"You asked me what I've done with myself during the past years." He gave
a snort of disgust. "I haven't been quite as noble as you. There have
been women over the years."
She had assumed that, and felt no resentment. There was a certain solace
in the knowledge that when all was said and done, he was still attracted
to her. After all, he was magnificent. More than one of those women must
have tried to tie him down.
"Didn't you find anyone special?" she asked quietly.
Ross was just as quiet. "Some I liked more than others. But, no, there
was no one special. No one who meant enough to tempt me to change my
lifestyle. I'm on the road all the time. I do own an old brownstone in
Manhattan, but I doubt if I spend a total of three months a year there.
Hotel rooms, friends' apartments, rented suites-that's been home for the
past few years."
"It served your purpose."
"Yes." The amber eyes that held hers pierced her heart. They said much
more, all of it silent, all of it mind bending. In the insanity of a
fleeting instant, she wanted ... she wanted ... What did she want?
Ross sighed. "I am a successful businessman." It was a statement of
fact, devoid of arrogance. "But that's not enough."
She followed his thoughts. "I can't help you, Ross."
"Can't? "
"Won't. If you're looking for a wife and a family, a home in the
country, maybe a few dogs and horses, even sheep, you'll have to look
elsewhere. I can't be anything but this."
His gaze sharpened. "Did I mention those things? Or are they what you
wanted once? Haven't you ever wished for a husband who loves you,
children, pets, friends, property? What do you want from life?"
"What I have right now. I don't want to look back, and I won't look
ahead. I like this life. I'm content."
"Are you?" he challenged. "Don't you ever stop to wonder what it might
have been like-"
"No," Chloe said with force and pushed herself out of the chair. "I
didn't ask you to come here, Ross. I didn't ask you to stay. As of right
now"-she pointed at the floor for emphasis-"I don't care what you do,
but don't expect to change the way I see the world and my life. I've
done just fine on my own for the past eleven years. I plan to do it a
while longer." Her hand was shaking. She jammed it into the back pocket
of her jeans. "I'm going to bed. Let yourself out." With a whirl that
sent her hair flaring out behind, she strode from the room, ran up the
stairs to her room, and firmly closed the door.
Trembling uncontrollably, she collapsed onto the bed and stared at the
ceiling. Her ragged breathing was the only sound that broke the night's
quiet-that, and the opening and closing of the front door when Ross left
the house.
For what seemed like hours she agonized, locked in silent battle with a
horde of private ghosts. If only she had never seen Ross again. To be
free, once more, of this gnawing at mind and body.
But she had seen him again and, if he stuck to his plan, would see more
of him before he left. There was only one solution, as she saw it.
Indifference. What man would put up with that for long? Indifference. It
would turn him off, wouldn't it? Surely then he would leave her in
peace.
She awoke the next morning on an optimistic note, showered, dressed, and
sailed downstairs for breakfast. It was with momentary dismay that she
found her kitchen in use-until she recalled the night's resolve, tilted
up her chin, and advanced.
"Ah," she said as she helped herself to a cup of the coffee he had
brewed, " you've made yourself at home."
His grin was as bright as the morning sun that slanted across the porch
beyond the screen. "It's a luxury. I'm enjoying it. It's not every day
that I get to putter around a cozy kitchen, much less wait on a
princess."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." She hoped, prayed it was so. By way of
diversion, she eyed the stove. "Bacon, eggs, home fries? You're going to
eat all that?"
"With your help."
"Ohhhh, no. After a breakfast like that I'd barely be able to keep my
eyes open. I have too many things to do-"
"-for which you need energy. And, anyway," he called over his shoulder
as he turned the bacon, "if you don't eat breakfasts like this, why such
a full stock of goodies? Lee's refrigerator was bare."
"So that's it, huh?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You're starved and my
old buddy Lee couldn't help you out?" She chuckled. "Lee eats out. A
lot."
"Here?"
"Do you see him here now?" she shot back.
"haven't seen him today, period. He's not upstairs, is he?"
Shaking her head, she turned toward the large bay window, whose broad
seat was her favorite perch. "That doesn't deserve an answer."
Sipping her coffee, she spoke absently. "As for the state of my ice box,
I eat in. A lot. Eggs make terrific dinner omelets, bacon a great BLT,
and potatoes are most definitely to be baked, then scooped, mashed with
a little Parmesan cheese and cream, restuffed, dotted with butter, and
broiled until delicately browned on top."
The silence that followed her recitation was enough to get her to look
back. Ross's expression was one of amused astonishment. "You must have
memorized the cookbook."
"No. I just happen to like my potatoes that way, and I do it a lot."
Ross leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest.
"Would you make them like that for me some time-maybe with a few lamb
chops, some fresh broccoli, a little wine?"
He looked dangerous, newly showered and wearing jeans and a black
turtleneck sweater. But Chloe had taken a vow of indifference. He's just
a friend, she told herself, no different from Lee. Calmly enough, she
said, "I make a meal of the potatoes. If you'd like to do up the rest,
be my guest." She settled on the window seat and looked out at the
beach. "It's another beautiful day."
"Uh-huh." His voice was muffled. He had turned back to his cooking. Chlo
soon he was addressing her again. "Sleep well?"
"Not bad." Once she had fallen asleep. "How about you?"
He had turned to reach for plates from the cupboard. "About the same."
It was an odd choice of words, she mused, unless she was so transparent
that he could see her thoughts. If there was smugness on his face,
though, she couldn't see it. He was cooking. All she saw was his back.
There was a full head of thick and vibrant dark hair, a torso whose
firmness was shown off by the snug fit of his sweater, a pair of lean
denim hips and long, sturdy legs, not to mention well-worn leather
boots.
