Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (27 page)

"Looks like I owe your sister ten bucks."

Lyn traced a finger in the gray-swirled pattern of the marble tabletop. "What do you mean?"

"She said love would wake you up. She's right, isn't she?
You're in love?"

A thrill raced through her blood. Love. Was it love? This
fuzzy, upside-down feeling? The reason her thoughts flew to
Doug a thousand times a day? The eagerness to see him, touch
him, to simply be near him? "Yes."

"Hooray! Go get him, Lynnie. You deserve your happiness.
But be careful. Keep the cell phone with you. Same rules apply there as they do here. If you need anything, call. Even
from miles away, I've been known to work a miracle or two in
my time."

Maybe. But this miracle, Lyn had to achieve on her own.

Lyn drove up the long, winding driveway that led to Snowed
Inn. Butterflies danced in her stomach, only partly due to the
proliferation of news vans parked along the side of the road. She
counted two local, two national, and one cable entertainment
network among the chaos. Another reason for her flutters came
from a more pleasant source, the rush of the unknown. She'd
faced down a lot of challengers in her day, but today she intended to slay the beast and win her prince. If he'd let her.

She pulled into the parking area and turned off the engine.
The minute she stepped out of the car, the horde surged forward.
Lights flashed and microphones popped up in her face from
every angle.

"Brooklyn! Where've you been?"

"Brooklyn, is it true you're having an affair with Ace Riordan?"

"Did you and April have a fight? Is that why she left so suddenly?"

"Just a few words, Brooklyn, please? For the fans?"

She ignored them all, holding her arm out straight to keep them a fair distance away as she sped to her front porch. Reaching the door with the cranberry wreath, she quickly turned the
handle. Nothing happened.

Locked. And she had no keys with her.

"You could try knocking," a man in the crowd suggested.
"But no one's answered in days."

Guffaws of laughter erupted from the throng while heat
scalded Lyn's cheeks. Okay, don't panic. On a sharp intake of
breath, she fisted her hand, prepared to knock.

The door slipped open a sliver, and Mrs. Bascomb's eyeball
appeared. "Lyn. Thank God. Hurry. Get inside before these
vultures start squawking."

"They're already squawking." Lyn slipped inside through
the miniscule crack Mrs. Bascomb had opened, then quickly
shut and locked the door again. Pausing by the small round
table with the pot of African violets, she removed her gloves.

Home. She breathed in the scents of cinnamon and cider, a
hint of wood smoke. Each bit of familiarity strengthened her
resolve, helped assure her of victory. She could do this.

"Thank goodness that nice Brenda called me to say you
were on your way home. I've been watching for you for hours
now. Where did you go? And why are you back so soon?"

"Later," Lyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Right
now, I have to make a phone call."

"Yes, but before you do-"

"Later," Lyn repeated, slapping her leather gloves on the
tabletop with force. "This is important."

"But you should know-"

One fierce look and Mrs. Bascomb backed down. Thank
God. Because Lyn was fired up enough to incinerate.

Without removing her coat or hat, she sped straight to the
phone in the sitting room and punched in the number for information. Anxiety kept her hopping, shifting her weight from
one foot to the other. When the operator gave her the option,
she chose to splurge on the extra twenty-five cents to have the
call connected for her automatically, rather than risk misdealing thanks to her jittery nerves.

The silence seemed to go on for several minutes, but it was probably mere seconds before the phone clicked and the ringing began.

She barely allowed the receptionist to utter the complex's
name before she blurted, "Douglas Sawyer's room, please."

"One moment, please," the receptionist intoned, then clicked
her to the annoying music on hold. An updated version of
"Quando, Quando, Quando." Tell me, when will you be mine?
How fitting.

"Lyn." Like a mosquito in the dark, Mrs. Bascomb buzzed
around her again. "I think you should know-"

Oh, for heaven's sake. She turned her back on the old woman.
Rude, but so was Mrs. Bascomb's continued interruptions. She
needed no distractions right now. Not when she was about to
take this giant leap of faith.

