by Gina Wilkins
Heather looked speculatively from Lydia to Cameron. “Well, hello. Did you two have dinner together?”
“Yes, we did,” Cameron said with a visible show of patience. “Lydia’s helping me with a project.”
“How nice.” Heather looked genuinely pleased. Probably, Lydia mused, because she had dined with someone other than Heather’s brother.
Relieved to have a valid excuse to escape this uncomfortable exchange, Lydia glanced at her watch. “I’d better be going or I’ll be late for my class. Heather, Scott, it was nice to see you both again. Cameron, thank you for dinner. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve had a chance to look over these papers.”
“I’ll walk you to your car. See you around, Scott. Good to see you, Heather. Give my regards to your fiancé.” Taking Lydia’s arm, Cameron nodded to his friends and led her away. Lydia was aware that Scott watched them until his sister urged him inside the restaurant. Cameron whistled beneath his breath as they approached Lydia’s car. “Boy, am I in hot water.”
“Why is that?” she asked, deliberately obtuse.
“You saw the way Scott was scowling at us. He didn’t like it at all that we had dinner together.”
Lydia shoved her key into her door lock. “That’s silly. There’s no reason for him to disapprove of our meeting this way.”
“No?”
“Of course not. Scott and I have met several times to discuss our work over lunch or dinner. This was no different.”
“I’m not sure Scott would agree with you. That was most definitely a no-trespassing look he gave me just now.”
She opened her door. “Ridiculous. He and I are just friends. If he says anything to you, you should make it clear there’s nothing more between you and me.”
“Since you aren’t involved with Scott, is there any chance you’d be interested in going out with me? On a real date? Dancing, perhaps, or maybe a symphony performance.”
She could hardly believe he’d actually asked. After a long social drought, it seemed she was suddenly being inundated with invitations from men, two of whom were the type of men who’d rarely paid attention to her before. But there was only one man who seriously tempted her to accept his invitations—and it wasn’t Cameron, charming as he was. “Thank you, but no.”
She saw no need to elaborate.
Cameron took the rejection well. He acted almost as if he’d expected it. He smiled and helped her into her car. “We’ll stick to business, then. I’ll talk to you soon, Lydia.”
She nodded and closed the door, thinking that maybe she shouldn’t be quite so generous with her “expertise” in the future.
“They make a very nice couple.”
Scott glared over his menu at his sister. “Don’t start, Heather.”
“Well, they do,” she said, all innocence. “I think someone like Lydia would be very good for Cameron. He’s been so rootless and unhappy lately. He needs someone who challenges him.”
“Cameron isn’t looking for a mate at the moment, so don’t start your matchmaking with him. And especially not with Lydia. Trust me, she and Cam couldn’t be more mismatched.”
“I think you’re wrong. I have a—”
“Don’t start talking about your ‘matchmaking instincts,’” he growled, interrupting what he knew was coming. “Face it, Heather. You aren’t that good at it. With the exception of yourself and Steve, you’ve never successfully matched anyone that I know of.”
She huffed indignantly. “That’s because no one will take my advice. If they’d just listen to me…”
He shook his head and set his menu aside, having little appetite for the dishes he usually enjoyed. The mental picture of Cameron and Lydia walking so cozily out of the restaurant was still plaguing him. The thought of Cameron’s hand resting so intimately at Lydia’s waist still made his hands want to clench.
Just what was going on anyway? With them—and with himself? It bothered him a great deal that he was no closer to an answer to the second question than he was to the first.
“I don’t know why you’re so surly about it,” Heather said with a pout. “You’re the one who told me you and Lydia are just friends. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Was it? Even Scott couldn’t define the relationship that existed between them at the moment. He only knew it was changing—and had been since the first time he kissed her.
“Let’s talk about your wedding,” he suggested. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”
She went along cooperatively enough with his change of subject, but he wasn’t able to put Lydia out of his mind for the remainder of the evening, no matter how hard he tried.
Lydia wasn’t really surprised when Scott called her late that evening.
“How was your class?” he asked.
“Fine. And your dinner with your sister?”
“The food was good, as it always is at Vittorio’s. Heather talked all evening about her wedding plans. She asked me to give her away.”
“That’s very sweet. What did you say?”
“That I would sell her, but I’m not giving her away. I’ve got too much invested in her to just give her away.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you said you would be honored.”
“Maybe something like that. So…you had dinner with Cam.”
It was a rather inane statement since they both knew she had, but she answered simply, “Yes.”
“You’re working with him on a story.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
“You make it sound as if I’m contributing more than I really am. He simply asked me to look over some papers—which I was doing when you called.”
“And will you be meeting with him again to discuss your conclusions?”
If she didn’t know better, she would swear Scott was acting possessive again. She answered briskly, “Yes, actually. He thought we would need to discuss it in detail. He’s taking me to the coast for the weekend so we’ll have plenty of time and privacy to, um, talk about his story.”
“He’s taking you where?” Scott nearly shouted the question in her ear.
