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  Nick's smile was slow and knowing. "Loretta's not up to her usual standards if she forgot to tell you."

  The redhead gave her escort a secretive, full-of-promise smile. "I must speak to her, then. An important message could go astray."

  It was obvious to Claire, and she was sure to everyone else standing within earshot, what Heather was inferring. Claire tensed, preparing for Nick's reaction to the insult.

  He surprised her. His only reaction was the widening of his smile. His voice, which Claire was sure would be full of biting sarcasm, was suspiciously husky, even tender, as he said, "It was probably just a momentary loss of efficiency. I wouldn't worry about it." Then he leaned over and kissed the redhead's cheek, saying affectionately. "You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, Heather. Armand is a lucky man."

  Claire saw the flush of surprise, then pleasure, then something akin to pain, that flashed through Heather's golden-brown eyes in rapid succession. Her own must be full of admiration, she thought, as she realized just how nice—no, chivalrous—his gesture and answer really were.

  He turned then, and introduced Claire, saying, "Heather, Armand, I'd like you to meet Claire Kendrick.

  Claire, these are two old friends—Heather Ripley and Armand Fontayne."

  Heather had regained control of her emotions, Claire saw, and as the woman inclined her head, her expression was neutral, but Claire could see the question in her eyes as she studied Claire. Claire willed herself not to color under the redhead's scrutiny. I'm not your rival, she wanted to say. I'm only an employee—no competition at all.

  "As usual, impeccable taste," Armand Fontayne said to Nick as he took Claire's hand. Then he bent and kissed it. Claire wanted to correct his assumption that she was Nick's date, but knew she would only call more attention to herself. Better to just let it pass.

  After a few minutes the couple wandered off, and Tim turned to Nick. "I don't know how you do it," he said admiringly.

  "Do what?" Nick said. He smiled at Claire and her heart gave a tiny leap of pleasure.

  "Okay, play dumb." Tim pushed his hair out of his face and accepted an hors d'oeuvre from a passing waiter. "See if I care." Then he winked conspiratorially at Claire. "He thinks he's fooling us. He wants us to believe he has no heart at all—that he's completely ruthless and unfeeling."

  "I am ruthless and unfeeling," Nick said, a crooked smile twisting his mouth. "Ask anyone."

  "I give up," Tim said. "I'm going over there and talk to Beverly James. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

  Later that night, as Claire thought over the evening, she acknowledged that Nick Callahan was a more complex man than she'd first imagined. More complex and devastatingly attractive. Unfortunately for her, she liked him a lot more than she'd thought she would. A lot more than was healthy or even wise. She'd feel much better about her situation if she'd never discovered he could be sensitive and generous in his dealings with people, that there was a warm inner person she might really enjoy knowing.

  She remembered how she'd felt sitting beside him in the back seat of the limousine on the way to her apartment after the reception. The cocoon-like intimacy of the limousine, closed off from the driver, Beethoven's "Appassionata" floating around them, stirred feelings and desires Claire rarely acknowledged. Because she knew her needs would probably never be met, Claire had tried to bury her sensual nature, but there was some quality in Nick Callahan that brought all those feelings to the forefront of her mind as well as her body.

  A deep shudder of longing shook her as she turned over restlessly in her bed and relived those long minutes when the two of them were enclosed in the warm darkness of the Lincoln, touching but not touching. Just like their lives. Touching, but not touching.

  All day Sunday, Claire fought against thoughts of Nick. By the time she reached Pinehaven on Sunday night, she had finally managed to put him out of her mind. The visit with her mother depressed her, though. Tonight Claire was filled with a sense of futility and torn by her conflicting emotions: love, pity, sadness. She felt so impotent. She wanted so much for her mother and she was so powerless to give it to her.

  She couldn't wait to leave, to get home to her apartment. No matter how small it was, she always felt a sense of peace once she shut the door against the world.

  So, after helping Kitty with her dinner, Claire turned on the television set, then kissed Kitty's forehead.

