Breeze off the Ocean (16 page)

“Thank you, I need that,” Micki croaked. “I’m parched.”

Sipping gratefully at the cold drink, Micki kept her eyes firmly on the glass, determined not to look at him again. An instant later, unable to stop herself, she lifted her head and froze, the ache in her throat culling forth a corresponding one in her chest. Fighting a desire to jump up and run, she watched as the couple walked in a direct line toward her. Aware that as yet, due to the obviously deep conversation they were engaged in, Wolf had not spotted her, Micki had to force herself to stay in her chair.

Let him pass by without seeing me, please,
Micki begged silently. Apparently it was not to be, for at that moment Wolf turned from the woman and saw Micki. His step quickened and his eyes widened, then, looking beyond her, narrowed.

“God!” Darrel’s harassed voice reached her an instant before he slipped into the chair beside her. “My mother should have gone into law, she would have made a fantastic D.A.”

Tearing her gaze from the silvery eyes fastened on her, Micki stammered, “Bad, was it?”

“Rock bottom,” he groaned. “She had more questions than a prosecutor.” Raising his glass, Darrel took a long swallow. “Oh, that’s good, even though I’m sorry now I didn’t order something stronger.”

Micki barely heard him. An odd, eerie feeling cloaking her, she knew without looking that Wolf and the tall woman had entered the patio. She didn’t even blink when his low voice drew her head around.

“Hello, Micki.”

Blue eyes locked with silver and for one mad second Micki was tempted to ignore him. The sure knowledge that in no way would Wolf allow her to get away with it chased temptation out of her mind.

“Hello, Wolf,” Micki replied with amazing coolness. “Cape May seems to be a very popular place today.”

“Yes, doesn’t it.” Until that minute his eyes had refused to release hers, now they swung pointedly to Darrel, who had risen at Wolf’s greeting.

“Darrel Baxter,” Micki smiled painfully. “Wolf Renninger and—” The breath died in her throat as, shifting her gaze, Micki got a good look at the woman by Wolf’s side. Her hair was not platinum, but a beautiful true silver and, although she was still strikingly lovely, she appeared to be somewhere in her middle sixties.

“Bianca Perriot,” Wolf finished for her. “Bianca— Micki Durrant and Darrel Baxter.”

Returning the woman’s enchanting smile, Micki extended her hand, felt her fingers grasped in a firm handshake at the same time the two men performed the same act.

“Micki.” Bianca’s voice was every bit as enchanting as her smile. “What a delightful name. Is it a given name or a nickname?”

“Given,” Micki answered softly. “In honor of my Irish grandfather, who by all accounts, was a real Mick.”

Bianca’s laughter tinkled on the air like the sound of tiny bells before, turning to Darrel, she placed her hand in his and queried, “Baxter? Are you by any chance related to Martha Baxter?”

“My mother.” Darrel’s tone betrayed his surprise. ‘You’re acquainted with her?”

“I know her very well. I knew your father also.” Once again that enchanting smile came to her lips. “My late husband was as avid a golfer as your father was. They played together quite often, leaving your mother and me to amuse ourselves at the clubhouse.”

During this exchange, though Micki determinedly kept her attention centered on Bianca Perriot’s animated face, she was uncomfortably aware of Wolf’s eyes devouring her. When Darrel spoke again, his words went through her like a blast of arctic air.

“Were you and Wolf planning to have something to eat here?” At her assenting nod, Darrel asked, ‘Then won’t you join us? We’d love the company, wouldn’t we, Micki?”

What could she possibly say? Her eyes wide with shock, she swung her gaze to Wolf. The glittery spark that blended with the silver told her she’d get no assistance from him. He was enjoying her discomfort. Biting back a moan, she curved her lips in a parody of a smile and lied.

“Yes, of course, we’d love to have you join us.”

Uncomfortable and uneasy, Micki stole another glance at Wolf as he seated Bianca. At the same moment his glance shifted to her, his eyes glittering wickedly.

“All set to start the new job tomorrow, Micki?”

The lazily drawled question turned her unease into dismay. With those few words Wolf had managed to convey a familiarity between them to Darrel and Bianca. Pretending she didn’t notice Darrel’s startled reaction, Micki glared daggers at Wolf, her lips straining to keep her smile in place.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I’ve enjoyed my vacation, but I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Micki is a buyer for Something Different boutiques,” Wolf informed Bianca, adding to the familiarity. “She has just been transferred to the Atlantic City store.”

