Bridal Trap

by Rena McKay

  Trev ate rapidly and efficiently, Robyn more slowly.

  Afterward they went back to the waiting room where the nurse had told Trev the doctor would see them. He was older and grayer than Dr. Helgeson, but what he had to say, after introducing himself as Dr. Martin, was about the same.

  "I wish I could be more encouraging," he said regretfully. "But—to be frank, I'm surprised she survived the night."

  "Is she conscious?" Trev asked.

  "She opened her eyes while I was examining her but I'm not sure she understands what is happening around her."

  "May we see her?" Robyn asked.

  The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "I can't see that it could do any harm. I'll tell the nurse to let you in for a few minutes."

  It was all too obvious from the way he spoke that he was giving them a last chance to see her before she died. Robyn swallowed convulsively, eyes blurring with tears for the woman who had been like a grandmother to her.

  Robyn started to follow the doctor out the door, but Trev held her back until the white-coated figure was gone. She looked at him in surprise. "Don't you want to see her?" she asked.

  "Yes, of course I do." He hesitated, dark brows knit in a scowl, and Robyn was reminded of the way he had taken so long to work around to asking the favor of her the day he had come to her shop.

  "Would you prefer to see her alone? Is that it?"

  "No. I—I had a lot of time to think last night. You're right, of course," he said gruffly. "I should have done more for her while she was alive and healthy and could have enjoyed it."

  "Well, it's too late now," Robyn snapped. The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn't apologize. It was time he realized he hadn't done right by that sweet old woman who adored him.

  "Maybe not. Maybe it isn't too late," Trev said slowly. "Not to give her the one thing she wanted most."

  Robyn felt puzzled. What could he possibly offer Mrs. Barrone in her present condition? She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  "The thing that always seemed most important to her was seeing I was safely settled down—"

  "Securely married to some 'nice, sensible young lady,'" Robyn agreed. "But I don't see how you're going to accomplish that in the next five minutes. Unless on your recent 'business' trip you acquired a wife you haven't bothered to mention."

  "Of course not," he growled. "Don't be a fool."

  "Then I don't see how—"

  "I can't tell her I have a wife," he admitted. He hesitated. "But we could tell her the two of us plan to be married."

  Robyn stared at him in openmouthed astonishment before she finally managed to gasp, "You can't be serious! We can't just go in there and lie to her."

  "Not even to make her last hours happy?" he asked. "Look, what I'm saying is you were right. It is too late to do anything in the way of making life better or easier for her. For once I'm trying to give her more than a—a microwave oven. I'm trying to give her the peace of mind that will come from knowing I'm married, or going to be, to the kind of girl she'd approve of. It's the only thing I can give her now."

  "But lying to her—deceiving her—"

  "Do you think bringing her happiness in the last few hours of her life isn't worth a small deception?"

  "But she may not even be conscious," Robyn protested. "She probably won't understand what you're saying."

  A trace of a grim smile touched his mouth. "Then it can't do any harm to go in and say it."

  Robyn turned and paced the length of the waiting room. In spite of her doubts about doing what Trev wanted, it did show he had been giving some serious thought to what was really important to his grandmother. It made her see him in a somewhat different light.

  "Look, I'm not asking you to do this for me. Do it for her. If she's too far gone to understand what we're saying, then that's just the way it is. We're too late. But if she can still understand, she'll—"

  "Die happy," Robyn filled in.

  "If death can ever be considered happy," Trev conceded wryly.

  Robyn paced in the other direction, hands twisting nervously. Deception went against everything in her nature. She didn't like walking in and telling the elderly woman whom she loved a bold-faced lie. And yet, if it really would bring happiness and peace of mind in her dying hours…

  "What makes you think your grandmother would believe such a story even if she understands what you're saying?" Robyn asked slowly. She paused by the vinyl couch they had shared during the night and lifted her eyes to his.

  Trev shrugged, obviously growing impatient. "She thinks you're the greatest girl on earth. Why wouldn't I fall in love with you?"

