Within Reach (2 page)

“You don’t look important,” she teased.

His lips twitched. “How is an important man supposed to look?”

“Oh, he wears a three-piece suit and wing-tipped shoes—”

“On the beach?”

“No. Okay. Make that flannel slacks, a designer sweater and loafers, perhaps with a cashmere topcoat in this kind of weather. He’s fresh-shaven all the time—” she drew out her words in mockery “—and his hair is perfectly groomed.”

“In this wind? He must use hair spray.”

She smiled. “He’s been known to.”

“Sorry, I don’t fit that mold, but, then,” he chided, “you knew that all along. Does that mean I’m a nobody?”

“Oh, no. It means you’re very refreshing and, in that sense, very definitely a somebody.” She had never spoken truer words. At the moment she’d had it with three-piece suits, wing-tipped shoes, flannel, cashmere and hair spray.

“Ahhhh. That’s a relief.” Then he thought. “Were you talking about Mrs. Sylvester, as in Judy, the realtor?” When Danica nodded, his pleasure grew. “I assumed you were visiting the Duncans. You mean to say they’ve sold?” Again she nodded. “And you’ve bought their house?” Another nod. “That’s great!”

“I’m not so sure right about now,” she grumbled. “There’ve been workmen all over the place for a month. I’m beginning to think they’ll never finish.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael mused, remembering all too well the work he had done over the years. “New roof, new heating system, thermapanes—”

“Not to mention a total overhaul of the plumbing system.” She sighed, but there was a whimsical expression on her face. She had enjoyed seeing each piece of work done. It had given her something to think on, something to wish on. “And that was before we even discussed decorating. But I do adore the house. It’ll be fantastic when it’s done.” Her eyes scanned the oceanscape as it grew more visible with the slow lifting of the fog. “With a view like this, how can you miss?”

“It’s addictive, isn’t it?”

“Mmmm.” She tugged her jacket closer, aware of being cold but having no desire to return just yet to the house. Strange, the last thing she would have thought she wanted a little while ago was company, but Michael Buchanan was nice. “How long have you owned your house?”

“Nearly ten years.”

She arched a brow. “Not bad.”

“More the rule than the exception. Kennebunkport has a loyal following. Even the summer swell is largely made up of people making return visits.”

Danica thought about that for a minute. It was in keeping with what the realtor had said about the population being stable. “Judy told me this was a quiet area, that people keep to themselves pretty much. That must be why you didn’t know about the Duncans moving.”

“Actually, I’ve been away.”

She grimaced. “That was stupid of me. You probably have another place.”

“No. This is my one and only. But I’ve been gone since November and just got back last week. I was never that close to the Duncans. We moved in different circles.” The fact was that the Duncans barely tolerated the presence of a Buchanan nearby, but Michael wasn’t about to tell that to Danica. He didn’t yet know who she was. Her name hadn’t rung a bell, but she obviously came from class, and he knew how much she had to have paid for her house. He prayed that her family had somehow managed to steer clear of his. Powerful people—important, to use her word—were natural media targets, and his family was very definitely the media. “I knew they’d sell sooner or later. I guess I thought it would be later.”

“Fortunately not.” Danica had considered it a stroke of luck that there had been a house such as this on the market for her to see. She’d also thought it to be a harbinger of good things to come. Once the house was done, it would be a “gem,” to quote her decorator. The word she preferred to use was
savior
, but that remained to be seen.

She jumped when warm fingers brushed a strand of hair from her mouth, and her eyes flew to Michael’s.

“Your cheeks are getting windburned,” he explained, wishing he’d had an excuse to linger at her lips. He tried to decide what he saw in her eyes, but he wasn’t sure if what he wanted to think was yearning was in fact nothing but surprise. Her eyes were rounded, her lashes long and dark. They were the only tip-off he had that she wore makeup, so skillfully and subtly was it applied.

His attention was drawn again to her mouth. Almost simultaneously she looked away, and he grew anxious. She was withdrawing. But he couldn’t let her go so quickly, not when he’d finally found her. He tucked his hands in his pockets for safekeeping. “It’s pretty cold out here. How about a warm drink at my place?”

