Pride lifted her chin slightly before she replied, “Perhaps you did. I don’t recall.”
“I know it’s a difficult name.” He peered at her thoughtfully. “Think about rope—a hangman’s noose. That might help.”
She tossed her head in a haughty gesture. “It might.”
“And I’m Nolan to my friends,” the other man offered, completely unaware of the tension sizzling in the room.
Cord nodded. “Thanks. Well, I think I’ll go clean up for dinner.” He looked down at Tess. “Or will you be needing the bathroom?”
She appeared surprised by the unexpected change of subjects. “I—no. Feel free.”
With a brief nod, he turned to go, but was halted when Tess called, “Oh, by the way … Cord?”
He looked back over his shoulder, surprised to hear her use his first name. “Yes?”
She moved out from under Nolan’s arm, taking a step toward him. She seemed apprehensive. “I was hoping…” She clasped her hands together before her. “What I mean is, usually Nolan has the room you’re using when he drops in. I was wondering if you’d mind sharing it with him. We’d roll in another bed, of course. You see, with room twelve out and all…” She wet her lips and waited.
Nolan leaped into the breach. “If it would be a bother, I’m sure I could get Kalvin to put me up.”
Cord hid his surprise that Nolan and Tess were not sharing her bed. Slowly, a grin spread over his face. “No problem, Nolan. Be my guest.” When he turned away, he was still smiling. So Tess wasn’t sleeping with Nolan Lamont. He cocked a speculative brow.
NOLAN HELD THE DOOR for Tess as they headed out on the darkened patio. She stifled a yawn. It had been a long, stressful day for her, and this surprise visit from Nolan was taking its toll.
“You’re not tired, are you?” Nolan asked.
She took his arm. “A little. It’s getting late….”
He chuckled, walking her toward a vacant table. “Nonsense. Didn’t you promise me a round of bridge?”
“Oh, but Nolan, the game of charades took longer than I thought it would,” she said. “And besides, even with that biology teacher—Fred something—we don’t have a fourth.”
“I play.”
Tess straightened. Cord’s voice had come from the shadow of a twisted old apple tree that stood at the edge of the patio. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and she could just make him out. His lean, sinewy form was draped casually against the crooked trunk. It occurred to Tess that if he could have found a straw, he’d have been chewing on it.
He cocked his head in mute greeting. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came out here to enjoy the breeze off the lake.”
“Why, hello, Cord,” Nolan said with a friendly smile. “Missed you at charades. Tess, here, is a master of mime. She can say more with her expressions than most people can with a full dictionary at their disposal.”
Cord ducked under a low limb and ambled over, lanky and in control. Her world teetered slightly. She wanted to run.
“Is that so?” he asked, a parody of a grin flickering across his lips.
Tess heard the sarcasm in his words. She forced her frozen lips to curve into a semblance of a smile, matching his, counterfeit for counterfeit. “I gather you’re not much for group activities,” she remarked archly, her nerves wound taut again. Why could she never be around this man without feeling as though she was standing on live electric wires?
“Depends on the group,” he drawled. “I gather your team won.”
Nolan hugged Tess to him. “Naturally. So you play bridge, Cord?”
“Sometimes.”
“Great, then we have a fourth. Why don’t I go round up Fred and grab us a pot of coffee?” He gave Tess a quick peck on the cheek. “See you two in five.”
Tess’s sigh was audible when he had gone.
“Anything wrong?”
She turned back to face him, blurting, “No. Of course not. Do you—do you happen to have a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “And you shouldn’t, either.”
“Please,” she exhaled tiredly. “Don’t lecture me.”
“Sorry.”
He didn’t sound particularly sorry. She turned toward the lake and was surprised to see two figures walking up the garden path. One was unmistakably her Aunt Jewel. The other, a man, she couldn’t place. Jewel was holding the man’s arm. More to herself than Cord, she whispered, “Who in the world is that?”
