Separate Cabins (17 page)

The “he” was Gard, of course. When she had returned from vacation and seen the Kempers, Rachel had mentioned him. Fan, being Fan, had read through the lines and knew instinctively that the relationship hadn’t been as casual as Rachel had tried to imply.

“No, he hasn’t called,” she admitted, grimly concealing the hurt.

“It’s possible he lost your number,” Fan reasoned. “And unless he knows your company is called the Country House, he won’t be able to find you, since your home number is unlisted.”

“I know.”

During the last two weeks she’d had countless arguments with herself. She’d come up with all sorts of reasons to explain why Gard hadn’t called her as he’d promised, but she could never forget the possibility that he wasn’t interested in seeing her again.

True, he’d said a lot of things to lead her to believe otherwise. But men often said things in the heat of passion that meant nothing on reexamination. Pride insisted it had just been a holiday affair, intense while it lasted, but best forgotten by her.

“Rachel, how long are you going to eat your heart out over him before you do something about it?” Fan wanted to know.

“About twenty more minutes,” Rachel replied calmly with a glance at her watch.

“What?” Fan sat up straight and blinked at her.

There was a dry curve to Rachel’s mouth as she met her friend’s puzzled gaze. “That’s why I can’t go to lunch with you. I’m going to his office this afternoon.” She had looked up his name in the telephone directory so many times that she knew his address and phone number by heart. “I have to know where I stand once and for all.”

Fan leaned back in her chair and released a sighing breath of satisfaction. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Would you like me to come with you and lend a little moral support?”

“No. I have to do this on my own,” Rachel stated.

“Have you called?” Fan wondered. “Did you make an appointment to see him?”

“No. I thought about it,” she admitted. “But if he doesn’t want to see me anymore, I didn’t want to be pawned off by his secretary or have some impersonal conversation with him on the phone. When I talk to him, I want to be able to see his face.” She slashed her name across the last letter. “So I’m just going over to his office and take the chance that he’ll be in.”

“If he isn’t?” Fan studied her with gentle sympathy.

“I don’t know.” Rachel sighed heavily. “Then I guess it’s back to square one.”

“John knows him—or at least they’ve met before,” Fan reminded her. “I could always have him
come up with some excuse to call him and mention in passing that you are one of John’s clients—use the name coincidence that started this whole thing. At least John could find out what his reaction is.”

“Thanks.” She appreciated her friend’s offer to help, but she didn’t feel it was right to have them solve her problems. “I’d rather do this without involving you and John.”

“If you change your mind, just tell me,” Fan insisted, standing up to leave. “And you’d better call me later, because I’ll be the one sitting by the phone on pins and needles.”

“I will,” Rachel promised with a more natural smile curving her mouth and watched her friend leave, spending an idle minute reminding herself how lucky she was to have a friend like Fan Kemper.

At half past one that afternoon Rachel stood outside the entrance to the suite of offices in the posh Wilshire Boulevard address and had cause to wish for the moral support Fan had offered. Her knees felt shaky and her stomach was emptily churning.

The elaborately carved set of double doors presented a formidable barrier to be breached. On the wall beside them there was a rich-looking plaque with brass letters spelling out
MACKINLEY, BROWN & THOMPSON, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW.

A cowardly part of her wanted to turn and walk away, so she could believe a little longer in the variety of excuses she had made to herself on Gard’s
behalf. Squaring her shoulders, Rachel breathed a deep, steadying breath and reached for a tall brass doorgrip. The door swung silently open under the pull of her hand and she stepped onto the plush pile carpeting of the reception area.

The young girl at the switchboard looked up when she entered and smiled politely. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to see Mr. MacKinley—Mr. Gardner MacKinley,” Rachel clarified her answer in case there was more than one MacKinley in the firm.

“Is he expecting you?” the girl inquired.

“No, he isn’t, but I need to see him.” Which was the truth.

As she punched a set of interoffice numbers, she asked, “What name shall I give him?”

