Snowbound Heart (3 page)

The kind of sensation journalism he was talking about, the kind found usually in movie magazines of the less respectable sort and in supermarket tabloids, was so unlike the articles Clare usually wrote that she could only stare at him in speechless indignation.

“What is the matter? Can’t you come up with an explanation that will prove your innocence and still let you get on with your story?”

“If you will look over these tear sheets, you will see that my writing is nothing like what you have in mind. You will also see that the people I interview are not famous; they are just ordinary people who have managed to contribute something of themselves to make the lives of others easier or richer. Even if I had decided to try to speak to someone like you, I would have gone through regular channels, made inquiries, put a request in writing.”

“And you would have been turned down, as you well know. Except for publicity material for new releases, I don’t give interviews.”

“This may come as a surprise, but I didn’t know, not that it matters. The point is, I would never do anything so stupid as to try to see you in such a sneaking, underhanded way. Even if I did, I think I would have better sense than to bring a bundle of tear sheets advertising my profession with me!”

“I don’t know about that. The members of your profession, as you call it, have not been noted for their ethics or their intelligence.”

The bitterness in his words touched off a slow-moving chain of memory. Hadn’t there been mention of Logan Longcross in the gossip columns lately? If she remembered correctly, he had been charged with assaulting a photographer who was trying to take unauthorized pictures of the actor and the woman who had been with him at the time. There had been much speculation as to his relationship with the woman, because of his attempt to protect her. She had been identified as the wife of a noted producer. Clare thought that the charges had been dropped later, but the newspapers, and especially the weekly tabloids, had enjoyed a field day. Logan Longcross was so seldom seen in public, so seldom attracted attention to himself, that they had made the most of it.

Her face stiff, Clare took her tear sheets from him and reached out her hand for her tote bag. “I understand how you must feel,” she said more quietly. “All I can do is repeat what I said before. I had an accident while trying to find the cabin of a friend. I came back here, found the place deserted and the back door unlocked. I assumed the house was empty for the winter, and took shelter. I had only just discovered my mistake when I heard you come in. Until then, I had not realized the electric power was on in the house.”

“Despite the fact that the central heat, though on a low setting while I was out, still has kept this place quite a few degrees warmer than it is outside.”

“I noticed some difference, but I thought it was because I was so cold and shaken. What I am trying to get at is this: if you have electric power, you must have a telephone also. If you will let me use it, I will call my friend. It is possible she and her husband will have some kind of vehicle equipped for this kind of weather. They may be able to come and take me off your hands.”

“A fine plan,” he said, throwing the jacket he had removed onto the countertop, “except for one thing. I didn’t bother to have the phone connected for the few days I plan on being here.”

The wind whipped around the outside of the house. The snow driven against the exposed glass of the living area made a soft, whispering sound. To Clare it seemed as if the strength of the blizzard was increasing. She glanced at the man beside her, her gray eyes measuring and her soft lips compressed. After a moment she said, “I suppose you flew in from California to Aspen, but you must have driven up here.”

“If you are suggesting that I could take you back to Aspen, or anywhere else, you can forget it. I drove up here, all right, in a rental car. It has snow tires, and chains are available, but as much as I might like to see you on your way, I don’t intend to risk wrecking it on a night like this for the pleasure.”

“In that case, it looks like you are stuck with me,” she said, her tone flat.

“So it does, and now that we have made our positions clear, maybe we had better start making the best of them. I would say, from the way you were poking around in the kitchen, that you must be hungry. I know I am starving.”

It was, in its own way, an offer of a truce, though an armed one. To refuse was tempting, but Clare, her knees weak from hunger and the exhaustion of shock, could not bring herself to do it. “How can I turn down such gracious hospitality?” she replied, and smiled sweetly as he flung her a quick frown.

It was at that moment that the lights in the kitchen nickered once and went out, leaving them standing in darkness.

