To Tell the Truth (2 page)

"Art will show you to your room," the desk clerk told her as she slid the completed registration form to him.

"Could you recommend a restaurant?" Andrea requested.

"There're several in the Olympic House ranging from a steak house to sandwich or pizza shops. All of them serve good food. It all depends on what you want." He shrugged.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "I think I'll decide after I unpack."

The accommodation was more spacious than she required, but it had been the only thing available when she had made the booking. Andrea decided that before the week was out she would probably be grateful for the relative privacy and comfort of the living room with its fully equipped kitchenette and the separate bedroom loft.

The memories it brought back of previous vacations at Squaw Valley with her parents, staying in a room very similar to this one, were happy memories. Most of the grief she had felt at the deaths following so closely on one another was gone now. She could look back without pain and sorrow.

Time was a healer. She could even think of Dale now without wanting to dissolve into tears. She knew part of her bitterness had been because his defection had followed so closely on the heels of her father's death. She had barely recovered from the shock of it when he had left her.

John had told her that he had once loved and lost himself, but he had recovered. He had assured her that there would be a time when she would trust again and love again. Andrea wasn't nearly so certain. True, there had been moments recently when she had wanted a man's arms around her and his kiss on her lips. But they were physical desires, born of natural instinct.

Mentally she shied away from men, unwilling to feel that deep, abiding hurt again. No one she had met had possessed John's strength of character she so admired or the feeling she could depend on him no matter what. How very lucky she had been that her father had possessed a friend like John.

Partially unpacked, Andrea left the opened suitcases on her bed and walked swiftly to the telephone. John would be worrying about whether she had arrived safely. She gave the operator the number in Oregon, and her fingers tapped impatiently on the table. The housekeeper answered on the second ring.

"Mrs. Davison, this is Andrea. May I speak to John?"

"He's in his study…waiting for you to phone." The housekeeper's hesitation before adding the last phrase increased the impression of reprovel at Andrea's tardiness. Before Andrea could explain that she hadn't even unpacked, John's voice came over the line.

"Andie, I was wondering when you'd call. I was beginning to get uneasy." He seemed to reach across the wires and take hold of her hand, the warmth and gladness in his greeting lightening her own heart.

"I arrived safely, John. I'd started to unpack and decided to call you first. It's so beautiful here. There's fresh snow falling and everything is so pure and white, like a Christmas-card scene. You would love it. I wish you'd come." Her enthusiasm ended on a wistful note.

"I'm too old to keep up with you, Andie," he said, laughing.

"Will you stop harping about how old you are?" Andrea scolded lightly.

"I am old. Much older than you."

Behind his humorous tone, she caught the note of seriousness. Immediately a picture sprang to mind of him sitting behind the large walnut desk in his study, backed by shelves of bound books and richly paneled walls. His hair was dark brown but the sideburns were frosted with silver. The touch of gray made him look distinguished, not old. He had a wide powerful jaw, a cleft in his chin and warm gray eyes.

"Do you know—" Andrea laughed back the lump in her throat "—I think I'm getting homesick?"

"Nonsense! I heard that initial spurt of excitement in your voice. This vacation is going to do you a world of good. We both know you were letting the talk from some small minds get to you. You needed to get away."

She smiled into the receiver. "You're right as usual. You're so wise, John," she sighed.

"I wish I was always as positive about that as you seem to be," he observed dryly.

"I still miss you," Andrea stated, deliberately making her voice light.

"Maybe you won't be so anxious to rush back when I tell you that I finished another chapter today," he said. "Thanks to your research notes, I'll probably have several more ready for you to type when you get back."

"I wonder if I can find accommodation for another week," she said, responding in kind to his teasing remarks.

"Are you handing in your notice as my typist, my personal Girl Friday and my right arm?" John said, laughing.

"A week of sun and snow and skiing will be all I'll want," she assured him.

"Telephone once in a while so I won't start imagining you with a cast on your leg."

"I will, I promise."

"Enjoy yourself, Andie. Be young and foolish while you can."

"At twenty-two, I sincerely hope I'm past that stage," Andrea answered, more sharply than she had intended.

"Yes, you are very nearly over the hill, aren't you?" But John didn't allow her an opportunity to respond to his mocking observation. "Have a good time, honey."

"I will…and take care of yourself."

There was a tightness in her throat when Andrea hung up the telephone. She refused to give in to the cold finger of apprehension that ran down her spine. It was senseless to feel this odd depression. John wanted her to enjoy this holiday, and certainly she did.

In a flurry of activity, Andrea finished unpacking, bathed and changed. Forsaking the standard sweater and slacks, she chose a camel-tan tunic and matching, wide-legged pants. A cream-colored silk blouse added a dressy touch to the outfit. She considered wearing the owl locket John had given her before deciding on a gold braided chain necklace. Her suede parka was the same camel shade as her outfit.

Outdoors, the mountain air sharply revived her appetite, reminding her that she had not eaten since late morning. Walking alone while everyone else was in pairs or groups, Andrea avoided the more crowded restaurants, choosing the steak house in the Olympic House where her solitary state might not be so noticeable. The last thing she wanted was to fend off some man's advances the first night she was there.

Like nearly all the other eating establishments, the steak house was crowded. Andrea waited at the front entrance while the host seated the couple who had been ahead of her. She was vaguely aware of someone entering the restaurant and stopping behind her. Since she knew no one, Andrea didn't bother to glance around.

"Well, we meet again," a familiar voice said.

