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  "Oh, you shouldn't be. I'm fine. Really, Marge," Laine responded, lifting one hand in a dismissive gesture. She began to tap the eraser end of a pencil lightly against her desk pad. "I'm just in one of those restless moods. We all seem to go through it on occasion. Maybe I shouldn't have taken a long vacation. I seemed to come back with all this bottled-up energy. Two weeks of relaxation can be an overdose, I guess." ,

  "Don't try to pretend with me, honey. I know something's wrong." Marge leaned forward in her chair, across the desk, concern written on her face. "You're not trying so hard to keep yourself busy because you've had too much relaxation. I don't think your vacation was as calm and uneventful as you say. Something happened while you were away, and I noticed a difference in you the moment you got back. The first week you worked, you were so preoccupied, and now for the past two weeks you've been burning the candle at both ends. Laine, you simply cannot take over the chores of the entire staff. Can't you tell me what's bothering you? Maybe it would help to talk. And besides, you must know by now that you can't escape problems by working yourself half to death."

  "You're exaggerating. I'm not working myself half to death." Laine shook her head and smiled. "I just feel like keeping busy lately. And I don't know why you imagine anything happened to me on my vacation. It really was pretty uneventful."

  "You went to St. Simons, right?"

  "Um-hmm. It's really a nice place, isn't it? Are you and Joe taking the kids there this year?"

  "We haven't decided for sure yet. And you're not going to succeed in trying to change the subject," Marge announced sternly. "I want you to talk to me, Laine. I imagine you might need to talk, since it's very doubtful that two weeks spent with Nick Brannon could have possibly been uneventful."

  "So you know I was with Nick." Laine shook her head in amazement. "How on earth did you hear about that? Surely, Father didn't go around advertising the fact that I was spending my vacation as Nick's house guest."

  "Your father didn't have to say anything. A friend of Dulcie Jacobs's lives on St. Simons. She called Dulcie and mentioned you were there. And you know Dulcie. That tidbit was all over the campus in three seconds flat."

  "Two seconds if she really put her heart into it," Laine added wryly, unaware that her rather resigned little smile added a touch of vulnerability to her features. "But I don't really care who knows where I spent my vacation. I do wish you'd tell me, though, why you think I was different when I came back to work again."

  "Falling in love makes people a bit different," Marge said gently, understanding warming her eyes. "And being badly hurt or disillusioned makes them different, too, in another way." Reaching over, she gave the younger woman's arm a comforting squeeze. "You can deny it all you like, but you've experienced both the love and the hurt since you met Nick Brannon. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

  Wearily massaging one shoulder with her hand, Laine nodded. "Unfortunately, that doesn't mean the feeling is mutual."

  "Are you still seeing him?" Marge asked, then answered her own question. "You aren't, are you?"

  "No."

  "I'm so sorry, dear," Marge murmured, her own eyes filling with commiserative tears though Laine's remained dry, even virtually unclouded. "I know you're going through a painful time. Nothing is quite so miserable as loving someone who doesn't love you back."

  "Ah, what the heck, I'll survive," Laine responded, though her attempted flippancy wasn't exactly an award-winning performance. Looking down, she picked a nonexistent piece of lint from the skirt of her cotton-blend grass green dress, as she added almost inaudibly, "After all, other people survive unhappy love affairs. I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I certainly won't be the last. And I'll get through it… sooner or later."

  "You really will, Laine," Marge assured her softly. "I promise you that you really will."

  "And I know that… at least in my head." Laine's right hand moved over the general area of her heart. "But there's something else inside me that makes me afraid that loving Nick will always hurt just as much as it does now."

  "It's too soon yet to put it all behind you. You'll need more time." Marge's expression brightened somewhat. "But why are we talking about this in the gloomiest possible terms? You and Nick could work out your problems and be very happy together."

  Laine shook her head. "Nick's not willing to make a permanent commitment, and I've discovered I couldn't be really happy with anything else."

