Full Circle. Shannon Hollis

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      4

      “NO.” CATE TRIED TO SLAM the door, but Daniel jammed his foot in the opening before she could.

      “Come on, Cate.” The laughter he couldn’t keep out of his voice made her face tighten up, as though she wanted to grab the door and bash it into his foot as hard as she could.

      “Sorry, you have the wrong person. The name is Anne.”

      “All right, so it was a bad joke. I apologize. Come on, let me in.”

      “What for?”

      He winced at the implication that there was nothing left between them to do, say or even think about. “I just wanted to say hello. Catch up on what you’ve been doing. Which is going to be really hard out here in the hallway, whispering to you through the keyhole.”

      “I don’t have a keyhole. I use a key card.”

      He laughed. “I forgot how literal you are. Please, Cate. Just for a minute.”

      The Cate Wells he’d known in Mexico would have been a terrible poker player. Her emotions were mirrored on a face so expressive she’d once accused him of reading her mind. Somehow in the past eight years she’d learned to school it, to paste on a calm mask that hid what she was really thinking. Now that mask slid into place and she released her death grip on the door handle.

      “Great,” she said politely. “Let’s catch up.” She led the way into the room as though she were wearing designer shoes and a cocktail dress, not cotton pj’s and a pair of bunny slippers.

      He resisted the urge to comment.

      She offered him the chair in front of the desk and he pulled it out and straddled it backward. She perched on the end of the bed, her jammies and bunny slippers at odds with the woman he remembered. The one who hung on rocks over fathoms of air and laughed. The one who put in hours in the broiling sun and counted it time well spent when she triumphantly held up a potsherd, its white-and-ocher paint faded by the passing centuries.

      The one he’d thought he might be in love with.

      The one who had run away.

      He shook away the memories and concentrated on the reality. “You’re looking well.” Even the sexless cotton pajamas couldn’t hide the fit, slender body underneath. He wondered if her skin was still as soft, and if she still favored skinny little midriff-baring tank tops with no bra when she was out in the field.

      “That’s hardly relevant, Daniel.”

      Visions of tank tops fizzled in his head. “You’re supposed to say ‘thank you, so are you.’ Then I say, ‘Nice paper on the feminine in that leopard cult,’ and you say, ‘Congratulations on hitting the Times list, I’m so proud of you,’ and I say—”

      “I had no idea your book hit the Times list. I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to that kind of thing.”

      As putdowns went, that was about as devastating a delivery as he’d ever heard. He studied her for a moment.

      “Somehow I’d hoped our reunion would be a little friendlier than this.”

      “I didn’t come here for a reunion. I came here for the conference and to consult with you about something. And what do I find?” She stood and began to pace around the room. “I find a man who is so full of himself he expects every woman in the room to swoon, no matter how rudely he treats them. I find someone who happily hogs the spotlight, presenting science as though it’s some kind of entertaining reality show. And worst of all—” she took a breath “—I find someone who isn’t above hurting and insulting people from his past, who finds it amusing to poke fun at them, confident that no one knows what he’s talking about. Well, here’s a news flash, Daniel.” She marched over and stood squarely in front of him, her face flushed and her breath coming fast. “I knew you when you were nothing but a grubby undergrad who couldn’t tell a potsherd from a shark’s tooth and who, in fact, presented a lovely tooth to the class and proclaimed it was Anasazi pottery!”

      Oh, God. The embarrassment of that moment flooded his memory—the snorting laughter of the supervising professor, the derision of the students for days afterward, and Cate’s red face as she suffered through the moment on his behalf.

      Back then, she had cared. Or so he’d thought.

      “Do you suppose anybody remembers that?” he asked softly. And more important, did she remember what had happened afterward?

      Later, when dinner was over and people were wandering back to their tents to moan over the no-alcohol rule, he had slipped away to the cliffs and found her sitting under a piñon pine, her back to the sandstone and her feet hanging over a hundred-foot cliff as if it were the deck of a swimming pool.

      That night, the moon had witnessed their first kiss.

      She was looking at him as though trying to see under the surface of his skin. “I doubt it,” she said at last. “They’ve probably all bought your book so they can brag about how they knew you when.”

      “Except you.”

      “I bought it. Tonight. For my friend Anne. And you made a mistake in the inscription.”

      No, he hadn’t. “I’ll give you another copy for your friend and sign it properly this time.” He stood and returned the chair to its place in front of the desk. “I was being an ass. Forgive me?”

      Every time he moved, she made sure the distance between them stayed the same. He wondered what she’d do if he crowded her up against the sliding glass door. Her room was on the second floor of the main lodge, and he had no doubt that she’d probably rappel over the balcony, bunny slippers and all, if he tried it.

      Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Who are you now, really, Daniel?”

      He took refuge in flippancy. “The ‘real Indiana Jones,’ according to Newsweek.”

      “Yes, I read that, too. But I’m more interested in what you think, not what Newsweek thinks.”

      “I could ask you the same question. I could ask why a successful, attractive associate prof is still single. I could ask why you prefer pajamas to, say, Victoria’s Secret. And I could ask what I really want to know, which is why do your bunny slippers have teeth?”

      Waggling a foot, СКАЧАТЬ