A startled look over her shoulder encountered the stranger she had seen at the desk, the Mr. Stafford who had aroused her curiosity for a moment. The ski suit was gone, replaced by a white ribbed turtleneck sweater and a dark blazer. If anything, his looks were more arresting than before, especially in view of the singularly attractive smile that softened his lean, chiseled features.

"Hello." Andrea inclined her dark blond head in acknowledgment.

"Have you settled in for the weekend?"

She nearly explained to him that she would be staying a week, then decided it wasn't necessary. "Yes, I have; thank you."

"Hi, Tell. How are you tonight?" The host approached, smiling widely at the man standing behind Andrea.

"Just fine, Kyle," the man answered.

"I have a table for the two of you right over here." The host started to walk away and Andrea realized that he assumed she was with Mr. Stafford.

She hastened to correct his error. "Excuse me, but we aren't together."

The restaurateur halted, tilting his head curiously to the side while a bewildered expression crossed his face, his eyes darting from Andrea to the man next to her. "Do you mean you want two tables for one?"

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mr. Stafford was not going to be of any assistance. He seemed to find her quickness in making certain that the man realized they were not together secretly amusing.

"Yes," she said.

"Two tables for one does sound a bit ridiculous," the man named Stafford said softly. "Would you join me for dinner? It would be a pleasure, I assure you."

Andrea hesitated. The restaurant was crowded and curiosity still lingered. There was no harm in eating at the same table with this man.

"Yes, thank you." She smiled faintly.

Their host's smile mirrored an inner satisfaction as he led them to the table. He held the chair out for Andrea while Mr. Stafford took the one opposite.

"I'm sorry," her dinner companion said after they had been left to study the menus. His hand reached across the table to her. "I neglected to introduce myself. Tell Stafford is the name, from San Francisco."

"Andrea Grant." The firm clasp of his handshake eased the tension she hadn't been aware existed until it left.

"From California?"

"No, Oregon, originally," she answered. "Everyone here seems to know you. You must come to Squaw Valley quite often, Mr. Stafford."

"Tell," he corrected, adding with persuasive insistence, "please. Actually, it's Tellman but fortunately it's shortened to Tell. It was my mother's maiden name. May I call you Andrea?" At her nod of agreement, he continued, "I come to Squaw Valley as often as I can. Of late, it hasn't been as frequent as I would like it to be."

"What do you do?" she asked.

"My family owns a small chain of department stores in the Bay area," Tell Stafford answered easily, but there was a faint narrowing of his eyes that suggested he was judging her reaction. "And what about you?"

"I've been doing research and manuscript typing on a novel." Why in the world had she told him that, Andrea asked herself. It was too late to retract it now. She had to let it stand.

"For a writer?"

"The book hasn't actually been accepted yet. It's his first attempt at that length, but he does have a publisher interested in it," Andrea explained.

To her relief the waiter arrived to take their order. She had barely had time to look at the menu, so she allowed Tell Stafford to make his recommendations.

"Wine?" he questioned after inquiring how she liked her steak.

"Nothing alcoholic, thank you. Milk, please," she told the waiter.

During the meal, the conversation shifted to general topics. Tell Stafford was very adept at what might be described as table talk, Andrea learned He answered each question she put to him, yet when their coffee was served, she felt no nearer to discovering what there was about him that fascinated her. She would have been less than honest if she hadn't admitted that she found his dark looks attractive.

All in all, she had learned a great deal about him yet knew nothing. He was in his early thirties, unmarried, intelligent and possessed a keen sense of humor. His confidence was unshakable. But the knowledge was all superficial. The sensation persisted that he had learned more about her than she had about him.

"What's troubling you, Andrea?" He was leaning back in his chair, his head tipped to one side.

Guiltily, her hazel eyes bounced away from him, aware that her contemplative silence had stretched longer than she had realized. She started to deny that there was any basis for his question, then laughed and answered honestly.

"We've been talking for almost an hour, yet I have the feeling that I don't know you at all."

"That makes two of us." Tell smiled and Andrea liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Since the first time I saw you in the lobby, I thought there was something different about you. I've finally come to the conclusion that you don't have the attitude of a predator."

"A predator?" Andrea frowned with amusement.

"I've been stalked a few times, Andrea." The dark eyes sparkled across the table at her, his expression displaying no false modesty, nor was it bragging. She had never doubted that women found him physically attractive. She had, too, so his statement came as no surprise. "The stealth and cunning of a female is not something I admire in your sex. My mother claims that my chauvinistic side insists on doing the hunting."

"I see." His explanation disconcerted her. It was one thing to view him as a man who aroused her curiosity. Only in a most abstract way did she want to look on him as a potential lover. "You rarely mention your father. Is he alive?"

The corners of his mouth twisted upward, not into a smile because it didn't reach his eyes the way Andrea was by then accustomed to seeing.

"You're doing it again. Each time there's any mention of a man-woman relationship on a personal level, you veer away from it and onto another subject, but to answer your question, my father was killed in a car accident when I was about ten. My mother has since remarried to a very understanding man. He and I are good friends."

"That's good." Andrea smiled brightly. "Sometimes there's resentment when a parent remarries."

"You're not basically a shy woman, Andrea," Tell observed, studying the wariness that sprang into her face as he reintroduced his previous topic. "It isn't any embarrassment on your part concerning the sexual relationship. Yet I have the impression that you're determined to keep a certain amount of distance between us. You'll let me get just so close and no closer. Why the invisible barrier?"