6

TREY WATCHED CINDA for the effect of his words on her.

“Leave? But why? Because you almost kissed me? Or because I almost let you? I admit it was sudden. And unexpected. But—” Her expression mirrored her sudden concern for him. “Trey, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

“I feel a little pale, but it has nothing to do with our ill-fated kiss. May I sit down?” He was already lowering himself onto the sofa’s cushions.

“Of course.” Cinda sat with him, perching her daughter on her lap. The baby immediately clutched her mother’s heavy gold chain necklace in both fists and tried to stuff it in her mouth. Cinda held on to her daughter’s fists and turned to him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Should I call for Major Clovis? She is a nurse.”

“No. God, no. I don’t need a nurse. I just need to get a grip.” Trey sank back against the supporting comfort of the sofa cushions. His knees apart, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, he stared into Cinda’s mesmerizing golden eyes. “Cinda, I think we should—”

Chelsi let out a squawk, cutting Trey’s words off. She then pitched herself over in his direction, dragging her mother, via her gold chain, with her. “Oops.” Cinda righted herself and her daughter. “I think she wants you to hold her, Trey. You don’t have to—”

“No. Let me see her.” This was perfect. Exactly what he needed to do. “I love babies,” he said holding his hands out. “And I never miss an opportunity to hold one when offered.”

Cinda looked enormously pleased. “Okay. If you’re sure. Just let me get my necklace untangled from her fists.”

As she gently pried her daughter’s fingers open, Trey realized that he already felt a sort of kinship with this baby. After all, he’d been there when she came into the world. But right now, Trey wanted to hold the little girl for a reason not having to do with her own preciousness. Despite his misgivings of a few minutes ago, his not seeing how he could just blatantly ask Cinda what Richard had looked like, he decided that maybe one live picture—of himself and Chelsi together—was worth a thousand words. What he wanted to witness was Cinda’s first and honest reaction upon seeing him and her baby together. He felt certain her face would reveal her emotions, and he might as well know them now as later.

“Okay. There we go. Finally.” Cinda had untangled herself from her child. “I should know better than to wear anything she can get her little paws on.” With that, she scooped up her baby, holding the child up and out to him. “Ready? Be careful. She can be a handful.”

“About like her mother, I suspect,” Trey quipped, striving to sound light and humorous, even though that wasn’t how he felt.

Not yet handing the dangling baby over, Cinda looked at him questioningly. “No one’s ever said that to me before. Richard thought I was boring.”

“Which is why the yaks got him.” Trey heard himself—and saw Cinda’s startled expression. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

With a smile tugging at her lips, Cinda shook her head. “Actually, it was more funny than out of line.”

“Whew. Dodged that bullet.” Trey took hold of the soft and chubby little girl whose limbs were flailing wildly. “Come here, you.” He turned her in his arms and greeted her. “Why, hello there, Chelsi. How you doing, huh?”

The baby stuck out her tongue and gave him the raspberries, a rousing Bronx cheer, and chortled her happiness with her efforts.

“I think I deserved that,” Trey said mock seriously.

“Oh, God.” Cinda covered her eyes with a hand. “I am so embarrassed. Major Clovis taught her that.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Grinning, Trey focused on the baby. She was killer cute. He held her close to his face and turned toward Cinda. But the baby promptly grabbed two handfuls of his hair and, with more strength than he would have credited her with, pulled herself forward, her mouth open as if she meant to gnaw on his scalp. Making a sound of protest, Trey did his best to hold her at bay.

“You’ll have to excuse her. She’s teething,” Cinda explained benignly, not offering him any help. “Either that or there are cannibals in the Cavanaugh bloodlines.”

Trey was still fighting for his scalp, but this was just the opening he wanted. “Speaking of the Cavanaugh’s, what do you think? Do you see here the same thing that I do, Cinda?”

“If you mean a man trying to keep a baby from snacking on his head, then yes I do.”

“Not that. I meant not just any man and not just any baby.”

Shaking her head, Cinda gestured her confusion. “Okay, specifically it’s you and Chelsi.”