Rachel hesitated, then replied, using her maiden name, “Miss Hendrix.” She’d rather he didn’t know who she was until he saw her.

She listened while the girl relayed the information. “Yes, Mr. MacKinley, this is Cindy at the reception desk. There’s a Miss Hendrix here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment but she says she needs to speak with you.” Rachel held her breath during the pause. “I’ll tell her. Thank you.” The girl pushed another button to end the connection and looked at Rachel with another polite smile. “He’s tied up at the moment, but he expects to be free shortly. If you’d care to have a seat, you’re welcome to wait.”

“Thank you.” It was one more hurdle cleared, but the tension increased as Rachel walked over to
sit in one of the leather-covered armchairs against a paneled wall.

Three wide hallways led in separate directions from the reception area. Rachel had no idea which one led to Gard’s office. Her chair was positioned beside the opening to one of them and provided her a view of the other two. Her heart was thumping in her chest, louder than the clock ticking on the wall. She watched the clicking rotation of the second hand, then realized that would not make the time pass more quickly. She picked up a magazine lying on a walnut table and nervously began to flip through it.

The cords in her neck were knotted with tension and her nerves were stretched raw. Tremors of apprehension were attacking her insides, adding to the overall strain. From the hallway behind her she caught the sound of a woman’s low voice, indifferent to the words until a man’s voice responded and the man was Gard. Recognition of his voice splintered through her, nearly driving her out of the chair so she could face the sound of his approaching voice.

Through sheer self-control Rachel forced herself to remain seated. The instant he appeared in her side vision, her gaze slid to his familiar form. His mahogany dark hair and muscularly tapered build were exactly the same as she remembered.

She hardly paid any attention at all to the woman he was walking to the door with until she noticed that Gard had his arm around her. Rachel took another look at the woman, feeling her heart being squeezed by jealous pain, and saw how young and
wholesomely attractive she was with her gleaming chestnut hair and adoring brown eyes.

Gard’s back was to her when he stopped by the door, giving Rachel a clearer view of the woman who had his hand on her waist. In her numbed state it took her a minute to realize the pair were talking. She wanted to cry out when she heard what Gard was saying.

“I’ll come over to your place for dinner tonight, then afterward I’m taking you to the Schubert Theater. I pulled some strings and got tickets for tonight’s performance. I know you’ve been wanting to see the play.”

“I have,” the woman admitted, then bit at her lip and frowned. “What do you think I should wear?”

Gard had taken hold of the woman’s hand and was now raising it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss on the top of it while he eyed her. “A smile,” he suggested.

“And nothing else, I suppose.” The woman laughed. “Advice like that could get a girl in trouble.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll come early, so pour me a scotch about six o’clock.” He pushed open the door and held it for her while she walked through.

Pain was shattering Rachel’s heart into a thousand pieces, immobolizing her. Raw anguish clouded her gray eyes, which couldn’t tear their gaze from him. When Gard turned away from the door, his idle glance encountered that look.

His dark eyes narrowed in frowning astonishment before a smile began to spread across his features.
“Rachel.” There was rough warmth in the way he said her name, then he took a step toward her.

It was too much to see that light darkening his eyes when not a moment before he had been flirting with another woman. Rage followed hot on the heels of her pain. She had wanted to know where she stood with him and now she knew—in line!

Rachel pushed out of the chair and aimed for the door, intent on only one thing—leaving before she made a complete fool of herself. But Gard moved quickly into her path and caught hold of her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” He held on when she tried to twist out of his grasp, pushing at his arms with her hands.

“I came to find out why you hadn’t called,” she admitted with bitter anger that slid into sarcasm. “I saw the reason.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, giving her a hard shake when she continued to struggle.

A glaze of tears was stinging her eyes. She glared through it at the angry and impatient expression chiseled on his features.

“I don’t care to take up any more of your valuable time,” she flashed bitterly. “I’m sure you have a lot to do before you can keep your dinner engagement tonight.”