  "Good-bye, Claire," said her mother, eyes immediately turning toward the television screen.

  "I won't see you again until Wednesday night, Mom. I'm going out of town on a business trip." Claire knew her mother didn't understand her most of the time and probably wouldn't care if she did, but Claire had fallen into the habit of telling Kitty about her life. In a strange way, Claire felt comforted by the act of confiding in Kitty. Just as she'd thought, Kitty didn't respond. Sighing, Claire picked up her purse and jacket.

  As she turned to leave she saw Amy Provost, the head nurse on the night shift. Claire said, "Hi, stranger! It's good to have you back. Did you enjoy your time off?"

  Amy's wide face broke into a grin. "Well, if you can call chasing after three grandchildren time off, I guess you could say I enjoyed it."

  The two women talked for a few more minutes, then Amy's cheerful face sobered. "Claire," she said hesitantly, "have you gotten the letter about the raise in rates yet?"

  Claire froze. "What raise in rates?"

  Amy glanced over at Kitty, then said, "Why don't we go into my office and talk?"

  Claire nodded. Her mind raced. Dear God, how could she handle a raise in rates? It was all she could do to pay the seven hundred dollars a month that was her share of Kitty's expenses; most months she could barely scrape it together. Even a modest rise in rates would throw the entire delicate balance of her budget into a tailspin.

  Once settled in Amy's small office, Claire looked into the older woman's troubled eyes. "How much of a raise is it going to be?" Claire asked quietly, fighting against the panic that was threatening to push through the thin barrier of her self-control.

  Amy hesitated, then said, "Three hundred dollars a month."

  Shock rendered Claire incapable of speech. In her worst imaginings she couldn't have conjured a more disastrous development. What in God's name would she do?

  "The powers-that-be say they have to do it," Amy was saying, her words barely penetrating the roaring in Claire's ears. "You should have heard the fight at the board table the day this was decided. Doc Phillips fought against it, but the directors were adamant. Seems we've been in the red the past nine months."

  Claire barely heard her. Her thoughts whirled chaotically.

  "I know what a shock this is to you. That's why I was hoping you'd come tonight. I think the patients' families will get the letters in the next day or so, and I didn't want you to read it without some warning." Amy sighed heavily. Her voice was gentle as she said, "Are you all right?"

  Claire forced herself to answer calmly. "Yes. I'm fine."

  "Are you sure? You look awfully pale to me."

  Claire was far from fine and she knew Amy knew it. But Claire also knew she was teetering on the edge, and if she admitted how really terrified she was, she would fall apart, and she didn't want to do that here. She didn't want to do that to Amy.

  "What about your aunt and uncle? Can they give you any more help?"

  Claire struggled to focus her mind on Amy's question. "Aunt Lily and Uncle David are already helping me all they can. And Uncle David is retiring at the end of the year. I can't ask them for more."

  Claire knew her mother's sister and her husband would have a drastically curtailed income when he retired. She had been worrying about what she'd do if they were no longer able to contribute the share they now gave toward Kitty's care. With their contribution and the portion paid by Medicaid, Claire had just been able to meet the monthly payment to Pinehaven.

  "There's always the state hospital," Amy said quietly.

  "No!" The word was like a gu
nshot in the room. Claire clenched the armrests of her chair as she leaned forward. "I can't put my mother in the state hospital. Even if I thought the facility was one she'd like, which I don't, it's too far away. I'd be lucky to be able to visit her once a month."

  "What will you do then?"

  Claire swallowed. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. Crying wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all her mother. "I'll find a way."

  Amy sighed again. "If anyone can, you can." She stood, then walked around her desk. She knelt in front of Claire's chair and took Claire's chilled hands into hers. Her voice was filled with sympathy as she said, "But if you should change your mind ... if you want me to look into State for you, I will."

  The two women hugged.

  Before Claire turned to leave, she said, "When do the new rates go into effect? Do you know?"

  "The first of March."

  Forty-five days. The words drummed through her head. Forty-five days. She walked with unseeing eyes out of Amy's office, out of the building, and out into the cold, dark January night.