“Quillan Quimby. He’s a retired English professor, here with his granddaughter, and a member of the Champ search team. It seems both Jewel and Quillan have an abiding love for John Donne’s poetry.” Cord chuckled.
She smiled in spite of her mood, watching the couple’s leisurely approach. “He must be a nice man.”
“Liking John Donne makes a man nice in your book?”
Casting him a disdainful look, she said, “It shows a certain degree of sensitivity, yes.” She turned away, but not too soon to see the glint of his teeth. Why was he grinning at her? He was such an irritating man!
“I see,” he remarked quietly. After a brief pause, he began.
Goe and catche a falling stare,
Get with child a mandrake roote,
Tell me, where all past yeares are,
Or who cleft the Divels foot,
Teach me to heare Mermaides singing…
Tess turned back to stare at him as he watched her. His expression now solemn, he recited John Donne just above a whisper,
Or to keep off envies stinging,
And finde
What winde
Serves to advance an honest minde…
He pursed his lips. “Shall I go on?”
She shot him a withering look and turned away. Why did he have to thwart her at every turn? “Don’t bother.” She said the words slowly, watching her aunt and the white-haired stranger approach. “You proved your point.”
“Just what point did I prove?”
“That even ax murderers can memorize poetry. Maybe I’d better go check out this Quillan Quimby.” She stalked away from him, heading toward her aunt. When she reached the couple, Quillan was assisting her aunt up the step to the patio. “Aunt Jewel,” she said, taking her aunt’s free hand. “I thought that was you.”
“Oh, Tess, dear, what a lovely surprise.” Jewel’s voice lilted with laughter. “I want you to meet Quillan Quimby, recently retired professor of Elizabethan and Jacobean poetry from the English department at the University of Vermont in Burlington. Is he not a gift sent from heaven?”
“Well—I—yes, he certainly seems so. Mr. Quimby—” Tess shook his hand “—Dr. Redigo was just telling me how much you like John Donne.”
The professor, tall and thin, with the good looks of a silver-haired Cary Grant, pressed his fingers around Tess’s with a warmth as friendly and gentle as his smile. “How do you do, Tess,” he said, his voice strong, yet slightly raspy. “Your aunt has done nothing but sing your praises.”
Tess laughed nervously. “Well, I certainly hope your next walk will involve more interesting conversation.”
Quillan squeezed her fingers before releasing her hand. “On the contrary. She was explaining your wonderful name—Mankiller. She tells me that you are half Cherokee Indian. You see, I’m a thirty-second Shawnee, myself. And—” he gestured toward someplace behind Tess “—Dr. Redigo is one-eighth Osage. Join us won’t you, Cord?”
Tess’s jaws locked. Was he still there? She heard the tap of his boot heels on the bricks as he approached. Quillan was chuckling. “Why, between the three of us, I’ll wager we could take this inn away from you palefaces, Jewel.”
“Palefaces?” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know a pale face from a pumpkin pie.” She tugged her hand from Tess’s and wrapped her shawl more securely about her shoulders.
“Are you chilled, Jewel?” Quillan asked softly.
“Perhaps, a little.” She smiled i
n his direction. “I could ask Sugar to brew up some tea, if you would read some of your poems to me in the morning room. Very few guests go there, except to get a book from time to time.”
“Wonderful. I’ll settle you in, and dash to get my portfolio.” He turned to Tess and Cord. “If you two will excuse us?”
“Of course,” Tess offered with a smile. She liked Quillan. It was evident that her aunt and the professor had become fast friends very quickly. She had a thought. “Oh, Quillan? Where is your granddaughter?”
“Asleep. She and I have drawn the 6:00 to 10:00 a.m. shore surveillance watch.”
Jewel gasped. “Oh, heavens, then you need to get to sleep, too, Quillan.”
He laughed, patting her hand. “Never mind me. I thrive on very little rest.” Coaxing her forward, he added, “Especially when in the company of a lovely woman.”
They’d disappeared inside before Cord said, “Good-looking couple.”
She faced him, finally. “For once, we agree on something.”
