The Fiancée Fiasco (22 page)

"What about during his marriage to Sylvia? Wasn't he happy then?" Whoa. What devil put
that
question into her mouth? Yet Roseanne found herself tensely awaiting an answer.

A smile tugged at Boyd's lips. "If you ask me, Miz Archer, you never had any competition from that quarter."

"I didn't?" She wished she didn't feel the wash of gratification that swept over her. Boyd couldn't possibly be right. Win had fallen like a ton of bricks for Sylvia. Up to the time he'd caught her cheating, he'd been a goner for her. Besides, these comparisons didn't matter, if Win had been happier with this woman or that.

But Boyd felt the need to elaborate. "Sylvia was a beautiful plaything, an ornament to crown a man's achievements. She wasn't much of a companion."

Roseanne cleared her throat. She really shouldn't ask, but— "And you think I was. A companion, I mean?"

Boyd nodded. "Anybody watching the two of you could see you were like best pals."

"Ah." A surprising answer, and one that made Roseanne concentrate on her coffee rather than Boyd's face. She sucked in her lips. "So I suppose you want to know, if that's the case, why Win didn't come up here to see me?"

"No, Miz Archer. I don't figure that's any of my lookout. I just wanted to tell you that whatever the problem is, I'm sure you two belong together."

Roseanne lifted her eyes to look at the man. "You're sure." Something very strange was wriggling up through her inner depths, trying its very best to struggle out into the open. It was all she could do to keep the dangerous thing down below.

Boyd's gaze deepened in sincerity. "Whatever he's done, Miz Archer, can't you see it in your heart to forgive him? Win—he's not so good with words. Maybe he doesn't know how to make it up with you."

Roseanne's lips pulled to one side. "What makes you so sure he wants to 'make it up?'"

"Oh, darlin', it's as plain as the nose on my face. He's been mooning around like a calf lost its dam ever since you left."

Roseanne strongly doubted any moodiness on Win's part was the result of her departure. If only she could explain to Boyd, without getting into too many contradictions. "Uh, it's unlikely that involves me. You see, at this point in time, our relationship— The agreement—um—" Hell. She was lost. "Fine. I'm just not his top priority, okay?"

Boyd's mouth became a perfect "O" before he drew in a deep breath. "Please. Think again, Miz Archer." His tone was stern. "You are a top priority with that man."

Oh, really?
Win had had no trouble managing a casual relationship with her; he'd managed it, in fact, like an expert.

"I was watching you both at the Sons of Texas ball," Boyd went on. "I saw the gleam in his eye whenever he looked down at you."

Sheer acting, Roseanne remembered.

"It is evident," Boyd unconsciously disagreed, "that you are about as important to that man as it gets."

Which for Win, Roseanne reflected, wasn't very far.

Boyd stood up, shoving his handkerchief into a pants pocket. "That's all I have to say, Miz Archer. Because if you can't see that, then— Well, I guess there isn't anything that you could see."

Musingly, she watched him get to his feet. The fellow was sadly misguided. She hadn't been of the slightest importance to Win, except perhaps as a nuisance. Yes, on the nuisance scale she'd rated rather high.

Meanwhile Boyd didn't seem to know what to do next. He'd just told Roseanne he wouldn't tell her any more and yet, judging by his reddening face and the restless shuffle of his feet, he wasn't quite done. "There's one more thing," he burst out.

Roseanne raised her eyebrows.

"He's lost the touch."

For a moment she was baffled. How could Boyd know about Win's touch? But then she understood. "You mean with machines?"

Boyd nodded.

"But that was just a fluke to begin with," Roseanne protested. "A series of coincidences. Win thought so, too."

Boyd's answering gaze was pitying. "So he always said. But wouldn't a man start to count on something like that, even if it were only a convenient set of circumstances?"

Of course he would. It would be humanly impossible not to take something like that for granted.

"But exactly what," she asked carefully, "do you suppose that I can do about it?"

Boyd shrugged. "Maybe nothing. As you said, it was probably just a series of coincidences." He halted then, giving her a shrewd look. "Then again, maybe it was something more. Good day, Miz Archer. It was a pleasure seeing you again."