  Chapter 4

  Nick arrived at the Hedrick Beech hangar at 1:45 P.M. He'd left instructions for Claire to be brought to the airport for a two o'clock takeoff. She should be there soon. He felt a pleasant tingle of anticipation.

  Dave Jennings, the company's senior pilot, was filling out the flight plan. He looked up as Nick approached, his lined face crinkling in a smile. "Afternoon, Mr. Callahan," he said.

  "Good afternoon, Captain." Nick liked the older man. He had tried for years to get Jennings to call him by his first name, but the pilot wouldn't do it. Nevertheless, they had an easy camaraderie. The two of them had had many long conversations about Jennings's military career, in particular his days flying jets for the navy. Nick had always wondered what it would be like to fly during combat.

  "Gonna have a good day to fly. Weather's perfect." Jennings squinted against the bright January sun, his reflector sunglasses glittering half-ovals of opaque black glass.

  Nick took a deep breath of the crisp air. There was a strong odor of oil mixed in with the fresh breeze. Jennings was right. The weather couldn't have been nicer. The sky was so blue it almost hurt his eyes to look at it and there were only a few wispy clouds scattered about. The Gulfstream jet they would be using today stood gleaming in the sunlight as a mechanic gave it a final check. The Callahan, International logo was a bright splash of purple and gold against its silver tail.

  Nick loved planes. One of the greatest satisfactions his success had brought was the money to indulge this love. He only wished he could fly this one. So far, he was only licensed to fly propeller aircraft, but it wouldn't be long before he'd be ready to test out on turbine-powered planes. His instructor would probably sign him off now, Nick knew, but he wanted to accumulate his own personal goal of one thousand hours of instruction before going before the FAA.

  The sound of an approaching car interrupted his thoughts and he turned. The limousine coasted to a noiseless stop about ten feet away. Gordon, his driver, climbed out, gave Nick a half salute, then turned and opened the rear door. That same tingle of anticipation pushed Nick forward as one slim leg, then another emerged from the car, followed by sunlit hair. Pleasure stirred deep within, surprising him by its unexpected strength. Smiling, he said, "Right on time."

  She straightened and silvery green eyes met his. "Hello, Mr. Callahan," Claire said, sticking to the formal address they'd agreed upon in the company of others.

  Nick immediately knew something was wrong. He could see it in her eyes, even as she made an attempt to smile brightly. But the effort fell far short of the genuine, warm smiles he'd already come to look forward to. Concern, immediate and strong, flooded him.

  Gordon removed her bag from the trunk of the Lincoln and walked over to the waiting plane. Nick watched as the driver climbed up the portable steps and disappeared into the inside of the plane. Nick turned back to Claire. "Ready?"

  She nodded but said nothing.

  He stood at the foot of the portable steps and helped her up. His concern grew as he saw the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the weary slump to her shoulders. Yes, there was definitely something wrong.

  Once inside, she made polite comments about the interior of the plane, which was devoid of the usual passenger seats and instead had been turned into one long, comfortable seating area with plush sofas, deep individual chairs with leg rests, and small conversational areas with tables, but he could see no real enthusiasm in her eyes. When he took her into the compact, fully-stocked galley, his particular pride, she said, "This is nicer than the kitchen in my apartment." But again there was no spark of real interest.

  Nick sat opposite her, watched as she fastened her seat belt, then fastened his own. He picked up the hand microphone that connected him with the pilot's cabin. "We're ready, Captain," he said.

  Within minutes the plane was accelerating down the runway and soon they were airborne and climbing. Claire stared out the window and Nick studied her profile. She looked tired and worried. "What's wrong, Claire?"

  Her startled eyes met his. "Oh, I . . . I'm sorry. I was daydreaming," she said. "Did you say something?"

  "I asked you what was wrong. Something's obviously troubling you." He kept his voice quiet and encouraging, the same tone he used when he was attempting to disarm a business opponent.

