and do some shopping or something, Miss Jones? I’m not going to need you until this evening, actually. It will take Washburn and myself several hours to hammer out the details. He wants to get everything wound up by tomorrow so he can get back to his offices in California. Zac, I’d appreciate it if you could hang around here?”
“Sure,” Zac murmured. “Why not? Nothing I like to do better on a wild weekend.”
“Zac!” Guinevere hissed warningly. Fortunately Vandyke didn’t appear to have heard. He nodded vaguely, apparently satisfied, and excused himself. “I’ll stay here with you,” she went on to Zac, who immediately made a negative motion with his chin.
“Forget it. I’m not going to be good company and you’ll enjoy hitting those little shops in town. Take your time. I’ll just read a good book or something.”
“What good book?”
“How about
A Thousand and One Erotic Fantasies of the Small Businessman
?”
Guinevere grinned. “Is it a best-seller?”
“It probably will be after I write it.”
***
It was drizzling rain by three o’clock that afternoon when Guinevere finally decided she was not going to find the perfect pottery vase or an undiscovered painter in the town shops. She treated herself to a cup of hot tea and a scone at a small café and stared out the window at the rain-slick street. A few other tourists who favored the San Juans in winter were scurrying from one shop to the next, trying to avoid the gentle rain. A few cars made their way down the street with windshield wipers swishing languidly.
Guinevere thought of Zac, whom she had left sitting in the hotel lobby with a magazine, and decided she’d rather be sitting beside him. True, his good mood of the morning had disintegrated when he’d discovered they were going to have to stay another night, but she’d rather be with him in a bad mood than here by herself.
It was an odd realization. Guinevere thought about it some more while she had another scone. She was accustomed to being by herself. She liked her privacy and she liked her own company. It was strange to sit here and realize she’d rather be leafing through a magazine and listening to Zac grumble than shopping on her own.
Damn it, where was this relationship going? More important, what was it doing to her ordered satisfying life? And what on earth had sent her sneaking down the hotel hall last night?
The answers to those questions continued to elude her, and she hadn’t had much success in pinning Zac down about them either. Guinevere nursed her tea and continued to gaze out the café window. By now the other executives and their assistants would have checked out of the hotel and would be on the ferry heading home.
Maybe it would be nice to take one more walk down by the marina before she drove Zac’s Buick back to the hotel. Guinevere paid her bill, left the tip, and tugged her red trench coat on. Outside on the sidewalk she opened her black umbrella. It wasn’t really pouring, just drizzling as she made her way briskly down the street toward the marina. It was nearly empty of people, but the boats were always intriguing, especially when they bobbed on a gray sea against a gray sky. An artist would enjoy the scene, Guinevere reflected. She recalled Vandyke saying once that his wife dabbled in painting.
In the distance she could see Cassidy’s Cessna tied up next to the old metal boathouse. She wondered if he ever flew on days like this. Probably. A guy with the right stuff flew in just about any sort of weather. She shook her head at the thought. Being in a small plane was bad enough; flying in one in bad weather seemed sheer stupidity, not to mention terrifying. But she supposed men like Cassidy thrived on terror.
She was gazing at the plane in the distance when she saw a familiar figure climb out of a car in the parking lot and start toward the boathouse. Toby Springer had apparently also been freed for the afternoon by his boss. Idly Guinevere
“Sure,” Zac murmured. “Why not? Nothing I like to do better on a wild weekend.”
“Zac!” Guinevere hissed warningly. Fortunately Vandyke didn’t appear to have heard. He nodded vaguely, apparently satisfied, and excused himself. “I’ll stay here with you,” she went on to Zac, who immediately made a negative motion with his chin.
“Forget it. I’m not going to be good company and you’ll enjoy hitting those little shops in town. Take your time. I’ll just read a good book or something.”
“What good book?”
“How about
A Thousand and One Erotic Fantasies of the Small Businessman
?”
Guinevere grinned. “Is it a best-seller?”
“It probably will be after I write it.”
***
It was drizzling rain by three o’clock that afternoon when Guinevere finally decided she was not going to find the perfect pottery vase or an undiscovered painter in the town shops. She treated herself to a cup of hot tea and a scone at a small café and stared out the window at the rain-slick street. A few other tourists who favored the San Juans in winter were scurrying from one shop to the next, trying to avoid the gentle rain. A few cars made their way down the street with windshield wipers swishing languidly.
Guinevere thought of Zac, whom she had left sitting in the hotel lobby with a magazine, and decided she’d rather be sitting beside him. True, his good mood of the morning had disintegrated when he’d discovered they were going to have to stay another night, but she’d rather be with him in a bad mood than here by herself.
It was an odd realization. Guinevere thought about it some more while she had another scone. She was accustomed to being by herself. She liked her privacy and she liked her own company. It was strange to sit here and realize she’d rather be leafing through a magazine and listening to Zac grumble than shopping on her own.
Damn it, where was this relationship going? More important, what was it doing to her ordered satisfying life? And what on earth had sent her sneaking down the hotel hall last night?
The answers to those questions continued to elude her, and she hadn’t had much success in pinning Zac down about them either. Guinevere nursed her tea and continued to gaze out the café window. By now the other executives and their assistants would have checked out of the hotel and would be on the ferry heading home.
Maybe it would be nice to take one more walk down by the marina before she drove Zac’s Buick back to the hotel. Guinevere paid her bill, left the tip, and tugged her red trench coat on. Outside on the sidewalk she opened her black umbrella. It wasn’t really pouring, just drizzling as she made her way briskly down the street toward the marina. It was nearly empty of people, but the boats were always intriguing, especially when they bobbed on a gray sea against a gray sky. An artist would enjoy the scene, Guinevere reflected. She recalled Vandyke saying once that his wife dabbled in painting.
In the distance she could see Cassidy’s Cessna tied up next to the old metal boathouse. She wondered if he ever flew on days like this. Probably. A guy with the right stuff flew in just about any sort of weather. She shook her head at the thought. Being in a small plane was bad enough; flying in one in bad weather seemed sheer stupidity, not to mention terrifying. But she supposed men like Cassidy thrived on terror.
She was gazing at the plane in the distance when she saw a familiar figure climb out of a car in the parking lot and start toward the boathouse. Toby Springer had apparently also been freed for the afternoon by his boss. Idly Guinevere
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