“That’s right. Me and Chelsi. And…?”

“Me?”

“Look again. Look closer. Do you see any resemblance here? Maybe between me and Chelsi and someone you knew and loved?”

Cinda’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

She really didn’t see anything. A bit heartened but still stubbornly pressing his point, Trey finally disentangled his hair and sat the chortling baby on his lap, facing her mother. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t see the resemblance here, Cinda? Look at us.” Trey divided his attention between mother and daughter. “Chelsi looks just like me.”

Cinda cocked her head, now looking from him to her daughter and back to him. “Do you really think so? I admit your coloring is the same. I mean your skin tone. But that’s about it.”

“Yeah? And our hair color?”

She considered them both. “Your hair color is about the same, too.”

“And our eyes?”

“Blue. Oh, I get it. This is good since everyone in Southwood will believe she truly is your daughter, right?”

This was very good. She was going nowhere near Richard. But Trey had to be certain. “That’s one way of looking at it. But I was talking about something else here.”

Looking perplexed Cinda crossed her arms over her chest. “Something that made you want to leave, you mean? Maybe you’d better just tell me what it is, Trey. In plain English.”

Inhaling for courage, he plunged ahead. “What did Richard look like?”

“Richard?” She stared a bit blankly at him. Then suddenly she sobered. “Ah. I see. I can’t believe I was so slow. You and Chelsi look alike, so you’re wondering if you and Richard bear any resemblance, right?”

“Yeah. I guess I am.” Now Trey felt deflated. He’d brought her to this point, only now he didn’t want her to think about it.

But Cinda looked just as pained as he felt. “I don’t really know what to say here, Trey, except I don’t know why it would matter. After all, we are just talking about one weekend of the three of us posing as a family. I mean, that’s all there is to this you-and-me thing, right?”

“Maybe.” Trey held on to Chelsi and found he couldn’t look the little girl’s mother in the eye right now. The air between them seemed to settle, as if the air conditioner had just shut off. Hell, he’d opened this can of worms, so now he had to go fishing—and risk getting stuck on his own hook. He settled his gaze on her and opened his mouth to speak. “Look, Cinda, I didn’t mean to—”

She’d held her hand up to stop him. “No. Allow me. Okay, look, I’m just going to say this. There is more going on here than your reunion. Between us, I mean. At least I hope there is, or I’m going to feel pretty stupid.”

“No need. I feel it, too.”

She nodded. “I want to say ‘good,’ but it’s obviously got you spooked, I can see that. Well, guess what? Me, too. Yet I’m thinking this topic, what Richard looks like, might be a bit premature. I mean, despite what this thing is between us, the truth is we hardly know each other. So wouldn’t it make more sense to postpone this until we see if we even like each other?”

She was right, of course. And he was an ass. “Cinda, I didn’t mean to put this out there like that. There’s a reason why women shouldn’t ever talk to men. We’re clueless.”

Finally she smiled. “No, you’re not. You’re actually very sweet. And I guess I should be flattered that you’d already be so far along in your thinking.” But then her expression crumpled, putting the lie to her words. “However, this has nothing to do with—”

Leaving her thought unspoken, she abruptly stood up. She held her hands out for her daughter. “Will you excuse us a moment, please?”

He wanted to say no he wouldn’t. He had a feeling he wouldn’t see her again if she left the room now. No doubt, Major Clovis would then come in, skewer him on a spit, and javelin-toss him out into the street. “Cinda, I didn’t mean anything by that. I really—”

“No, it’s okay. I get it, Trey. You want to be certain that I, in my delusional grieving-widow state, don’t think of you as a substitute for Richard. Am I right?”

Well, there it was. Everything he feared, and he had only himself to blame. “Boy, that sucks when said out loud, huh? Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you or insulted you, Cinda. It was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“I think on some level I know that, Trey.” She still held her hands out for her child. “It’s just that I, well, I need to put Chelsi down for a nap.”

