His candor made her balk. Seeing him was painful enough. Talking more
with him could be a total trauma.
She glanced at the auditorium clock. "My Lord, it's nearly twelve. I
have to run." Straightening the shoulder strap of her pocketbook and
hugging the large folder to her breast, she went to the stage steps.
Ross followed. Under the guise of worry at the lateness of the hour, she
quickened her step. He kept stride easily.
:"You're not driving back tonight, are you?"
"am."
"All the way to ... ?"
"Little Compton."
"That has to be a good two- to three-hour drive. Wouldn't you do better
to get an early start in the morning?"
"Can't do. I have an early appointment in the morning." Her voice
sounded breathy. It was the rush, she told herself.
For long moments, Ross said nothing. They reached the front door. He
held it; she passed through. In silence they crossed the lawn that
separated the high school from the parking lot.
"I admire you, Chloe," he said, sounding sincere. "Your work is
interesting. You obviously enjoy it."
"I do," she agreed. Relieved to be at her car, she fished in her purse
for her keys. The sooner she was back at that work, back in the security
of her seafront home, the sooner she could turn the past off again.
Slipping in behind the wheel, she rolled her window down to let in the
cool night air. With escape imminent, she grew bolder, looking up at
Ross as he leaned over with his fingers curved on the lowered window.
How handsome he was, she mused. She had been powerfully attracted to him
then; she still was. "It was nice seeing you, Ross."
"You won't change your mind and stay over? I'm at the Wayward Sailor, an
inn just down the road. I'm sure they have another vacancy, since the
height of the season is past. We could grab a snack somewhere and talk."
Chloe would have liked nothing better. She knew nothing about the Ross
Stephenson who was a successful businessman. Instinct told her that time
spent with him would be interesting. It would also be downright
dangerous, even devastating.
She sighed. "That would be nice, but I have to get back. I feel wide
awake for driving. I'd just as soon put the miles behind me. Besides, I
have that appointment."
Ross considered that for a minute, then held up his hands. In gracious
defeat, he stepped back. She put the key in the ignition, pumped the gas
pedal, turned the key. There was a click, but nothing happened. She
repeated the sequence. It always worked. Granted, her small blue compact
had seen better days, but it had always started for her-until, she
realized as she turned the key a third time, this afternoon. She had
heard the same click then, had run back into the house and brought Lee
out to help. They had figured the engine was flooded, had waited and
won. The car had started. But Murphy's Law said that it wasn't going to
start now.
"Trouble?" Ross bent in at the window again.
"Battery, I think."
He opened the door. "Let me try."
She slid out. With an ease that belied his awesome length, he folded
himself behind the wheel. The front seat was already back to allow for
the length of Chloe's own long legs, and even then he gave a
good-natured grimace. She had to smile. Getting in was apparently the
easy part. Maneuvering now that he was there was the challenge.
But he managed. When he tried the ignition, though, he had no better
luck than Chloe. He listened to that impotent click once, twice, three
times. Then he hoisted himself out of the car and looked under the hood.
"You're right," he said, straightening. "It's the battery." He slammed
the hood shut and brushed his palms against one another. "It looks like
you'll have to stay. I don't see how you'll get someone to come out at
this hour."
She reached for her bag. "I have triple-A."
"Chloe." He sighed softly. "This isn't a bustling metropolis. By the
time-"
"Do you have jumper cables?"
"No." He patted his pockets. "Not anywhere close by."
"In your car?"
"It's a rental."
Her gaze fell to the pavement. She could rant and rave all she wanted,
but it seemed she had little choice. "I suppose Lee could change that
early appointment for me," she murmured quietly, then looked up. "And
you think your inn would have a room?"
His gaze was steady. "I'm sure it would."
Not one to belabor a no-win situation, Chloe sighed. "Lead on, Ross.
Lead on."
Ross led her to a late-model rental car roomy enough for both pairs of
long legs to stretch comfortably. Vibes were something else. Chloe
sensed that no space would be large enough for the ones that circuited
back and forth during the short drive to the inn.
"You flew in just for tonight's meeting?" she asked, seeking to ease the
silence. It was awkward, given the intimacy they had once shared.
"That's right," he answered, paying close attention to roads that were
now dark and deserted. "From?"
"New York."
"Do you live there?"
"Occasionally."
It was an odd answer. When he failed to elaborate, Chloe tried again.
"Have you had to come here often?"
"More often than I'd anticipated. This project has created something of
a stir." If the glance he shot her was accusatory, she accepted it as
fair game and took no offense. She believed in her cause.
"From what Felix Hart implied, you move around a lot," she said.
"I always did."
It was a direct reference to the past. Then, he had been in the Peace
Corps on leave for Thanksgiving, the world traveler coming stateside for
a visit. There had been an air of excitement about him.
He still had it. His profile was strong, lean, preoccupied in ways that
suggested big business in far places. She looked away, focusing on the
view outside her window, trying to ignore a silence that she could feel
and taste. She was relieved when the Wayward Sailor came into view.
Ross turned to her as soon as the car stopped. His features had
softened. His tone was solicitous. "Why don't you wait here? I'll make
the arrangements and find out where we can get a bite to eat. You are
hungry, aren't you?"
She smiled awkwardly. "I haven't had anything since lunch."
"No wonder you're pale." He touched her cheek. "Stay put. I'll be right
back."
She sat quietly, trying to think of anything but Ross. Just when she was
on the verge of declaring defeat, he loped back down the steps of the
charmingly ancient house. "Any luck?" she asked when he reached the car.