"Likewise," Roseanne murmured in reply.

As he left, Boyd wore the satisfied expression of a successful missionary. Roseanne, for her part, didn't move for quite some time after he'd gone. Absently, she stared out her open door. The painters were supposed to come by this morning and scrape off the word "Associate" in order to replace it with "Partner." She tried to think about that, but instead she thought about Win.

The wriggly snake from earlier moved through her. Her fault? Was it because she'd left Win, left the relationship they'd both agreed was only short-term, that he'd lost his touch with machines?

Could Win be...missing her?

No. He'd been happy to see her go. Thrilled. That last morning he'd been as ill-tempered as a bear, so impatient to get her on a plane flying out of Houston.

Hadn't he? Yes, yes, of course he had.

Hadn't he?

And then, as if from far away, Roseanne remembered something. Win explaining his theory about his peculiar talent. In his mind, it was directly opposed to the talent for dealing with people. He didn't think he could convince people to go along with his wishes the way he could get machines to.

A shiver ran down Roseanne's back, as though an icy finger had been placed at the nape of her neck.

She remembered standing in Win's arms, the smell of burning chicken stinging her eyes.
It's up to you, sweetheart
, he'd said.

He'd left the turn of their relationship up to her. Had he been acting chivalrous?

Or had he been afraid he wouldn't be able to convince her to go along with his own preference? Afraid he had no "touch" with her.

The wriggly snake she'd been trying so hard to keep down squirmed up from her belly and curled around her brain. Had Win wanted the relationship to be other than casual? Had he wanted her to stay, to become someone beyond a vacation fling? Was that possible?

If it were, then... Win might be missing her. He might feel as lonely and unhappy as she'd been feeling, herself. Assuming, of course, she was willing to admit she'd been lonely or unhappy at all.

Twelve floors above the street in her well-behaved office chair, Roseanne kept very still as she thought it all through.

Win believed his touch with machines was the opposite of his touch with people. But what if he were wrong? What if the two were actually connected? In such a case, if he believed he'd possessed no touch whatsoever with one particular person, could that have affected his touch with machines?

It was possible. If his desire for a connection with that particular person had been strong enough, then Roseanne thought it entirely possible. Sort of the way her ten days in Houston had made her unable to celebrate her promotion to partner, and had rendered her cozy apartment no longer cozy.

She sat there and thought about all of Win's words and behavior while they'd been together. She'd made sure to interpret them all one way—but they could easily have been interpreted in another. In fact, they could easily have been interpreted as the exact opposite.

Oh, yeah. Win might have wanted the relationship to grow into more. Because when she was honest with her memory, Roseanne had to admit she was the one who'd decided on the tenor of the relationship. She was the one who'd claimed she didn't want any promises. She was the resident expert on light and casual.

Not Win.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The plane landed late that night at Houston Intercontinental. Looking out on the swirl of traffic leaving the terminal, Roseanne felt a twinge of nerves. No, not a twinge. A boatful.

While she searched for a cab, she tried to reason the boatful away. Worst came to worst, she'd be on the first flight out to Seattle tomorrow morning. No big deal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

But logic wasn't doing much for her as the cab she hired drove her downtown. Her boatful of nerves played havoc with the basic life systems: heart, lungs, digestion.

A phone call to Carruthers Engineering from the airport had confirmed Roseanne's hunch that, though it was past ten o'clock at night, Win was still at the office. The lab tech who'd answered the phone had gone on to assure Roseanne that, the equipment misbehaving, Win would remain there for several hours. And yes, the tech would keep it a secret that Win's fiancée was on her way over.

Roseanne wasn't sure if she hoped the element of surprise would be an advantage, or if she were simply too scared to let Win know she was coming.

The entire morning following Boyd's visit had been a wash as far as Roseanne's legal work was concerned. All she'd been able to do was sit and think about Win. She'd made a lot of assumptions about his feelings. The assumptions she'd made hadn't been based on anything Win had done or said, however.

