Page 35 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“How’s your brother? Do you like him?” Bart’s voice grated on her. His heartiness and constant good humor seemed trite somehow. So unlike a man who felt things deeply, took things seriously, and when he did laugh, it was very special. “Sugar, are you asleep?” Bart boomed into the receiver.

“Oh, no. I… uh… I haven’t exactly met Ken yet,” she demurred.

“How come, baby? Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“No, no,” she hastened to say. “It’s just that he’s out of town on business and his wife, Melanie, whom I adore, thought it would be best if we didn’t tell him anything until he… uh… finished this business deal he’s involved in.” Did that sound plausible? She wasn’t accustomed to lying and it didn’t come easy to her. It was so hard to concentrate. She kept seeing Lance’s impassioned face hovering over hers and hearing those precious love words he had chanted gruffly in her ear.

“I just got back from the Panhandle yesterday. We brought in another well, sugar. Sure wish you’d been here to celebrate with me.”

“That’s wonderful, Bart,” she said. What difference did another well make? He had about thirty others.

“I called your office first thing this morning and Betty gave me this number. Who was the guy that answered if it wasn’t your brother?”

Never underestimate Bart’s cunning. “That…” Think, Erin! “That was a business associate of Ken’s. He had stopped by to leave some papers. Melanie and I were out in the flower garden. That’s what took so long to answer the telephone. He had to find us.”

She didn’t want to tell him about her illness. It would be just like him to catch the next plane to San Francisco. Last fall she had contracted a common cold. The next morning she had dragged herself out of bed to answer the doorbell and was astounded to find a registered nurse standing on her porch reporting for duty. Bart had insisted. No, she didn’t want him to know she had been sick.

“When is that brother of yours coming back? When are you coming home? I’m as lonesome as a polecat, honey. I miss you.”

What was it Lance had rasped in her ear? “Lift… ah, Erin… Yes, that’s it… Yes… I’ll wait… I’ll wait darling… but hurry!” “I miss you, too, Bart,” she heard herself say without consciously thinking the words.

“I know this is important to you, darlin’, or I wouldn’t sit still for you being gone so long.”

“And I know that you’re not nearly as lonely as you’re making it sound,” she said lightly. “Have you cut down your dinner parties from six to four this week?”

“Now, come on, honey. Don’t tease me,” Bart whined. “You know I don’t enjoy anything unless you’re there with me. Hurry on home, sweetheart. I love you, you know.”

Erin swallowed hard. Had Lance mentioned love? Had she? Had she said, “Lance, I love you”? She didn’t think so. She would have remembered. “I know you do, Bart,” she whispered. “And I love you.” Only not that way. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Not like—

“Do you need anything? Money? Can I do something for you here?”

He really was terribly kind to her. Would he be hurt when she told him she had fallen suddenly, but irrevocably, in love with another man? “No, Bart. I’m fine. I’ll call you in a day or two and let you know my plans.”

“Okay, honey. You take care now. There are some real weird dudes in San Francisco, you know. Be careful.”

“I will. I promise. Good-bye, Bart.”

“Bye-bye, baby.”

Erin looked down at the diamond on her finger and admired it for what it was—a priceless, flawless gem. But its reflection was cold. It radiated no warmth. It didn’t touch her heart with fire the way a pair of blue eyes under golden eyebrows did. Those eyes had more facets and capricious prisms of light than did the perfectly cut stone.

She slipped the ring from her finger and, having walked somnambulantly back into the guest bedroom, went to the dressing table where she had left her travel jewelry case. Lifting the lid, she dropped the ring inside and closed the box with a decisive snap.

By the time she had dried and style

d her hair and dressed in a casual pair of wool slacks and an angora sweater, she was trembling with weakness. The hot steamy bath she had taken had felt wonderful, but it had left her weak and light-headed. She desperately needed sustenance.

She went downstairs and spoke to Mike, who was sitting within reach of the telephone on the living room desk. Going into the kitchen, she switched on the light. The rain had stopped, but the afternoon was still cloudy and dark. She couldn’t find the can of potato soup that Lance had referred to, so she fixed herself a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of bouillon.

Nearly all the sandwich was gone, and she sat sipping the broth when the back door opened and Lance came in. Her face brightened immediately. She knew she looked fresh and pretty, flushing with the anticipation of their seeing each other again. Would he dare kiss her with Mike so near?

A happy hello froze on her lips and was never uttered when Lance turned around after closing the door and faced her. His features were harder and colder than they had been that first day when he had answered the doorbell. His eyes glinted like chips of blue ice as they pierced through her. His body was tense, the muscles bunched in anger.

“I see you’re feeling stronger. It’s amazing what a little exercise can do.” His tone was bitter and the words were harsh, deliberately hurtful, and full of innuendo.

“I’m much better,” she said apprehensively. Why was he glaring at her like that? “W—would you like something?” She hated herself for stammering. What had she done that was so offensive? Didn’t he remember what had happened just a few hours ago?

“No. I hate bouillon.”

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