Beauty and the Brain (24 page)

“Poor George,” Colin mimicked. “Poor George
ran away from college like a silly half-witted schoolboy afraid of
the dark without mentioning his intentions to anyone, much less our
parents—who are, might I remind you, the people footing the bill
for his flightiness.”

“I know.” Her lips tightened. “And I agree
he should have consulted your parents before making the break,
but—”

“But what? What justification can you come
up with for that sort of behavior?” He managed a fairly decent
sneer. “And you said you understood the bounds of propriety.”

The angry color in her cheeks deepened. If
she’d ever looked ravishable—and she did, more’s the pity—she
looked a hundred times more so now. Colin could scarcely keep his
fists bunched at his sides. They wanted to unclench and reach for
her, In fact, he had an irrational impulse to grab her in his arms,
throw her up on a horse, and make off with her.

Lord, what was the matter with him? He’d
never harbored fantasies about knight errantry when he was a boy.
Why had he started doing it now, as an adult?

“I do not justify George’s behavior,” Brenda
said, and Colin could tell her teeth were clenched. “I think he
behaved very badly, in fact.”

“But you’re rewarding him by getting him a
job? Is that logical? Is it appropriate? Or is it the work of a
meddling busybody?”

“Damn you, Colin Peters!”

Her voice had risen, and Colin saw several
people on the set turn to look at them. He said with satisfaction,
“You’re calling attention to yourself. I’m sure that’s only natural
for you, given your profession, but it isn’t for me, and I’d
appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down.”

If looks could kill, Colin knew he’d be
dead, probably skewered on a spit and roasted over a slow fire for
maximum torture value.

“Very well, I’ll keep my voice down, darn
you. And the answer to your question is, I’m not rewarding George.
I’m trying to help him. The poor boy didn’t think he had any
options left. It’s apparent to me, if not to you, that your parents
wouldn’t have understood his wishes in the matter of employment. He
thought you might. Obviously he was wrong. He misjudged you,
believing you might have some human feelings lurking somewhere
inside that cold, fishy exterior of yours. Ha!”

She uttered the last syllable in a tone of
absolute contempt. It made Colin’s innards flush—and maybe his
outers, too, although he couldn’t see his face to tell for sure.
“That’s absurd.” He knew the two words were inadequate, mainly
because he believed Brenda’s assessment of his parents’ attitude,
and his own, was accurate. He might even have felt a little ashamed
of himself if he weren’t so angry.

“It’s not nonsense and you know it.
Unfortunately, George didn’t discover how mistaken he was in you
until he’d traveled all the way to California. I feel sorry for
him. It must be awful to have a family that doesn’t care for
one.”

“We do, too, care!”

“Ha!”

There it was again, that one syllable that
made Colin feel like a crawling worm.

“Brenda!”

Martin’s voice made them both freeze. Brenda
turned and forced a smile. Colin knew it was forced because he saw
her struggle to produce it. There was no doubt about it: she was a
consummate actress.

She waved at Martin. “I’m here! Do you need
me for the scene? I have to change.” She still wore the lovely
lilac silk. Colin didn’t want her to take it off—unless he could
help her do it.

God Almighty; he was becoming a lost
cause.

“No, not yet,” Martin called. He was smiling
up storm and looking as cheerful as anything. Colin envied Martin
his steady disposition. “I just wanted to thank you for telling me
about George. He’s doing a great job already!”

“Good!” She beamed in earnest this time.
“I’m glad!”

Martin and George, who waved and also looked
happy, blast his irresponsible soul to perdition, turned back the
set. Colin had no idea what they were doing together, but whatever
it was entailed a good deal of pointing and twiddling with various
stage properties.

“There,” Brenda said with a superior smirk
for Colin. “I told you so. George is a talented young man, and if
he doesn’t want to go to college there’s plenty of work for him to
do right here in California. In the pictures. And, what’s more,
he’s smart to get in at the beginning. Pretty soon, everybody who
works here will probably need a zillion college degrees, just like
you have. Then we’ll all be just as dull and impossible to get
along with as you are. And I, for one, am glad I’ll be retired by
then.”