She sighed loudly. “He’s not taking me anywhere, Scott. I’m going to give him a call and let him know what I think about the scientific evidence he’s been given for his story. That’s it, the total extent of my involvement. Any more questions?”
“You sound a bit annoyed with me,” he commented after a brief pause.
“Shouldn’t I be? You’ve interrogated me as if you suspect I’m involved in a crime.”
“I’m sorry. It…caught me by surprise to see you leaving the restaurant with Cam tonight. I guess I’m used to thinking of you as my own personal DNA consultant.”
Since she didn’t know what to say to that, she remained silent.
“Maybe we can get together this weekend to see that movie?” he suggested after a moment. “I’m free Friday evening.”
“I’m afraid I’m not. I’ve made other plans for Friday evening.”
“Oh. Working again?”
She grimaced. “Actually, I’ve made plans with Charlie’s friend, Gary.”
After a moment of silence, Scott asked, “You let Larissa talk you into it?”
“Not exactly. Gary called and asked me to attend a reception at his store, and I couldn’t think of a polite way to turn him down.”
“You could have used me for an excuse. You could have told him we’re seeing each other.”
“No. I don’t like to lie. And maybe the evening will be fun. It can’t hurt to give it a try.”
“Then I hope you have a nice time.”
He didn’t sound very sincere. “Thank you,” she said anyway.
“Well—I guess I’ll see you around, then.”
“Yes, of course.”
Lydia hung up the phone a few minutes later with the hollow feeling that whatever had begun to develop between her and Scott was over now. He wasn’t a man who would accept rejection well—and she’d repeatedly declined invitations from him since the
last evening they’d spent together. He was probably wondering why he’d bothered to ask.
It was a question that had been haunting her since he’d kissed her in her doorway.
He didn’t want commitment—he’d said so several times. He had his eye on a partnership and didn’t want to even think about a permanent relationship until he obtained it. She understood that. She’d been the same way, zealously guarding her career from anyone who might try to interfere with it.
Lydia and her sister had both learned from their mother’s mistakes and her many warnings during their formative years. Violet Hampton had been a premed student in college when she met Clayton McKinley and tumbled recklessly into love with the handsome athlete. A year later, Violet was married and working as a bank teller to put her husband through law school. Clayton had promised to return the favor; as soon as he completed his education, he assured her, she could go to medical school. It was only a two-year delay.
Larissa’s accidental conception had postponed the medical school plans. Lydia’s birth, followed three years later by Clayton’s death in a drunk-driving accident, had put an end to them. There had been an embarrassing scandal when it became widely known that Clayton had been with the young wife of one of the senior partners in his law firm when he died. The affair had apparently been going on for some time. Violet was left alone with two small children, a mountain of debts, a broken heart and a load of shattered dreams.
Too embittered by Clayton’s betrayal to ever trust another man, Violet had dedicated the rest of her life to her daughters, encouraging them to pursue their dreams, warning them over and over about those who would try to get in the way.
The sacrifices Lydia made to attain her current position had all been well justified, she thought. She loved her work. She was only months away from her doctorate degree, a goal she’d been working toward for so very long. She’d had nibbles from several prestigious research universities in response to the résumés she’d mailed out. She credited her mother with giving her the drive and confidence to set her goals high and go after them. But had Violet also made Lydia a bit too slow to trust—especially when it came to men?
It had taken Larissa a long time to find someone she trusted with her heart. With her dreams. And Lydia thought her sister had chosen well with Charlie, who would never interfere with Larissa’s art career. He was, in fact, her biggest fan and most ardent supporter.
Lydia had begun to question whether she would ever find someone like that for herself.
She wondered what Scott would look for in a mate after he achieved his partnership—as she had no doubt he would do very soon. Would he want a full-time wife? Someone to make a home for him and his children, to entertain his clients and represent him well at the country club and in the community? Someone whose only purpose was to make him happy? According to Violet, that was the kind of wife Clayton had wanted. And she had nearly destroyed herself trying to be that for him.
Lydia knew she would never be anyone’s “little woman.” Her work would always be too important to her for her to ever be able to walk away from it. She would like to think she could make time for a family; she knew other women who successfully juggled the demands of work and family, though she knew it wasn’t easy. Her own mother had managed to support her children while working her way to a vice presidency of the bank. It wasn’t the medical career Violet had dreamed of, but it seemed to give her some fulfillment. When she was diagnosed with late-stage ovarian cancer, she’d admitted that she’d neglected her annual checkups because she didn’t like taking time away from work.
Lydia had learned from that lesson, too. She’d guarded her health as faithfully as she’d protected her career.
She was guarding her heart now by avoiding an entanglement with Scott, she assured herself. She knew herself well enough to recognize that he posed the greatest danger to her emotional well-being since Kenny had hurt her so badly during graduate school.
She didn’t want to be hurt again. And it seemed to her that the safest measure was to make sure she and Scott never ventured again beyond the comfortable boundaries of friendship.