She took a deep, steadying breath. If he had dressed to kill on purpose,
she could resist. She wasn't buying what he had to offer. She wasn't.
"All set?" Grinning, he placed two brimming plates on the table. When
she gaped at hers in dismay, he added a gentle, "Don't worry. Whatever
you can't finish, I will."
She pushed away from the window seat with a grimace. "You'd better get
started then. I'm nearly finished." She held up her drained coffee cup.
"This is all I usually have, with a slice of toast or a muffin." Still,
she took a seat opposite him. She stared at the plate, decided that the
eggs looked pretty good, and took a bite.
"Do the people you work with know about your past?"
Her eyes flew to his, warning, then haunted. She gave him a wan smile.
"You make it sound lurid." She pushed home fries around her plate. "They
know where I come from-some even know that I had a sister. Lee knows
most of the story. But the lovely thing about my life here is that the
people I know see me for what I am today. It's easier not having to
constantly contend with the past."
Ross seemed puzzled. "Why do you assume you'd have to do that anywhere?
It's been eleven years, Chloe. The world goes on. People accept change.
You seem to be the only one who can't move on."
Chloe set down her fork. She took an angry breath. "I look in the
mirror."
rooted in the present. There were reports to read, studies to review,
proposals to consider. The more she worked, the better she felt. For the
first time since having done the lab work earlier that week, she studied
the sediment analysis of samples taken along an increasingly unstable
portion of the Cape Cod National Seashore.
"Problems?" This from Debbie Walker, who popped her head in shortly
after eleven.
"Hi, Deb. Come on in." She smiled at her petite, sandy-haired associate.
"It's the Cape analysis. I was just studying the results of the work I
did last week. I have the grain sizes of the sand pretty much divided by
sections. Boy, they really botched it."
""They' being the people who put that parking lot so close to the
cliff.?"
Chloe sighed. "It's begun to erode already, and the locals want to sue.
According to my calculations, they have a case."
"Will you be called in to testify?"
"I'm not sure. I have to work this report up into some kind of written
form. Depending on what happens when they read it, whether or not the
matter can be settled first, it may not make it to court." She sat back.
"It's a shame that we seem to learn things after the fact. If only those
developers had gotten a geologist to advise them at the start."
Debbie smiled. "You make a good crusader. I wish I could present my case
as well as you do."
"I wish I could handle those computers as well as you do," Chloe
returned. "Come on. Let's take a look at your statistics."
They spent the next half hour reviewing the work Debbie had done.
Between them, they came up with a plan of attack on both the sinkhole in
question and the people in a position to do something about it. Suitably
buoyed, and with her work cut out for her, Debbie left. She was replaced
moments later by a slightly groggy-looking Josh Anderson.
Chloe grinned. "Late night last night?"
"Don't you know it," Josh murmured. "But I have to discuss this
curriculum guide with you. If the preliminaries are all right, I'd like
to work out more of the details."
Chloe's arched brow spoke volumes, as did the slow perusal she gave the
casually disheveled graduate student. "You're up to it?" With great
effort she stifled a broader grin. Josh was a favorite of hers. Several
years her junior, he was working toward his degree at Brown. This was
his second year working part-time at ESE.
His proposed high-school geology curriculum was as fine as any she could
have hoped ESE would produce.
Now he lowered his voice. "I'd really be up to it if I could take a swig
of the coffee that smells so good in the kitchen."
"Why don't you?"
He kept his voice low. "There's a watchdog out there."
"In the kitchen?"
"In the living room. Tall guy, dark hair, dark eyes. He doesn't look
happy with the traffic in here. Who is he? And what's he doing in our
house?"
For the better part of the morning Chloe had pushed Ross from mind. Now,
revived by the work that she loved, she was able to chuckle at Josh's
reference.
"He's a friend," she answered simply.
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm sure. Go on out and get your coffee. If he starts to snarl, you can
send him in here."
Josh's face took on a dubious I-hope-you-know -what-you're-doing look.
Nonetheless, he drew up to his full sixty-seven inches, squared his
shoulders, and made as grand an exit as was possible for someone going
to face the proverbial giant. With a helpless grin, Chloe sat back in
her chair, elbows on its arms, fingers comfortably laced.
So Ross had decided to spend the morning in her living room. She
wondered if he was bored, maybe annoyed that she was carrying on as
usual, perhaps growing impatient. Her grin turned smug.
"You wanted to see me?" His deep voice rumbled in from the door.
Her grin remained. "Who, me?"
He searched the room. "I don't see anyone else in here, for a change.
They may not technically live here, but they run in and out all day,
don't they?"
"It's an open office, you might say."
"I do say. Say, when will you be done?"
"Done?" she echoed innocently, then gestured toward the desktop. "Lord
knows. I have two reports to look through yet. And Josh will be back.
Here he is." His timing was perfect. "Josh, meet Ross." As the two shook
hands, Chloe stared at the appalling discrepancy in their heights. No
wonder Josh had been intimidated; not only did Ross tower over him, but
their respective physiques were about as alike as night and day.
Instinctively protective of Josh, she pointed him to a chair. Then she
said, "Ross, would you excuse us? We'll be a little while."
"I'll be waiting." He smiled as though he had caught onto the game and
was playing. Then he turned and left.
Josh wasn't thick. "Listen, Chloe, are you sure you wouldn't rather go
over this another time?"
"What?" she ribbed him gently. "And waste the effort it took for you to
pull yourself out of bed? Carry on!"
It was a full hour later when Josh finally left. Chloe walked him to the
door and had only enough time to note that Ross was occupied with a