She even went so far as to poke him in the
chest with her forefinger. It hurt, too. If Colin had been a trace
less inhibited, or perhaps if he’d read
The Adventures of Robin
Hood
as a lad instead of that umpteenth chemistry book, he
might have grabbed her wrist and pulled her into arms. Instead, he
could only watch as she wheeled around and marched away from him.
He couldn’t recall the time he’d been this depressed.

It would serve him right if Brenda and
George ran away together and got married. He slumped off to nearby
chair and sat himself down, glad nobody needed him for the
moment.

Darn and blast and double heck. Brenda
stalked to the lodge’s porch, stamped up the stairs, marched over
to a roomy wooden deck chair, and sat in a fluff of lilac silk. She
couldn’t remember ever being so frustrated and furious as she was
after this latest row with Colin. And all because she’d been kind
to his brother.

All right, so the kid had misbehaved. “I
suppose you never did anything wrong, Mr. High-and-Mighty,
Education-Is-the-Only-Proper-Course-in-Life, Peters,” she muttered
savagely. Then she decided he probably hadn’t ever done anything
wrong. Doing wrong had unquestionably never even occurred to him.
The pickled shrimp.

Perhaps not shrimp. He was a fairly large
man. Really quite large. At least six feet tall. Probably more. And
very well-built, actually. Darn it. It wasn’t fair that he should
look so good, since he was such a raging pill.

“So I don’t know what the bounds of
propriety are, do I?” she grumbled. “I’m an interfering busybody,
am I?”

She picked up a fallen pine cone and heaved
it at a tall tree next to the porch. A frightened blue jay bolted
out of the tree as if it had been shot from a gun.

“I’m sorry, bird.” Brenda sat glowering as a
blue feather drifted to earth beneath the tree: When it floated out
of her range of vision, she growled, “So I rewarded him for
misbehaving, did I? Bah!” She kicked at a post holding up the porch
railing. A squirrel scolded her sharply from a tree limb. “I did no
such thing! I helped the kid see what working in the pictures might
be like. At least he’ll know now if he wants to pursue the business
or not. What’s wrong with that, I’d like to know?”

She wanted to race back over to Colin and
slap him silly.

No, she wanted to kick him

No, what she wanted to do was screech at him
for several hours.

She sank her head into her cupped hands and
confessed to herself that what she truly felt like doing was
sitting down in a quiet corner somewhere and crying. Being forever
in the public’s eyes had amazing disadvantages, especially when one
was feeling blue. And Brenda felt exceptionally blue right
then.

Where was her sunny nature when she needed
it? Why should a stodgy old scholar, of all silly things, make her
want to burst into tears and drum her heels on the floor?

Because she wanted him to like her was why,
and he didn’t. She felt very foolish when she confessed the truth
to herself. Why should it matter to her if Colin Peters liked her
or not?

Because she both craved the information he
could impart to her and also lusted after him was why, and she knew
it.

Good heavens. She’d never lusted after a man
in her life. Why couldn’t she have picked someone else to start
with? Someone nicer and more approachable?

But no. She had to go and pick Colin Peters,
who despised her.

“Bother!” There was no accounting for human
nature, as she well knew. Since she didn’t want to sink into a
black decline, she picked herself up from her chair and decided to
meander back to the set. She’d have plenty of time to change into
her Indian-maiden costume later, since they still hadn’t finished
with the Indians-in-the-village scene.

Jerry Begay and his band were all painted up
and feathered to within an inch of their lives. They were at
present dancing around a roaring fire. She wondered what fault
Colin would find with that scene but forced herself not to look for
him. Darn him, he could just disapprove on his own.

“Hi, Brenda.”

She turned to discover George had walked up
and now stood beside her. It was an effort, but she managed a smile
for him. “Hi there, George. Did Martin teach you anything?”

“Oh, yes!” George practically quivered with
excitement and elation. “Brenda, I don’t even know how to begin to
thank you for helping me like this. I never expected—I don’t
deserve—I don’t know—”

She laid a hand on his arm to stop him
before he became hopelessly tangled up in words. “Don’t thank me,
George. I’m sure Martin needs you, or he’d have told you he didn’t.
He’s not a man to equivocate. If he says you’re going to be good at
this, you will be. Trust me. Martin knows this business backwards
and forwards, and it’s too important to him to allow him to fib
about something like that. He’s a professional in every sense of
the word.”

