Snowbound Heart (14 page)

Though the daylight hours were spent with Logan almost constantly at her side, the evenings were the worst. When they were alone, or even in the company of Beverly and John, they could meet in cool friendliness, like travelers thrown together for a space of days who would never meet again. All that changed when the sun set behind the mountains. Janine Hobbs insisted on their meeting with her husband and herself for the daily apres-ski ritual, and afterward for dinner. It was then that Logan became more possessive, more the lover. The change was a subtle one, expressed in a touch, a gesture, a warm glance from which Clare, try as she might, could not look away. With the same effortless ease with which he projected emotion on the screen, he created between them an air of such intimate tenderness that Clare sometimes had to bring herself up short, reminding herself that it had no more substance than celluloid romance.

Still, if she was ever in danger of forgetting, there was always Janine. The woman watched constantly, her eyes slitted and a tight smile on her face. As the nights went by one by one, the producer’s wife grew more snappish. She found fault with the drinks served to her, declared that the smell of woodsmoke nauseated her, and pronounced the band in the dining room as amateurish, certainly not up-to the quality of the bands found in the nightspots in Los Angeles. Nothing, not her husband’s sarcastic rejoinders or Logan’s quiet teasing, could persuade her to leave off her ill humor. If either of the two men guessed the cause of it, they gave no sign. To Clare it was plain enough. The producer’s wife resented even a pretense of interest in Clare from Logan. Not that there had ever been any doubt. It had been Janine’s jealousy that had driven the woman to threaten putting an end to the bogus engagement. Sometimes Clare, sitting self-consciously in the circle of Logan’s arms, watched by that basilisk stare, was not at all sure it would be a bad thing if she did.

On this particular evening, they had dined on Alaskan king crab, a truly delicious change from beef, one that Clare, coming from a state famous for seafood, had never tried. The band had been replaced for the night by a guitarist, an excellent performer who played in the classic Spanish style through the meal, turning later to folk songs and popular country-and-western tunes, encouraging everyone to sing along. The idea found favor with all except Janine. Too utterly junior college, she sneered, and sat tight-lipped as the others raised their voices around her.

To Clare, it was great fun. Her voice was clear and strong, and she enjoyed singing. Moreover, the shared music was much closer to what she had expected of entertainment at a ski lodge than the cacophony of hard rock. Logan joined in also, though with less enthusiasm. He seemed more preoccupied with watching Clare’s enjoyment, the sparkle in her eyes and her pleasure in the recognition of favorite melodies and lyrics. Once he leaned close to harmonize, and when she turned to him with a grin when the song was over, gave her a brief hug, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Clare stiffened, drawing away. She slanted a quick look at Janine. The woman was stabbing out her cigarette in the ashtray, crushing it as she stared at Logan with hooded eyelids heavy with mascara.

Logan touched Clare’s arm. “What is it, darling?” he asked, his voice low.

The endearment, the soft concerned tone, did not escape Janine. The color drained from her face, leaving it white with anger.

Clare shook her head. “Nothing,” she murmured. As Logan drew her back against him once more, her gaze flicked to Marvin Hobbs. With a frown between his eyes and his mouth in a thin line, he was watching his wife. Slowly he turned toward Logan. It was Clare who intercepted his hard stare, however. Immediately his face smoothed to blandness, though there was a perceptible glint in the depths of his eyes.

The evening wore on. Marvin left the table to speak to an acquaintance he had made during the course of the last days. After a few minutes he waved to catch Logan’s attention and motioned to him. As soon as Logan was out of hearing, Janine leaned toward Clare.

“What do you think you are doing?” she hissed. “Flirting, practically begging to be fondled and petted before my very eyes. I warned you what would happen if you pushed me too far!”

“If you aren’t careful, your husband is going to catch on, whether you are ready to tell him or not,” Clare answered as easily as she could manage.

“What do you mean?”

“He was watching you turn green with envy just now.”

“Is that, so? Little I care! He won’t do a thing about it.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, if I were you. I don’t think I would care to cross him.”

Janine shrugged. “You have to know how to handle him, but it was not my husband we were discussing, it was you.”