"There's good news and bad news." He was leaning down to talk through
the window again.
"Give me the good news first," Chloe said. She needed that, needed it
bad.
He grinned. "The good news is that you have the penthouse."
She looked up the inn's facade to the very top, the third floor.
Assuming the attic was clean and had a bed, it would do. "The penthouse
is fine." She scrunched up her face. "What's the bad news?"
He opened the door with a flourish. "The bad news is that no one serves
food at this hour. The night manager here says we can raid his
refrigerator, though." He paused, staring down at her for a minute
before offering his hand to help her out. "The service won't be fancy.
We'll be on our own." The warning note in his voice jarred her. He was
remembering the old Chloe. That Chloe had been spoiled. She hadn't known
how to cook, having had everything done for her for the entire eighteen
years of her life. But her lifestyle had changed drastically since then.
She rose from the car. "That's fine. I think we can manage." Oh, yes,
she could certainly manage to put together a meal. She was actually a
fine cook now. But it occurred to her that she and Ross would be alone.
She wasn't so sure about managing that.
A frown creased her brow as she entered the inn with Ross by her side.
He left his overnight case at the front desk with the night manager, who
cheerfully directed them into the kitchen, a decidedly old room into
which every modern convenience had been crammed. Chloe made herself at
home. Only after she had placed a crock of steaming beef stew, put
together from leftovers, and a half-loaf of what appeared to be
home-baked bread on the table did she realize that she had done all the
work. But it had kept her mind occupied. Ross had been in and out of the
room as she worked, finally settling down on a tall stool by a
butcher-block counter to watch.
His presence didn't upset her now as much as it had earlier. She had
gotten over the shock, she guessed. Still, she felt vaguely shy when
they were actually ready to eat.
"Uh, is there anything else you want?" She skimmed the simple place
settings, the two large bowls filled with stew. "A drink?"
He made no move to help himself For old times' sake, so the liberated
woman told herself, she indulged him.
"Milk would be fine."
He waited while she searched for glasses and filled two. She sat down
opposite him. Once several mouthfuls of the thick stew had warmed her
stomach, she put her spoon down. Something stuck in her craw.
"I'm not unhappy," she stated, so softly and apparently unexpectedly
that Ross looked perplexed. "You thought I looked unhappy. I'm not."
He went back to eating, but slowly, thoughtfully. "No, I suppose you're
not, not right now," he finally said. "But earlier, there was a look in
your eyes. It comes and goes. There it is again."
The sound of his voice had been enough to spark memories. With a barely
perceptible shake of her head, she chased them off again. "I do love
what I'm doing," she said.
"Tell me about it. How did you get started?"
"You heard the bare outline tonight."
"The bare outline. Now I'd like to hear more." His pause was pregnant
with unspoken thoughts. "Why geology?"
She shrugged. "Why not?"
He didn't pull any punches. "Because it's one of the last fields that
someone raised in the style of conspicuous consumption would choose."
"Maybe that's why I chose it."
"Ah." He smiled. "You were rebelling."
"Not entirely-"
"Escaping?"
She looked away. "You're perceptive. But only half right."
"Go on."
Chloe tucked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. "It was actually
a simultaneous discovery@scape and excitement. At that period of my
life, I needed something that was a total change from everything I'd
known before. I spent some time in Newport with friends and fell in love
with the ocean there."
"You found solace?" he asked gently.
She admitted it with a small tilt of her head. "I spent a lot of time on
the beach and happened to befriend an old man who felt very strongly
about environmental considerations. He affected me deeply." The memory
of Hector Wallaby brought a sad smile to her lips.
"He's dead?"
"Yes. I miss him. He never knew it, but in spirit at least, he was the
founding father of ESE, Inc."
"Were you in college during the time you knew him?"
Chloe sat straighter. "Uh, no. I ... my freshman year was postponed."
"So you started college late and have still done all this?"
The compliment gave her a boost. She smiled. "Once I decided to go into
geology I was in a rush."
Ross smiled back. Firm lips framed the whitest of teeth, mesmerizing her
for the split second until he said, "You worked for Conam Petroleum?"
"Yes. Do you know the company?"
He shook his head. "Only by reputation." He looked at her sideways,
skeptical now. "I'd have thought that if environmental concerns were
your focus, the oil companies would be your archenemies."
She blushed. He made nothing easy, that was for sure. But if he wanted
to be honest, she could be honest right back. "I needed the money," she
said and braced herself for the response that was sure to come.
And she wasn't let down. Ross's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You needed
the money?" He frowned. "Did I miss something here? I was given to think
James Macdaniel was-is-mne of the wealthiest men in New Orleans."
"He is."
"Then, why ... ?"
"Among other things," she began in self-defense, "it was a matter of
pride. I wanted to start my own consulting firm and didn't want to ask
my father for money." Ross should know how much she had changed. He
should know that she was her own woman now.
But his take on the situation was different from hers. "So you sold out
to the powers that be for the amount of time it took you to gather the
resources to mount a systematic campaign against those same powers?"
Chloe reacted quickly and vehemently. "That's not true. Not true at all.
The work I did for the oil companies involved identifying the most
likely spots for oil deposits. Wherever possible, environmental
considerations were put first. And you're a fine one to talk about
selling out. I had the impression, when I saw you last, that you were
against everything the establishment had to offer."
Ross leaned back in his chair. "You drew your own conclusions, Chloe.
Appearances can be misleading." His tone was low, his voice and eyes
steady.
Chloe was stunned. She stood up and cried, "It was all a charade, then?
The clothes, the beard, even the Peace Corps?" She turned away,