Their evening meal consisted of sandwich meat and cheese wrapped in bread, beer for Logan, and a soft drink for Clare. They spread the feast on the carpet before the fireplace, not only for the light, but also for the warmth. The power failure had put an end to the central heat. Before half an hour had passed, the intense cold had begun to penetrate into the house, making the blazing fire seem precious. They ate in silence. Once or twice Clare glanced at her reluctant host. His face, bronzed by the firelight, was so grim that she did not think it wise to call attention to herself, even if she could have come up with a neutral subject for conversation.

Cleaning up, when they had finished their meal, was a simple matter of crumpling they paper napkins and cups and tossing them into the fire. Clare sat watching the plastic-foam cups melt and the napkins turn to gray ash. At last, unable to bear the uncomfortable stillness, she got to her feet and moved to the sliding doors. She lifted the curtain and peered out. There was nothing but mesh screen. The snow still fell, sweeping with tiny scraping noises against the wood siding of the house, muffling, deadening the ceaseless soughing of the evergreens overhead.

Clare shivered a little, wrapping her coat closer around her. The situation she had landed herself in was beyond belief. She felt like an idiot, and yet she did not know what else she could have done. She supposed if she had been experienced in mountain driving or with snow, she might have taken some action such as having her snow chains mounted before the emergency arose. She did not like to admit it, but it was true. So much for her claim, made often in the past couple of years since her parents had died, of being able to take care of herself. She had never felt less self-sufficient than at this moment. It did not take much to get into trouble, after all: only a little ignorance, a bit too much trust in luck. She would like to keep this episode to herself, but she doubted it would be possible. Beverly was too quick to be taken in by any trumped-up tale. On the other hand, Clare told herself wryly, it might be worth the exclaiming and teasing she would have to endure just to be able to tell someone exactly what had taken place, and what she thought of the arrogant and surly actor.

Behind her, Logan got to his feet and went to rummage in the kitchen cabinets. With a jar of roasted peanuts in his hand he crossed the room and stood with his back to the flames, Clare heard the sound of the jar opening. A moment later, he spoke.

“What are you doing over there? Come back to the fire before you are chilled to the bone.”

Clare swung around to find Logan watching her. “I can’t think what concern it is of yours.”

“I would just as soon not have to cope with pneumonia.”

“I expect not, especially since it might delay my leaving.”

He made no reply, but neither did he remove his compelling blue gaze. Clare hesitated an instant; then, feeling the cold at her back, she moved toward him, taking her seat once more before the hearth. He offered the peanuts with a silent gesture, and she took a few in the palm of her hand.

The minutes passed. Logan bent to put another length of wood on the fire; then he stepped to the deep pillow couch of brown velour that sat in the far corner of the room. Scooping up several of the large, over-stuffed cushions, he brought them and threw them down beside Clare. “I strongly suspect, since the power is still out, that a tree or dead limb must have gone down on the lines. That happens more often out here than any kind of municipal outage. In this weather, it will probably be a while before anyone can get to it. We might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

“I guess so,” Clare said, slanting him an upward glance. “Before you sit down, though, don’t you think you should put your jacket back on? I’m no more anxious to take on the duties of a nurse than you are, contrary to what you might think.”

He shook his head. Reaching for the peanut jar, he let himself down oh the cushion beside her. “I’m a little better dressed for the cold than you are, since I planned on being out in it. I still have another layer under these.” He indicated the flannel shirt and jeans he wore. “But if that last remark of yours means what I think it does, let me tell you that I am well aware that for every woman who might like to soothe my fevered brow, there are a hundred who wonder why they don’t make leading men like they used to, dark and dashing.”

Clare’s mouth curved in an unbidden smile. That he had a sense of humor should not have been surprising; it flashed out often enough on the screen. To have it surface through his very real exasperation was unexpected. She tilted her head to one side. “So you do admit there are women who might not consider it the thrill of a lifetime to be stranded with you?”

“Oh, yes, I admit it,” he said scathingly. “But I can always be certain that before my ego shrinks too badly some sweet young thing will stow away in my dressing trailer and pop into the bathroom just as I am beginning to shave, or else fling herself at me and tear the lapel off of a six-hundred-dollar suit.”