“Oh.” Coddling the baby, Trey stood and handed her over to her mother. “Listen, if you want me to leave, Cinda, just say so. Maybe it would be best if I did, if we just forget everything and I go.”

She took her daughter from him and kissed the top of the child’s head. Then she looked up into his eyes. Trey’s heart thumped dully as he met Cinda’s gaze. A sudden instinct had him wanting to gather her and her daughter into his arms, hold them forever, and tell them that everything would be all right. But that wasn’t his job or his privilege, he quickly reminded himself.

Cinda inhaled and opened her mouth to speak. “No,” she said. “Don’t leave, Trey. That’s the last thing I want you to do. Please wait for me. I want to show you something.”

“All right.”

She turned away and Trey watched her go. She moved her slender body with ladylike grace that was somehow very sensuous. Just the way she walked, the gentle sway of her hips and the way her long, blond hair moved with each step…it was very affecting. It made Trey want to run after her and take her in his arms and tell her everything he was thinking. He made a tiny sound of self-deprecation. Hadn’t he just done that and with these wonderful results?

Wait for me, she’d said. He watched her turn a corner out of the room, leaving him there alone. Feeling very much out of place, Trey shoved his hands in his pants pockets and looked around. The room’s very quietness accused him. But off to his right were French doors that looked out onto an expanse of immaculate lawn bordered by friendly looking beds of healthy blooming flowers. Trey walked over to the closed, beveled-glass doors and stared out. Wait for me.

Should he? he wondered. Maybe it would be best for them both if he made his apologies and just left. He didn’t like to think he was chickening out, but, hell, it was obvious that Cinda was still vulnerable here. And he, well, he was awash in conflicting emotions himself regarding her. Trey shook his head. Teach him to get involved. Well, he wasn’t yet. Not much.

UPSTAIRS, CINDA SOFTLY CLOSED the door to Chelsi’s bedroom. The drowsy little girl was more asleep than awake. Cinda stood in the hall, listening to see if her daughter would fuss or take her nap. Waiting and listening, she leaned back against the wall, which had her facing three decoratively shaped windows across the way. Cinda planted her hands at her waist and studied her sandals. I could hardly wait to see Trey today. And he is every bit as gorgeous and nice as I remembered him to be. Yet he thinks I’m a pathetic widow who has him confused with her dearly departed husband.

Of course, Cinda realized, she had done nothing downstairs to dispel that notion. Again she saw herself making that pretty speech and then essentially fleeing with her daughter. Cinda winced at her own behavior. What must Trey think? This was not going the way she’d seen it in her mind. And, darn it, she had such a nice lunch planned for the two of them.

A happy gurgle of sound had Cinda listening again at the baby’s door. The little stinker was playing. Smiling, Cinda resumed her wait. She’d give the baby a few more minutes to settle in. As she did, she thought again about her dilemma. On the one hand, she didn’t owe him any explanations at all. They had no agreement, no arrangement. But on the other hand, it wouldn’t be so awful if they could come to one. She considered that, wondering how it would feel to have something real with a heart-stopping guy like Trey. An impromptu poll of her senses told Cinda she liked that idea.

But this Richard thing was evidently a stumbling block for him. A valid one, she had to admit, because she knew firsthand how it felt to be second-best in someone’s heart. Richard had been a man’s man, a person more at ease with a life of masculine pursuits and testosterone-laden adventures than he had been with home and hearth. And her. So maybe she owed it to Trey to show him that in the nearly year and a half since her husband’s death, she’d worked through all those feelings and had done her grieving.

She hated to admit it, but it hadn’t been all that hard. Not that she was coldhearted. And certainly, she was sad about his death. But she and Richard just hadn’t loved each other like they should have. That was probably the saddest part of it all. Still, Richard had seemed to have a pretty good handle on what he’d wanted from her. Loyalty and an heir. A good, quiet wife he didn’t have to worry about. A woman who would uncomplainingly keep his home fires burning while he globe-trotted from one adventure to the next.