  Sighing, Marge regarded Laine intently. "What about your father?" she asked at last after some hesitation. "Does he realize how upset you are about all this?"

  "Does Father ever realize anything about me?" Laine countered, only the slight tightening of her lips betraying a newly developing resentment. "He's surely noticed how quiet I've been since my vacation, but he's never bothered to ask me why."

  "I can't say I'm surprised. That's why I hoped you'd talk to me, Laine. Everyone needs somebody to confide in. Your mother and I were close friends, you know, and…" Marge paused a second, her gentle smile conveying affection. "Well, I just wanted you to know how fond I am of you."

  A suspicious dewiness glimmered in Laine's eyes. For three weeks now she had held tears at bay, but Marge's genuine concern could easily have brought on the deluge had not Laine refused to give in to overwrought emotions. When her chin began to wobble slightly, she clenched her teeth together to stop it. "Thank you, Marge," she finally said, her voice strained. "I guess I did need to talk. I've been feeling a bit lonely lately."

  Marge got up and hurried around the desk to slip her arm around Laine's shoulders. She drew her head against her ample bosom to briefly stroke her hair. "Nick Brannon must be a fool," she announced with protective vehemence. "He'd be damned lucky to have you. If he doesn't know that, then maybe you're better off without him."

  "Maybe," Laine murmured, though she didn't sound very convinced. When Marge released her, she rested back in her chair and smiled gratefully at the older woman. "I do feel a little better now."

  "Any time you want to talk, I'm here," Marge assured her as she headed toward the door. "Be sure you remember to come see me the next time you're tempted to become a workaholic. In fact, don't you think you should go home now? It's well after six."

  "I'm going in just a second," Laine promised, then straightened in her chair to call to Marge as she stepped out into the hallway. "Wait. Are you and Joe still planning to leave for Atlanta this evening? Do you want me to take care of Jasper?"

  "If you don't mind." Marge grimaced rather sheepishly. "And besides feeding him, could you go over to the house about nine at night to let him in? That cat will keep the neighbors up all night with his howling if he's left out. I'd hate for someone to wring his neck while we're gone."

  "I'm sure that wouldn't put Jasper in a pleasant mood either," Laine quipped. "I'll be happy to bring him in at night and put him out in the mornings. It's no problem."

  After Marge expressed her appreciation, she went on down the hall. Ten minutes later Laine locked the door to her office and started home. Walking briskly—a leisurely pace induced too many disturbing thoughts—she arrived at her father's house in less than five minutes, and when she went inside, she was startled by a sudden squeal of delight that came from upstairs.

  "Laine, you're late! Where have you been? I've almost bored myself to tears, waiting the past two hours for you to come home," Regina chattered as she flew lightly down the stairs, her platinum hair streaming out like a silken curtain behind her. Casually elegant in a cream linen suit accented by a scarlet silk blouse, she was a vision as usual. Her loveliness was only enhanced by the perfect smile that appeared on perfectly shaped lips as she saw Laine's astonished expression. Gliding across the foyer, she hugged her younger sister briefly; then, aiming in the vicinity of Laine's cheek, kissed the air somewhere beside Laine's ear.

  Knowing Regina hated to smudge her lipstick, Laine paid no attention to the deliberate miss. She was far too glad to see her sister. Regina's antics
would keep her mind off Nick's desertion for the next day or two at least. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she said sincerely, smiling as her sister beamed down at her from her perfect model's height. "But why didn't you call and say you were coming? This is such a surprise."

  "Father certainly was surprised when I stopped by his office earlier," Regina said, laughing lightly. "Then, of course, he had to scold me for not getting home more often."

  Laine nodded knowingly. "He does miss seeing you."

  "Umm. Well, I'm just so busy I can't get away."

  "Maybe," Laine suggested, "you could invite him up to New York to visit you?" And get him off my back for a while, her mind added silently, much to her dismay. Until that moment, she hadn't fully realized how discontented living with her father was making her feel. Shaking her head, as if to clear her thoughts, she looked hopefully at Regina. "Do you think you could ask him? I know he'd love to spend his vacation with you."