With a click, the receptionist came back on the phone. "I'm
sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Sawyer checked out a few days ago."

"Oh." Excitement drained from her in a flood. She sank to
the floor, her back braced against the wall to keep from crumpling in a heap. "My mistake. Thank you."

Oh, God. Too late. She'd missed him. Desolation swept over
her. Folding her stilljacketed arms over her head, she curled
into a ball. Okay, deep breaths, Lyn. This isn't the end of the
race; it's just a mogul field. You can regroup. You'll call Ace.
Get Doug's number. You can still make this work.

"Lyn?" His voice reached through her protective shell, and
she jerked up to see him kneeling beside her, those marvelous
eyes shining with concern. "You okay?"

"Doug?" She blinked. It couldn't be. People didn't just magically appear because you wished them to. But he was real. He
really was here. She struggled to rise, her legs shaking too violently to complete the effort.

Until Doug reached a hand to help. His right hand, she noted.
Joy overwhelmed her, and she flung her arms around his neck.
The thick padding of her ski jacket prevented the closeness she
craved, but other concerns took priority at the moment. "What
are you doing here?"

He shrugged as he released her. "I had to check out of the
condo at Andiron."

"Because of what I said at Richie's?" Guilt warmed her
cheeks, and she cast her gaze to the floor. "Oh, God, Doug.
I'm sorry. I couldn't be more sorry."

"Don't be. You were right."

Her jaw dropped. "I was?"

"Yeah. Look, why don't you take off your coat and hat?
Eleanor can get us some hot cider and cookies-she says you
like that in the afternoon. The cider's a bit sweet for me, but if
it makes you happy, I'm willing to drink cider. The cookies
are pretty good though. Gerta made gingersnaps yesterday. I
haven't had those since I was a kid. It's no wonder your inn is
so popular. A person could get spoiled by your staff."

Her head spun while she tried to keep up with his rambling.
Finally, she grabbed him by the arms. "Doug, slow down. I'm
still trying to get used to the idea you're in my inn."

"If you'd let me get a word in," Mrs. Bascomb harrumphed
from the doorway, "I would have told you he's been staying
here since you took off."

She veered her attention from Doug to Mrs. Bascomb and
then back to Doug. "You have?"

Another shrug. "Take off your coat, and we'll sit in the parlor like civilized people and talk. Okay?"

"Okay." After pulling her wool cap off her head, she unzipped
her jacket. Rather than waste time and risk losing contact with
Doug, she quickly peeled off her outer garments and tossed
them onto the Queen Anne chair near the phone. "All set."

Taking Doug's hand, she pulled him into the parlor at a
near run.

He laughed. "Easy, Lyn, slow down. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, well, I'm not willing to take that chance."

"Oh?" He stopped and looked down at her, eyes narrowed
in scrutiny. "And what brought about this change?"

"Later." To prompt him to continue, she perched in the love
seat near the fireplace and patted the empty cushion beside her.
"You go first. How did you wind up here?"

Following her lead, he sat. "Well, like I said, I couldn't stay
at the Andiron since I was no longer participating in Ski-Hab.
But I had an article to write."

She held up a hand. "About that-"

"Later." He took her fingers, squeezed, then dropped their
linked hands between them. "I'm first, remember? So, anyway, I needed to continue research for my article. And all my
research was best done here, where the main characters lived.
After I checked out of the Andiron, I asked my cab driver for
the name of the best inn in town. He brought me to Snowed Inn,
of course."

Relaxing against him, she smirked. "Don't tell me. Let me
guess. Larry?"

He wrapped his left arm around her, holding her close. "Is
he the only cab driver in town?"

"Believe it or not, no." She snuggled into his embrace while
the fire and his presence warmed her. "But if the fare has anything to do with me, Larry makes himself available. And since
he knows you're sweet on me ..." She lifted an eyebrow in
Doug's direction.

