Love's Own Reward

by Dana Ransom

  Then she started as Jess’s knuckles lightly skimmed down her cheek. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. But that fleeting touch conveyed a wealth of reassurance. How could she help but be heartened? She’d survive it. Just as she’d get by with the limited range of motion in her hands. There were those who had to adjust to worse. Realizing that pulled her from her gloom of self-pity. She sat up in the seat and reached out to tap her fingertips on the hard curve of Jess’s thigh. When he glanced at her, she smiled. He grinned back.

  “Good girl.”

  Those two words were an admiring caress. Confident in her control, Charley found herself looking forward to getting back to the staid normalcy of her life. A premature hope, she found. For there they were. She saw them the minute Jess turned into the parking lot of the building where she worked. Swarms of them staking out the entrances with their camcorders shouldered and their microphones ready. She made a sound of stark dismay.

  “You want me to take you back home? Maybe you need a little more time to prepare yourself for this.” His voice was carefully neutral, distant after the warmth of a minute before. He was staring straight ahead, not at her.

  An angry irritation firmed alongside the flutter of her nervousness. “I don’t want to go home. I have work to do. But I can’t talk to them now. I just can’t. Jess . . .” She let that trail off, looking to him hopefully, already relying upon him as if he were a lifelong friend instead of a stranger who’d brought her home less than twelve hours ago.

  “You’re going to have to, Charlene, sooner or later.”

  “Later, then,” she insisted. “And it’s Charley.”

  “Okay, Charley. I’ll get you past them, but you have to do something for me. Have lunch with me. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Unless you have other plans.”

  Other plans? She thought of Alan and almost grimaced. No, not likely. “I have to eat, and you’ve already seen what I have at home.”

  “Pretty pathetic,” he agreed.

  Charley flushed and murmured, “I’m not very good on the domestic front.”

  “No kidding.” He was sizing up the front of the building with a practiced eye. “There a custodial entrance to this place?”

  “Around the side, I think.”

  Within minutes he’d slipped into the rear loading zone, out of sight of those hovering at the front, and came around to help her from the car. Charley smiled her thanks as she stood. She came barely to his shoulder. Again he was struck by how fragile she was. Feeling that twang of protectiveness cloud his better instincts, Jess took a step back, looking grim.

  “You won’t fool them forever. You’ll have to come and go a different way every time.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re doing, Mr. McMasters.”

  “I’m a—”

  “Resourceful kind of guy,” she finished for him. Then she touched his sleeve shyly with the tips of her fingers. “Yes, you are.”

  “Eleven,” he reminded her sternly.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  And she watched with a decided breathlessness as he walked away.

  “CHARLENE, WHERE are those muscle-tissue studies? I’ve been looking for them all morning.”

  Brusqueness was nothing new from the research fellow she worked under. It was Alan Peters’s single-minded dedication that had drawn her to him almost two years ago. When he was in the middle of a project, he had all the sensitivity of sterile gloves, so Charley didn’t expect him to drop everything to greet and gush over her. But a look would have been nice. A word of concern would have been appreciated. Especially since he was her unofficial fiancé.

  “I need those figures, Charlene. Think you could find them for me?”

  He stood in the center of the lab with a look of exasperated impatience on his face that she’d once thought endearingly boyish. This morning he looked just plain petulant.

  “They’re in my office,” she told him quietly. “I’ll get them.”

  Even as he nodded, he was turning, dismissing her. And it hurt. This morning it really hurt. Maybe it was because her burns throbbed so miserably. Maybe it was because of Jess McMasters’s unexpected kindness. Whichever, she was blinking back moisture as she walked to her cubbyhole. Habit had her forming excuses for his indifferent behavior. He discouraged any type of personal display in the lab. Here, they were researcher and assistant. He didn’t have to warn her of the consequences should their relationship become common knowledge. Bad form, he said. A black mark on his chances to move into a senior position. A doctor did not carry on with his assistant. It wasn’t professional. For nearly two years she’d listened and let him talk her into agreeing to the clandestine meetings after hours, to the hurried promises of what would come when he’d published enough work to gain notice. But staring down at the file where it lay in plain sight on top of her desk had he chosen to look there, Charley didn’t feel terribly agreeable.

  She jumped when his long fingers curled over her shoulders. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. You know how I am when you’re away. I can’t seem to get anything accomplished. We’re a team. You know that. I really count on you, Charlene.”

  She’d just started to smile, feeling a little better, when he added, “When will you be back to work?”

  “Two, maybe three weeks. It depends on how fast I heal.”

  Alan’s hands dropped away. She could imagine his scowl without having to witness it. “That was a dumb thing to do, Charlene. You could have gotten yourself killed. You couldn’t have picked a worse time to be off, right when I need you the most.”

  The angry blur returned to her eyes. Picked? As if she’d chosen to broil her hands just to inconvenience him. Charley bit her lip to hold back words to that effect. They’d be counterproductive. He’d sulk and she’d end up apologizing, and she was in no mood to travel that familiar road. She drew a deep, diplomatic breath. “I won’t be gone all that long. Besides, I can still help out, unofficially.”

