If Winter Comes (8 page)

He rose, tall and gray
haired, towering over her as he shook her hand. “I have to agree that the media
gets prettier every day,” he said with an approving glance from pale blue eyes.

She smiled. “For that, I
promise to mail all my garbage out of town.”

“God bless you. How
about agreeing to support my recycling concept instead?” he teased. “I can get
federal funding and match services instead of cash.”

“Really?” she asked,
sidetracked. She whipped out her pad and pen. “Tell me about it.”

He did, and by the time
he was through, her cold hands had warmed and she was relaxed.

“You were tense when
you came in,” he observed. “Care to tell me why? Surely it wasn’t because I
inspire fear in young women?”

“I…uh, I just had a
run-in with the planning commissioner,” she said. “Nothing important.”

“Ummm,” he said
noncommittally. “I never approved of Moreland making that appointment,” he said
bluntly. “King was a real-estate agent before he took office, you know. A damned
shady one, if you want my opinion. He gave it up when he went into office, but
I’ll bet my secretary that he still has all his old contacts. It just isn’t
good business. He has too much sway with the city commission, what with
Moreland on such friendly terms with him.”

“Are they friends?” she
asked carelessly.

“They were in the
service together,” he replied. “I thought you knew all that.”

“I’m new in town,” she
said, and let it go at that.

She walked back to her
office in a silence fraught with concern. So many things were beginning to make
sense: for instance, King’s real-estate background. Was he somehow involved in
that missing money? Was Bryan Moreland involved? Her eyes closed
momentarily.Bryan ! He’d probably never speak to her again after the
confrontation she’d had with his friend. Perhaps it was for the best. She was
getting involved with him—too involved. And she didn’t dare.

She handed in her copy
and went home, turning down Bill Peck’s offer of a free meal. She didn’t feel
like company, and she didn’t want to be pumped about her latest information.
That was all Bill was after, she knew. She couldn’t have borne talking about
it.

The apartment seemed
lonelier than ever as she dressed idly in a pair of worn jeans and a blue
ribbed top that was slightly too small. She turned on the radio and as
pleasant, soft music filled the apartment, she went into the small kitchen to
whip up an omelet. She was going to have to force it down, at that. Food was
the last thing on her mind.

The doorbell was an
unwelcome interruption. The omelet was almost done, and she had to turn it off
before time was up. Grumbling, she moved irritably to the door. It was probably
some student selling magazine subscriptions. The apartment house was a prime
target, despite the “no soliciting” signs, and she was in no mood for a sales
pitch.

She swung open the door
with unnecessary force and froze with her mouth open to speak. Bryan Moreland
was standing there, idly leaning against the wall, his dark eyes pointedly
studying the too-tight top she was wearing.

Five

H e smiled at the
expression on her face. “Who were you expecting?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Not
you,” she said without thinking. He was wearing slacks and an open-necked
burgundy velour shirt that bared a sensuous amount of hair-roughened bronzed
flesh.

“Why?”

“Well…”

“You might as well
invite me in,” he told her. “I’ve got a feeling it won’t be a short
explanation.”

“Oh!” She opened the
door wider and stepped aside to let him in beside her. He went straight to the
armchair by the window and lowered his big body into it.

“Would you like some
coffee?” she asked, stunned by his sudden appearance.

“If you can spare it,”
he replied with a wry smile. “I just put the lady mayor on a plane. I haven’t
even had lunch yet. That’s why I came. I thought you might like to go out for a
burger and fries.”

It was almost
laughable, the mayor taking a reporter out for a hamburger.

“Well, I…” she
stammered.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he
asked. “Or are you still smarting from that round with Ed?”

She lowered her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to ruin your tour.”

He laughed. “My God, is
that why you ran away?”

“I thought you were
angry with me,” she admitted.

“I was furious. But
that was this morning, and this is now,” he explained quietly. “I don’t hold
grudges. You and Ed can damned well fight it out, but not on my time. Now do
you want supper or not?”

She looked up, studying
him. “I just cooked an omelet.”

“Big enough for two?”
he teased.

She nodded. “I can make
some toast.”

“How about cinnamon
toast?” he asked, rising. “I’m pretty good at it.”

“You can cook?” she
asked, forgetting that she looked like something out of a ragbag, that she
wasn’t wearing makeup and her long hair was gathered back with a rubber band in
a travesty of a ponytail.

“My mother thought it
would be a good idea if I learned,” he recalled with an amused smile. “She
gives me a refresher course every year at Christmas.”