“Yes, you don’t like the way I am behaving. If you remember, I didn’t kiss Logan, he kissed me. According to you, there is nothing to it, so I fail to see why you are upset. If you have some complaint to make on that score, I suggest you make it to him. I am sure if you are what you say you are to each other, the last thing Logan will want is to annoy you.”

Janine threw herself back in her chair so hard it creaked. “I never have a chance to see him alone. He is with you most of the day, and Marvin dogs my footsteps every evening.”

“I expect if what you told me the other day is true, not meeting is the wisest course.”

“Wise?” Janine laughed, a hollow sound. “What do I care about being wise? That would be a poor kind of love.”

“I was under the impression the wisdom was on Logan’s part,” Clare said, her smile innocent.

The other woman sent her a sharp look. “I will find a way,” she muttered, and turned to smile at Logan as he threaded his way back to their table.

At last the dreadful evening was done. The time came when Clare could retire to her room and close the door behind her. She washed her face to remove her makeup and donned her nightgown, a long sheath of apricot silk with a mandarin collar and side seams slit to well above the knees. In an effort to relax she brushed her hair, spreading the silken blond strands upon her shoulders like a cape. Fine tendrils curled about her face, framing her wide, dark eyes, giving her a look of gentle vulnerability. With a sudden movement, Clare put down the brush and swung from the mirror.

She could not sleep. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, but when she turned on the bedside lamp and picked up her wristwatch, it had been only an hour and a half. In the bottom of her suitcase was a paperback book. She got it out and sat turning the pages, only to realize after a time that she had read line after line without being able to absorb their meaning. She could not concentrate, could not keep her mind on the story. Her thoughts went around in endless circles. Why had she ever let herself become involved in this mess? She wasn’t used to such complicated affairs and they crosscurrents of love and hate. She would have said ordinarily that she was fair at separating fact from falsehood. Now she seemed to have lost her bearings. She could no longer tell what she knew from what she believed, what she believed from what she wanted to believe.

If she had any sense, she would make some excuse to pack her suitcase and be gone, not only from the lodge and Snowmass, but from Colorado. Coming here had been a mistake on several accounts. Not only had she landed herself in this situation, there had been precious little opportunity to think seriously about her future. Even now, in the middle of the night, she could not make her mind settle to the task.

The lodge was quiet there had been no raised voices or slamming doors for some time. The abrupt sound of a knock was startling in the stillness. Clare hesitated an instant, uncertain whether the summons had been at her own door or from somewhere nearby. Flinging back the cover, she slipped into her robe of turquoise fleece and went to see.

The balcony outside her room was empty. She was just about to step back inside when she heard the sound of a door closing. The knock had been near, all right, next door, in fact. Just before the panel snapped shut, there had been the sound of a voice, a woman’s voice. Janine had been as good as her word. She had found a way to speak to Logan.

Clare, her face cold with distaste, started back inside once more. At that moment, she heard the slam of another door from a lower floor, on the opposite side of the pool. The direction from which the sound had come touched off a suspicion in her mind. She moved quickly out onto the balcony and looked over the railing. Below her, Marvin Hobbs had emerged from his room and was striding toward the elevator. His face grim, he stepped inside. The doors slid shut, and the elevator car began its upward whine.

Clare did not stop to think. She whirled back into her room and swung the door shut. Running to the connecting door, she beat a furious tattoo on its wood-grained surface, snapping the lock open with one hand at the same time.

“Logan?” she called as loudly as she dared. “Let me in.”

The door opened inward, and she tumbled into Logan’s bedroom. Logan, his hair tousled and his robe wrapped around him, stared at her in surprise not unmixed with irritation. Janine stood back, her hands clenched at her sides and her face twisted with fury as she glared at Clare.

“I … I’m sorry, Logan. I don’t mean to interfere, but Marvin Hobbs is coming.”

“He can’t be,” Janine objected. “He was sound asleep when I left.”

“He isn’t now,” Clare said succinctly. Hard on her words came a sharp knock.

