"Okay." His eyes narrowed. "And you?"
"Oh, great. Just marvelous." Her lashes lowered. She couldn't hold his gaze while she said what she had to say. "I've been remiss. I should have thanked you by now for the check you got out of Joe Esterley. And now for the one from Emery Hunsington."
"Me?" Troy sounded surprised. When Felicia looked up, his expression was all bafflement. "What is this about me, and checks from Esterley and Hunsington? I have no idea what you're talking about."
If she'd had any lingering doubts, Troy's little act just now erased them. He had, indeed, been the one to arrange for those checks to be sent. He'd taken her advice and exerted himself for a cause.
But he didn't want to admit it.
Felicia's polite smile quirked. "Fine. Whatever. You still have my thanks, and that of everyone who needs that shelter."
But Troy was hanging on to his baffled look. "Please don't thank me. I didn't do a thing."
Felicia could feel her smile freeze. This was beyond modesty. He was adamant she not acknowledge what he'd done for the shelter. With a blow that was almost physical, she realized why. He didn't want her to imagine he'd done it for her. He didn't want her to imagine he'd been trying to impress her or make her think he could be a better man, one with some ideals.
A man she might consider, romantically.
Or one who was still in love with her.
Struggling not to show her hurt, she showed anger instead. "In that case," she said crisply. "I take back all of it. No thanks is given from me to you."
Her icicle tone appeared to relieve Troy. "Great. I'd hate to think you've been feeling beholden to me, or anything."
Their eyes met again. Felicia hadn't felt beholden. She had felt...impressed, though. Even admiring. And now with Troy watching her so coldly and her stomach shrinking, she realized she'd been feeling a great deal more. Deep down, she'd been hoping he was giving her an excuse to like him...an excuse to allow him to kiss her. She'd been hoping he was changing into the kind of man with whom she could have a relationship.
"No," she agreed slowly. "I wouldn't want to feel beholden to you, either."
Troy rocked back on his heels. "Glad we got that straightened out."
"Yes," Felicia said.
Troy smiled. "Have a nice evening, Felicia."
Felicia glanced up sharply. Troy was smiling in his old, careless way, utterly unmoved. For a moment she felt disoriented. Even suspicious. Was this all some sort of act? He had been moved by his tour of the Boston Family Aid shelter. He had gone out and gotten those checks for their expansion.
He'd even told her he loved her.
Memories of their recent interactions swirled dizzily through her mind: his anger and tenderness, spite and humanity. She couldn't make heads or tails of this man. And, suddenly, she didn't want to make heads or tails of him. Even putting the best light on things, he was mercurial, erratic...unreliable. Not for her.
With a heavy churn of clashing emotions -- anger and injury, confusion and yearning, she put on the cool smiling mask she'd perfected over the years. "Yes, Troy," she told him. "And you, too. Have a nice evening."
Then, having accomplished her mission, a mission that never had to be repeated, she turned and, all serene elegance, strolled out of the room.
###
Troy watched Felicia imitate a vengeful goddess as she swept from the Club lounge. She looked absolutely magnificent. He felt like an idiot coward.
Why couldn't he have accepted her thanks? It would have been the gracious thing to do.
But he'd been too terrified to act gracious. What if she imagined he'd gotten those checks through some kind of talent? Or, worse yet, through hard work? It had only been dumb luck. He'd come across Joe Esterley when he was still reeling from April 15 and had been looking for write-offs for the coming year. As for Emery Hunsington, oh, he was just a soft touch. It didn't mean a thing that everywhere Troy went lately he'd found himself mentioning the shelter, dropping seeds into the minds of people with fat checkbooks. He hadn't taken on a responsibility. He'd simply become...weirdly obsessed.
With a flicker of green, Felicia's skirt disappeared around the edge of the lounge door. She was gone. Troy let out a deep breath and sank back into his chair. Instead of putting his feet up again, he perched on the edge of the chair, his forearms on his knees.
No, Troy certainly didn't want Felicia thinking he'd started any kind of career here. He didn't want her thinking he was taking that fundraising job, for heaven's sake. He could not afford to have people rely on him. Unh unh.