As understanding dawned in his eyes; they darkened with exasperation. “It isn’t what you’re thinking. Brenda is Bud’s wife, the partner I just lost. She’s lonely and needs company.”

“Especially at night,” Rachel suggested,
un-touched by his explanation. “Consoling widows must be your specialty.”

She nearly succeeded in wrenching free of his hands, but he caught her again and turned her around, half pushing and half carrying her along with him as he headed for the hallway by her chair. The receptionist was watching them with wide-eyed wonder, a silent and curious observer of the virulent scene being played out before her.

“You are going to listen to my explanation whether you like it or not,” Gard informed her in an angrily low voice as he marched her past a secretarial pool and a short row of offices.

“Well, I don’t like it, and I’m not interested in hearing anything you have to say!” she hissed, conscious of the curious looks they were receiving. She stopped resisting him rather than draw more attention.

“That’s too bad,” he growled and pushed her into a large, executive-styled office with windows on two sides and a healthy collection of potted plants. “Because you’re going to hear it anyway.” The door was shut with a resounding click of the latch.

The minute he let go of her, Rachel moved to the center of the room and stopped short of the long oak desk. She was hurting inside and it showed in the wary gray of her eyes. When he came toward her, she stiffened noticeably. His mouth thinned into a grim line and he continued by her to the desk. He picked up the phone and pushed a button.

“Tell Carol to come in and give me a report on her progress so far,” Gard instructed and hung up.

Turning, he leaned against the desk and rested a
hip on the edge of it. His level gaze continued to bore into Rachel as he folded his arms and waited silently. Long seconds later there was a light rap on the door.

“Come in.” He lifted his voice, granting permission to enter.

A young brunette, obviously Carol, walked in with a pen and notepad in her hand. Her glance darted to Rachel, then swung apprehensively to her employer.

“I’m sorry, but I still haven’t been able to locate her,” she began her report with an apology. “A couple of people have recognized the name as someone in the business, but they couldn’t refer me to anyone. I’m almost through the L’s in the Yellow Pages. I never realized there were so many furniture stores in the metropolitan area of Los Angeles.”

It was Rachel’s turn to stare at Gard, searching his face to make sure she was placing the right meaning on all this. A look of hard satisfaction mixed with the anger smoldering in his eyes.

“Thank you, Carol,” he said to the young girl. “You don’t have to make any more calls.”

“Sir?” She looked worried that he was taking the task from her because she hadn’t made any progress.

“Since you’ve spent so much time on this, I thought you should meet Rachel MacKinley.” Gard gestured to indicate Rachel.

“You found her!” Her sudden smile of surprise was also partly relief.

“Yes.” He let the girl’s assumption stand for the time being while his gaze remained on Rachel. “By
the way, Rachel, would you mind telling Carol the name of your furniture company?”

It was suddenly very difficult to speak. Her throat was all tight with emotion. It was obvious that Gard had been looking for her, but she still had some doubts about what that meant.

“The Country House.” She supplied the name in a voice that was taut and husky.

“The T’s.” The girl shook her head in faint amazement.

“Thank you, Carol. That will be all.” Gard dismissed the girl. There was another long silence while she exited the private office. “Now do you believe that I’ve been trying to locate you?” he challenged when they were alone again.

“Yes.” It seemed best to keep her answer simple and not jump to any more conclusions.

“I jotted my flight schedules on the back of the slip of paper you gave me with your address and phone numbers on it. It was late when I arrived back in L. A. I didn’t pay close attention to what was in my shirt pockets when I emptied them. All I saw were the flight schedules on the paper. I didn’t need them anymore, so I threw the paper away. It wasn’t until a couple of days later when I was looking for your phone number that I realized what had happened. By then my cleaning lady had already been in and emptied the wastebaskets.”

The explanation was delivered in a calm, relatively flat voice. It was a statement of fact that told Rachel nothing about his feelings toward her. Nothing in his look or his attitude offered encouragement.

“I see,” she murmured and lowered her gaze to the beige carpet, searching its thick threads as if they held a clue.