  "Well, I guess I could. But…" Regina vacillated with a slight wrinkling of her perfect nose, "I'm not sure it would be a good idea for him to visit me. I'm always so busy." She dismissed the entire subject with a flick of one wrist. "Oh, we'll talk about that later. Right now, let's go upstairs and catch up."

  Agreeable, Laine walked with Regina up to the guest bedroom, which had been hers when she had still lived at home. Pointedly ignoring the thought that Nick had once slept in the bed, Laine sat down on the edge while Regina posed on the vanity seat, long shapely legs tucked to one side, crossed at the ankle. Glancing around the beruffled room, she sighed dramatically. "Needs redecorating. Looks like a teen-ager still lives in here. And speaking of redecorating, when's Father going to do something about that stuffy old office of his?"

  "Oh, it's not all that stuffy," Laine disagreed with a laugh, amused by Regina's ability to disguise even a minor insult with gay lightheartedness. She was so outrageously vivacious that it was nearly impossible to be offended by anything she said. Yet, Laine did feel compelled to provide her with some financial truths. "Maybe you didn't know how tight money is on college campuses these days. I suppose Father would rather spend redecorating funds on something he considers more important, like lab equipment, say."

  Examining the toe of one of her fashionable low-heeled snakeskin pumps, Regina nodded. "Come to think of it, Father did mention some grant he's afraid Latham isn't going to get."

  "Oh? What did he say about it?"

  "Nothing much," Regina answered with a shrug. "He knows I can't pay attention when he talks about Latham." She dismissed that topic, too, with another flick of a wrist. "Oh, thanks for the postcard from St. Simons. Did you have a good vacation?"

  "Fine," Laine murmured, almost tempted to confide in her sister. It had helped some this evening to talk to Marge, so maybe telling Regina would ease some of her inner tension too. She took a deep breath. "About St. Simons…"

  "You know, that postcard nearly made me ask Joel— he's the man I wrote you about—to take me to St. Simons for a week," Regina interjected impetuously, obviously unaware of interrupting her sister. Her violet eyes clouded. "It's a good thing I dropped that idea. Joel turned out to be dull as dishwater."

  For the next half hour, Regina recounted the faults of the man who's many virtues she had just extolled in a letter only a few weeks ago. There was little reason for Laine to listen intently. She had heard the story so many times before. Regina would meet a man, fall in love with his utter perfection and, on occasion, even allow him to move into her expensive apartment with her. Then within weeks, two or three months at the most, the rose-colored glasses would come off and she'd see her "perfect love" as not so perfect after all. There would be much weeping and gnashing of teeth for a week or so, then she'd recover and start the entire process all over again.

  It was weeping and gnashing time now. Laine nodded now and then as the emotional narrative went on, but naturally her thoughts drifted to Nick. And she was glad she had talked to Marge about him earlier because Regina didn't seem inclined to let her get a word in edgewise now. Besides, she wasn't at all certain her older sister could really understand the depth of her feelings for Nick. Regina only became superficially involved with men while Laine's involvement with Nick had been far more emotionally ensnaring. And she did feel ensnared, trapped by her love for him, and she could only hope that Marge was right—time would bring relief.

  When Regina began to wind down some time later, she at last claimed Laine's full attention by pensively tapping a perfectly manicured finger against a perfectly hollowed cheek. "You know, I'm going to tell you a secret," she announced solemnly. "Joel, when he was moving out, told me… that I rely too much on my looks in my relationships. He said… I don't give much. And I've been wondering if he might be right. My relationships with men never last long. Maybe Father's pampered me too long. To tell the truth, he's spoiled me so much that I feel kind of uncomfortable around him. I feel like I have to look perfect or he won't like me. And of course, I've always hated the way he picks on you. Really, it's very silly. You're more like Mother in personality. I just look more like she did."