“What else can you
cook?” she asked, leading the way into the small kitchen.

“The best pepper steak
you’ve ever tasted.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Come to dinner
Sunday,” he said, “I’ll prove it.”

“At your apartment?”
she asked as she handed him the bread and a cookie sheet spread with aluminum
foil.

“At the farm. I’ll pick
you up early in the morning, and you can spend the day.”

She thought for a
minute, feeling herself sinking into deep water. She’d been too pleased at the
sight of him tonight, too happy that he’d bothered to come and ask her out.

He came up behind her;
and with a quick-silver thrill of excitement, she felt his big, warm hands
pressing into her tiny waist. “I have a housekeeper, Mrs. Brodie. She’s elderly
and buxom, and she’ll cut off my hands if I try to seduce you. Satisfied, Miss
Purity?”

She felt her color
coming and going as he drew her closer, his breath whispering warmly in her
hair.

“I…I wasn’t worried
about that,” she managed weakly.

Deep, soft laughter
rumbled in the chest at her back. “Do you think I’m too old to feel desire?” he
asked.

“Mr. Moreland!” she burst
out.

“Make itBryan ,” he
said.

“Bryan,” she repeated
breathlessly.

“Why aren’t there any
men in your life?” he asked suddenly. “Why don’t you date?”

Her eyes closed against
the memory. “I date you,” she corrected weakly.

“Before me there was
someone. Who? When?” he asked harshly, his fingers biting into her soft flesh.
“Tell me!”

“He was married,” she
said miserably.

There was a long, heavy
silence behind her. “Did you know?”

She shook her head. “I
was just nineteen, and horribly naïve. I met him while I was a freshman in
college. He was one of the instructors. We went together for two months before
I found out.”

She felt him tense.
“How far had it gone?”

She shifted restlessly.
“Almost too far,” she admitted, remembering the phone call that had saved her
virtue. A phone call from his wife, and she’d answered the phone…

“And you gave up on
life because of one bad experience?” he asked quietly.

“I learned not to trust
men,” she corrected, bending her head. “It was…safer…to stay at home, unless I
was with girl friends.”

“And now, Carla?” he
persisted.

She chewed on her lower
lip nervously. “I…don’t know.”

His hand slid down her
hips, pulling her back closer to him. Involuntarily, her hands went to push
against the intimacy of his, and he laughed.

“Turn on the broiler
for me,” he said, releasing her. “That omelet’s going to be stone cold.”

She obeyed him
mindlessly, fighting down her confusion.

They ate in a
companionable silence, and she felt his dark eyes watching her when she wasn’t
watching him. Something was happening between them. She could feel it, and it
frightened her.

Afterward, she put the
dishes in the sink to soak, refusing his offer of help to wash them, and led
the way into the living room nervously.

“I can’t stay,” he
said. “I’ve got to stop in at a cocktail party later tonight to try and twist
the governor’s arm for emergency funding for my revitalization.”

“Dressed like that?”
she asked without thinking.

“It’s informal,” he
teased. His dark, bold eyes traveled down the length of her slender body. “You
look pretty informal yourself.”

“I wasn’t expecting
company.”

“Sorry I came?” he
asked bluntly.

“No,” she replied.

His jaw tightened, and
she saw a strange darkness grow in his eyes as he looked at her. He held her
gaze until she thought her heart was going to burst, until the only sound she
could hear was the wild beating of her own heart.

“Good night, Carla,” he
said abruptly and, turning, went out the door without a backward glance.

She stood exactly where
she was and caught her breath. He hadn’t wanted to go out that door. She’d read
it in his eyes. But he hadn’t kissed her. He still hadn’t kissed her.

“What’s wrong with me?”
she asked the room unsteadily, turning to look in the mirror. But all she saw
was a disappointed face and a body in a too-tight blouse. The reflection told
her nothing.

She had Daniel Brown,
the informant, meet her for coffee the next afternoon in the small
international coffee house where she had gone with Moreland that first time.
Brown was a personable young man with an honest face, but she didn’t quite like
the way his blue eyes darted away while he spoke.

“Did you know that the
mayor and James White were close friends?” he asked as they sat and drank
coffee at a corner table.

She stared at him.
“James White? Isn’t he that rich realtor who was investigated for fraud last
year?”

“The same. Do a little
digging, and you may come up with some interesting little tidbits.”

“Why are you furnishing
all this information so generously?” she asked abruptly.