Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  “No, no—”

  “It is to me. Turns out, I didn’t make them like you at all, I only made them the way they would have to be to please me. I did the same with you. I saw something in you that was never there.”

  “If you are determined to think I could have written that article, then you never saw me at all,” Clare said, her voice strained. Swinging around, she stood with her back to him and her head held high to prevent the tears in her eyes from running down her cheeks.

  “I wish I never had,” he said, a hollow sound in his voice.

  “So do I,” she whispered.

  The only reply was the sound of the door closing behind him.

  What could she have said to make him believe her? Nothing. The evidence against her was too damning. Janine had seen to that.

  Janine. Clare might have accused her, though the time to have done that was the minute she suspected her. And yet, with the evidence against Clare lying in front of the two men, how could she expect them to believe anything except that she was trying to shift the blame?

  No, Janine had chosen the perfect form of revenge. She had repaid Clare for daring to come between her and the man she wanted, for every impertinent word and smile, every embarrassment, every moment of listening to Clare dictating terms to her. If she could not have Logan, then neither would Clare; that had been her promise, and she had made good on it. For all her tongue-in-cheek championing of Clare’s right to publish the story of her sojourn with Logan, Janine had known he would be disgusted by the idea.

  Clare had also made it possible for Janine to pursue Logan. While the contract was in jeopardy, he had tolerated her pretense of an affair. Now that it was signed, now that he had some idea of the lengths Janine would go to command his attention, he need do so no longer. Though Clare could not be sure, she suspected it was only Logan’s compassion for Janine’s need to pretend that had made him go along with her. Other men had used her, and though she had encouraged Logan to do the same, Logan was not like other men.

  He had so much understanding, did Logan Longcross, and yet he still thought she had written such a piece of trash. How could he? Why couldn’t he trust her? Why did he have to tear her down to Janine’s level? She hated for it to end this way, with her guilt forever established in his mind. He would always think of her as the woman who had wormed her way into his life and profited from it.

  There could be no doubt that this was the end. The screenplay was done, the contract signed, Logan was free of Janine. There was no need for her to stay, and in all truth she would just as soon not see Logan again. To have to face him over a breakfast table and make polite conversation as if nothing had happened was more than she could stand. There was no need for him to release her from this masquerade. She was under no obligation to remain. She would release herself. All it would take was a phone call. With a little care, he would not even know she had gone until morning.

  Twelve

  Clare pushed her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets and ducked under the limb of a snow-laden spruce. The piled flakes sifted down, catching in her hair, but she did not mind. They were so light and dry, and soon she would be where there were none. Her ankle was nearly healed; this long walk in the woods proved it. She no longer had any excuse to linger. She was perfectly capable of making the long drive home, as soon as her car was ready. It was taking an unconscionably long time for the garage to get it fixed. She had called the day she had left the lodge and been told it would only be twenty-four hours before it was finished. That had been almost four days ago. It was beginning to look like she was going to have to call them again. There was a limit to how long she could trespass on Bev’s hospitality.

  Not that Bev minded; far from it. She had been great. She had appeared within the hour after Clare had called her from the lodge, before Logan had returned to his room. It had not been the easiest thing in the world, helping a semi-invalid leave a busy place like the lodge virtually unnoticed, but Bev had done it. At least they had managed to go without running into any of the people Clare most wanted to avoid: Marvin and Janine Hobbs, and most of all, Logan.

  It had been impossible to keep what had happened from Bev. It had been nearly as difficult, once her friend knew, to keep her from racing back to the lodge and giving all concerned a piece of her mind. In a fine rage, she had railed at the perfidy of women of a certain type and the incredible shortsightedness of men, excepting her John, of course. She did not have to be told Clare was in love with Logan. That had been evident to her for days, she said. The only wonder was that Logan himself wasn’t aware of it. He could not have the normal preoccupation with himself and his effect on others of most actors, or he would have guessed it long ago. It was odd, really, for if it wasn’t his ego that was smarting at Clare’s betrayal, why was he so upset? So his privacy had been violated? It was not the first time. As for his disillusion, it would not have made him so angry if it had not also hurt him — now, would it?

  Clare only shook her head at such arguments. Bev had not been there when Logan had told her what he thought of her. She had not felt the fine cutting edge of his contempt.

  Talking with Bev had helped Clare to decide what she was going to do once she was back home. Finally, after so many days, so many delays, she and her friend had been able to discuss Clare’s articles. She had liked them, finding little to criticize, though Clare, at this point, was uncertain whether Bev sincerely thought they were that good or if she was being complimentary in order to distract Clare’s thoughts. Much discussion was given over to Clare’s choice of jobs, the real-estate office and freelance writing, or a change to the women’s section of one of the big dailies. In the end, Clare, prodded by the memory of the effects Logan had been able to achieve with his themes and characters, had decided to stay with office work for a while longer, writing in her spare time. People were more interesting than charity bazaars and weddings, even if being too close to them did bring pain. It was always possible that her skill with words could be turned in a new direction, toward the creation of fictional people, or else toward biography, in-depth studies of individuals and what made them act as they did. She was anxious to try, at any rate.