“Oh! But—” Bianca began, her face mirroring confusion.

“Promoted.”

The sharp word Darrel flung at Wolf cut across Bianca’s quiet voice. For several seconds his eyes blazed a challenge at Wolf, then, as if suddenly realizing his rudeness, he smiled at Bianca and murmured, “I’m sorry I interrupted. Micki was promoted.” His eyes flashed to Wolf. “Not transferred.”

“Yes, of course.” Wolf’s cold as steel eyes contradicted his smooth tone. “I knew that.”

Feeling caught in their crossfire and growing angry at the childish way they were squaring off at each other, Micki snapped, “Transferred, promoted, what difference does it make?”

Without waiting for a reply from either of them, Micki continued, “Either way, I begin tomorrow and I’m eager to start. Now,” she finished strongly, “can we drop the subject?”

Bianca’s puzzled expression slowly changed to one of amusement as her eyes shifted from one to the other of them. Her lips twitching, she soothed, “Micki’s right, it is unimportant and—oh, good, here’s our waitress.”

The tension around the table eased with the arrival of the waitress, even though Micki felt the angry stiffness in Darrel when his arm brushed hers as he drew his chair closer to the table.

The waitress placed the delicious-looking, open-face sandwiches in front of Micki and Darrel, whipped two menus out from under her arm, and offering them to Bianca and Wolf, chirped, “Can I get you folks something to drink?”

“I don’t need that.” Wolf waved the menu away. “I’ll have a Reuben and a beer.”

“And,” Bianca smiled, “as those sandwiches look good enough to eat, I’ll have one of those and a glass of Chardonnay.”

“You
can bring me a beer too,” Darrel inserted as the waitress moved to turn away. “Micki?”

“Another iced tea.” Micki smiled faintly at the woman before, in a chiding way that left little doubt she was reminding Darrel of his manners, she emphasized, “Please.”

At any other time Micki would have enjoyed being in Bianca’s company, even though the exact relationship between the attractive woman and Wolf tormented her more than she cared to admit to herself. Being a permanent year-round resident of Cape May, Bianca was a fount of information on the town’s history. Had it not been for her enlightening conversation, the atmosphere around the table would have been much more uncomfortable.

Even so Micki could hardly wait until the food had been consumed and the check was presented. Sighing with relief, Micki smiled brightly at the waitress when she placed the check on the table. The smile turned to a silent groan as hostilities were resumed between Wolf and Darrel.

“I’ll take care of that.”

Moving swiftly, Wolf’s hand grabbed the check out from under Darrel’s.

“But I invited you to join us.” Darrel’s angry glance clashed with glinting silver.

“But we intruded on your, er, privacy.” Hard finality laced Wolf’s tone as, turning away check in hand he strode toward the building’s entrance.

Finally they were back in the car heading for Ocean City.

“He’s the man, isn’t he?” Darrel shot the question at her savagely after some fifteen minutes of total silence. The suddenness of his attack startled Micki out of the blue funk she’d drifted into.

“W-what man?” she hedged.

“You know damned well what man,” he growled, frustrated. “The bastard who’s willing to fit you into his schedule now and then.”

“Darrel, please.”

“Please, hell,” he snorted. “Do you have any idea how it makes me feel, knowing you turned me down for a man like that? Oh, I grant you,” he sneered, “he’s got the kind of looks that attract women. Of all ages apparently. As lovely and charming as Bianca Perriot is, the fact remains she is old enough to be his mother.”

“Darrel.” Micki’s tone was sharp with admonishment. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t know—”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Darrel interrupted jeeringly. “A man like Wolf—how apt, that name—doesn’t waste his time on any woman unless she’s putting out.”

“Darrel!” Micki’s shocked exclamation revealed the depth of pain his words had inflicted.

“Darrel what?” Unrepentant, he continued to fling words at her like blows. “Face the facts, Micki, he’s a user and age means nothing. What does he do for a living?”

“I...” Micki paused, wet her lips, then admitted, “I don’t know.”

“I thought not.” He shot a pitying glance at her and went on mercilessly. “I’ll tell you what I think he does. I think the polite term is paid escort but, to call a spade a spade, I think he’s a stud for hire.”

“Be quiet!” Micki shouted angrily. “Don’t you dare say another word. Even if what you say is true, it is none of your business.” Her voice dwindling to a soft sigh, she added, “Or mine either.”