His expression grew somber, somehow sad. “Look, Tess, I’ve been wanting to—”
“Hey, you two, I’ve got the table set up and the coffee’s ready.” Nolan waved from the door. “Let’s get started. Fred’s shuffling.”
Cord’s eyes had been so luminous, so sincere as they’d held her gaze, but when Nolan called them, he looked up, breaking the spell. Tess felt like a string had been cut, and had the oddest sensation of stumbling, but she hadn’t moved a muscle. She wanted to curse. What had Cord been going to say to her that had made him look so seductive…no! She grimaced. Not that. At least she didn’t believe his look had been knowingly sensuous. His eyes had been earnest, fervent. Full of emotion.
Something had happened between them—for one split second—something very close to what she’d wanted to happen thirteen years ago. Or had it? Was it just the play of light that filtered out from behind lace curtains?
“Coming,” Cord called, sounding strained. With a hand at her elbow, he maneuvered her toward the inn.
“What were you going to say?” she whispered.
“Not now,” he murmured under his breath. “Look, I don’t want to cause any more hard feelings between us. Are you going to hate me if I beat you at bridge, or would it help if I let you win?”
“Let me win? You and who else?” Old irritation surged up her spine.
“Fred.”
“I’ve never come up against such a colossal ego!” she spat out, never raising her voice, but each word quivered with tension.
“There’s not much night life on Grande Comore. I’m damned good at bridge.” He’d said it matter-of-factly, without pride or affectation. “I just thought you—”
She laughed shortly and without humor. “Modesty just might become you, Doctor. Why don’t you try it sometime?” Hurrying ahead of him, she took Nolan’s hand. “Let’s go. I feel my second wind coming on.”
Nolan grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“Cord thinks he’s going to beat us,” she remarked loud enough for her tormentor to catch.
Nolan snickered. “Oh, he does, does he? Well, we’ll show him a trick or two.” He put his arm across Tess’s shoulders and led her toward the drawing room. Though Tess had won a verbal round with Cord, in the pit of her stomach, she didn’t feel particularly triumphant about it.
AFTER TWO HARRIED DAYS entertaining Nolan, Tess once again busied herself with concerns of the inn. She took her aunt’s breakfast tray out to her and chatted a few minutes with Jewel, Quillan and his eleven-year-old granddaughter, Natalie Quimby-Park. Once back in the kitchen, she settled into a straight-backed chair at the long kitchen table and tried to concentrate on writing the week’s menus.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sugar gyrating near the sink, earphones in place, and peeling apples for pies. Every so often she bellowed an off-key “Yah-yah-yah—whooooooooo!” which wrecked Tess’s already marred concentration, but had no effect whatsoever on Virge, who was in his corner chair, sound asleep.
Tess flipped a page in her notebook, her mind only half on her work. The other half was trudging along a well-rutted path that led to Cord Redigo. He and Fred Summerfield had trounced them at bridge the other night. Cord had been painfully patronizing, suggesting the cards had just fallen his way. She made a face. Sure, like Niagara Falls was just a slow leak!
He was good. She had to admit it, if only to herself. Two grand slams? He was more than good. He was damned good.
The rest of the weekend, even though Nolan had kept her busy, she’d seen enough of Cord to keep her emotions tied up in knots. Continually thwarted by her faltering ability to ignore this man who so badly needed ignoring, she jerked a hand through her hair for lack of a better outlet—such as drawing and quartering a certain cocky marine biologist.
“Mornin’,” Cord called as he bounded down the steps two at a time. “Coffee smells good.”
She closed her eyes and drew a calming breath before facing him. “Help yourself,” she offered as blandly as she could.
“You?” he asked as he drew a mug from the shelf.
She met his gaze. It was warm, questioning. She stifled an urge to be affected by it. Shrugging, she feigned disinterest. “Sure.”
She hadn’t figured into her blasé response that he’d have to bring the cup to her; that she’d have to smell the pleasant, early morning richness of his cologne, or have a front row seat for his crooked grin.