  In truth, she was anxious to be gone. The sooner she returned to her old routine, to flat land and rain instead of mountains and snow, the better it would be. She could not begin to forget as long as she remained here. Everywhere she looked was something to evoke a memory: evergreens, slopes of snow, frozen streams, blue winter skies, snapping cold, or the warmth of blazing log fires — everything. Though she was annoyed with herself for it, Bev and John were most disturbing of all to Clare. Their affection toward each other, their good-humored teasing and casual intimacy, were sometimes more than she could bear.

  Bev, almost as if she guessed what was troubling Clare, said nothing against her leaving. She did insist that Clare plan to come again in the summer, or else promise to try a skiing vacation again the next winter season. Clare did not commit herself. In six months or a year she might be able to face the prospect of a return; then again, she might not. The decision would have to wait until then.

  Clare had walked quite a distance. Bev’s cabin was not so isolated as Logan’s chalet, but the road it was on ran past several houses, then curved away over a mountain meadow edged with forest land. Clare had followed the road, then crossed the snow-covered meadow to enter the woods. There was no chance of getting lost, not on such a clear day with her own tracks in the snow to guide her back to the road. Somewhere just ahead was an overlook that Bev had recommended as a destination, a high point that commanded a scenic view of the mountain range that included the peaks of Aspen, Buttermilk, and Snowmass. She hoped she came upon it soon. Already her ankle was beginning to feel the strain of climbing, and despite nearly two weeks at this high altitude, she still felt the urge for more oxygen in her lungs after exertion.

  Topping a small rise, she came upon the railed overlook without warning. Her gaze swept out and over a deep canyon with
snow-whitened, precipitous sides, and beyond it the saw-toothed peaks glistening icily in the sun with a background of far blue ranges. It was not quite the same view as from Logan’s house, but it was so near that Clare felt the breath stop in her throat, and she was assailed by such pain she could not move.

  Logan. She had tried to tell herself in these last few days that it was infatuation she felt for him. But surely nothing less than love could hurt like this? If it could, then she was ready to forgive Janine Hobbs for lashing out at whoever came between her and the man she wanted. For Clare, the only thing that made it supportable was the knowledge that, unlike Janine, she had never allowed Logan to guess how she felt. She could not have stood to have her emotions exposed to his ridicule, or worse, to his indifference.

  Regardless, she was glad she had been given the chance to know Logan and to love him. Even if she had known it would turn out the way it had, she did not think she would have changed anything.

  “Clare?”

  The sound of her name, a single word in a certain voice, released her. She swung around, her gray eyes wide and filled with dread.

  “Logan,” she whispered.

  He stepped from among the snowy evergreens and leafless gray aspens. He wore his down-filled navy nylon jacket. His blond hair, bare of covering, was ruffled by the light wind. The muscle in his jaw was ridged, and he hunched into his coat. His brilliant blue eyes held determination coupled with an uncharacteristic look of doubt.

  “How are you, Clare?” he asked.

  Clare disregarded the polite greeting. “How did you find me?”

  “Beverly gave me the directions — after I convinced her I had no sinister intentions toward you. When you left the road at the meadow, I followed your trail.”

  Clare’s lips tightened. “I have no idea how you got around Bev, but that doesn’t matter. What I want to know is why.”

  “I didn’t get around your friend, as you put it. I explained the reason I wanted to see you, and she thought you just might be interested in hearing it.”

  “All right, then,” she said, looking away with a lift of her chin. “What is it?”

  He did not reply immediately. Clare, her attention drawn by his silence, glanced back at him. He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed in a frown. As he met her inquiring gaze, he said abruptly, “Your car is ready. The garage called this morning.”

  “They called you?”

  “I’m the one who notified them of where it was in the first place, if you will remember. I left my number at the hotel with them, and the call was transferred to the lodge.”

  “I see.” She had given Beverly’s number when she had called to ask about it earlier, but it must not have been placed with the original repair order. “You could have left the information with Bev. There was no need to come after me.”

  He ignored the last. “Until the garage called, I thought you had probably left the state.”

  “No.”

  “I was glad to hear it. There is still the small matter of an interview I promised to you that was never given.”

  “That ... that’s all right,” Clare said, her control over her voice admirable.

  “No, it isn’t. The interview was in payment for several days of playing the role of my fiancée. You were good at the job. I owe you something, and I like to pay my debts.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing.”

  “Because of the tabloid article?” he asked, a strange note in his voice.

  “If you like.” Clare gave a small shrug.

  “I don’t like,” he answered, his voice rough, “because I know you never wrote that article.”

  Clare stared at him, searching his face in a suspension of belief, not quite daring to accept his words. The muscle tightened in his cheek once more; then abruptly he stepped toward her, pulling her against him, closing his arms around her.

  “Oh, Clare, don’t look at me like that,” he said against her hair. “I am so sorry for the things I said to you.” His lips brushed her cheek; then he kissed her eyelids, which tasted slightly of the salt of her tears.

