Star Bright

by Catherine Anderson

  The wonderful aroma of stew greeted her as she moved into the room behind him. “Your Crock-Pot creation smells divine.”

  “Good. But I’ll put off servin’ you for a while, all the same. I learned the hard way that starvin’ my supper guests makes them more appreciative of my less-than-stellar culinary skills.”

  “I’m not that picky.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, but I’ve tasted your cookin’. You’re used to better vittles than I can serve up.”

  “Not really. I usually have soup and a sandwich. It’s not much fun to cook for myself.”

  “Was it fun when you cooked for What’s-his-name?”

  Memories of Peter’s rages when a meal hadn’t measured up to his standards flashed through Rainie’s mind.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” She shrugged. “In answer to your question, no, it wasn’t fun to cook for him. He had very exacting tastes and wasn’t easy to please.”

  He gave her a long, unnerving study. Then he stepped over to a built-in wine cooler.

  She sat at the oak table, watching as he expertly uncorked a bottle. As he filled two crystal glasses with the pale pink liquid, he talked more about his house, telling her that he’d designed it himself.

  “Really?” She cast an admiring glance at the cabinetry. “Everything, you mean?”

  “Every last nook and cranny. I’m not very imaginative, so I went for practicality and convenience—lots of room for large family gatherings, heaps of storage, big bedrooms. I chose post and beam because of the settlin’ problems with whole-log construction.”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” she said, meaning it sincerely. The home’s rustic simplicity mirrored his character. If he’d opted for fancy and splendorous, the surroundings wouldn’t have suited him nearly as well. “I’d love to have my own place someday.”

  “Then I’m sure you will. You don’t strike me as the type to give up on a dream.”

  Rainie’s smile faded, for she had given up on all her dreams after marrying Peter. “You give me too much credit.”

  He led the way outside to sit on the porch swing to watch the sun set. After Rainie had perched on the swaying seat, he handed her one of the wineglasses. “Do you realize how critical you are of yourself?” he asked. “It’s one thing to give up on a dream and quite another to have it stolen from you.”

  She gave him a sharp glance, wondering how he’d developed the ability to read so much between the lines with such amazing accuracy.

  When she took a sip of the wine, she sighed at the taste. “This is lovely. I’ve never tasted this kind.”

  “It’s white zinfandel, mildly fruity. I like a good merlot occasionally, but I’m not into the dry, bitter stuff.”

  She took another sip. “Neither am I. Peter was a wine snob. His idea of good wine made my tongue shrivel.” She held up her glass. “Something like this never would have been allowed in the house.”

  He sat back, relaxing his broad shoulders against the wooden slats. “A wine snob, huh?” He pretended to shudder. “No wonder you left him.”

  Rainie relaxed beside him, acutely conscious of the warmth of his thigh against hers, even through two layers of denim. The evening breeze was soft on her face, and she breathed deeply of the now familiar scents: grass, alfalfa, grain, pine, and field clover. For the second time that day, she experienced the incredible sensation of simply being. Perhaps it was the surroundings—or some kind of magic that the man beside her emanated—but she felt content and at peace in a way that had eluded her for far too long.

  “You are so lucky,” she said softly.

  He gazed off across the fields at the gorgeous Cascade Mountains in the distance. “I really am,” he agreed without hesitation. “God has blessed me with almost everything a man could want.”

  “Almost?” She sent him a curious look. “It appears to me that you’re a man who has it all.”

  “Nope.” He gestured at the ranch. “I have so much, but no one to share it with. It’s kind of like cookin’ is for you: not much fun when there’s only one person to enjoy it.”

  Rainie understood precisely what he meant. Her life was lonely, too, the only difference being that she didn’t yearn to rectify that anymore. She’d done the marriage thing and learned the hard way that giving a man dominance over her life was a mistake she never wanted to repeat.

  They fell into a companionable silence, yet another thing about Parker that she appreciated. Though he loved to talk and normally entertained her with almost nonstop conversation, he was content with occasional lulls of quietness as well. She felt no need to think of something to say.