“I suppose it is to escape such annoyances that you come here?”

“Among other things,” he answered with a sardonic glance that plainly indicated he thought he was being pumped for information. “Ordinarily, it is safe enough. Which brings another question to mind. I was under the impression that no one knew about this house except my agent. Since I am fairly sure he would not give out the information without good reason, just how the devil did you find it?”

Clare watched as he took up the poker and gave a savage jab to a smoldering log. “You won’t accept that it was sheer coincidence?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“Well, let me see how I might have gone about it, then. Perhaps I saw you in town and followed you back to your lair?”

“You might have, except I haven’t been anywhere near Aspen since I landed at the airport a week ago. It certainly took you a long time to catch up.”

“Hummm. Perhaps I was looking over the land records to see which celebrities had property in the area and just happened to come across your name?”

“You might, except I had the foresight to put the title in my parents’ name.”

“Your parents? Do they live in the area?”

“No. They come up for a few weeks in the summer to give the place a good airing. That is all the information you will get on them. You may as well drop that lead, and answer my question.”

“You mean how I ran you to earth?” Clare asked in mock innocence, then went on hurriedly as he turned slowly to stare at her. “Yes, I think I must have cornered your agent at one of those famous Hollywood parties and charmed him so that he told me all I wanted to know.”

“That is just possible,” he said. “A short man, round and balding, was he?”

“Yes, I believe he was.”

“Then you talked to the wrong man. My agent is tall and in possession of a full head of gray hair.”

Clare clicked her tongue. “Undoubtedly the wrong man. I wonder how I came to make such a mistake?”

“So do I,” Logan said, his tone dry.

Sternly controlling the urge to grin, Clare frowned at the burning logs in the fireplace. “I think that exhausts every possible way I might have found you. Don’t you think it must have been an accident, then?”

Greatly daring, she turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, his gaze on the shining curtain of her hair glinting silver-gold in the firelight. His deep blue gaze searched the pure oval of her face. As he met her gray eyes, her steady gaze did not waver, not even as his own narrowed in sudden consideration.

“No,” he answered finally, a pensive note in his low voice, “though as strange as it may seem, I almost wish I could.”

It was Clare who looked away first an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. The need to break it, to change the subject that had suddenly grown too personal, forced her into speech. “Where were you this evening when I stumbled in here? After what you said about your car just now, I don’t, suppose you were far away.”

“No, I was out walking. I needed to exercise, and it helps me to think. The house here overlooks a gorge with a stream at the bottom. There’s a trail that winds down to it, if you don’t mind the climb back up again. It was snowing when I started out just after noon, but I hadn’t been listening to the weather reports, hadn’t so much as turned on a radio since I have been here. I never expected it to turn nasty as fast as it did, or I would not have gone so far.”

“I didn’t expect it, either. I heard the forecast on the car radio earlier in the afternoon. Snow was predicted, but I didn’t know it was going to be like this, almost like a blizzard.”

“My dear girl, this is not almost like a blizzard, this is one!”

“Is it? I wasn’t sure. Where I come from we don’t have such things. Hurricanes, yes, and tornadoes, but no blizzards.”

“Where you come from?”

Clare told him, adding, in defiance of the skepticism in his expression, a fuller explanation of her reasons for being in the ski country. Logan did not comment. On reflection, Clare decided that was a good sign. He might not believe what she said; still, she thought he did not entirely disbelieve it either, or he would definitely have had something to say.

The fire crackled in the quiet. Clare stared into the flames, watching the pulsating glow of the red coals. Despite the cold she could feel at her back, gathering beyond the radius of the fireplace, she felt warm. The blessed heat seemed to soak into her skin, reminding her of the long miles she had traveled that day. She was more tired than she had realized until that moment There was a sore place on her shoulder where the restraining harness of her seat belt had caught her, and though she did not remember bumping her head when the car went down the embankment, there was a spot with the tenderness of a bruise on her temple just at the hairline. Without warning, a yawn gripped her, and she smothered it with a slight shake of her head.