  “But how do you know?” Clare asked in an attempt to slow her whirling senses.

  Logan let his hold loosen so he could watch her expression. “I couldn’t stop thinking of how you looked when you saw that paper, and of what you said. I found I wanted to believe you didn’t write that article. After I read it, I was almost certain you could not have. I had read some of your work, and the style of this piece was ... totally different. But if you didn’t write it, who did? I decided to find out. I made a few calls to people I know, but I was told the story had been called in to the paper by a woman who identified herself as Clare Thornton. I was told, however, that the woman had waived payment in return for an assurance that she would have a by-line. I know writers are proud, but that didn’t sound like a deal a hungry freelance would make. Looking into it further, I turned up one other lead. The man who had taken the picture of the two of us was the same photographer who had snapped Janine with me on the coast. I paid that enterprising gentleman a visit, and what do you think I found? Janine had paid him to take that picture of the two of us at the nightclub. What is more, she had called him with a hot tip about me and a girl at Snowmass. And it was Janine who had arranged for the photograph to be bought by the gossip sheet to go with the article she had provided for them.”

  Clare allowed herself a sigh of relief.

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “No,” Clare said. “I knew I didn’t write the article, but the list of people who were aware we had been together during the blizzard wasn’t that long. Janine was the logical one to suspect. But wait, are you saying you have been to California and back since I saw you last?”

  “That I have, and the odd thing is, I wasn’t the only one. On the return flight from Los Angeles I had company. It was Marvin Hobbs. His errand had been the same as mine.”

  “Trying to find out who had written the article?”

  “Exactly. While I was trying to be certain who was not responsible for it, he was making certain he knew who was. We had an interesting conversation while we were winging our way over the Rockies.”

  “Oh?” There was something in his tone that made Clare acutely uncomfortable.

  “He confided to me that he was about to take Janine on a nice long cruise to the Bahamas, and while they were gone they were going to straighten out their marriage, one way or another, though he had hopes that away from the country, and away from outside influence, they could salvage something of their relationship. I wished him luck — though for which solution to his problem with Janine, I carefully didn’t say.”

  “I can imagine,” Clare said dryly.

  “His problems were not the only subject of discussion. Marvin had some pointed observations to make concerning a conversation he had with you. It seems he somehow got the idea that you had a special reason for being interested in my script, and in how I might have felt toward Janine.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Yes, I am afraid he did. He told me you had admitted to him that you were in love with me.”

  Clare was still. There was nothing she could say, though the lashes shielding her eyes trembled slightly.

  “I don’t think Marvin would have mentioned it,” Logan went on in a reflective tone, “if I hadn’t said something which brought it to his mind. He appeared to think I had a right to know about it when I told him I meant to clear you of blame because I loved you.”

  “You what?” Her lashes swept up to reveal her startled gaze.

  “Don’t tell me you never guessed, my darling Clare, not after the lengths I went to, the things I put up with, to keep you with me. You didn’t really think I needed to be protected from Janine, did you? Oh, I will admit the engagement was convenient, but it was never really necessary. It came about in the first place because I didn’t like the way Marvin looked at you when he thought you had been my playmate while I was in hiding; it just went again
st the grain. Everything else followed when I discovered how much I would hate to part company with you. With Marvin and Janine and the business concerning the screenplay occupying my time, I knew there would be little left for my personal life. As your future husband, even in pretense, I could arrange to have you near me. I still wasn’t sure that you hadn’t dropped in on me for your own ends, but I was willing to overlook that, even to use it, so long as it allowed me to come to know you better.”

  “The thought occurred to me once or twice that you were extraordinarily patient with Janine for someone who was supposed to dislike her.”

  “Jealous, were you? No, why wouldn’t I be patient with her? If she stopped hounding me, you might have decided I didn’t need you around any longer and gone on your way — with your promised interview.”

  “A bribe,” she said, smoothing one finger over the nylon of his coat “It worked.”

  “Did it? I would have stayed without it, though it was nice to have you supply me with a reason for being with you.”

  “That bit of honesty deserves some recognition,” he said softly, and pressed a kiss of gentle passion to her parted lips.

  When he raised his head, Clare, a shadow in her eyes, said in an unsteady voice, “Janine knew how I felt — I suppose because she felt the same. That is why she went to so much trouble to be rid of me.”

  “That is the one thing I have regretted most about involving you in this,” he said, the pressure of his arms increasing. “If I had not kept you with me, you would never have been hurt. I died a thousand times before I could get back to you that day on the ski slope.”

  Clare drew a deep breath. “I made use of what Janine did to me, though. I think I should tell you that in spite of everything I have tried to do to convince you of my innocence, I have a scheming nature.”

  “Hobbs told me about your try at blackmail. He thought Janine was being suspiciously nice to him, and when he tackled her about it after the newspaper incident, the truth came out. He didn’t blame you. He seemed to think you were driven to it for the sake of something you believed in, the screenplay and — just possibly — the man who wrote it. For some reason I am inclined to take the same lenient view.”