  Suddenly her stomach rumbled. He turned his head to look at her. Then he grinned. “Well, I reckon you’re finally hungry enough to endure my cookin’. You about ready to eat?”

  Rainie followed him back into the house and helped to set the table. He had gorgeous earthenware dishes in bright mix-and-match tones of red, yellow, green, and brown. She had to smile over his flatware, which was heavy and bulky stuff well suited to his big, work-roughened hands.

  “I’m not into dinnertime folderol,” he told her as he set the Crock-Pot on the table and stuck a ladle into the stew. “I hope you don’t mind paper towels as napkins.”

  “Not at all.”

  They settled down to eat their stew with a sleeve of saltine crackers lying between them. Normally, he said his meal blessing in silence, but tonight he crossed himself, took hold of her hand, and said it aloud. She enjoyed finally getting to hear the words. It was a simple prayer and over with quickly. She liked the fact that he didn’t drag it out as some people did, which in her opinion was more about impressing others with one’s piety than to express gratitude to God for providing daily nourishment.

  When he released her hand, he said, “Now for my dad’s version. Three beans for four of us; thank God there ain’t no more of us. Lay back your ears and dig in.”

  Grinning at his foolishness, Rainie ladled some stew into her bowl. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” After taking a bite, she made an appreciative sound. “This is wonderful. The meat almost melts in your mouth.”

  “Like I said, I can make a halfway decent stew. I fail miserably at everything else, except for steak and baked potatoes. I drive Quincy nuts.”

  “The spinach-shake fellow?”

  “You’ve got his number. Spinach, kelp, raw eggs—if it’s weird and raw, he eats it. I keep tellin’ him he’s gonna drop dead from food poisoning, but he says the most deadly of food poisoning comes from consumin’ the crap I do.”

  “Are your eating habits that bad?”

  He grinned at her. “Probably. I love canned chili, which he says is full of fat and hell on my cholesterol levels. I love chips, fried food, frozen dinners.” He shrugged as he shoveled in another spoonful of stew. “Hell, I eat like a bachelor. It’s not my fault I can’t find a woman who wants me, and even if I did, she might be a career woman with eatin’ habits as bad as mine.”

  Gazing over at him, Rainie marveled that he had escaped marriage for so long. She had a sneaking hunch that the true problem for Parker was that he’d never found a woman who measured up to his standards, not the other way around.

  They finished the meal in silence. Rainie burst out laughing when he offered her a Twinkie for dessert. She accepted and sank her teeth into its creamy center. “Yum. I haven’t had one of these in years!”

  “They don’t measure up to your homemade chocolate cake, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

  Smiling, he reached over to flick a bit of white from the corner of her mouth. His touch made her skin tingle, and her heart started to race. Not good. She was falling for this man. Falling hard. And all indications were that he was developing feelings for her as well. His eyes had gone cloudy with affection and tenderness. His usually firm mouth had softened to a shimmering temptation in the light from the canned ceiling fixtures.

&nb
sp; Panic welled within her. “Peter was older than me, a lot older,” she blurted.

  “He was?”

  “Yes, and so are you. Peter was wealthy, and so are you. He was influential in the community, and so are you. He was physically fit, and so are you. He was opinionated, and so are you. Remember when I told you my life is starting to feel like a bad rerun on television?”

  He sighed and sat back suddenly in his chair, reminiscent of that first afternoon when he’d startled her so badly by striking the chair legs sharply onto the tile. When had she lost that edge of nervousness around him? When had she grown accustomed to his raw masculinity and supercharged vitality?

  “What are you sayin’, Rainie, that I’m Peter all over again?”

  “There are similarities,” she said tautly. “Similarities I can’t ignore.” Her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed. “Being with him was the worst mistake of my life, and yet in the heat of things, I thought it was true love and incredibly right.”

