An Irresistible Impulse (7 page)

But he was determined. His fingers grasped her shoulders with a strange fierceness. “That shouldn’t have happened. Not
with what we’ve got ahead of us. But, damn it, I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you yesterday!”

Stunned by his begrudging admission and the force behind it, she stared mutely up at him. Then she realized the truth of his words. His was the voice of reason, the small voice she’d ignored within herself. He was right; their timing
was
wrong. But, Lord help her, she wanted him to kiss her again.

“Look,” he growled, “maybe we’d better forget that walk.”

“No!” she exclaimed, then managed to lower her voice. “I do need a break. Fresh air. Something. If I sit here until dinner, I’ll only rehash the day in court, and I’ve got to get away from it….” It was only half the truth. If she sat there alone now, she’d also rehash the feelings she’d experienced in Ben’s arms. But he didn’t want to hear
that
.

Dropping his hands from her shoulders, he stepped back. Then he rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck. “You’re not the only one…. Okay. Let’s go.”

They walked in silence down two flights of stairs, through the large foyer, and out. Though the sun’s shadows were lengthening by the minute, the day was far from gone. Abby stood for a minute in the path of one golden streak, turned her face to its source,
and breathed in deeply. It felt good to be outside; she should have done this the minute she’d returned. The air was invigorating, the sun’s rays warm. Relaxation was fully within her grasp.

“Abby…”

Opening her eyes, she saw Ben staring at her. “Sorry,” she murmured and trotted down the last step. Then, following his lead, she matched her stride to his. With the crisp grass of autumn whispering beneath their shoes, they slowly made a broad circle around the inn, finally coming to rest side by side against the base of an ancient oak. It was Ben who spoke first.

“What were you writing when I interrupted you?” he asked, leaning back against the ridged bark and gazing lazily toward the leaves above.

She pulled at a blade of grass and fingered it idly. “I was writing down what went on today. You know, witnesses and facts and dates and all. This was only the first day, and there’s so much to remember. What’s going to happen after ten or twelve days of testimony?”

He chuckled. “We’ll either be very confused…or totally convinced.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she mused. “But still, I feel better making notes at the end of
each day. And since we can’t discuss the case with anyone, I suppose it’s like a diary.”

“You sound like
you
should be the one writing a book….”

She looked up to find him watching her closely. “Tell me about it, Ben. I think it’s a fascinating idea.”

“
You
may think so, but I’m not sure the others would agree if they knew what I was doing.”

She recalled her comment about differentiating between research and reality. “They don’t have to know now, do they?”

For the first time since he’d arrived at her room, Ben smiled. “Then I can count on you to keep my secret?”

“Of course you can.” She turned to face him head on. “Did you really think I’d tell them to watch their words when you’re around?” She laughed softly. “I’m more curious to see if you can get them to open up…even
without
their knowing your ulterior motive.”

“Oh, I’ll get them talking.”

“You seem very sure.”

“It’s the circumstances, Abby. There’s an initial wariness they feel toward each other, toward the trial itself. As time goes on, they’ll open up…to satisfy a very basic human need, if nothing else.”

She reflected for a minute on the basic human need
she
felt and frowned in puzzlement. It was a basic
feminine
need, where Ben was concerned. But why now? Why here? Then she caught her breath as she realized she’d echoed the questions he’d asked earlier.

“Tell me about yourself, Abby,” he asked now.

He’d caught her at the moment she was vulnerable, when the door to her soul had been open. Looking away to hide her confusion, she shrugged. “What would you like to know?”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Three years. I moved up from New York.”

“Ah…the big city.” Bourbon and water.

“That’s right.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I worked in the pediatric ward of a hospital.”

“You must love children.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have your own.”

“Nope.”

“Aside from not having married, any other reason?”

Resting her head back against the tree, she grew more reflective. “I’ve got time. I’m just not ready…for either marriage
or
children. When the time’s right, I’ll know it.”

“What about your fiancé?”

She shot him a fast glance. “He’s
not
my fiancé.”

“Then…what? You must have
some
sort of relationship with him—for him to call on the phone and announce himself that way.”

