In Confidence. Karen Young

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СКАЧАТЬ got a conflict today, a conference call with a college that wants to sign Pete Freidman.”

      “The quarterback who performed so well this season,” Rachel murmured. “Monk’s doing the deal today?”

      “Apparently.”

      “And his record for signing his athletes to major universities is impressive.”

      “He takes a personal interest in these kids, Rachel.” He was instantly on the defensive. It was well known to Preston that Rachel and Monk Tyson had had fierce disagreements several times over his blind ambition. To Tyson, performance at sports—whether football, basketball, baseball or track—took precedence over his athletes’ academic performance. Preston had had to step in more than once to mediate when neither Rachel nor Tyson would give an inch.

      “Anyway,” he said now, “if you could go to juvenile detention—I’ve got the address here—and pick up Jason, it would help us out of a jam.”

      “Not a problem,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “When are they willing to release him?”

      Preston glanced at the note in his hand. “The paperwork will take a while to process, but according to Coach Monk, he’ll be ready to leave around ten.”

      “Then I’d better get going,” Rachel said, taking her purse out of her desk drawer. “I wish they’d release him later as Ted’s in Dallas today, and if I could find him, I’d let him buy my lunch.”

      “Oh, too bad.”

      “It’s okay. It’s a long shot, anyway.”

      “I owe you one for this, Rachel,” her boss said, handing over the note with the address.

      “No, Monk owes me.” She snapped off the light in her office and smiled at him. “File that for the next time we lock horns and you’re dragged into the fray.”

      When dealing with bureaucrats, Rachel thought as she turned into the parking lot of a trendy restaurant in Dallas’s Turtle Creek area, nothing goes according to plan. She’d negotiated the city’s freeway, then fought a tangle of traffic to get to a maze of municipal buildings, finally found a place to park, only to be told that there was a glitch in the getalong with Jason’s paperwork, but they’d have it worked out by 2:00 p.m. She’d wished for a later departure time, so the glitch wasn’t a total lost cause. She called the practice, found out where Ted had reservations for lunch and decided to take a chance that she’d be able to join him and the interviewee they were considering. Rachel didn’t feel she’d be intruding. She’d been Ted’s office manager when the practice was just getting started and had left after several years in the practice only when her responsibilities there began to encroach on her responsibilities at home. She’d replaced herself with a hot-shot MBA type and then looked around for another venue for her skills and found it as the guidance counselor at Rose Hill High. There she had the same hours and holidays as her children. That had been eight years ago, and she truly enjoyed her job now. In spite of the fact that her “clients” were teenagers and their hormones were raging, she loved the challenge. Sadly, as happened with Ashley today, too many of the kids she saw were dealing with stress beyond their ability or experience to cope.

      Ted, she was told by the receptionist at the practice, was having lunch at the Mansion in Turtle Creek. She was familiar with the area and easily found the restaurant. As she got out of the car, she glanced down at her denim skirt and Birkenstocks and thought, belatedly, that she was a bit too casually dressed for such a posh place, but a chance to have lunch with Ted was too rare to pass up.

      “Do you have a reservation?” asked the elegantly clad hostess, a stunning blonde with flawless skin.

      “No, but my husband is here somewhere,” Rachel said, looking beyond the woman to the crowded dining area. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

      “Of course,” the hostess murmured. Leaving Rachel to do just that, she turned her attention to the party of four waiting to be seated.

      Rachel moved just inside the dining room, scanned the crowd and was on the verge of leaving, thinking Ted must have changed his plans, when she spotted him at a table in the rear of the restaurant. His back was to the door, which explained why she’d almost missed him. Moving forward with a smile, she was almost upon him when she realized his lunch partner wasn’t the prospective internist for the practice, but a woman, one whom she recognized instantly. It was Francine, wife of Ted’s partner in the practice, Walter Dalton. What on earth…

      Neither had yet seen Rachel and her pace slowed, almost to a full stop. In a heartbeat, her pleasure in surprising Ted vanished. She watched in disbelief as he reached for Francine’s hand, closing his fingers around hers in a way that could only be described as intimate. Ted had not touched her that way for a long time. She saw Francine’s face go soft and flush with arousal when Ted brought her hand up for what Rachel could tell was a slow, sensual kiss on her palm.

      Rachel had stopped now, rooted in place with sheer surprise. She put her hand to her chest, felt her heart beating so hard that her head was filled with it, her ears rang with it. She could not see her husband’s face, but the look on Francine’s was unmistakable. Still, Rachel resisted what she was seeing. It could not be what it appeared.

      “Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter burdened with a large tray paused, needing to thread the narrow space between the tables. With a murmured sound, Rachel shifted and let him pass. Then, drawing a deep, painful breath, she moved directly to Ted’s table and stopped. It was a beat or two before he became aware of her. His eyes went wide with shock and he flushed a ruddy crimson.

      “Surprise,” she said, and gripped the back of one of the unoccupied chairs before her knees gave way.

      “Rachel—” Dropping Francine’s hand, he made to rise clumsily, then had to grab at his wineglass to keep it from tipping over.

      “Is this a private party, or is there room for one more?” she said in a voice that wobbled a little.

      “It isn’t what you think,” Ted said.

      “Really.” She glanced from him to Francine and back again. “Then what is it, Ted?”

      Francine stood up, laid her napkin on the table and groped for a small Chanel handbag on the seat of the chair. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Ted, and walked away without once looking at Rachel.

      “This is not the time or place, Rachel,” Ted said, with a warning look toward the other diners. A few nearby had picked up on the unfolding drama and were openly curious. Some watched with amusement, enjoying the show.

      “What is it if it isn’t what I think?” Rachel demanded in a low but fierce tone.

      Ted had his wallet in his hands now, pulling out cash. He dropped a number of twenties on the table and reached for her arm, intending to guide her out of the restaurant. “Rachel—”

      Rachel jerked away. “Don’t…touch me.” Lifting her chin, she turned on her heel and strode through the tables, mortified beyond anything that strangers had witnessed her humiliation. Her color high, she looked neither right nor left until she cleared the room. Now at the entrance, she pushed blindly at the double doors before Ted could assist her, desperate to breathe fresh air. She was aware that he said something to her before addressing the attendant who’d valet-parked his car, but she was intent only on escape. Almost running now, she sought the refuge of her car and dashed across the circular СКАЧАТЬ