Contract Bridegroom. Sandra Field

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СКАЧАТЬ money, she had more than enough of her own. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. Back in Washington she’d been chased too often for her money, Darryl Coates being the worst offender.

      The thought of Darryl could still make her wince.

      One of the blessings of Collings Cove was her anonymity. Her town house was modest and her vehicle was one she could afford on her salary. Her Cessna, bought when she’d inherited the first lump sum from her mother, was parked at the airport twenty miles from here. Her secret, shared only with Paul.

      The thought of Paul could also make her wince, although not for the same reasons.

      Jethro said tautly, “So how am I supposed to thank you if you won’t take money?”

      “That’s easy. Two words. Thank you.”

      “Words come cheap,” he said with a depth of cynicism that rang all her alarm bells.

      “Not to me, they don’t.”

      “We sure don’t agree on very much!”

      “We don’t have to,” she said.

      His eyes narrowed; he took another gulp of his beer. “You’re not from Newfoundland, Celia, the accent’s all wrong. The eastern states?”

      “Washington.”

      “So why are you working in Canada?”

      “I have dual nationality—my mother was Canadian.”

      “Was?”

      “She died when I was five,” Celia said. And overnight her life had altered irrevocably. Her father’s crushing control over her had only started after he was widowed.

      Something must have shown in her face. Jethro put down his beer glass and covered her hand with his own. “I’m sorry.”

      He’d invested the commonplace words with real force. Celia stared down at the back of his hand, feeling an absurd urge to cry. She’d learned very soon not to cry for her mother; Ellis had seen to that. She tugged her hand free of Jethro’s lean fingers, with their scarred and bruised knuckles, their warmth that seared through her own skin. “It was a long time ago,” she mumbled.

      “Is your father still alive?”

      “Yes.” Just. And still trying to smother her with that confusing combination of over-protectiveness and emotional distance that had characterized their relations ever since her mother had died. For Ellis had retreated into a white-faced grief for his dead wife, grief that had been his companion for years, and that had shut Celia out as effectively as if he’d slammed a door in her face.

      “You don’t want to talk about him any more than I want to talk about Starspray.”

      With a wry grin, she said, “There’s always the weather. A ridge of high pressure is moving into the area. Visibility excellent, southerlies decreasing to ten knots.”

      “Back off—that’s what you’re saying.”

      “Hey, you’re quick.”

      Anger glinted in his steely eyes. “You sure know how to get under my skin, Celia Scott.”

      “I’d be willing to bet a night’s pay you’re used to women who bend over backwards to agree with every word you say.”

      “And who’d take money from me any chance they got.”

      Again there was real cynicism in his tone. She said lightly, “Kind of drastic that you just about had to drown yourself to meet someone who won’t let you go past $11.95 for a plate of scallops.”

      “You’re forgetting the Coke.”

      Celia laughed outright. “And the tip.” Her brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”

      He said roughly, “You’re so goddammed beautiful when you laugh.”

      A blush scorched her cheeks, and for a moment that felt as long as an hour, Celia could think of absolutely nothing to say. Then she sputtered, “I’ll make you a deal, Jethro. You talk to me about Iceland and I’ll talk to you about Newfoundland. We’ll omit any mention of gratitude, fathers, lovers and money. Okay?”

      “Why aren’t you married?”

      “Because I don’t want to get married!…Oh thanks, Sally, that looks great, and you remembered the extra lemon,” Celia babbled.

      “Can I get you anything else?” Sally asked, eyeing Celia’s scarlet cheeks with interest.

      “That’s fine, thanks,” Jethro said, with a note in his voice that sent Sally scurrying back to the kitchen. Then he said flatly, “That sea captain—he’s your lover, right?”

      “Pedro? Oodles of charm waiting for the right heiress to come along. Pedro and I are friends, Jethro. Friends.”

      “Friendship’s impossible between a man and a woman.”

      “I disagree!”

      “Do you mean to say you never got into his bed?” he grated. “Or should I say his bunk?”

      “That’s precisely what I’m saying,” Celia announced and ferociously stabbed a scallop onto her fork.

      Jethro leaned back in his chair. “Don’t take it out on your dinner, Celia. Tell me to get lost.”

      “I’m going to finish eating first. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift ahead of me, or are you forgetting that?”

      “Friend,” he repeated in an unreadable voice.

      “That’s what I said. Why do you find it so hard to believe?”

      “Oh, that’s a long story and not one I’m about to tell. So why don’t we talk about Iceland instead? We were only there three days—just long enough for me to contract the flu. But while we were there, a friend of Dave’s drove us to the Hekla volcano.”

      As he kept talking, Celia ate another scallop, willing the color to fade from her cheeks. But Jethro was both entertaining and informed, and soon she forgot her self-consciousness, asking questions, telling him about her trip up the Labrador coast on the freight boat, and some of her adventures in scallop draggers offshore. Sally brought two pieces of chocolate cream pie, followed by coffee. Celia was leaning forward laughing at something Jethro had said, when he remarked, “I think that man wants to talk to you.”

      Celia glanced up; her smile vanished as if it had been wiped from her face. “Paul…” she faltered.

      Dr. Paul Fielding ran the clinic in Collings Cove. He was pleasant-faced, hard-working, and head over heels in love with her. She’d done nothing to encourage him, even while wondering why she didn’t—couldn’t—fall in love with him. He was everything Darryl wasn’t, he’d be unfailingly good to her, and he didn’t care about her money.

      But she’d never felt impelled into his bed. He’d have been willing; she was the one with the problem.

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