Hot chocolate, like his eyes, she thought to herself. He was a very attractive man.

She shook her head a little too quickly. “Thanks, but I’d better not. I’m heading home in a couple of hours and I have to check on a few more things before I leave.”

“When will you be back?”

“Next month.”

“Not till then?” he asked with such boyish dismay that she laughed. It was lovely to feel wanted. Lovely and new.

“’Fraid not.”

“What’s so important for you to do in Boston?”

“Oh—” she rolled her eyes “—this and that.”

“Do you work?”

“Not in the traditional sense.”

“Then, in what sense?”

Danica thought for a minute, wondering exactly what it
was
she did or, more precisely, how to explain it to a man she wanted to impress. It struck her as incredible that she had never faced such a task before, but she had always lived and breathed in exclusive circles. Anonymity was something she had never known. She was rather enjoying it now, even in spite of the urge she had to lie and say that she was a pediatrician or something equally as impressive.

But Michael was expecting the truth. He seemed like that kind of person, different from so many of the people she knew. He made eye contact; that said a lot.

“What do I do?” she finally repeated, then echoed herself, with one strategic change. “What do
you
do?”

He indulged her with a gentle smile. “I’m a writer.”

“Oh, God.”

“Uh-uh. Nothing threatening. I write about the past. They call me a historian.”

“‘They’? What do you call yourself?”

He shrugged, eyes twinkling mischievously. “A writer.”

“Why not a historian?”

“It sounds too pretentious and I’m not that way.”

She could see that. She could also see that he looked nearly as cold as she felt.

“What are you staring at?” he asked.

“Your ears. They’re turning red.” Though his hair was on the long side and his ears hugged his head nicely, the wind was having a field day.

“That’s okay. Between my red ears and your blue lips, I’d say we liven up the scenery. Come on. How about that drink?”

She was smiling now, too. “I can’t. Really.”

“I’ve got a fire going. It’d warm you up. Your place is probably like a barn.”

“Mmmm, close.” With workmen running in and out, there seemed to be a steady draft. “But the heater of my car works fine, and I have to be back in Boston before dark.”

“Your car turns into a pumpkin then, does it?”

“Something like that.”

“Then, I guess you’d better go. I wouldn’t want you stranded on the highway or anything.” He shifted from one foot to another, then cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll see you when you come back up next month.”

“You’ll be here?”

“Should be.”

She nodded and took a step back. “Maybe it’ll be warmer then.”

He nodded but didn’t move. “The beach is nice in April.”

She took another step. “I’ll bet it is. Well, take care, Michael.”

“You, too, Danica.” He raised a hand in mock salute as she took a third step. “May the good fairy be with you.”

She laughed and shook her head as though to chastise him for his silliness, then realized that she loved it. When he winked, she loved it even more. But she had to leave. She had to.

Michael watched her turn and take several plodding steps through the sand toward her house. She turned back to give him a broad smile and a wave, and he wondered if there was in fact such a thing as love at first sight. Then a gust of wind whipped across the sand and she drew her free hand from her pocket to hold the cloche on her head.

The last thing he saw as she disappeared into the fog was the wide gold wedding band on the ring finger of her left hand.

two

s
EVERAL DAYS LATER, DANICA SAT ON THE EDGE of the kingsized bed she shared with her husband and watched him pack.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. It was the same every time. Blake had been a bachelor for better than thirty-five years. He would either pack for himself or have Mrs. Hannah, their maid, do it. Danica knew she should be grateful; Blake coddled her, asking of her only the social amenities required of the wife of a man of his position. Any number of women would die to be in her shoes. Yet, rather than privileged or pampered, she felt superfluous.

“All set, I think.” He didn’t look up, but concentrated on setting his dress shoes at just the right angle in the bottom of the bag.

“Are you going with Harlan?” Harlan Magnuson was the head of the computer division of Eastbridge Electronics, Blake’s corporation. He was young, brilliant and aggressive, and often accompanied Blake on business trips. From what Danica could gather, the combination of Harlan’s daring and Blake’s solid business sense was a potent one.