  "Well, don't worry about how he treats me. I don't," Laine said, stretching the truth a bit. She paused a moment, listened, heard noises downstairs. "Speaking of Father, though, that's him now. We'd better go down so he can talk to you before dinner. What would you like to have to eat?"

  "You don't cook on Fridays," Regina protested. "I remember."

  "In your honor, O Famous New York Model, I'll make an exception," Laine quipped, feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks as she and Regina went down together.

  The feeling didn't last. When Laine and her older sister stepped into the living room, Laine stopped short, her heart leaping up in her throat when she saw Nick standing by the bar with her father. Her breath caught audibly and the blood drained from her face with astonishing speed, inducing a horrid dizziness. Yet, when Nick turned and his narrowing gaze swept slowly over her, she fought to appear serene, forgetting how awful she felt, how wonderful it was to see him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Girls! I was about to come up for you," Thornton proclaimed jovially as he turned and saw his daughters enter the room. Excitement fairly danced over unusually stern features and he actually beamed at Laine. "Nick's come to see you, but he also brought excellent news. Latham's been awarded the Winston grant."

  Laine sent Nick a relieved and grateful smile but he never received it because Regina's squeal of delight drew his eyes automatically to her. From that moment on Regina set out to monopolize his attention by being her most captivating self. Laine was actually glad her sister was there. Seeing Nick again so unexpectedly had tied her stomach in knots, but Regina's nonstop amusing chatter helped her relax somewhat. Her gaze involuntarily moved to Nick every minute or so, however, and if he happened to be glancing at her, too, her heartbeat would accelerate to an unbelievable rate.

  What was he doing there? she asked herself repeatedly. Her father had said he came to see her. But why? Had he merely told her father that to be polite? Maybe he had really only come about the grant. Yet, he could have phoned about that. Perplexing questions without answers chased themselves round and round in her mind until she was hardly able to pay attention to the conversation going on around her. Sitting on the sofa across from Nick's chair, trying not to appear the least bit tense, she pretended to listen to the others but only really did when she heard Nick mention he'd taken a room for the night in the local motel because he was driving on to Savannah in the morning.

  "No need for you to stay in that sterile motel," Thornton spoke up. "We'd be happy to have you use our guest room."

  Regina's laughter was almost a giggle. "Father, you've forgotten something—me! I'm in the guest room. Remember?" She cut her eyes coquettishly at Nick. "Of course, if Mr. Brannon wants to share the room with me, I think I just might consider it."

  Her sister's audacity made Laine smile, but when her father actually laughed, she looked at him incredulously,
astounded he found Regina's remark amusing. If Laine had ever made such a blatant remark, he would have gone right through the roof.

  Nick was smiling, too, even as he shook his head. "A fascinating proposition, Regina, but under the circumstances, I imagine Thornton wants to rescind his invitation."

  "I think I do," Thornton agreed, still chuckling. "But I'll offer compensation. You told me you were going to call on your old friend Jenny and her husband tonight, Regina. Why don't the four of you go to that nice little bistro, Pierre's, a couple of miles up the road? They have a great French cuisine there, Nick."

  The suggestion stunned Laine. She could hardly believe she had heard correctly and was only barely aware of Regina's enthusiastic response to Thornton's idea. Determined to show no emotion, she consciously set her expression into the blandest look she could manage and simply stared at her father, resentment building within her. What was wrong with him? How could he even think of suggesting Regina go out with Nick when he himself had said Nick was there to see her? Breathing suspended, Laine sat waiting for Nick to remind Thornton of that fact. When he didn't, she knew she would never say anything herself, even if her life depended on it. Pride drew the line there. If Nick was too dazzled by Regina to remember he had come to see Laine, then he could just go to the devil. Yet when Nick calmly agreed to the night out with Regina without even a glance at Laine, she was appalled by the wave of intense pain that swept over her. She felt so betrayed. Riveting her gaze on her animated sister to avoid looking at Nick, she sat silent, misery welling up inside her.