“He’s my boss.”

“Your
boss?
You’re carrying on an affair with your
boss?”

“Not…quite,” she drawled. Then she studied his dark expression and grinned. “If I didn’t know better I’d say
you
were jealous.”

“Damned right I am,” he admitted without hesitation. “You’re a beautiful woman, Abby.”

As his tone grew more husky, she felt her own response. But before it could swell to anything more than a gentle tremor in her limbs, she wrenched her gaze from his and looked off toward the garden house. It seemed unfair that Ben should be able to excite her with no more than a word, a tone, a glance. She’d never felt this deep stirring for Sean. Had she
ever
felt it before? Or had the fact of sequestration, a kind of contrived captivity in itself, done something to her senses?

“You never told me how the college is managing without you for these three weeks,” she said, drawing on one of the many questions in her mind in an attempt to bank the fire. “Hasn’t the semester just begun?”

Ben indulged her momentarily. “Jury duty
is high-priority stuff. My colleagues will cover for me.”

“Particularly if a book is forthcoming from the experience?”

He didn’t answer, simply studied her. Then his indulgence ended. “Why would your…your boss call himself your fiancé?”

“Uh-oh. We’re back to that again?”

“Why not? I have an interesting theory.” He looked toward the horizon and gestured where headlines might be. “Beautiful young nurse chased around examining room by doctor madly and passionately in love with her.”

“That’s absurd, Ben! Sean doesn’t
chase
me.” Not in the most ludicrous sense, at least.

“Do you date him?”

“Yes…. He’s a nice guy.”

“A ‘nice guy’? Hmmmmm. That’s a poison for passion if there ever was one.” He paused. “But…is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That he’s in love with you?”

She shrugged. “He says he is.”

“And you’re stringing him along?”

Abby looked up sharply. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve told him over and over again that I’m not in love with him and that I won’t marry him. I don’t exactly call that ‘stringing him along.’ ”

“But the poor guy may be suffering….”

“That’s not
my
fault!” she exclaimed with
growing indignation. “How much more blunt can I be? Or do you suggest that I agree to marry him”—she snapped her fingers—“just like that?”

Unfazed by her show of irritation, Ben delved further. “He’s a doctor, isn’t he? You could do worse,” he stated with a calmness that irked her all the more.

Abby’s spine stiffened. “I don’t believe you, Ben! You sound like my mother!”

“Maybe she has a point.”

“
She’s
not the one being pushed into marriage. If I don’t love Sean, I won’t marry him. My Lord, the divorce rate is high enough!”

“But surely there would be
something
in it for you…even without love. Security…kids…sex…?”

Fully incensed now, she scrambled to her feet and stood before him with her hands on her hips. “It so happens that I
have
security. I have a good job…and a trust fund left by my father. Furthermore,” she gulped, “I have kids…dozens and dozens of them, all of whom I can send home at the end of the day. And as for sex…” she raged, “as for sex…Sean Hennessy just doesn’t turn me on. Besides,” she added on a note of spite, “these are modern times. If a woman needs a bedmate, she takes one…with or without a wedding band!”

Her hair flew out behind as she whirled on
her heel and headed for the inn. Her blood pounded in her ears, her chest heaved. She’d never been as irate in her life. Irate…hurt…disappointed.

Storming up the front steps, she was filled with dismay that Ben could have said what he had. Security…kids…sex…bah! Typically masculine point of view. No love…never love. Was it exclusively a woman’s emotion?

True, Sean believed he loved her…. But he, too, seemed to feel that a marriage could survive without that one element. And what had his love consisted of? He said she was bright, hard-working, and wonderful with kids. The perfect little wife and mother, she fumed as she slammed through the front door and attacked the stairs at a jogger’s pace.

But Sean had never pushed her physically. Now she wondered why. Oh, he’d kissed her and crooned sexy thoughts to her. They’d even indulged in a little petting. But when Abby pulled back, he never complained. Did he too feel that something was missing? Was he reluctant finally to accept the fact that the chemistry was all wrong?