Least of all could Troy afford for Felicia to think she could rely on him. Coaxing a few checks out of some friends did not constitute Troy's transformation into a trustworthy man of integrity. No, siree. He wasn't the solid, dependable man Felicia should have in her life, the fellow who could heal the scars that her clay-footed father had laid on her.
Troy put a hand over his suddenly unhappy stomach. Surely he didn't want to be such a man. No, not even considering that with each check he'd obtained he'd felt a rush of pride. It couldn't be true that he had such ridiculous aspirations.
Perhaps he was a coward, but he'd been right to push Felicia away. He was still just a lazy goof-off. Troy grimaced and rubbed his stomach. He was certain he'd done the right thing.
###
Dean did not go into work the day after his epiphany of pain. Oh, why should he? He was tired. He certainly didn't feel up to being efficient, controlled, or brave. In his bathrobe, he puttered around the house.
While idling in the family room, he ran into Robby's cache of video games. Dean fingered the colorful boxes and decided to put in a disc. Why not? The computer whirred and a variety of fearsome dinosaurs popped onto the screen. Dean quickly figured out his character was the one armed with a submachine gun. He laughed out loud when he shot down his first T. Rex. My, but that was gratifying.
He got to the fifth level in the dinosaur game before he finally quit at two in the morning.
The next day Dean played through to the highest level in the dinosaur game. Fortunately, Robby had other discs. Dean pawed through them. Some lifted his eyebrows. If he'd known Robby owned this stuff he would have tossed it. As it was...Dean tried them all.
A little over a week later Troy appeared. He'd kept himself scarce since Kirk's visit, but now stood in the hall behind Dean. "What are you doing?" Troy asked.
Dean was sitting on Robby's wheeled office chair, faced away from the hall. He didn't stop punching the button on his joystick. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"I know what it looks like, I'm just having trouble believing my eyes. Is that 'Babes in Uniform' you've got on there?"
Dean narrowed his eyes and hit a key. Instantly a colored floating ball replaced the field of overly-endowed women warriors. He adjusted the collar of his bathrobe and rolled his chair around to face his cousin. "What do you want?"
Troy shook his head. "Nothing."
"Why are you smiling?"
"Who, me? I'm not smiling." But Troy was definitely smiling.
"Glad to see me down?" Dean cocked his head.
Troy beamed. "Well, yeah. It's not unpleasant to see you looking miserable."
"Great. You've seen it, now go."
But Troy didn't budge. "Oh, the pleasure doesn't stop after only one glance." With his hands in his trouser pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "Yes, I'm definitely enjoying this, a kind of misery-loves-company thing, I suppose."
"Excuse me?" Dean said.
"The funny thing is, I can see the solution to your problem crystal clear," Troy told Dean. "While I have no idea what to do about my own."
"Excuse me?" Dean said.
Troy laughed and waved a hand. "Come on, Dean. Don't you think you could be doing something a little more constructive with your feelings than play video games?"
Dean glared at him. "What feelings?"
"Hm," Troy said.
He sounded so superior, so smug. Dean felt his
hands clenching into fists. With surprise, he realized his dark depression was lifting. It was transforming into anger. What business had Troy to make fun of him? This whole thing was Troy's fault to begin with! He'd been the one to give that idiotic hypnotic suggestion. He'd started the whole boondoggle mess.
Dean showed his teeth at his cousin. "Fine. You think I ought to be doing something more constructive?"
"Uh — "
"More — physically healthy, perhaps?"
"Uh, Dean — " Troy took a step back.
Dean rose from the padded office chair. He tightened his silk belt. "How about we go a few rounds?"
Troy's eyes widened. "Fight? Right here?"
"No." Though Dean wouldn't have minded. But he could see he'd have to convince Troy. "In the gym, with gloves."
Troy swallowed. "No way."
"I'll pay you," Dean said.
"What?"
"I'll pay you. You're always up for an addition to your allowance."
Troy held up his hands. "I don't think some extra pocket change would be worth this."
"Ten grand," Dean said, knowing precisely how much Troy received from his trust fund every month.
Troy's lower jaw dropped.
