Sweet Anger

by Sandra Brown

  Her head rested on Pinkie’s arm for just a moment, then she pulled away. Her tears had dried, but she looked thoroughly defeated. “Maybe I do need some time away. I have a lot to think about, feelings that have to be sorted through.” She stood and went to the door.

  “What will you do?”

  She gazed at him sightlessly for a moment before saying vaguely, “I don’t know.” Then she left, drifting through the empty newsroom, becoming one with the shadows.

  The last person Bonnie expected to see when she pulled open her front door was Pinkie Lewis. “Do you have a drink?” he asked without one word of greeting or explanation.

  With an irritated gesture, Bonnie jerked the tie belt on her robe tighter. “What happened? Did the bartenders go on strike?”

  “Do you have a drink or don’t you?”

  She stood aside, giving him her silent and none too gracious permission to come in. “Whiskey?”

  “Yes. Neat. A double.”

  One of the first things Bonnie had done when her last child left for college was refurnish her house. She had discarded all the pieces bearing the ravages of children. The new furniture was her reward for having survived the years of her sons’ upbringing when treats to herself had been rare if not nonexistent.

  Pinkie slung his coat over the back of a chair and sprawled on the couch. He pulled off his tie and tossed it on the corner cushions of the sofa. His shoes came off next. His rumpled presence spoiled the whole effect of her now-perfect house. She was surprised at how glad she was to see that disorder. Her house had been too tidy for too long.

  She handed him the glass of whiskey and sat down beside him, resting her arm on the back of the sofa and curling her bare feet under her hips. “Do I owe this visit to unrequited passion finally given vent, or what?”

  He shot her a sour look. “I don’t feel like sparring with you tonight. I feel like hammered crap. Management suspended Kari for three months.” He filled her in on the details. When he was done, she sat in meditative silence. His ruddy head came around. “Well, say something.”

  “It’ll probably be the best thing that could have happened to her.”

  Somewhat mollified, he took another sip of the Scotch. “That’s what I told her. I also thought it best to disillusion her about her late husband.”

  “You told her about his affairs?”

  “I didn’t go quite that far. I just raised the question in her mind that McKee might have told her the truth.”

  “How’d she take it?”

  “How do you think? She thought the man was a saint.”

  “Then it’s time she wised up. No man is a saint.”

  That won her another baleful look before he went on. “She’s been irrational, blaming McKee for all this. She’s been eaten up with him way too long. It’s not natural.”

  “Or maybe very natural,” Bonnie said cryptically.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think there’s more going on than appears on the surface.”

  He turned to her. “You know it really bugs the hell out of me to have to keep asking, ‘What does that mean?’ Why don’t you just come out and say what’s on your mind?”

  “All right. Hate is sometimes as passionate an obsession as love. And vice versa. Often one can’t be distinguished from the other.”

  His pale brows lowered over his eyes. “You think she acts like she hates him because she really loves him?” Pinkie showed the first trace of a smile. “I wouldn’t mention that hypothesis to her if I were you.”

  “I don’t intend to. I intend to let her discover it herself. And if Hunter McKee is as determined a man as I think he is, he’ll help her discover it.”

  “You think he’s got the hots for her?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Pinkie uttered a noncommittal grunt as he finished his drink.

  “Another?” Bonnie asked.

  “No, thanks.” He set his glass on the end table and stood. “I guess I’d better be going.” Taking up his coat and tie, he ambled toward the door.

  “Pinkie.” He stopped and faced her. She was standing in front of the sofa. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  He looked away, sullen and belligerent. “I felt like hell and needed a drink. Your place is on my way home. You’re a good drinking buddy.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of a buddy, drinking or otherwise. It was the smile of a clever woman. “I’m good for a lot of things.” She undid the tie at her waist and shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to the sofa behind her.

  The nightgown wasn’t one she would have worn had she known the final step of Pinkie’s seduction would take place tonight. But the baby pink color was flattering for a mature complexion already creamed free of makeup. The lace bodice cupped her generous breasts and gave her a slight advantage over gravity.

  Pinkie’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. He dragged his eyes away from the large dark nipples that teased him from behind the lace screen. “Now look, Bonnie. Don’t go reading anything … into … uh …”

  His voice dwindled to nothingness as she slipped the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders and let it slither down her body. She knew she wasn’t ready for the Playboy centerfold, but she knew she wasn’t a troll, either.

  Pinkie’s failure to comment vexed her. He could have said something instead of standing there with that stupid gaping-mouthed expression on his face. Putting her hands on her hips, she walked toward him naked. “Well, I’ll bet you’re no great shakes without your clothes on, either. But I’m willing to take a chance if you are.”

  She reached for the buttons of his shirt and within seconds they were undone. He wore an old-fashioned tank undershirt that made her smile, a smile she diplomatically hid as she eased his shirt off. His belt buckle didn’t intimidate her in the least. She shoved his trousers down.

  She leaned forward and kissed his lips as she slid her hand down the front of his shorts. Again she smiled. It had worked!

