coming unbidden into his head. Somehow the man had gotten his telepathic waves tuned in to a specific airwave but had no means of tuning it out.
Tyla pressed her fingers against her temples. Had she heard the telephone ring because somebody had sent out strong thoughts about calling her? She lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling and waited for some new impression to reach her. She had no reason to believe that Clay might have been thinking about calling her with such intensity that she picked up the vibration. But somebody had.
The disturbing incident was still with Tyla the next morning. As soon as she got to the office, she looked up the telephone number of the Archer Investment Company.
“Mr. Clay Archer, please.”
“May I say who’s calling?”
“Dr. Templeton.”
There was a slight pause. “Just a moment, please.”
A background of elevator music set her up for more than just a sixty-second wait. What if he refused her call?
Clay answered his secretary’s buzz with a curt “Yes, Lila?”
“Dr. Templeton on line two,” she told him cautiously. “Shall I ask her to call back? The overseas operator should be putting through your London call any moment.”
“No, I’ll take it.”
Clay was in a foul mood this morning and he’d let everybody know it, barking at the cook for runny poached eggs and yelling at his driver when he didn’t bring the car around quick enough. He stomped into the office and swore at his faithful secretary when he couldn’t find a market report lying on his desk right in front of him.
Word spread quickly among his associates: “Archer’s on the warpath.” All his brokers promptly holed up in their offices, waiting for the storm to pass, keeping their fingers crossed that the boss wouldn’t call a meeting and demand an update on all their portfolios. No one messed around with Clay Archer on any level. The company’s national reputation made rigid demands on all of the company’s employees, and whenever there was the slightest hint of any indiscretion, Clay sent the perpetrator packing.
Now he leaned back in his chair without pushing the console dial button. He deliberately made Tyla wait while he organized his thoughts. Why was she calling him? He realized with a start that Dr. Templeton was responsible for his bad mood. The memory of last night smarted; that’s why he’d been roaring all over the place. Hell, he hadn’t been able to get Tyla out of his thoughts since he’d walked away from her in the parking lot. She’d put him in his place when she’d warmly greeted the protective Dr. Reardon. The two of them had made him feel like a fool for showing up the way he had. The embarrassing experience was a new one for him, and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t believe that he’d willingly put himself in this kind of romantic entanglement. He wasn’t about to let any woman put him through the wringer again, especially one as cool and self-assured as Tyla Templet on.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said briskly. “I was on another line, overseas.” He was pleased to find his voice brisk and unruffled, the way he approached business deals even when hundreds of thousands of dollars were at stake.
“About last night—” she began.
“I didn’t mean to create an embarrassing situation for you, Dr. Templeton,” he interrupted quickly. “Please accept my apology.” His tone was cool and distant.
“No need for an apology.”
“The whole thing was bad judgment on my part. As a rule I don’t give in to spontaneous urges. I’m sorry about showing up like that and forcing my unwelcome presence upon you.”
“Your company was not unwelcome,” Tyla said firmly. “I enjoyed being with you, it’s just…it’s just that as long as I’m working with Cassie, it might be better to keep my professional activities separate from any personal interest.”
“Then you are interested in me?” he challenged sarcastically. “Off the record, of course.”
“Off the record, I find you unbearably presumptuous, Mr. Archer.” Her indignation bristled. “I called to set up an appointment for Saturday afternoon…to visit Cassie at home.”
“I see.” There was a pause as if he was looking at a calendar. “I’m afraid I’ll be out of town on Saturday.”
“The purpose of my visit is to see Cassie in her home environment,” Tyla answered smoothly. “Your presence is not required—”
“Or even wanted?”
She ignored the question. “If Cassie’s grandmother has no objection, I’ll be there at three o’clock, the same time as Cassie’s weekday visits.”
“I’m sure there will be no objections, Dr. Templeton,” he said with mocking formality. “I’ll make the arrangements. You do intend to keep me informed of my daughter’s progress, I presume?”
She ignored his mocking tone. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you have any idea when you might want to see me again…to talk about Cassie, of course.”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether I have anything significant to share with you. At the moment I am just trying to establish a rapport with your daughter that will encourage her to trust me. Once she is willing to share with me, I’ll be able to help her.”
“I don’t know exactly what
you’re looking for,” he declared.
“As I told you, I’m hoping to uncover the cause of Cassie’s emotional deterioration since her mother’s death. I need to examine all the influences that could have triggered Cassie’s present condition.”
His tone was cool. “It seems to me that most children would be devastated by the loss of a mother.”
“True. A painful adjustment usually follows the death of any parent, but a child doesn’t have a complete personality breakdown unless there are other destructive forces in her life.” She gathered her resolve and went on with what had to be said. “Cassie feels threatened… by something…or someone.”
“Is that an accusation, Dr. Templet on?” His voice was brittle and defensive. She could picture the rigidity of his lean cheeks and the thrust of his hard chin.
“Just a statement,” she said evenly.
“A rather pointed one, I’d say. Why do I always have the feeling that we’re looking at each other through barbed wire? And who was your guard dog last night? Do you have to keep him on a short leash when you go out on a date?”
“If you’re referring to Dr. Reardon, he’s a colleague of mine. A psychiatrist at the clinic.” She waited to see if Clay recognized Barry as a psychiatrist who had treated his wife, but apparently the name didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe Lynette hadn’t kept Clay up-todate on her current therapist.
“Well, the fellow’s hostility seemed to express some kind of ownership where you’re concerned. I expected him to tell me to get lost…that I was treading on private territory.”
“Strictly your imagination, Mr. Archer.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I was picking up a lot more than just casual interest on his part.”
“We’re just friends.” She wondered what reaction Clay would have if he knew she was going out with Barry Saturday evening for one express purpose, to find out everything she could about Lynette Archer. Tyla knew the answer. He’d be furious.