They covered the remaining miles to her home in uneasy silence. The minute he stopped the car in front of the house, Micki flung the door open and ran out.

“Micki, wait,” Darrel pleaded. “I’m sorry, I…

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Micki snapped coldly.

“May I call you later in the week?” he called after her.

“No,” Micki flung over her shoulder. “Or ever again.”

“Micki!”

Walking quickly, she went into the house and closed the door on the sound of his voice. Her breath coming in gasps, Micki ran up the stairs and into her room. Taking short, agitated steps, she paced her room, around the bed to the window, then, turning sharply, back to the door again.

It wasn’t true, she assured herself. What Darrel said wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, could it? No, of course it couldn’t be. But what did he do for a living? What kind of job was it that paid enough to afford him the expensive clothes he wore, that boat and—she winced—that fantastic car. How much did a car like that cost anyway? More bucks than an ordinary job paid, of that she was sure. And the pants and shirt he was wearing today! Micki’s trained eyes had told her they were hand tailored and had very probably cost him more than she earned in a month. And Bianca Perriot’s simple little summer frock had practically screamed the words
created in Paris.
Was she very wealthy? Very, very likely, Micki decided. And the suspicious little thought crept into her mind: Had Bianca’s still-smooth, diamond-bedecked slim hand written the check that had paid for Wolf’s clothes?

Aghast at herself, Micki tore out of her room and along the hall to the stairs, running from her thoughts. It didn’t work; her thoughts followed her. A note on the kitchen table informed her that her father and Regina had gone out for dinner. Alone, the quiet of the house pressing in on her, she curled up in a corner of the sofa, paperback in hand, in a vain attempt to lose herself.

She was reading a paragraph for the third time when the phone rang. Silently apologizing to the author, she put the book down and lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Micki?” Tony’s exuberant voice attacked her eardrum. “I couldn’t wait to send you an invitation, I had to call you.”

“You called her?” Micki exclaimed. “You talked to her?”

“I’m with her now,” Tony laughed. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I kept thinking about what you said, asking myself should I, shouldn’t I? Anyway, I called her first thing this morning and damned if you weren’t right. Not only is she not married, or getting married—except to me— there was no ex-boyfriend at all.” His laughter this time held a rueful note, and Micki could imagine him shaking his head. “I’ll tell you, friend, it’s a good thing I spilled my guts out to you last night; she was about ready to give up on me.”

“After waiting this long?” Micki chided. “I somehow doubt that.”

“Yes, well, she’s not waiting any longer,” Tony said determinedly. “And neither am I. We’re getting married next Saturday and we want you to come. Can you make it, Micki?”

The anxious note that had crept into Tony’s voice brought a rush of tears to Micki’s eyes. “Can birds fly?” she shot back at him with a shaky laugh. “Just tell me what time, where, and give me directions and I’ll be there with wedding bells on.”

“If you’d want to, you could fly into Albany and I could meet the plane,” he suggested. “Save you all that driving.”

“You’re on,” Micki agreed. “I’ll check into flight schedules tomorrow. Suppose you call me sometime midweek and I’ll let you know what time.”

“Will do. And Micki?” Tony’s voice went rough with emotion. “We both thank you.”

“You’re both welcome,” she whispered. Then she added, ‘Tony, does she have a name?”

“Shirley,” Tony laughed. “Don’t you love it?”

After she’d replaced the receiver, Micki went back to the sofa, a small smile curving her lips. Tony Menella getting married! Unbelievable. Memories rushed over her, and caught up in the flow, the tormenting suspicions about Wolf were pushed to the back of her mind.

* * * *

The first thing that greeted Micki when she walked into the shop Monday morning was an announcement. Georgine, her large, dark eyes bright with excitement, was fairly twitching with news.

“I’ve been transferred.”

Transferred?” Micki cried. “Where? When?”

“The boss was in the day after you were here,” Georgine laughed. ‘Told me they were opening a new store, asked me if I’d like to manage it”

“Manage? Georgine, that’s wonderful,” Micki enthused.

That’s what I thought,” she drawled. Then, when he told me where the store is he asked if I still wanted it” Her dark eyes rolled expressively. “I asked him if he’d like my eye teeth.” Her beautiful face was drawn into a sober cast and her voice rasped deeply. “‘No, thank you,’ the man said, ‘I’ve got a good set of fangs of my own.’“