  She turned on her heel and started for the bedroom saying over her shoulder, “What are you going to do, come to bed with me, or stand there with your pants around your ankles?”

  “Mr. Lewis? Pinkie?”

  “Yeah?” He was mad as hell. He couldn’t find a photographer and there was some kook holed up in an apartment with a gun trained on three hostages not ten blocks away. He’d been trying to locate someone on the radio but so far had had no success.

  Now, as he swung his head away from the radio panel, a cigarette ash fell to his shirtfront, burning a tiny hole in it before he could brush it away. He’d catch hell from Bonnie. She had ironed the shirt for him only that morning.

  He almost forgot all his problems when he looked up to see Hunter McKee standing on the other side of his desk in the newsroom. “Hiya, McKee.”

  “Are you busy?”

  The irony of that struck Pinkie as funny. He laughed as he ground out his cigarette. “Why don’t you wait in my office?” He hitched his head in the direction of the cubicle as the speaker on the radio panel squawked and a scratchy voice said, “Pinkie, have you been trying to get us?”

  “Hell, yes, I have,” he yelled into the microphone as he grabbed it up.

  Hunter jumped to his feet when Pinkie bustled into the office five minutes later, a batch of script sheets clutched in his beefy hand. “What can I do for you, McKee?” he said as he began thumbing through the scripts and slashing them with a red ink pen. “Wish somebody would teach reporters to write the English language.”

  “I guess I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

  “Naw, naw. Today’s calm, believe it or not. What did you want to see me about?”

  “I think you know.”

  Pinkie’s hands stilled and he looked at Hunter from beneath his jutting brows. He studied the man across the desk from him. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Even behind his eyeglasses, his eyes looked tired. The vertical lines running down either side of his mouth didn’t loo
k like laugh lines anymore but tracks of unhappiness.

  “Yeah, I think I do,” Pinkie said slowly. Then he yelled, “Not now!” to someone brave or stupid enough to come barging in without knocking.

  “I missed seeing her reports on the news,” Hunter said uneasily. “I went by her condo last week, but she wasn’t home. It looked like she hadn’t been for a long while. Earlier today I called here. I was told she didn’t work here anymore.”

  “That’s right, she doesn’t. But that’s temporary. I hope.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. She was suspended for three months.”

  Pinkie could tell he was relieved that she wasn’t ill, but distressed over the suspension. “Why was she suspended?” A level stare was his only answer. Hunter lunged to his feet. “Dammit, I told them that what she said didn’t matter. She wrote me a note of apology. That was enough.”

  He turned his back on the desk and stared out over the bustling newsroom. He didn’t even see it. When he spun back around, his jaw was as rigid as granite. “I want to see her. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  In a heartbeat Hunter covered the space that separated him from the desk. Placing his hands on the cluttered surface, he leaned over it. “I want to see her,” he enunciated clearly. “Tell me where she is.”

  This guy has it bad, Pinkie thought. “I don’t know where she is,” he repeated calmly. “I tried to reach her the morning after the incident, but she’d already had her telephone disconnected. That afternoon a messenger sent me an envelope with the key to her condo and instructions on when to water her plants. That’s all. She said she would be in touch.”

  “That was three weeks ago! And she hasn’t been in touch?”

  “No.”

  “Something could have happened to her.”

  “I don’t think so. She went somewhere to be alone. To sort things out.”

  “What things?”

  “Maybe you could tell me.”

  A spasm of emotion tugged at one corner of Hunter’s lips, otherwise he gave nothing away. “If you hear from her, will you let me know?”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. I want to see her.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” Hunter shouted.

  Pinkie smiled as he came out of his chair and picked up the scripts. “I’ve got a news show to get on the air in exactly fifty-three minutes, Mr. McKee. I can’t afford to spend any more of my valuable time on your personal problems.” he stalked to the door of the office. “But keep in touch.” He sailed through the door, cursing deadlines and shouting orders.

  Chapter Eight

  BRECKENRIDGE WAS AS PICTURESQUE IN THE SUMMER AS IT was in winter. Patches of unmelted snow showed up like white blossoms on the mountains. The majestic peaks still wore their sparkling caps. The season had little to do with the ski resort’s charm. Its one main street was lined with shops and boutiques stocked with tempting merchandise year-round. The century-old buildings, many with gingerbread trim, looked just as quaint against a panorama of bright blue Colorado sky as they did with snow sifting around them.

  Kari had been coming to Breckenridge to ski since she was in junior high school. But she’d never made the trip during the summer. She liked it this way, without hungry skiers queuing for valuable tables in restaurants, without the muddy slush, without the traffic jams at the one traffic light in town.

  It was peaceful. That was what she needed.

  She sat now on the deck at the back of the house and watched the sun sink behind the peaks. The snow at the summit glistened brightly, then took on a pink hue as the sun slipped behind the mountain.

  She had been here for over two months. The year anniversary of Thomas’s death had slipped by unnoticed by everyone but her. She hadn’t been unusually sad that day. A year’s time had blunted the serrated edges of the pain. What saddened her most was that he wasn’t as clear in her memory as he once had been. No longer could she hear the sound of his voice in her imagination. Nor was his face as well defined in her dreams.