George glowed so fiercely, Brenda feared he
might catch fire. He was awfully cute. Funny, that. He looked a lot
like Colin, but Colin couldn’t have looked cute if he’d tried. He
could look dangerous. He could look supercilious. He could look
angry or fussy or seductive.

Seductive? Good heavens, where had that come
from?

Oh, well. Colin could look a whole lot of
things, but Brenda couldn’t even imagine him looking cute. Blast
him.

She wanted to burst into tears and run away
and hide. Instead, she smiled at George some more.

“Well, I still want to thank you,” George
told her, his cheeks burning like hot coals. “I—I—nobody’s ever
done anything like this for me before.”

Of course not. Before this, George was a
baby. Brenda didn’t remind him of his relative youth. “Nonsense. I
was glad to help.” The good Lord knew George’s brother would never
help him. She let go of a sniff of indignation before she could
stop herself.

“Whatever you say, it was swell of you, and
I won’t forget it.” George sounded as if he was trying to appear
mature and sophisticated. He spoiled the image by dragging his toe
in the dirt at his feet, thrusting his hands into his jacket
pockets, and saying shyly, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell my folks I
was leaving college. Colin’s right about that. I should have.”

“Your brother,” Brenda said heatedly, “ought
to be horsewhipped.”

George’s eyes popped open. “Beg pardon?”

She drew in a deep breath and released it
slowly, irked with herself for disparaging George’s brother to
George. That was underhanded and dirty, and Brenda was ashamed of
herself for succumbing to so base an urge. No matter what the
provocation, it was beneath her to belittle Colin to George. No
matter how much he deserved it, the rat.

“How did it go, George?”

Brenda almost jumped out of her skin when
Colin’s warm breath caressed the back of her neck and his voice
sounded clear as a bell in her ear. She leaped a foot and turned to
find him standing no more than an inch away from her. She gave him
as good a glower as she could come up with, when she wanted to turn
into his aims and beg him to forgive her for her hot tongue. Not
that he didn’t need forgiving for his, too, the miserable cad.

“H’lo, Colin.” George looked uncomfortable.
Small wonder. Brenda kept her mouth shut. “Um, it went pretty
well.” He took in about a bushel of air. “Actually, it went very
well. Martin’s a great gun.”

“I’m glad.”

Colin was glad? Brenda squinted at him,
trying to detect any hint of scorn or disapproval or doubt. She
didn’t. “That’s a change of tune, coming from you, isn’t it?” she
asked coldly. When she saw George’s raised eyebrows and confused
expression, she regretted her sarcasm.

Colin peered down at her, his beautiful
brown eyes reminding her of something hot and hazardous. She, the
most self-assured and unflappable person she knew, couldn’t hold
his gaze and angled her head to stare into the trees. Why was she
turning coward at this odd moment?

“Yes, it is,” he said after staring her out
of countenance.

Blast the man, why was he always changing on
her this way? You’d think he was a chameleon instead of a stodgy
old stick of a highbrow professor. She felt her body tingle at his
hot glance, from her toes to the top of her head. Her nipples
puckered and her mouth went dry, and she could happily have smacked
his handsome face. “I’m glad of that, at all odds,” she said at
length, trying to sound cool and aloof.

“Me, too,” said George. His voice was soft,
as if he couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Colin
and Brenda. Which didn’t surprise Brenda in the least. She couldn’t
figure it out, either.

Colin turned from Brenda to George. Thank
God, thank God.

“I’m sorry for the reception I gave you,
George. I was surprised to see you. When you told me you’d dropped
out of school without telling a soul, the first thing I did was get
mad. I should have listened first and then got mad.” He smiled the
most charming smile Brenda had ever seen on his lips.

George’s eyes grew round with
incomprehension and shock, and he gulped audibly. “I—ah—I should
have written or telephoned or something. I, er, don’t blame you for
being mad at me.”