Clare flung a quick look at Logan. In defiance of his frown, she stepped to his bed and sat down at the foot, curling her legs under her in an effort to look as if she had been there long enough to be comfortable.

Logan lifted a brow; then the ghost of a smile banished the hardness from his face. Running the fingers of one hand through his hair, he stepped to the door. Janine made a quick gesture, as if she would stop him; then she brought her hand down, throwing her shoulders back with all the pride of a martyr.

Hobbs was just raising his fist to pound on the door. He gave Logan a curt nod, pushed the panel wider, and stepped into the room.

“Why, Mr. Hobbs, this is getting to be quite a party,” Clare said, her voice even, deliberately soothing, though nerves quivered in the arm upon which she was resting.

“Clare!” the producer exclaimed.

“What did you expect?” his wife asked, her tone arch “She is his fiancee.”

Marvin Hobbs was a blunt realist; he was also a gentleman in his own way. “My apologies for the intrusion, Clare. This is getting to be a habit, one I can only regret. Logan, if I say it won’t happen again, perhaps you will overlook it one more time.”

Janine gave Logan no time to reply. “I am glad to see you have some manners, Marvin,” she snapped. “It is more than I expected when you came barging in here.”

“Yes,” her husband replied, his tone grim. “Having made my peace with Logan, I am now going to ask you, my dear wife, why you are traipsing around all over the lodge in your nightgown?”

“Why … I came to see Clare, of course. I knocked on her door, and I suppose she must have heard from in here with Logan. She called me over to this room.” It was not a bad effort for such short notice. From the smile that twisted Janine’s mouth, she knew it.

“I wasn’t aware of any emergency that made it necessary for you to pay Clare a visit so late — and so quietly.”

Janine looked at her husband with loathing. “If you are referring to the way I left my room, I was trying not to wake the entire lodge. Excuse my courtesy. As to why I wanted Clare, before you forced your way in I was asking if she and Logan wanted to make a foursome for the long slope tomorrow morning. An inch of new powder is predicted overnight, and I am told Clare has improved to the point where she is capable of anything.”

Her husband grunted. “I can’t make it in the morning. I am expecting a call from the Coast.”

“Too bad. Perhaps Clare and Logan and I — “

“I appreciate the invitation, Janine,” Clare said hurriedly, “but I’m not in your league yet, and I know it. Besides, John says it would be foolish to attempt anything really tricky right now. If I get into a situation I can’t manage and take a bad fall, all his good work might be for nothing, since it would set me back, ruin the small amount of confidence he has been able to instill. I think I had better stick to the intermediate slopes.”

“I will stay with Clare,” Logan said. “Of course, if you would care to join us, Janine, we have no objections.” Moving to the bed, he sank down beside Clare. The extra weight on the mattress made her sway toward him, momentarily off balance. He reached out to catch her, drawing her comfortably against his side.

“No,” Janine said, a shrill edge in her voice. “I graduated from such minor thrills long ago. I will leave them to you two. It was just an idea. I didn’t want your Clare to think I feel too superior to ski with her. It has been a long time since I was an amateur, but I still remember how little I relished being left behind when everyone else was taking the long runs.”

“It was thoughtful of you,” Clare said. “Perhaps I can take you up on it at least once before it is time for me to go.”

“Go?” Hobbs queried.

“Back to my home in Louisiana. I … I prefer not to become involved with Logan’s life in California and his work as an actor just yet.”

“I see. He will be a bigger fool than I think if he lets you out of his sight.” The producer moved to hold the door, looking at his wife. “Shall we go?” he asked.

The last thing Janine Hobbs wanted was to leave Clare alone with Logan, and yet there was nothing else she could do, not with her husband’s implacable stare upon her. Logan gave her no help, watching her with his face unyielding and the look in his eyes one of patience tried to the edge of endurance. Janine swung toward the door. The glance she threw at Clare as she stepped over the threshold held all the venom of her pent-up rage.

As the door closed behind the couple, Logan turned to Clare. “So you came to my rescue?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice hard, “though I am not sure you deserve it.” She tried to free her feet so she could stand up, only to discover that he was sitting on the hem of her gown and robe.