The assumptions had been based on her own fear.

That's right. She'd been afraid to look at her own feelings. Never in her life had she felt serious about a man. Never had she wanted to connect herself in a meaningful way to a one. To do so would be emotional suicide, she'd thought, laying herself open to betrayal and loss.

So she'd assumed that
Win
wasn't serious about a relationship, that
he
only wanted things casual. That way the question of her own growing emotions didn't have to come up. If Win had no interest in a serious relationship, then Roseanne didn't have to examine how her burgeoning feelings might impact her lifelong vow to remain separate and independent from all men—how it might impact her emotional safety.

She hadn't had to deal with the terror of changing her whole life strategy.

But today, after considering that Win may
not
have wanted to keep the relationship casual, that he might have wanted something more, Roseanne had had no choice but to look at her own feelings.

If Win were open to more, where did she stand?

Her own answer had astonished her. And, as anticipated, it had also frightened her.

How could she want something closer, something more serious, something so infinitely more hazardous than anything she'd ever had before?

How could she want to
depend
on him?

Okay, not all the way. She wasn't so far gone she couldn't pull back. But she definitely wanted
something
. Something more. Something big. Which is why she had the cab drop her off at the squat antiseptic building housing Win's lab in downtown Houston.

Only Houston's complete lack of zoning ordinances made it possible for the lab to sit directly behind the tower housing Win's corporate offices. And only a company badge, as Roseanne recalled, would get her into the high-security building.

She stood on the sidewalk under the fluorescent pools from the streetlights as her cab pulled away. Had she been insane to come down here? Okay, so Win filled her requirements for a mate to a tee, as Sheryl had pointed out. Okay, so Roseanne missed him. She admitted it. But—so, what? She could be operating on a flawed hunch here. Win might have no desire at all for a deeper relationship.

For a moment she considered hailing another cab, going straight back to the airport. Who was she to imagine Win might want to be together with her, for real?

But she didn't hail a cab. The idea stopping her was that Win might be unhappy, and worse, that she might be the cause of his unhappiness.

She didn't want that. It would be worth embarrassing, or even humiliating, herself in order to make sure Win was all right.

With a shaky breath, she opened the door to the lab's small lobby and crossed to confront the guard.

He was a heavyset man with thinning blond hair and he remembered Roseanne. Very well. "Win's down the main corridor, turn left," he told her, smiling broadly. "It's good to see you again, Miz Archer."

No badge required, no call through to check if it were okay. Just a big, genial smile and directions on how to find Win.

Roseanne's boatful of nerves seemed to crest a wave. She was going to see him; there were no obstacles left. Oh, boy.

She found the indicated door and opened it.

Win was sitting on the floor in a room walled with metal box-like equipment. Wires popped out of the boxes and tangled on the floor like spaghetti. A half-dozen other men, jackets discarded and sleeves rolled up, stood about, squatted, or leaned over to watch what Win was doing to the one metal box he had between his knees.

"You'd better not—" One of the men warned.

Win drew a hand back sharply. "Damn!"

The group of men around him shared a collective glance.

"Say, Win, maybe you ought to let Greg take a look," said one of them.

"Good idea." Win disengaged himself from the machine and clambered to his feet. His face wore a puzzled look. "It's obviously not going to work for me."

Another one of the fellows glanced past Win and caught eyes with Roseanne where she remained by the door. His face broke into a smile of recognition. "Matter of fact, Win, why don't you take the rest of the night off? Go on home. We'll take over from here."

"Go home?" Win looked more puzzled than ever, and then turned in the direction of the other man's gaze.

"An excellent idea," Roseanne agreed. She forced her astonished limbs to move forward. She'd no idea how good it would be to see him again, to meet those incredible blue eyes. He was dressed in white: a white silk shirt and white jeans. Good Lord, the man was practically shining.

"You know what they say about all work and no play," she scolded.

The stunned disbelief in Win's expression turned quickly to alarm. "What the hell are you—? I mean—" He glanced back, belatedly remembering they had an audience. "I mean, you didn't tell me you were planning to come down here...sweetheart."