"Twenty," Dean said, not wanting to fiddle around. He wanted his hands in the gloves, hitting something.
Troy shook his head. But his mouth said, "You're on."
###
Fifteen minutes later they were on a mat in the gym, circling each other. Troy had insisted on helmets, otherwise they were down to their gym shorts.
Dean admitted he was a little stiff. He hadn't worked out since he'd discovered Robby's video games. That had been over a week ago. And Troy would be more supple, being younger. But he'd have no discipline. He never used the downstairs gym. Dean doubted his lazy cousin did any sort of exercise, besides a game of tennis now and then.
Dean made an experimental jab toward Troy's jaw. He was surprised when Troy parried expertly.
"Might not be as easy as you thought, eh?" Troy kept circling.
Dean shrugged. He'd known Troy would be faster, but he wouldn't be stronger. Dean tried another jab, this one down low. He missed contact again.
"Face it," Troy said. "You're not as all-powerful as you think."
"Huh," Dean said. Troy sounded way too pleased about the fact. "All I have to be is powerful enough to knock your block off."
"You think that'll make you feel better?" Troy grimaced as they circled each other. "Fact is, I had the same thought, but I don't believe it's going to work."
"I believe it will." Dean made another jab. Troy blocked it again and then added a shot of his own, one that connected. Dean grunted. His cousin had more juice than he'd expected.
"Ready to call off this stupid idea?"
Dean drew in a steadying breath. "I haven't got my twenty grand worth yet."
"No." Troy sighed. "That'll only come after I knock you out, I suppose."
Dean smiled. "Right. Come and get me, girlfr — "
Troy's arm flashed toward him. Dean's head snapped back. His feet slipped out from under him, and then everything went black.
###
Dean opened his eyes to see Troy in his helmet, looking worriedly down at him.
Helmet still on. He hadn't been out that long, then.
Troy's worried look eased. It turned annoyed. "Idiot," he said.
Dean shrugged. Or at least he tried to.
"Come on, let's get you on your feet." Troy lifted Dean's shoulders. Dean groaned as the pain in his head surged. "You know, this really wasn't productive," Troy grumbled.
"You can say that again." Dean winced as he struggled to sit up.
"Getting beat up is not going to make you feel better about Kelly."
Dean closed his eyes. The terrible pain swept back again, and this time it wasn't from Troy's fist. "Then what is?"
Troy didn't say anything. When Dean opened his eyes, he saw his cousin's lips were pressed tightly together.
"What?" Dean demanded.
Troy shook his head, as if he refused to say, but then blurted, "Maybe I should try to hypnotize you again."
Dean stared at him.
"Give you the same suggestion." Troy looked steadily into Dean's eyes. "Do what you want instead of what you should."
Dean just kept staring. But a shiver passed through him. He knew what he wanted to do...and it was crazy, illogical. What would it accomplish? Feelings didn't last — and hers were over. She was done with him.
But there was something in Troy's eyes, a...fellowship that made it hard for Dean to disguise his thoughts. Slowly, just slightly, Troy smiled. "Ah, but I don't need to hypnotize you. You already know what you want to do."
"But — it wouldn't make any sense to see Kelly."
Troy's brows lifted. "You think?"
Yes, yes of course Dean thought so. Kelly was done with him. She'd gone so far as to leave him, just as he'd always thought she would. She didn't want to see him.
Or was that true? Dean put a hand up to his temple. That blow to his head must have been worse than he'd thought because suddenly he was remembering his last conversation with Kelly.
He'd been trying his best to forget it, but now one moment of that horrible conversation stood out clear in his mind. Kelly had stood there, waiting. She'd looked at Dean with such...expectation. Yes, she'd looked at him as if there'd been something Dean could have said or done that would have kept her with him...
Slumped on the gym mat, Dean frowned. No, that was ridiculous. There was nothing he could do to keep a woman with him if she wanted to leave. And Kelly had wanted to leave.
Hadn't she?
He felt an abrupt wrenching of the gut. What had that strange moment of her looking at him been about? Had there been something he could have done to keep her? Had she wanted to stay?