Rounding one flight and loping up the next, she reran Ben’s words. Security…she had it. Kids…perhaps there
was
more to the issue there. It was one thing to find pleasure
in other people’s children, quite another to experience the joy of one’s own. She wasn’t blind to her deep maternal instincts, nor did she doubt that one day she
would
want a child. But motherhood was no reason to rush into marriage with Sean…particularly when something deep within told her she could have it all….

And sex. The big S. First and foremost on every man’s mind. With an angry scowl and a low-muttered oath, she slammed the door of her room and leaned back against it. There, too, she’d only told half the story. Modern women
were
freer than ever in satisfying their own desires. And she hadn’t reached the age of twenty-eight a virgin. But she demanded something beyond the purely physical, something to give meaning to those joys of the flesh. Not marriage, nor promises, she mused, but love. Very simply. Love.

It wasn’t that Abby wanted an apology. When she thought about it, Ben had done no more than probe her feelings about marriage in general, and Sean in particular. And he hadn’t actually said that
he
believed in marriage without love, had he?

With the passage of time her anger eased, and she became more concerned with why it had arisen in the first place. When it came to Ben Wyeth, she reflected, everything
about
her seemed to react strongly. Even now, despite the subtle barrier between them, she felt his presence every time he came near.

In a way she was grateful for the trial, which demanded her complete concentration. During those hours, and the periods of slow unwinding immediately after, she was preoccupied, thinking neither of Sean, nor her patients, nor her house, her mail, her friends…nor Ben. As fate would have it though, Ben was always the first to reenter her thoughts.

The blame rested, she told herself, on the nature of their bizarre adventure. To be locked away from the rest of the world, with thirteen strangers, several guards, and a handful of inn personnel…it
was
unusual. Under the circumstances, it would be perfectly normal for a woman like her to be drawn to a man like Ben. When the trial was over and they were all back in the “real world”…that would be something else. She’d go her way, back to her job, her kids, and Sean; he’d go his way, back to the college, his books, and…and…who
was
that he spoke with on the phone each night? A colleague? A friend? A…a…lover? This was the thought that disturbed her most, and regardless of how she tried, she couldn’t shake a feeling of jealousy.

Annoyed at that and determined to overcome
it, she made a concerted effort to get to know the other jurors. Several remained aloof. Several others had formed their own small clique. Several, though, she found to be truly companionable once they’d settled into the routine.

And Patsy continued to be a pleasure. She and Abby grew closer. “Abby?” She knocked softly on the door before breakfast on Saturday morning. “Abby…it’s Patsy. Are you up?”

“Coming,” came the muffled cry as Abby emerged from the bathroom in her slip, towel-drying her hair as she went for the door. “Hi,” she said, stepping back to let Patsy in, then shutting the door behind her. “I’m almost ready.” She’d run earlier with the others and had just showered and put on a light sheen of makeup. “What’s up?”

“Have you heard where we’re going?” Patsy asked, eyes filled with excitement.

“I thought we were going to court,” Abby said, as she vigorously rubbed her hair with the towel. The judge had declared that morning sessions would be held on Saturdays in hopes of thereby ending the trial a day or two earlier.

“We are. But
after
. This afternoon.”

Abby’s hand stopped in mid-air, her eyes widening in interest. “They’re taking us out?”

Patsy nodded eagerly. “We’re going up to some hunting lodge near Stockbridge. It’s supposed to be really nice. There’s a lake there for swimming and canoeing, beautiful grounds, and I think they’re planning a barbecue.”

“Sounds like fun.” She resumed her toweling. “I hadn’t realized we’d be entertained in the off-hours like that.”

“John said we’ll be going out more as the trial goes on.” John was the court officer who’d originally taken Abby from the courthouse to the inn. Between Ray, Grace, Lorraine, and John, the jurors were covered at all times. “He mentioned the movies and different restaurants. They may even take us mountain climbing.”

“Now that
does
sound good. I’ve never climbed a real mountain before. But it’s got to be an awful chore for the sheriff,” Abby mused, dropping the towel to the bed and stepping into her skirt. “He has to clear every place we go. All it takes is one crackpot yelling ‘Hang Bradley!’ ”—she’d cupped her mouth and distorted her voice, then returned it to normal—“and the judge’d get very nervous.”