  He made a disbelieving noise. “Like you’re going to be any help when you come in dragging that entourage of camera nuts behind you. You wouldn’t have believed some of the questions they asked me when I got here this morning. I had to call campus security to keep them out of the lab.” Then he paused and said tersely, “What have you told them?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t told them anything.” She lowered her head and went through the motions of meticulously straightening the haphazard stacks of papers on her desktop.

  “Well, I don’t need to warn you about the press. They can take the smallest thing and turn it into tabloid fodder. It will be better for us all if you don’t even mention the lab.”

  “I won’t, Alan.”

  “Good.” He completely missed the clip of her tone. “Now, let’s get some work done, shall we?”

  Charley picked up the file and took another cleansing breath.

  “HEY, DID YOU forget the time?”

  Charley brushed aside a stray lock of auburn hair as she glanced up at Jess. He was freshly groomed and garbed and more handsome than she’d remembered. It would have been easy to dismiss this morning as a product of an overmedicated mind—except here he was. And she couldn’t ignore the very real snap of anticipation she experienced at the sight of him. “Is it eleven already?”

  “Looks like it flies when you’re having fun. What have you been doing? Cataloging the national debt?” He frowned down at the huge pile of data sheets she’d organized in her cramped work space.

  “Just taking care of a few loose ends.” She rolled her shoulders and tried to ease the nagging discomfort. She was thrilled by his intervention. For the last hour complaining nerve ends had made an impossible distraction, and having Alan stalk up to glare over her shoulder every few minutes hadn’t helped one bit. Jess was one welcome blessing.

  “
Well, tie them up in a quick bow, and let’s get going. You look like you could use the break.”

  As he fit his hand under her elbow to assist her to her feet, Alan came screeching to a halt outside her door.

  “Charlene?” His voice bit with accusation.

  “Alan, this is Jess McMasters. Jess, Alan Peters.”

  The two men did quick summaries of each other. Egghead, Jess concluded. Player, Alan sneered.

  “You’re not leaving, are you, Charlene?”

  “I’m taking her to lunch,” Jess interjected smoothly.

  Alan’s pale gaze stabbed at him with dissecting precision, then he turned to Charley with a wounded lift of his sandy brows. “I thought we’d get a little something later on. There are some things we need to discuss, Charlene.”

  “Maybe tomorrow, Alan. I really need to get away, and I did promise Jess lunch.”

  “Jess,” Alan spat. “Who is this guy, Charlene?” he blurted out. “I don’t remember you ever talking about him.”

  “Oh, we’re very close,” Jess drawled as he settled his dark glasses on his nose with an arrogant flair.

  “He’s a friend, Alan.”

  “I’ve been taking care of her since she got out of the hospital,” Jess clarified just to enjoy the plentiful hues of red that colored the tall, slender scientist’s face. Where were you? was his unspoken challenge.

  Charley awkwardly tugged Jess’s arm before the two of them came to blows. She couldn’t imagine what had gotten into them. Alan was normally so civil, and Jess hadn’t struck her as the belligerent type. “I’m famished, Jess. If you need anything, Alan, just give me a call at home.”

  The researcher scowled and said nothing.

  “What’s with your boss?” Jess demanded as he smuggled her out the service door.

  “He and I are sort of . . . engaged,” she mumbled reluctantly.

  “That sounds sort of . . . vague.”

  Vague. Yes, it was. Very vague. She found herself brooding over it while he maneuvered his car out of the lot. Her sudden dissatisfaction was a surprise because she had the utmost admiration for her fiancé’s work. And had been content with their arrangement until . . . until when? She darted a glance at her driver and experienced an uncomfortable revelation. Since Jess McMasters had come into her life. That was startling enough to make her purse her lips until after they’d been seated at a dimly lit campus restaurant. And her mood didn’t lighten when he launched his first question.

  “So if Doc is your fiancé, why are you at lunch with me instead of him?”

  The last thing she wanted to do was explain her situation with Alan to Jess. For one thing, it was personal. For another, she was aware of a sudden embarrassment that she’d never recognized before. What would he think of her if she told him the truth? That she was good enough to ply with kisses in a storeroom or at a distant research seminar but not to take to lunch in a public restaurant? She wasn’t sure she understood it, so how could she expect Jess to?

  “It’s complicated,” she said simply.

  “And none of my business,” he concluded for her. He accepted a menu from their waiter and turned to a less intimate topic. “So, Miss Carter, what does your boyfriend think of your sudden riches?”

  Subtly Jess reached down into the pocket of his coat and switched on his voice-activated tape recorder.

  Four

  THE MONEY.

  She kept thinking that if she ignored it long enough it would go away and she could get back to her well-planned life. But she knew she couldn’t. She’d been given an incredible opportunity and she knew she shouldn’t shirk it. It opened doors she’d never thought would be accessible. Only now she had to make certain she used the right ones. Ironic, she thought. She’d always believed that lots of money would alleviate worry, not increase it tenfold.

  “Or is that none of my business, too?”

  There was an unmistakable tartness to his tone that Charley was quick to ease. She didn’t want to alienate Jess McMasters. He was the only friend she had right now, and she needed one badly. “No, it’s not that. We just haven’t had the chance to discuss it, is all.” She gave an expressive sigh. “He’s the only one who isn’t dying to know the particulars.”