  "Your grandmother is not stupid!" Robyn flared. "She's seen and read enough about you and your starlets to know what sort of woman you prefer. She knows you're hardly the type to consider marrying someone like me!"

  But even as she said it, Robyn knew that wasn't completely true. In spite of the book and the gossip columns, Mrs. Barrone still thought of her grandson as the little boy who came to visit, the little boy who buried treasure on the beach and always kept his promises. The kind of man who, when he finally married, just might choose a "nice, sensible girl."

  "Why me?" Robyn said slowly. "Why not call in one of the girls you really might marry some day? At least then it wouldn't be a complete lie."

  Trev sighed, exasperated with her reluctance. "Obviously there isn't time," he pointed out. Dryly he added, "And, as you seem aware, some of the girls I've been seen with are not exactly the type my grandmother would consider suitable wife material."

  Robyn was suddenly reminded of that time not so very long ago when Mrs. Barrone had actually said she hoped her grandson would marry a girl just like Robyn. Robyn had considered the idea as hopeless wishful thinking at the time. It seemed even more unlikely now that she knew the man personally. And yet, if Mrs. Barrone really believed it was possible…

  "As you've pointed out, what my grandmother approves of is a nice, sensible girl," Trev went on. Cynically he added, "And I'm also sure you could win hands down any 'Nicest Girl in Town' award. You're the kind of girl every mother hopes her son will bring home as his wife."

  Robyn stared at him, color rising to her cheeks. "You make being nice sound like some sort of loathsome disease!" she snapped.

  He shrugged, and his eyes suddenly narrowed in speculation. "Perhaps I was wrong. I thought you would want to do something to make her last hours happy. But maybe you're not so nice after all. How much money will it take to—ah—ease your conscience about a small deceit?"

  Robyn just stared at him again, shock and fury strangling her effort to speak. Finally she managed to gasp, "How dare you offer me money! I wouldn't take your money if—if—" Words failed her in her fury and she sputtered helplessly.

  Trev lifted a dark eyebrow. "Is that a new twist on the old cliché about 'I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth'?"

  "You—you're despicable!" All her earlier, kind thoughts about Trev vanished in an explosion of anger. She didn't know why he wanted to play out this farce, but it certainly wasn't because there was anything "nice" about him.

  "We're not here to discuss my character," he said abruptly, harshly. "Will you do it or won't you?"

  "Yes. Yes, I'll do it," Robyn managed to say. "And then I never want to see you again!"

  Chapter Four

  Had Mrs. Barrone understood?

  Robyn's palms felt damp with nervous perspiration as they stepped into the hallway from the intensive care unit, and she suddenly realized she was clutching Trev's hand as if her life depended on it. She released her grip abruptly, though Trev hardly seemed to notice. His face had a set, closed expression, and he turned away before Robyn could see his eyes, as if perhaps he didn't want her to see any emotion exposed there.

  Robyn's harsh anger toward him melted slightly. He hadn't been unaffected by their brief meeting with his grandmother. He had been tender with her, his voice gentle and soothing as he told her he and Ro
byn had fallen in love and would be married very soon. Then he had nodded to Robyn to speak and she had tried until her voice broke with emotion and she couldn't go on.

  "Do you think she understood what we were saying?" Trev asked now, cutting into her thoughts.

  Robyn hesitated. At first she hadn't thought so. Mrs. Barrone's eyes hadn't opened and her colorless face hadn't moved. She hardly seemed to be breathing. Her frail body was dwarfed by the bed and the jungle of tubes and bottles and trays around her. But when Robyn's voice broke, Mrs. Barrone's veined hand had moved ever so slightly as if she were trying to reach out to them. Both Robyn and Trev had reached for that frail hand and their hands had tangled and then joined with hers in a gesture of unity. Had she smiled then? Yes, Robyn thought, fighting back the tears, she had smiled. Just a bare twitch of the colorless lips perhaps, but a smile, followed by a look of peace, a relaxing of the lines on the wrinkled face.