Dean rubbed his forehead. Hope wrestled with pain, but neither was stronger than a new and burning set of questions. For the first time in two weeks Dean wondered what Kelly was thinking, what she was feeling. Had he hurt her that day?
Was that why she'd left?
Was she miserable, too?
Dean felt another wrench in his gut. Oh, God, had he made Kelly unhappy? If that were true — His gaze shot up to Troy. "I have to go see her."
"Well, yeah." Troy sat back on his heels. "I was wondering when you'd figure that out."
"Now," Dean said.
"Almost now," Troy countered, smiling strangely. "First you gotta pay me that twenty grand."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It had been a hectic day for Felicia, one board meeting after another. She'd been juggling budgets that were too small, and smoothing feathers that were constantly getting ruffled. By nine p.m. she was ready for a long soak in the tub and the rest of the evening spent curled in her bedroom armchair with a good book.
Her mother was out at her bridge night, which was a mixed blessing because when the doorbell rang it was up to Felicia to deal with it. Giving a longing look toward her armchair — she hadn't had time to open her book — she started down the stairs.
She soon saw she'd interrupted her pleasure for nothing. Murchison, the butler, was still up. He was opening the front door just as Felicia, in a pink sweat suit, was descending the staircase. But she halted, dumbstruck, when she saw the face beyond Murchison's heavy-set shoulder.
Troy? Troy, grinning from ear to ear? Troy, who, with his sparkling eyes and flashing teeth couldn't be looking more wildly different than the mocking, distant man she'd last seen a week ago at the Club? Indeed, he was mercurial, unpredictable, and erratic.
"Troy," she said, in as dampening a tone as possible.
Troy ignored her tone. His reply was as warm and engaging as hers had been distant. "Felicia," he said. "You look...great. Say, can we talk?"
Good God. Felicia didn't want to talk to Troy. But Murchison had apparently decided Felicia's greeting of the man constituted acceptance of his presence in the house. "Miss Thurgood,
" he mumbled, and marched off. Felicia was left to contend with Troy who, still grinning, had waltzed into the front foyer. He stood there, his hands dug into his trouser pockets, gazing at Felicia with all the bonhomie in the world.
"So?" he asked. "Can we?"
Felicia tried, and failed, to come up with a plausible reason to refuse his request. With an expression she hoped was suitably off-putting, she gestured toward the living room. "Please," she said. "Be my guest."
Troy grinned and gestured. "After you."
Felicia stifled a sigh as she descended the rest of the stairs and led the way into the spacious living room. Halfway into the room she turned and found Troy ogling a Tiffany lamp.
"Wow," he said. "Your mother's house is way classier than my uncle's."
Felicia's teeth clamped together. She didn't think she had to accept small talk from him, not when it was taking every ounce of strength she owned to maintain a cool and composed exterior. "Troy," she said. "Your purpose?"
"Oh." He glanced over, looking sheepish. "Yeah. Well, first I wanted to apologize for the way I brushed you off the other night at the Club. It wasn't gracious. It wasn't polite. And — " His grin quirked. "And you're very welcome for the checks I managed to bring in. In fact — " His smile widened as he pulled a piece of paper out of his trouser pocket. "In fact, I have another one right here."
Felicia could only stand there, flabbergasted, as he stepped toward her and held out the check. He'd just apologized. He'd just admitted he'd brought in the other checks. And his eyes as they met hers were...sincere.
Stunned, Felicia took the check from Troy's outstretched hand. Her eyes took a second to focus, but eventually took in that it was a check for sixty thousand dollars, signed by Dean Singleton.
"It was only supposed to be twenty," Troy admitted, and rocked onto the balls of his feet. "But when he found out what it was for, he gave me this long, deep look and then tripled the amount."
Gape-jawed, Felicia gazed from the check to Troy. "You did this?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Troy rocked back onto his heels. "Not only did I do it, but I whipped Dean in the process. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Ah!" Troy chuckled and shook his head. "There I was telling him it wasn't going to make him feel any better to knock my block off, and I ended up knocking his off. And it did make me feel better!" Troy laughed out loud then, and with definite relish.
Marriage by Mistake Page 27
