For Services Rendered (6 page)

His hands itched as she moved to pick up her coat from the back of a chair and he caught another peek of long leg. How could a woman look both cool and as sexy as hell? As he helped her into a short fox coat, he wondered how she had managed to buy it. With her financial burden there couldn't be anything left for luxuries.

He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew he was aware of her situation. He suspected she was proud, that she wouldn't like him knowing. He liked that. He was the same way.

Yes, he thought as he assisted Claire down the steep outside stairs toward the waiting limousine that looked so incongruous in the parking lot of the apartment complex, he was fairly certain he'd made the right choice with this woman, and the way things went in New Orleans should be the deciding factor.

The reception wasn't as bad as Claire had thought it would be. She'd expected to feel nervous, but her only nervous moment came when she was introduced to the British consul general and his wife. But once those few minutes passed, Claire actually started to enjoy herself.

The country club was magnificent, she thought, as she looked around at the sumptuous furnishings and the beautifully gowned and bejeweled women. The colors of their dresses were a feast for the eyes: vivid emerald and royal blue and purple and scarlet as well as black and white. The chandeliers glittered, the music was soft and tasteful, the laughter and conversation floated around her.

Nick seemed to know everyone, and Claire watched intently as he played the part of the perfect guest, complimenting each woman he talked with and sharing some anecdote or observation with the men. It amused her to watch him in action. He was like an actor with each movement or speech carefully rehearsed before it was shown to his audience. She wondered how he'd feel if she were to write that about him in the article. She suppressed a grin at the thought. He'd probably pin her with those bright, knowing eyes and tell her to get her Ph.D. if she wanted to practice the art of analysis.

Tim Sutherland interested her, too. Tonight he actually seemed human and, although he still wasn't exactly friendly, at least he wasn't throwing his usual verbal darts.

The only bad moment came after the three of them were at the reception for about an hour. A couple strolled up to Nick, and the woman—a beautiful redhead with a lush figure—said silkily, "Why, Nick! I didn't expect to see you here tonight. I thought, you'd be too
busy."

Nick turned toward the couple. "Hello, Heather." He nodded at her escort, a handsome, dark-haired man with black eyes. "Armand." He turned back to the woman. "Didn't you? I left a message for you with your secretary."

"Did you?" Her tawny eyes blazed.

Claire could sense the tension in the air, and she wondered who the woman was and what she meant to Nick. An unexpected pang of envy pricked her.

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 gunshot 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.

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.