“Uh-huh.”

“How long will you be?”

“No more than three days. I’ll be back in time for the cocktail party Friday night.”

“That’s good. The Donaldsons would never forgive us if we missed it.” She absently rubbed the edge of the suitcase. They had bought it as part of a matching set four years ago when they’d been headed for Italy. She recalled that trip with a smile. Blake had business in Florence, but from there on they simply relaxed, spending several days in Milan en route to the villa they had rented on Lake Como. It seemed so long since they’d taken a vacation like that. Or rather, she amended, it seemed so long since they’d had
fun
like that. Sighing, she looked at the bag. For all its use—and Blake used it often—it appeared to be wearing better than her marriage. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Taking underwear and socks from the drawer, Blake returned to the bed. “You know I do,” he said. She wished she could have said that she heard regret in his tone, but she just wasn’t sure, which seemed to be a recurrent problem lately. She couldn’t read Blake; perhaps she’d never been able to but had simply deluded herself.

“You do so much traveling. I tell myself that you’ve got to, but it doesn’t help sometimes. You won’t reconsider and let me come along?”

He straightened and spoke quietly. “I really have to be free this time, Danica. With the exception of a dinner tomorrow night, it’ll be business all the way.”

“I know. But it’s so quiet here when you’re away.” Saying the words, she realized that it wasn’t the quiet that bothered her but the fact that she felt widowed. Twenty-eight years old and widowed.

Stifling the thought, she watched him carefully coil and pack two leather belts. Her gaze slowly climbed to his face and she was struck, once again and for the umpteenth time, by how handsome a man he was. The very first time she had been so struck she’d been nineteen and attending a fund-raiser for her father. Blake Lindsay had been impressive then, tall and dark and immaculately groomed. Now, nine years later, he was no less attractive. The years had barely touched him, it seemed. His forty-three-year-old body was firm and well toned, but then, he believed in exercise, jogged regularly, played squash several times a week and watched his weight. That he prided himself on his appearance had been obvious to Danica from the start. Unfortunately, between exercise and work, he seemed to have little time for much else, let alone her.

“You have plenty to keep you busy, haven’t you?” Pivoting, he went to the closet, selected several ties from the rack, then moved toward the window to scrutinize the possibilities in daylight.

“Oh, yes. There’s a board meeting at the hospital tomorrow and I have an appointment with the printer on Thursday to order our invitations.”

“Plans are going well for the party?” He sounded distracted, which was no wonder, Danica decided, since he faced the monumental task of choosing between two blue and gray silk ties, the stripes of which varied infinitesimally in width. She could no more understand how he could choose one over the other than she could why he owned two such similar ties in the first place, but then, perhaps he felt the same way about her blouses or panty hose or belts.

“The caterer’s all set. So’s the florist, and I’ve booked the chamber music ensemble from the conservatory. That pretty much does it until after the invitations are printed. Have you decided whether or not to invite the group from SpanTech?”

Having somehow decided between the two ties, Blake put the loser back in the closet and returned to lay the others carefully in his suitcase. “SpanTech? Mmmm…not sure yet.” He rubbed his upper lip, then set off for the bathroom. When he returned, he carried a case containing his grooming needs. After fitting it into the space he had purposely left, he returned to the dresser for shirts.

“It’d be easy enough, Blake. Another ten or twelve people won’t make much difference as long as we notify the caterer in time. It certainly won’t mean any more work for me, if you think it’d be worthwhile to invite them.” She knew that Blake had been negotiating to bring in SpanTech, outstanding for its research in microelectronics, as a division of Eastbridge.

He sent her a brilliant smile, which flared, then was gone. “Let me think about it a little more, okay?”

She nodded. When a silence fell between them, she searched for something else to say. “Did I tell you Reggie Nichols called?”

“She’s in town?”

“Mmmm. She’s seeing some guy, I guess.”

“Isn’t she playing the circuit?”

Reggie Nichols had been top-rated in women’s tennis for more than a decade. She and Danica had been friends since Danica’s own tennis-playing days when the two had trained under the same coach.