Patsy laughed gaily. “That’s ridiculous. I think we know better than to listen to one fanatic.”

“I hope so,” Abby agreed, buttoning her
blouse. They both knew though that it wasn’t the occasional loud-mouth that frightened the judge. It was the fact that Derek Bradley’s father was a prominent and wealthy member of the Burlington community, that he had major banking interests throughout the state, that he also owned large chunks of newspapers in both Rutland and Montpelier. Any juror on the panel would be easy prey for an imaginative blackmailer.

Patsy’s spirits were dampened briefly. “What
would
happen if someone did that—you know, jumped in front of us and started yelling things?”

“I assume that Ray and John would have him wrestled to the ground and muzzled before he knew what hit him.”

“No…I mean, would there be an automatic mistrial declared?”

“I suppose that would depend on the situation. If the judge felt that we weren’t actually
influenced
by the person, that we didn’t feel pressured to agree with him, he might let it go. Or if only one or two of us were affected, we might be dismissed. With fourteen of us impaneled, there’d still be the necessary twelve left to deliberate. The state’s made a huge investment in this trial. A new trial would only cost thousands more.”

Patsy remained pensive. “What if someone…harmless…got
through the sheriff’s guards?” She flicked her head to the side. “You know, a bystander accidentally walking among us…or something. Would there be any…problem then?”

Plugging in her blow-dryer, Abby turned it on and gently finger-combed the warm air through her hair. “I suppose that depends. If the breach in security were truly accidental, I’m sure the guards would let it go. They’ve got their investment in this thing, too.”

Patsy nodded, but said nothing more. As Abby cast a glance through the mirror at the downcast blond head, she wondered whether her friend mightn’t have had something further in mind. But the head bobbed up with renewed enthusiasm before she could probe.

“Did Sean call again last night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anything new?”

Abby gave a good-natured grimace. “Oh, yes. He suggested he might talk me into a case of high blood pressure…so that I’d have to be dismissed from the jury and placed under a doctor’s care. He’s incorrigible!”

“That’s very sweet, Abby. He misses you.”

“Now…don’t
you
start on me too!” Abby exclaimed without thinking.

Patsy grinned mischievously. “Who beat
me to it?” Abby’s silence tipped her off. “It was Ben, wasn’t it? See, he likes you enough to be nervous about Sean.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s
nervous
,” Abby came back quickly, “and it’s got nothing to do with whether he likes me or not. He just…sympathizes with the man, that’s all.”

“How’s it going with him?”

“With Ben?” At Patsy’s nod, she switched off the dryer and turned to lean back against the dresser. “It’s not. He is a very pleasant man who happens to be on this jury.” It sounded so simple.

“He also ‘happens’ to sit beside you every day, to run with you every morning, and to have a room right next to yours.” The complications began to mount.

“And how do you know all that?” Abby eyed her skeptically. To her knowledge, Patsy had neither seen them running nor followed them up the stairs on their return. Patsy’s own room was at the far end of the second floor.

“Oh…I know,” the blonde said with an impish shrug. “I also know that he’s aware of you even when you try to ignore him. Last night after dinner, when you were playing chess with Brian…then later, when we were watching television…” She caught her breath as a new thought intruded. “It’s really a pain, isn’t it…things being monitored
like that. Poor Ray…having to jump up at every commercial and turn off the sound so we won’t hear anything if there’s a newsbreak.”

“That’s all part of it,” Abby mused. “Maybe we’ll get used to it after a while….”

“But Ben had his eye on you, Abby.” Patsy flipped the channel of her mind back to her own ongoing program. “He’s very subtle about it…but
I
can tell. He’s really gorgeous, you know. If I didn’t have my own eyes set on one adorable ski bum…”

“How is he, by the way? Did
he
call?”

“Three times. Grace wasn’t too thrilled last night.”