  He searched her gaze, his expression solemn and thoughtful. “And now it’s happenin’ again?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replied, her panic increasing.

  “You don’t have to. This is the second time you’ve told me that your life is startin’ to feel like a rerun. That says it all. Well, let me put your mind at rest. I’m nothin’ like Peter. I don’t know the man, but I do know you, and when you first came here, you were obviously a dyed-in-the-wool city girl, so it’d take a long stretch for me to imagine that good old Peter was a rancher raised with the down-to-earth and sterling values that my father taught me. I’m also guessin’ that he was older than you by more than ten years. I’m also guessin’ that he was a mean, ruthless son of a bitch. I’m not.”

  Rainie stared at him through a misty blur, knowing that was true. She’d seen his patience with his horses, and more recently with Mojo. A cruel man didn’t allow a puppy to nurse on his armpit hair as it fell asleep because it missed its mother. A cruel man didn’t walk through piles of shredded newspaper and pretend they weren’t there. A cruel man didn’t shrug when that same puppy peed and pooped on his beautiful plank flooring.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. “I never meant to imply—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not offended.”

  She could still see the tenderness in his gaze and knew he spoke the truth. He really wasn’t offended.

  “There’s no sin in feelin’ afraid, honey. If you’re feelin’ like I’m feelin’, it’s pretty scary shit. And I haven’t been through what you have.”

  So, there, it was out. He was developing feelings for her. “What about our being only friends?” she asked, her voice gone thin with anxiety.

  “Aren’t we? Friends, I mean? I haven’t kissed you. I haven’t made any physical advances. For right now, all I want is to be friends. That wasn’t a lie.” He pushed at his empty bowl, fiddled with his spoon. “Let’s address each point. I’m only ten years older than you are. I know lots of people, both men and women, who have much younger spouses, and their marriages are great. In a successful relationship, it isn’t about age. It’s about understandin’ each other and enjoyin’ each other, and I enjoy bein’ around you. I really do.”

  Rainie enjoyed being with him, too. For the first time in far too long, she’d felt at peace today and in touch with herself. Something about Parker enabled her to let go of all of it and just be.

  “As for me bein’ rich, that was an accident of birth. I’m the son of a very smart, ambitious, hardworkin’ man who was generous enough with his kids to share his wealth before he died. It sure as hell isn’t my fault I’ve got money.”

  Rainie couldn’t help it. She snorted, trying to smother unexpected laughter. And in that moment, she realized a truly terrifying thing: She’d already fallen in love with this man. An indefinable something drew her to him like a hapless moth to a bug zapper. The relationship could never be. She was a married woman who couldn’t file for a divorce for fear Peter might find her, and Parker was a devout Catholic who wouldn’t even eat without praying over the meal first. Hello? Catholics didn’t believe in divorce, let alone committing bigamy. In short, any relationship between her and Parker was doomed. She could never undo the mistake of her disastrous marriage, and he couldn’t be with her until she did.

  And why was she even thinking about that? Marriage wasn’t for her. She’d tried it and hated it. In a very real way, it had nearly been the death of her. The very fact that the thought of marrying Parker had entered her mind should have paralyzed her with fright.

  “I can’t do this.” She said it without thought, which was an effect of Parker’s charm. In the beginning, she’d guarded every word she said to him, afraid of his reaction or of telling him too much, but somehow, over time, he’d assuaged her fears and lulled her into thinking it was okay to speak her mind. “I just can’t.”

  “I know.”

  That was all he said, two simple words, and yet they meant the world to her. He knew. She couldn’t do this, and he accepted that. With Peter, that had never been the way of it. When he’d asked her to marry him and she’d expressed her concerns about her internship and her dreams, he’d grown furious and accused her of placing more importance on her career aspirations than her relationship with him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be. Tomorrow is another day, darlin’. Right now, you feel overwhelmed. I understand that. You’re fearful about trustin’ again, and I understand that. No pressure. I’ll never ask you to go where you don’t feel comfortable goin’, physically or emotionally. You’ve got my word on that.”