  Jess’s voice softened with what she took for sympathy. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  But suddenly she did. With him, she did. For some reason she felt a strong kinship with this handsome stranger, an intuitive link that told her he would understand. Unburdening her soul was not something she was comfortable doing, not to her family, not to Alan. But something in Jess McMasters’s encouraging half-smile crooned, Trust me, and she wanted to.

  “It’s all happened so fast. I haven’t had a chance to take it in. I’m used to having five dollars in my pocket and a couple of hundred in savings. Now all of a sudden I need a tax consultant, and everyone imaginable is crowding around with their hand out. You can’t imagine . . .”

  “No,” he said softly. “I can’t.”

  Their salads arrived and Charley was faced with the torturous task of controlling her fork. After several bites the effort didn’t seem worth it for a few pieces of oil-drenched lettuce. She set her fork aside. “It’s funny. I used to watch these big lottery winners whining about the horrors of having money. And I used to think, ‘I should have it so bad.’ Now I can see what they were complaining about.”

  Jess was chasing a tomato around the edge of his salad bowl, so he didn’t look up right away. Finally he asked in a steely voice, “Why did you take the money, Charley?” Then his gaze lifted. She’d seen knife blades with a duller edge than the one in his eyes. For an awkward second she could almost feel that look pressed to her throat, then he smiled slightly to ease the intensity crackling from him. “Planning to take some exotic trips, buy a condo on the coast, pick up a sports car or two for starters?”

  Her chuckle was low-pitched with amusement, making his glance cautious.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. McMasters. I hadn’t considered anything quite so glamorous.” And amazingly she hadn’t. Since Ben Osgood had presented her with the unexpected reward, her mind had been spinning in half a million directions. But never had she thought of squandering it on herself. Frugal habits of a lifetime were hard to push aside. She lived from paycheck to paycheck on a carefully regimented budget. She even carried a calculator to go grocery shopping—on those odd occasions when she did. Now she wouldn’t have to pinch pennies. Quite a concept.

  “You don’t look like the type to invest it all in stock portfolios,” Jess was saying. His manner was relaxed now, openly friendly, as if he hadn’t skewered her with his piercing stare seconds before. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to put it in your savings account to gather a few percent for the next fifty years.”

  “What would you do, Jess? If it was yours?”

  He blinked, taken totally off guard. Was she evading him or baiting him? His answer came out in a low, self-righteous drawl. “I wouldn’t have taken the money.”

  Stupid, Jess. Real stupid. He could see the impact of his words. She stiffened slightly at the criticism, and all the animation blanked from her face. In the instant her gaze lowered to her nearly untouched plate, he saw hurt swimming there, and it was a brutal slash to his conscience. He mentally scrambled to make up for it.

  “But if I did,” he began with a forced lightness, “I’d probably do something terribly self-centered like chuck my day job and rent some incredibly atmospheric loft where I could work on the great American novel and ignore the outside world. I’d have one of those slots in the door where my meals could be slipped in, so I’d never be distracted by such an ordinary thing as leaving my computer to eat.”

  She smiled, but it was remote, not like her earlier expressions. Come back to me, Charley. Come back to me.
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br />   “You’re a writer.”

  Careful. His grin was crooked. “When I was little, all my friends wanted to be professional ball players. I wanted to be Michener.”

  “So,” she began, sparing a quick smile up at their waiter as their meals were deposited, “why aren’t you?”

  Why aren’t I? “Too practical, I guess. I let a little thing like paying bills get in the way of suffering for best-sellerdom.” That, and a greedy ex-wife. But he wasn’t here to talk about himself. Casually he shifted subjects again, trying to restore her accessible mood. “So now I teach instead of do. What about you? What do you do in that cute little lab coat? Trying to find a cure for the common cold to put a zillion over-the-counter drug companies out of business?”

  You’re losing her, Jess. Instead of responding to his playful banter, she grew more distant, more quiet. Like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  “Nothing quite so vague as that,” she answered solemnly. “We’re researching juvenile diabetes. It’s been kind of an obsession with me ever since my brother was diagnosed with it twelve years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” His fingers slipped over the tips of hers for a quick, supportive press and she melted. He could see the crisp reserve thaw as she soaked up his tenderness like a thirsty sponge.

  “Oh, please don’t be. Robert would hate that. He absolutely refuses to let anyone feel sorry for him. So I do what I can in ways he can’t object to.” She shrugged off her noble intentions with a little laugh. “He’s a great guy. You’d like him.” As she said that, her gaze canted up shyly and the connotations smacked Jess in the chest like a baseball bat to the ribs. He sucked in a quick breath.

  “I’m sure I would.”

  He tackled his meal with single-minded vigor. He didn’t want to meet her brother. He didn’t want to hear about her noble causes. He didn’t want her to smile up at him as if he were some wonderful nice guy. Those things were too taxing on his jaded heart. He had to push them away if he was to do what he’d set out to do. To find out why she’d taken the damn reward. He didn’t want to like her. It messed up his focus.