  "There's nothing wrong," she said quickly. "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

  She was a rotten liar. He studied her faintly flushed face for a few moments, then said, "I'm glad that's all it is. But remember, if you should have a problem of some kind, I don't mind listening. I might even be able to help."

  She nodded, giving him the first genuine smile of the day.

  He smiled back. He wished she trusted him, but he guessed it was too early in their relationship for that. For the remainder of the flight they didn't talk. Claire leafed through the most recent issue of Houston City magazine or looked out the window, and Nick pretended to be engrossed in an article in Engineering Monthly. But occasionally he would steal a glance at her and each time he did, he would see the same troubled expression on her face.

  Whatever was worrying her, it was serious.

  Before the trip to New Orleans was over, he promised himself, he would find out what the problem was. He would also come to a final decision about her.

  * * *

  Claire walked into her suite at the French Quarter hotel where she and Nick were staying while in New Orleans. It was a beautifully appointed two-room suite filled with antiques. The bed was a four poster draped in pale peach satin and the bathroom was large and luxurious with all manner of amenities. Normally, she would have been thrilled to have the opportunity to stay somewhere like this. But nothing was normal today. For the past eighteen hours all she had been able to think about was the shattering news she'd received the night before.

  Desultorily, she unpacked her clothes and put them away. What was she going to do? That one question had pounded relentlessly through her brain. But it didn't matter how many times she asked herself that question. There was no answer.

  All last night, after Amy had given her the news of Pinehaven's rate increase, she'd gone over and over her options. Should she ask Peachey for help? Even though she knew Peachey would give her as much help as she could, Claire also knew she'd never ask. Should she go to Aunt Lily and Uncle David? They couldn't afford to do any more than they were already doing. A credit union loan? What would she use for collateral? And where was the money going to come from to pay the loan back?

  Claire closed her eyes, resting her head against one of the bedposts. A dull headache throbbed at her temples.

  The state hospital.

  How could she?

  What else could she do?

  My whole life is falling apart.

  Tears burned behind her eyelids, but Claire refused to give way to the temptation to cry. Crying solved nothing. She'd learned that long ago when she had f
irst received the news of her father's death and her mother's prognosis. She'd cried buckets of tears, and in the end she was still faced with the same problems.

  She massaged her temples wearily, then stood. She had to try to put this problem out of her mind. She didn't know what she was going to be expected to do here in New Orleans, but the worst possible thing she could do right now was not give her full attention to her job. More than ever, she must be an exemplary employee. Nothing must jeopardize her only source of income. Perhaps if she did an outstanding job on the article about Nick, she would get a raise.

  Nick. He had been so sweet today, had seemed so genuinely concerned about her. For one instant there, when his blue eyes had captured hers with such sympathy, she'd been tempted to confide in him. The burden of her knowledge and fear had been so great, she had almost weakened. But she'd caught herself in time.

  He was her boss. It was important to her future with Callahan, International that she keep their relationship businesslike and professional. If she told him her personal problems, her status would change in his eyes. Also, she didn't want him to pity her. She didn't want anyone to pity her. The only thing holding her together right now was her pride.

  But it was considerate and kind of him to ask. She wondered if all the stories she'd heard about Nick were true. They must be true. No one attained the wealth and power he had without a strong streak of ruthlessness. But after that first stubborn insistence that she take the assignment, he'd been nothing but kind and considerate to her. And he'd also been very compassionate in the face of Heather Ripley's angry and rude remark Saturday night. She wondered which was the real Nick Callahan—the steely and determined power broker or the kind and sensitive man she'd glimpsed today. Perhaps he was both.

  Thinking about Nick reminded her that she had four hours before they were supposed to meet for dinner. She may as well take advantage of the free time. She decided to take a long, hot bath filled with some of the scented bath salts she'd noticed earlier. Then she would put on one of those thick terrycloth robes provided by the hotel and rest until it was time to dress. She hadn't lied to Nick about that; she really hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. For the remainder of the trip she would try not to think about Kitty or money or anything except her current assignment.