  And when he said it, she believed him.

  Then he startled her into tearful laughter by asking, “Am I really that opinionated?”

  The answer was, “Yes,” only in an inoffensive way. Parker Harrigan had standards and morals and expectations of himself and others. Rainie couldn’t fault him for any of those traits.

  “No,” she finally replied. “You do have very cemented ideas about things, but I don’t really have a quarrel with any of them.”

  “Not even when it comes to spinach shakes?”

  What was it about this man that always urged her to smile, even when her heart hurt? “Not even then.”

  He nodded. “So what’s the problem, here, that I’m older than Methuselah, or that I’m just an all-around bastard, like good old What’s-his-name?”

  “I can only say there are problems, insurmountable ones.”

  He took that in, thought about it for a moment, and nodded. But then he looked her directly in the eye and said, “Nothin’ is insurmountable, honey. Until I can convince you of that, can’t we keep things as they are, with us just bein’ good friends?”

  Rainie almost said no, but the thought of doing so made her feel bereft. He was her friend, and her world was far less lonely now that he was in it.

  “If you promise me that you’ll never try to take it to another level, yes, we can continue as we are, just being friends.”

  Mellow light spilled over Peter Danning’s desk as he perused the printout that Riker had just delivered. The list of single female passengers who’d been aboard the Ocean Jewel the night of Lorraina’s disappearance was unimpressive. He glanced up at the private investigator.

  “It took you this long to come up with a list this short?”

  Riker’s lips thinned. “Getting my hands on a passenger log was no simple matter, Mr. Danning. Determining which female passengers traveled alone was even harder. These things don’t happen overnight.”

  “How about a list of the crew members?” Peter asked.

  “I’m still working on that. The cruise line is stingy with information.” When Danning looked sharply at him, Riker quickly added, “I’ll get a list of names. It will just take a few more days.”

  Peter resumed studying the list of female passengers who’d traveled without a companion. His gaze snagged on one name, Anna Pritchard. He whispered
it aloud. “My wife’s middle name is Ann.” He glanced up. “How long will it take you to check this Pritchard woman out?”

  Riker shrugged. “Probably not long. Why, do you think there’s a connection?”

  “The similarity of names may be a complete coincidence,” Danning replied. “But then again, maybe not. If Lorraina created an alias, she might have chosen something similar to her middle name to make it easy to remember.”

  Riker held his own copy of the passenger list. He underlined the name in question. “If she’s got a driver’s license and uses a credit card, I should be able to locate her in only a few days.” He gave his employer a questioning look. “What if it’s her? Your wife, I mean?”

  Peter’s jaw muscle ticked with suppressed rage. “Then your job will be finished, and mine will begin.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Rainie was ankle-deep in shredded newspapers and puppy toys, with Mojo hanging tenaciously from the hem of her skirt, when another knock came on the office door. For an instant, she thought it might be Frank, dropping by again for coffee, but this was a decidedly feminine tap. Rainie managed to pry Mojo’s teeth from her skirt and gather him into her arms before calling, “Come in.” She didn’t want the puppy to trash someone’s panty hose or slacks.

  When the door opened, she instantly recognized the woman from a photograph she’d seen on Parker’s wall last night. This was the lovely, blue-eyed Loni, Clint Harrigan’s wife.

  “Hello,” Rainie said, struck yet again by the incredibly soulful expression in Loni’s eyes, which was even more pronounced in person. She had a gaze that seemed to reach out and enfold you in warmth.

  “Hi,” the other woman said with a luminous smile. “I’m Loni, Parker’s sister-in-law. I meant to come over to meet you sooner.” She lightly thumped her temple with the heel of her hand. “Things have been crazy. A short time ago, I was a single professional woman who thought she’d never have kids. Now I’m newly married, have a ready-made little boy, and a baby girl born in March whose sole goal in life is to keep her mama running at high speed. I also think I may be pregnant again.”