"Sweet on you, huh? That's what this feeling is?"

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. "Would that be such a
bad thing?"

His fingers propped up her chin, and his gaze locked on her
face. "If I thought that, I wouldn't be here now."

"Are you saying your research wasn't the only reason you
stayed here?"

He traced a finger down her jawline, softly, gently. "I might
have hoped to see you again."

A thrill rippled through her. "I read your article. It's one of
the reasons I came back."

The finger paused at the tender skin behind her earlobe.
"Oh?"

"Yes. I was thinking that maybe...." Her courage faltered,
and she stared into the dancing flames in the fireplace.

"Maybe ... ?" he prompted.

"I thought, maybe, you might want to write another article.
This time, about me."

"No, I don't think so."

She sat up and stared at him aghast. "No? Why on earth
not?"

"If you really want to do an interview," he said with a sigh,
"I can put you in touch with a friend of mine. She's good, honest, and she'll treat you right."

Panic set in, raising the fine hairs on her nape. "But it has to
be you, Doug."

"I'm sorry, Lyn. But I don't do fluff pieces."

She stiffened. "Fluff pieces? You think I'm a fluff piece?"

"Well, I admit, when I first found out you were Brooklyn
Raine, I thought you'd make a great story. But after you left
the other night, I had time to reconsider. And I realized you
weren't the story after all."

"You're kidding, right? This is a joke?"

"No joke. This is going to sound egotistic, and I apologize
in advance for that. But the fact is that I was the story. I'd been
avoiding it all the while. I kept telling myself I had no right to
talk about Giles Markham's death, that no one really wanted
to hear about the horrors of war. Your absence forced me to
refocus. And I realized I'd never shied away from a sensitive
subject before. I only did so this time because this event
occurred to me."

She frowned. "It's not so easy when you're on the other side
of the news, is it?"

"No. You and Ace were right about that. But I realized I had
an obligation to tell about what happened to Giles Markham.
And what happened to me. I'm the only one who could, and
who could do the story justice. So I manned up and wrote the
story that needed to be told."

"I know." She took his hand, squeezed reassuringly. "I read
your article. I read all your articles."

"Then you already know I don't do fluff pieces."

While her cheeks grew scalding hot, she stamped her foot.
"I'm not a fluff piece. If I were just a fluff piece, all those reporters wouldn't still be outside my door."

"Those reporters are still outside your door precisely because they think you're a fluff piece. A quick namedrop that
will bring in readers and viewers for fifteen minutes and disappear by next week. That's all they see. But I see an incredible woman with an incredible amount of courage and integrity. But there isn't a story there. Not for them." He pointed out the
window. "Ten years ago, you were a story for them. Now you're
just an amusing satellite in your sister's celebrity universe. And
I won't let anyone use you in such a degrading manner. Not
even me."

He was right. Still, she offered him a mock wince. "Ouch.
That's a blow my ego could have done without."

"I'll be happy to kiss your ego and make it all better," he
replied.

She snuggled against him and sighed with sheer contentment.
"Just being here with you makes everything better." Looking
up into his eyes, she sobered. "But I really wanted you to interview me."

He shook his head. "Lyn, you don't have to do an interview.
You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me."

"Yes, I do." Emotions swirled high, and tears spilled from
her eyes. "This is my missing arm. Lorenzo Akers and his ilk
are my incendiary device. Thanks to the damage they inflicted,
I've been hiding from life, hiding from love. I don't want to hide
anymore."

"So don't hide. Take my hand and walk in the sunlight. Even
if that sunlight comes from a thousand flashbulbs. The idiots
outside have no idea who you really are. How amazing and generous and courageous you are. But I do. I love you, Lyn. And I
hope that's enough for you."

"I love you too." She looked into his eyes, saw the promise
shining there. "You'll stay beside me?"

He pulled her close again, kissed her softly on the lips. "No
matter how many times you try to push me away."