He hadn’t been mean or even unkind. More like benignly neglectful. But once she’d realized that he would never be involved with her, that he might be fulfilled but she wasn’t, she’d retreated into her happiness at the prospect of having a child. But even that hadn’t been able to keep her satisfied. So she’d left. And then Richard had been killed. It was sad, she was sorry, and she had mourned him. But now, fifteen months later, she had it all in perspective and she could even think kindly of Richard.

So today was a little ironic, Cinda decided. Her greatest fear in the past six months had been that she, in her new-mother reluctance to get back out there and date, would become some needy, clingy female who glommed on to the first eligible male who crossed her path and would make him want to run. And that seemed to be happening because Trey had been in her company less than thirty minutes, and he already wanted to leave. Cinda thumped the heel of her hand against her forehead. Good, Cinda. You’re doing great here, girlfriend.

Totally demoralized now, Cinda twisted her lips. Maybe I’m not ready for this. Maybe Trey’s right. We should call this whole thing off. It’s only fair to us both. And to Chelsi. The last thing she needs is to get attached to a man who won’t be around long. And that’s the last thing I need, too.

There. That was good and healthy. Cinda pushed away from the wall at her back and listened yet again at the door. All was quiet. Good. Cinda turned to face the stairs at the end of the hall. If Trey Cooper was still downstairs, then she owed him hospitality, if nothing else. Cinda smoothed her hands down the front of her flower-sprigged summer dress and fussed with her hair. And stopped. And entertained second thoughts. You know what? Forget that. He’s not getting out of this so easily. I want to do this. So we are going to do this—whether he likes it or not. He made an invitation and I accepted it.

Now, that felt better. A whole lot better. Squaring her shoulders, Cinda marched with resolute steps toward the sweep of stairs that would carry her down to risk and adventure—and fun and laughter. Just what she needed. She started down the steps, her tread light and bouncy. She couldn’t have felt more giddy, more adrenalin-pumped—

“No.” Cinda stalled out, stopping on the stairs. “I can’t make him do something he doesn’t want to do any longer.” She turned and fled back up the stairs. She stood at the head of them, one hand gripping the banister as she faced the second floor hall. “Wait a minute,” she said softly to herself, a frown capturing her features. “He has to go through with this. He still needs us.” Cinda saw herself standing there in the empty hallway. “And maybe I need to quit standing here talking to myself.”

And maybe she needed, too, to quit being such a timid little mouse about men. Just because Richard hadn’t valued her didn’t mean no man would. Sure, he’d shaken her with his careless affection, but she knew how to live, how to have fun. Certainly her family was big and raucous and outgoing. Her father was an investment banker and her mother an attorney. Cinda thought of her three older brothers. Jeff was a pilot. Tim a policeman. And John, perhaps the bravest of them all, was the mayor of Canandaigua. And her? She was a journalist. Or had been. Still, no timid mice there in her bloodlines.

And it wasn’t as if Trey was asking her to rappel down the Matterhorn with the baby strapped to her back. Richard might have wanted her to do that. But not Trey. Still, what they were going to attempt to pull off could prove to be just as tricky. But at least it wouldn’t be physically dangerous. Certainly, Richard’s derring-do and the fact that it had finally killed him had made her gun-shy, but only to physical danger. And that was only smart, she supposed.

Then why didn’t Trey’s occupation concern her? Well, it did. She had been concerned for him every time she’d read the sports section of the paper during the racing season. Stock car racing certainly had its share of tragedies. But Trey isn’t a driver, she would always remind herself. He was a mechanic. So unless he dropped a lug wrench or a power drill on his head, he wasn’t in the line of fire. She could live with that.

Happy again, her resolve renewed, Cinda once again took to the stairs. She could now face Trey with an open heart and a clear conscience. And now she could also show him a picture of her husband and laugh with him when he saw Richard’s black hair. Chelsi didn’t resemble her father at all. She looked more like a Mayes, Cinda’s side of the family. Of course, she could have told Trey that downstairs, but she hadn’t been ready then and, besides, what better proof than a picture?