Relieved to have shifted the conversation from Ben, Abby engaged a bright-eyed Patsy in discussion of her persistent beau as the two walked down to breakfast.

Unfortunately, though, the bug had been planted in Abby’s ear. She was all the more conscious of Ben through breakfast and the morning in court, wondering as she looked straight ahead whether he was looking at her, thinking of her. It didn’t help that there seemed more sidebar discussions than ever; during those times, when both prosecutor and defender met quietly with the judges at the far side of the bench, the jury had nothing to do but to sit, perhaps talk softly among themselves.

“You’ve heard about this afternoon, haven’t you?” Ben murmured during one of those idle times.

“Uh-huh. The hunting lodge.”

“Have you got a bathing suit with you?”

“I’ve got one…but isn’t it a little too cold?”

“Too cold,” he grinned, “for an athlete like you?” His teasing caused her insides to shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Running is one thing, swimming something else. When you run, you wear warm-ups and sneakers and a hat. When you swim, you wear practically nothing…. I mean,” she stumbled in embarrassment and could have strangled herself there and then, “a bathing suit doesn’t do much for warmth.”

Ben didn’t miss the flush on her cheeks. “True,” he said calmly. His eyes were more intense. “But it might be okay this afternoon. Besides, if you swim long enough, you build up a sweat.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Try it.”

“Are you saying that you swim…in addition to running?”

“Sometimes.”

In the silence that ensued, they looked at each other intently. Just then, Abby knew she’d missed him—missed his gentleness,
his warm banter…. A stirring in the courtroom signaled the end of the bench conference; the judge’s deep voice broke the spell.

Abby couldn’t forget it though, as morning became history and they returned to the inn for lunch, then piled back into the vans to head north. Nor could she forget it when the drive took them on a tour of autumn in Vermont, and her mind filled with the same romantic thoughts Ben had once before evoked. He sat in the front seat talking with Ray; she sat in the third row behind. Still she could almost feel the thickness of his hair, the strength of the arm thrown across the back of the seat, the warmth of the lips that moved companionably. And she couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d ever kiss her again.

Lost in a world of increasingly melancholy daydreams, she sat quietly through most of the ride, as did Patsy, who sat beside her. Beautiful as the scenery was, both women were more than happy to alight from the van when it finally pulled up at its destination.

The hunting lodge was large and rugged. It was inviting in a down-home sort of way, a contrast both to the properly formal courthouse and to the elegantly charming inn. Its walls were of aged, rough-hewn logs, its furnishings rich and mellow. It was the perfect getaway.

Each drawn by his own interests, the jurors quickly dispersed. Some went inside to the game room, others went directly to the lake. Still others spread out along the veranda, settling into oversized cushioned deck chairs. Abby was about to join the latter group when Ben approached. A spanking clean volleyball rested between his wrist and his hip.

“Up for a game?” he asked. There was just enough of a challenge in his voice to counter hesitation, had he found it. But she had none. It had been a long few days of sitting for what seemed to be hours on end. Even the morning runs had barely tapped her well of pent-up energy. She was used to far more physically active days.

“Sure,” she exclaimed. “Any other takers?”

“Tom and Richard will be out in a minute. They’re seeing who else wants to play. I passed Patsy inside. She seemed to be looking for someone but said she may be out later. Do you think any of the other women would be interested?”

“I’ll check. Where’s the game?”

“Out back. In…say…ten minutes?”

“Meet you there.” She smiled at him, feeling better than she had all day.

The game was just what she needed. She’d only been able to con one other female
into playing—tall, thin Anne Marie, whose initial shyness had eased over the past few days to reveal a woman with a streak of wry humor. And did she ever know how to serve a volleyball….

“Where did you learn to play that way, Anne?” Abby asked, after three straight points had shocked the all-men’s team on the far side of the net.

“I was drafted.”

“The
army?”

Anne Marie shook her head. “Central High. It was a choice between basketball…and this. This seemed the lesser of the evils.” And she fisted the ball a fourth time. This time, though, the opposition was prepared. By the time the game finally ended many more points down the road, both sides had earned the frosty lemonade that a beaming Patsy helped serve.