“What are you doing?” he asked casually, turning a chair around backward and swinging a leg over the seat to straddle it. When he’d settled down, his thigh brushed hers.
She shifted in her seat, separating them a fraction. “Working on this week’s menus.”
He peered down at the page she was working on. “What’s this?” A long, tanned finger pointed out one item.
“Baked halibut,” she deciphered.
He raised a brow. “That’s what I thought.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
He smiled at her, making her stomach flutter. “I have some very close friends who are halibut.”
She almost smiled in spite of herself. “I’ve heard that halibut are not very discriminating fish.”
He gave her that half smile that heated her dreams, and took a sip of his coffee.
Avoiding blue eyes that taunted and teased, she made a show of writing “Dr. Redigo: Peanut butter sandwich.”
“Grape jelly,” he suggested easily.
Not looking up, she scribbled the addition. “We don’t usually cater to our guests this way.”
His chuckle drew her gaze. “You’re too good to me, Miss Mankiller.”
She swallowed at the warm, honeyed feeling in her chest that his soft laughter evoked.
Virge’s loud snore drew their attention. Tess put down her pen and sighed heavily, looking at the inert form in the corner.
“What exactly is his job here?” Cord asked.
“Janitor.” She shook her head. “I envy Virge. He’s such a lazy slob, and yet he’s still so well loved—” She wondered what had possessed her to say that. And to Cord of all people. Wishing she could bite off her tongue, she cast him a surreptitious glance. His expression had become quizzical, but he said nothing. Plucking up her pen, she flipped a page, muttering, “I need a cigarette.”
Movement at her side surprised her. Did Cord have cigarettes? She thought he’d said he didn’t smoke.
“Here,” he said, handing her a stick of bubble gum. “Sometime when you have a few minutes, read what the surgeon general has to say about smoking.”
She looked up and caught her breath. His smile was rich, delicious. Her dazed reaction made her angry—more at herself than him. Still her anger, sensible or not, made her want to slap the grin right off his face. But Sugar would surely notice and then nag her endlessly to get at all the sordid details. Nothing was worth that kind of interrogation.
Collecting herself, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “What exactly is y
our mission on this planet, Doctor? To follow me around and make me crazy?” She snatched the gum and fumbled with the wrapper.
He brought his coffee mug up to his lips and blew softly into it, his eyes searching hers across the rim. “Do I do that?”
His soft gaze stirred her and she squirmed a little. “Only in the least complimentary sense of the word.” Wanting to do something to offset his unsettling look, she shredded the paper from the gum and tossed the stick in her mouth, chewing furiously. “Well,” she fairly shrieked, though she was trying to keep her voice low, “Don’t you have a snappy comeback?”
“Nothing comes to mind,” he said with a note of seriousness that portended intimacy. “How about a boat ride?”
“A what?” She was taken off guard by his change of subject and the odd tone in his voice. A boat ride—alone with Cord Redigo? “Not a chance,” she told him in no uncertain terms. “You forget, we’re not exactly chums.”
He lifted a brow, but his smile didn’t waver. Apparently he’d anticipated her rejection. “Maybe we can change that.” He took her hand, jarring her, and went on, “I need to move some infrared camera equipment out to an island. Everybody on the team is either asleep or on watch.” Standing, he tugged on her fingers in mute appeal.
“I—I don’t go out on the lake much,” she stammered, thrashing around for an excuse as she felt herself weaken. “I almost drowned once … when I was five … in a lake….”
“Fate’s interesting.” His grin was artless, endearing. “I grew up in the middle of the country and became a marine biologist. You’re afraid of lakes and you live on one.”
She didn’t know how it happened, but she was standing now, her fingers entwined with his as he gently coaxed, “What do you say?”
She knew she would go. There was just enough of that sixteen-year-old fool inside her to keep her from being intelligent about this. Her gaze dropped to his hand, holding hers. “Well, for Champ’s sake…” She sighed, feeling bitterly betrayed by her own good sense. “I guess I could help.”
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