“Which I can’t show him without an actual picture in my hand. Hello.” She stopped on the stairs. “Oh, Cinda. Go get the picture. Duh.” She whipped around and scrambled back up the steps. A part of her mind wondered if Trey could hear all the noise she was making. Well, if he could, it was on his behalf, she reassured herself.

Cinda hurried to the closed door to Chelsi’s room and put her ear to it. Thankfully, no fussing sounds came from that direction. Good. Cinda smiled. Now she could turn her full attention to safely and sanely pretending to be Trey Cooper’s real-life wife in order to help him avoid the clutches of an over-sexed former girlfriend.

Cinda thought of the woman, a faceless stranger to her, and made a face of her own. What had she thought only a moment ago about this not being physically dangerous? What if the woman got violent? Oh, surely not. Please. Certainly we’re all mature adults here.

Or…maybe not. Cinda treated herself to the mental image of her and some Southwood honey going at it tooth, nail and claw over Trey Cooper. Of course, Cinda saw herself getting the best of the woman. After all, she did have those three older brothers…. Suddenly, that prospect was funny—her in a catfight over a man who wasn’t really hers.

She chuckled…then slowly sobered.

Still standing outside her daughter’s room, Cinda crossed her arms under her breasts. She kept thinking words like “pretend” and “false scenario” and “for one weekend only.” She didn’t like the sounds of those. What she felt inside didn’t feel false. Or like it would or should be short-lived. It felt more promising than that. At least to her, it did. Did it to Trey? Was he thinking past the weekend? Or would he just drop her and Chelsi off at the end of forty-eight hours, thank her, and drive happily away?

She’d kill him.

No, wait. Why would he be so upset that she might be looking for Richard in him if all he wanted was a wham-bam-thank-you-wife for forty-eight hours? In that case, it wouldn’t matter what she might be thinking. And hadn’t he said something about there being a possibility of something between them that would outlive their weekend together? Why, yes he had. Joyful again, Cinda wanted to cheer out loud but didn’t dare. Still she pumped the air with a celebratory fist, mouthing, “Whoopee. He likes me.”

Then didn’t she need to get back downstairs before he gave up on her and left? Yes, she did. Cinda grinned diabolically. She was going to go get her a man. The thought became action. She turned and hurried back to the stairs and started down to the first floor. But then she turned right back around and charged back up them. “The picture, the picture, the picture, Cinda. God, think, girlfriend.”

Suddenly she knew exactly which one to show Trey. It was in the home theater. In this particular snapshot, Richard was riding a camel in Egypt. He was tanned and swarthy and turbaned and looked like no one in this house. That ought to convince Trey that in her eyes he was his own man. A tiny little part of Cinda’s woman’s heart whispered, With any luck, he’ll be your own man, too.

Luck, phooey. Cinda’s snort was indelicate. What female needed luck when she possessed feminine wiles? So, there it was, her plan. Once they got to Southwood, Georgia, next weekend, she promised herself, she would play the role of Mrs. Trey Cooper to the hilt. But not only to fool, or to foil, the scheming ex-girlfriend’s plotting. No, Cinda now had an agenda of her own with regard to Mr. Trey Cooper—a man who didn’t know it yet, but a man who had just leaped from the frying pan…right into the fire.

Feeling good, feeling healthy and aware, Cinda told herself she almost felt sorry for Trey. But only almost. Because by the time she was through with him, the man would be thinking he’d been trampled by his very own herd of stampeding yaks. But in a good way, of course.

Cinda hurried into the home theater, snatched up the framed picture, and again took to the stairs. This time, she made it all the way down them and through the house and back to the family room…where her guest awaited her. When her heart tripped happily at the sight of him standing there with his back to her, his hands in his pants pockets as he stared out her French doors onto the garden, Cinda knew she was right to pursue this with him.

“Trey?” she called out softly. He turned to her, a framed picture himself of masculine beauty all his own. Cinda’s breath caught in her throat. Recovering, she said, “I want to show you this picture and tell you why you have nothing to worry about here. At least, not from Richard.”