  Robyn nodded. "Yes, I think she understood." And that made it all worthwhile, Robyn thought almost fiercely. So what if it was a deception? An outright lie, if you wanted to be blunt. It had brought Mrs. Barrone happiness and peace of mind and that was all that really mattered right now. And if perhaps she hadn't understood the actual words, at least she knew people who loved her were there.

  "Good," Trev said, his voice brisk. If he had felt any emotion, it was gone now. "Mission accomplished then. I'll take you home."

  Robyn looked up at him blankly, her eyes still misted with tears. She thought momentarily about arguing with him, telling him she would find her own way home or that she wasn't going home at all, but the effort to resist his will was more than she could muster. She nodded.

  His Ferrari was in the parking lot, sleek and gleaming like a beautiful cat. He opened the door and she slid into the bucket seat. In spite of her weariness she was conscious of the luxurious interior. He started the car and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.

  They drove in silence through the corridor of red-woods that flanked the winding highway between Redwood Valley and Caverna Bay, fog drifting in the tops of the towering trees. Robyn's thoughts kept going back over the scene in the hospital. How much longer could Mrs. Barrone last? Not long, that was all too obvious. All they could hope for now was that the end would be painless. And what they had done would make the end more peaceful for her.

  "I'm glad we did it," Robyn said in a muffled voice as Trev braked at Caverna Bay's one stoplight. "I really do think she understood and that it made her happy."

  Trev didn't comment. "Do you want me to call you when—if anything happens?"

  Robyn realized he was asking the question because of her angry outburst just before they had gone in to see his grandmother. She hesitated. His suggestion about paying her was unforgivable of course, but she had to remember he was under a great deal of stress and strain too. And her earlier attacks on him hadn't been exactly kind. There wasn't any point in continuing that sort of hostile antagonism, she decided. They would still have to see each other at the funeral. They might as well be civil to each other at least. She could invite him in for coffee.

  "Well, you seem to have company," Trev observed as he pulled to a stop behind the car already parked in her driveway.

  "It's just Larry. Larry McAllister. He's the artist who paints the redwood and ocean scenes I sell in the gift shop. He's probably here to pick up some driftwood mobiles I was supposed to have ready for him." Robyn's voice was hurried and then she was angry with herself for explaining. What did she care what Trev thought?

  She slid out of the car just as Larry came around the corner of the building. His glance jumped from Robyn to the sleek car and back again.

  "I was beginning to get worried," he said. "I tried to call you late last night, and then when you still weren't home this morning—"

  "Something's happened," Robyn cut in hurriedly. "I'll tell you about it later. I'll introduce—" She broke off sharply as the Ferrari suddenly shot out of the driveway.

  "Let me guess," Larry said dryly. "That was Trevor Barrone." He glanced at his watch. "Kind of early in the day for a date, isn't it? Or maybe you're just getting in from last night's date?" he added pointedly.

  Robyn was still staring after the car. Trev hadn't given her a chance to say, yes, she would like him to call when there was any news about Mrs. Barrone. For a moment she felt a sharp pang of disappointment, and then she resolutely put it down. If that was the way Trevor Barrone wanted to be, it was fine with her. She could call the hospital herself.

  "What's going on?" Larry asked, his gaze following Robyn's. "Lovers' quarrel so early in the game?"

  For a moment Robyn felt an unreasoning stab of anger at Larry. If he hadn't been here when they arrived…

  She fought the feeling down and briefly, without emotion, told him what had happened, leaving out only the part about what she and Trev had told Mrs. Barrone. That, she decided grimly, was something she would never tell anyone. For Mrs. Barrone's sake she wasn't sorry she had done it, but there was no need for anyone else to know about the deception.

  Larry looked chagrined when she was through. "I feel like a damn fool," he muttered. "You've been through all this and here I am making noises like a jealous boyfriend. And you've already made it plain I'm 'just a friend' so I don't have the right to be jealous even if you'd spent the night sleeping with him," he admitted.

  And that, Robyn thought guiltily, was another little point she'd glossed over. She hadn't exactly mentioned just how she had spent the night in that hospital waiting room with Trev. Not that it meant anything anyway, she assured herself firmly. She hadn't even realized she was sleeping in his arms until she woke up. And it surely didn't mean anything to Trev.