Chapter Eight
Gary Dunston had offered to pick Lydia up for the bookstore event Friday evening, but she had declined the offer, telling him she would meet him there. Already regretting the impulse that made her accept his invitation, she wished she had come up with an excuse and stayed home with a good book instead. She had a nagging suspicion that she’d accepted Gary’s invitation as a reaction to her real desire to spend more time with Scott. She wasn’t proud of herself if that was her real motivation.
That vague sense of guilt gave her extra patience during the less-than-successful evening. Ten people, including Lydia, Gary and the author, showed up for the reception and book signing. As far as Lydia could tell, the other seven were there for the free food. Considering that the snacks consisted of dry cheese on Ritz crackers, chocolate chip cookies poured from a bag onto a paper plate, and Hawaiian Punch served in paper cups, Lydia wasn’t sure it was really worth their effort.
The author signed two books. One of them for Gary. He spent the next hour and a half trying to convince Lydia that bacteria were sentient beings trying to establish an intelligent dialogue with their host bodies. Not even for the sake of courtesy could Lydia bring herself to spend her money on one of the inexpensively bound volumes in which he expounded on that ludicrous theory.
She turned to Gary in disbelief after he’d seen the author and the last food freeloader out of the store. “How on earth did that man convince anyone to actually publish that garbage?”
Gary cleared his throat. “Actually, he self-published. I agreed to carry a few copies in my inventory because I find his ideas interesting, if improbable.”
“Improbable? Gary, the man believes that he can communicate with bacteria! He thinks they’re controlling our actions through thought transfer. He’s a fruitcake.”
“It would make an interesting science fiction premise,” Gary said weakly.
“But he doesn’t think he’s writing fiction of any type. He seems to believe his theories. He said all diseases could be cured if we would just make friends with the microorganisms that cause them!”
“So you didn’t enjoy the evening?” Gary looked crestfallen, his round face drooping.
Now she felt guilty for speaking her mind. Guilt seemed to be her most common reaction to this man, she thought ruefully.
“It was a very interesting evening,” she assured her host, trying to make amends. “I didn’t agree with anything the man said, but I’ve certainly never met anyone else quite like him.”
Apparently cheered by her careful comments, Gary smiled again. “I have a nice bottle of wine in my apartment upstairs, and some better snacks than I served those moochers tonight. Would you like to sit with me for a while? We could talk about your work—the scientific, rather than science fiction, study of microbes.”
Guilt could only push her so far. “Thank you, Gary, but not tonight. I’ve put in a full day and have to get an early start in the morning. I really need to get some rest.”
His expressive face immediately drooped again. “Yes, of course. Um…the man who accompanied you to your sister’s party? Are you and he…?”
Now was her chance, Lydia thought, to use Scott as a convenient excuse. He’d even volunteered to serve. But she still couldn’t do it. “Scott and I are friends and neighbors.”
The spark of hope in Gary’s pale brown eyes made her wonder if honesty had been the right choice. If he had any real interest in her—and she’d done nothing to deliberately pique his interest—she certainly didn’t want to encourage him. “Some other time, then?” he suggested.
“Perhaps.” She kept her reply deliberately vague and unencouraging—the most she could do short of an outright refusal.
He seemed to be satisfied. Nodding energetically, making his curly mop of hair flop onto his forehead, he walked her to the door. “Are you sure there’s no
book you would like to take with you? My treat.”
It wasn’t the first time that evening he’d made the offer. Lydia declined, as she had the other times. “I really don’t have time to read for pleasure during the next few weeks. I have too much required reading to get through by the end of the school term.”
“If there’s ever anything I can provide for you, don’t hesitate to ask. I can obtain almost any book title you could possibly want.”
So could she, either through the university library or over the Internet. But she merely murmured, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No need. I’m parked right outside your door.” It wasn’t as if the small parking lot had been crowded.
“Okay, then. Good night, Lydia. Thank you for coming. We’ll see each other again soon.”
She nodded noncommittally and slipped out the door.
What had made her think she needed a social life? she asked herself as she slid gratefully behind the wheel of her car. She’d been doing perfectly well without one until now.
It was a week later before Lydia saw Scott again. As happened occasionally, they both turned into the apartment complex parking lot at the same time. Determined to behave toward him exactly as she had before they attempted their dating-for-convenience plan, she smiled pleasantly. “Hello, Scott.”
Tucking his briefcase beneath his arm, Scott approached her. He was smiling, she noted, but the smile wasn’t reflected in his dark green eyes. He looked tired. Maybe a little pale. And his voice was a bit gravelly when he said, “Hi, Lydia. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m not so sure you can say the same. Are you ill?”
“No. I’m fine,” he assured her, and then coughed.
“You’re coming down with something, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “I never get sick.”
“You have a peace treaty with your bacteria, I suppose?” she asked dryly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime.” She glanced up at the low gray clouds above them. “It looks as if it’s about to rain.”