  It was time to say good-bye.

  How many had known about Thomas’s “flings,” as Pinkie had called them? How could she have been blind to his human frailties? She had tried to conjure up bitterness toward Thomas but couldn’t.

  He had loved her. No matter what else he had done, she knew that he had loved her. He had been exactly what she needed at the time in her life when he came along. And she supposed that she had been a boost to his middle-aged ego. They had been good for each other during the years they’d had together. How could she feel bad about that?

  Her mind felt cleansed and at peace. Her body had recovered from the ordeal it had been put through during the last year. She was rested. In another week she would return to work.

  But what if they didn’t want her back? What if she had no job waiting for her? What if she had to start all over again for the third time in her life?

  She stood up and stretched. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” she said aloud. Whatever the future held, she now felt ready to face it.

  The refrigerator and pantry were grim reminders that she hadn’t been to the market in several days. But she was suddenly ravenous and decided to dress and go out to dinner. Her reinstatement into society might be awkward. She needed to be around people.

  She dressed in a denim skirt, a pair of low-heeled boots, a short-sleeved cotton sweater, and a suede jacket. The temperatures up in the mountains were considerably cooler at night.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the center of town, but by the time she was seated in a corner booth at one of the best restaurants, her stomach was growling rebelliously. She ordered a shamefully immodest dinner. It was while she was sipping a pre-dinner glass of wine that he walked in.

  It was as if he had come looking for her and knew exactly where to find her. The moment he entered the room, his eyes lasered across the candlelit dimness to fix on her. The hostess greeted him and he responded, though his eyes remained on Kari. The hostess glanced over her shoulder, then smiled at him and nodded. He stepped around her and made his way through the tables toward the booth.

  Kari set her wineglass down so he wouldn’t see that her hand was trembling. She wanted to look away, but was held spellbound by his gaze. His face was expressionless, but he gave the impression that he knew exactly what he was going to do when he got there.

  He didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the booth. “If you don’t let me join you, it’s going to be mighty embarrassing. I told the hostess that you were expecting me.”

  And in that instant, Kari realized that she had been expecting him. Not specifically that night, but somehow she had known he would come.

  “I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed, so you’d better sit down.”

  The light from the candle on the table was dancing in her hair, flickering in her eyes, and shining on her lips. He thought she’d never looked lovelier. Kari would never have guessed that his heart was beating just as fast and erratically as hers.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  She made no answer but slid over a bit and moved her purse and jacket aside to give him room to sit down. When he was settled, he folded his hands on the table and turned only his head toward her. They stared. Just stared. They didn’t move, hardly breathed, but their eyes were busy.

  “Sir, would you care to order?”

  Hunter kept his eyes on Kari even while he responded to the waiter. “I’ll have whatever the lady is having. And we’d like a bottle of wine. One that goes with …” He consulted Kari. “What are we eating?”

  “Trout.”

  “One that goes with trout.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  The waiter withdrew and they fell into that silent staring spell again.

  “You look different,” she remarked candidly.

  “So do you.”

  “I’ve never seen you dressed in anything but a
suit and tie.” His slacks and shirt were casual. The collar of his poplin Windbreaker was flipped up and the sleeves were rolled back to the middle of his forearm. Even as she noted it, he took it off and laid it beside her jacket on the other side of the booth. The outfit was straight out of GQ, but it looked better on him than it did on the models in the magazine.

  “Your nose is sunburned,” he observed. Laughing lightly, she touched the tip of her nose self-consciously. “Have you been lying in the sun?”

  “Some, not much. I get cold easily and it’s usually too cool up here in the mountains for me to sunbathe. But I’ve been taking long walks.”

  They lapsed into another silence. He thought about how cute that sunburn looked on her nose. She wondered if the dark springy hair showing through the opening of his shirt covered all his chest.

  “The wine, sir,” the waiter said hesitantly after he’d stood unnoticed beside the table for long moments.

  Hunter went through the tasting ritual. Kari was given another glass and it was filled with a golden wine that she could have sworn was already flowing through her veins. She sampled it and smiled appreciatively, but she hadn’t really tasted it. She would taste nothing. The hunger that had compelled her to order a huge dinner had vanished.

  They sipped at their wine and stared fixedly at the candle on the table as though it contained the answers to all the secrets of the universe.

  “How did you know—Never mind. I know who told you I was here.” Then, thinking she might have been too presumptuous, she said, “This wasn’t an accidental meeting, was it?”

  He shook his head. “This was no accident.”

  Her eyes returned to the candle. “You asked Pinkie where I was.” There was little inquiry in her voice. It was a quietly spoken statement.

  “Yes.”

  “I only called him last week. He was sworn to secrecy.”

  “I made a pest of myself and wore him down.” He’d made it a daily habit to stop by the television station on his way home from the office to ask if Pinkie had heard from her. And just as habitually, Pinkie and Bonnie refrained from leaving until they had seen him. Finally last Wednesday Pinkie had had something to report.