  She strode toward the door, resolutely putting all that out of her mind. "The mobiles are all finished," she said over her shoulder to Larry. "It will take only a few minutes to get them packed and ready."

  "No hurry."

  They went inside. Larry, comfortably familiar with her small quarters, turned up the heat and made coffee while Robyn showered and changed. She didn't know if her clothes looked slept in, but they certainly felt that way. She slipped into comfortable, chocolate colored velour pants and shirt, applied some light makeup and felt considerably refreshed by the time she went out to accept the hot coffee Larry offered.

  "I'll get busy on those mobiles—"

  "Relax," he said. "You look beat. Beautiful," he amended, "but still beat." He paused. "Mrs. Barrone isn't going to make it, I gather?"

  Robyn took a sip of coffee, then shook her head. "It's my fault," she said unhappily. "If I'd gone over when I should have, she wouldn't have tried to move those plants around herself."

  "But you said the doctor thought she'd had a stroke," Larry pointed out. "It could have happened whether she was moving the plants or not."

  "But if I'd found her sooner—"

  "Look, stop blaming yourself," Larry said almost roughly. "Where was the great author all this time? Why wasn't he there to move her damn plants or find her after she fell?"

  Yes, where was he? Robyn repeated slowly to herself as she sipped the hot coffee. She moved her feet closer to the warmth of the gas stove.

  "He said he was out of town on business," she said, repeating the curt statement Trev had made earlier.

  Larry laughed shortly. "What do you want to bet Trevor Barrone's 'business' had a name like Lola or Debbie or—"

  "He hasn't any reason to lie or sneak around," Robyn snapped. "No one is keeping tabs on him." Privately she suspected exactly what Larry was saying, but somehow she found it grating to hear him say it in so many words.

  Larry's eyebrows lifted. "Oh ho, what is this? Did I hit a sore spot?"

  Robyn set the cup down. "Look, I just find this all rather tasteless right now," she said firmly. "Mrs. Barrone is dying and that is all I'm concerned about."

  Larry was immediately apologetic again. Guiltily Robyn realized she had used Mrs. Barrone's condition to avoid any further discus
sion about Trev, discussion that she found oddly disturbing, though she couldn't explain why even to herself. It was certainly no concern of hers what kind of "business" Trevor Barrone conducted, except that this particular trip had had such disastrous consequences for Mrs. Barrone.

  Briskly she set about packaging the mobiles in individual boxes, labeling them with her own "Robyn Christopher Creation" labels with the distinctive little red-breasted robin emblem. When the mobiles were boxed, Larry carried them out to his car.

  At her door he said awkwardly, "I'm sorry. I know I don't have any right to ask nosy questions." He gave her a slightly crooked grin. "I suppose it's just that I'm still hoping that someday—"

  Robyn stretched up to give him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. "You're my very best friend, and I don't even like Trevor Barrone."

  "Sometimes you don't have to really like someone to fall in love," Larry said slowly.

  "Now that is a—a dumb statement if I ever heard one," Robyn said spiritedly. "Trev and I—"

  "See? Now you're calling him Trev," Larry pointed out. "That sounds pretty familiar to me."

  Robyn shook her head and laughed. "You're impossible." She started to close the door, but he blocked it with his foot.

  "Just don't forget my warning about Trevor Barrone," he said.

  Robyn laughed and waved him off. What she had said to Larry was true. She didn't like Trev. Oh sure, he was good looking and had a certain virility that was attractive—very attractive—in a blatantly physical way. But she hadn't liked him before she met him and she didn't like him now. Especially not after he'd made that crude suggestion about paying her, and even more especially after his abrupt departure today. That was rude to both her and Larry, and totally uncalled-for, she thought, suddenly angry with him again.

  She wandered through the small rooms restlessly.

  She didn't feel like sitting down in her workshop and tackling the painstaking work that making the agate and shell jewelry required. It would be a good day for going to the beach but she didn't want to be away from the phone. She went around front and picked up her mail. There were some business letters that should be answered but she didn't feel like doing that either.