Beauty and the Brain (32 page)

“You did so,” Brenda declared emphatically.
“You barged into my room and tried to take advantage of me, and
don’t you dare deny it!”

Although he would never, ever take a woman
by force, Colin had to acknowledge that he had intended something
of a carnal nature when he’d gone up to Brenda’s room that
afternoon. Nonetheless, her opinion of his intentions riled him

Then again, perhaps her experience in the
woods had unsettled her more than he’d at first suspected. Colin
wasn’t adept at reading human emotions and he wasn’t accustomed to
considering other people’s feelings, mainly because he recognized
so few of his own. Now, however, he squinted at Brenda and
recognized a certain frenzy about her that was most atypical of the
calm, steady, sunny-natured Brenda he’d come to know and—and—and—
Well,
know
would do at present.

Trying to pitch his voice to a soothing
timbre, he said, “You’re hysterical.” He didn’t mean it as an
insult. He only stated what, to him, was obvious.

“I am not hysterical!” she bellowed.

“I believe you are, actually, Brenda.” This
time, he meant his tone and words to imply that he understood and
wasn’t going to hold her wild accusations and name-callings against
her once she calmed down. To make sure she took his meaning, he
smiled slightly and said, “It’s all right. You’ll feel better in a
minute.”

To his astonishment, she seemed to stiffen.
He hoped she wasn’t going to fall into some kind of seizure,
although he’d been trained in first aid, so he probably could cope.
It might even be easier to handle a seizure than this hysteria,
come to think of it.

“You brute.” Her voice had gone deadly calm.
“You fiend. You devil. You scoundrel. You monster.”

Now Colin wasn’t a sentimental sort. He’d
lived in his head most of his life and wasn’t accustomed to fits of
fiery temperament and so forth. And, while he chalked up this wild
talk of Brenda’s to some kind of paroxysm brought about by fear, he
didn’t like it.

“Don’t be silly,” he said calmly.
Withdrawing the torch from his coat pocket, he began studying it in
an effort to make its light work again. He heard Brenda breathing
in short, gasping respirations, and assumed her riotous mood hadn’t
abated, although she no longer screamed at him, which was an
improvement. Hoping to calm her further, he said matter-of-factly,
“I brought a blanket, in case you were cold.” He glanced up from
the torch and added dryly, “I see you didn’t bother to bring a wrap
with you.”

When she spoke again, Colin didn’t even
recognize the sound as a voice. It sounded more like some kind of
predatory animal poised to strike. The pitch was low, the tone
menacing. “I didn’t bother to wear a wrap.”

It was a statement, a repetition of his, and
he didn’t believe she expected a response. Anyhow, he was busy with
the torch, although his concern with the torch was mainly a ruse to
make Brenda settle down.

“I’d been walking in the woods because of
you, Colin Peters,” she went on in that same lethal tone. “Because
you had abused my friendship.”

This was too much. Colin couldn’t let it
pass unremarked upon. “Now, really, there’s no need—”

She went on, tromping over his explanation
as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’d gone walking in order to think,
because I was upset and confused. Because of you.”

To Colin, it sounded like an accusation. He
didn’t think she could sound much more reproachful if she’d charged
him with murder. He opened his mouth to refute her allegations when
again she overrode him.

“I walked for what seemed like hours. I
didn’t notice when it began to get dark because I was too busy
thinking about things. I was too distressed about what kind of
person you must believe me to be if you thought I’d approve of what
you’d done.”

“Dash it, Brenda, I didn’t do—”

She held up a hand. He shut up. “Yes, you
did,” She said. Thinly. “And I was hurt. Very hurt. And I didn’t
notice when it began to get dark. And then, when I realized the sun
must be setting, I tried to find my way back to the lodge. I
couldn’t.”

“One should always mark one’s trail,” Colin
pointed out, hoping in that way to show her that he was on her
side.

It didn’t work. He ought to have expected
it. Her voice rose on her next words. “Don’t you, dare patronize
me, you awful man! What did you expect me to do? Leave a trail of
crumbs?”

Although he suspected the question to be
rhetorical he said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone, “No. The
birds and squirrels would have eaten them. What the Indians do
is—”

“I don’t give a hang what the Indians
do!”

Colin winced because she’d gone back to
screeching. He deduced she was in no mood to be rational, so he
decided to hold his tongue. He could teach her forest craft later,
if she wanted to learn. She probably didn’t. He fiddled with the
torch some more.

“It got dark,” she went on, lowering her
voice again, thank God. “And I didn’t know where I was. There was
no moon and there were no stars. I couldn’t see a blessed
thing.”

Although he knew better, Colin nodded,
understanding what had happened. “It was too early in the evening.
You probably should have rested until the moon rose. It’s full
tonight, so—”

“Be quiet!” She stamped her foot, and he
shut up, sighing as he did so. “I was scared, Colin. I was scared
to death. I don’t know what kinds of animals live in these
woods—”

He opened his mouth to let her know, but
shut it again when she screeched, “Don’t you
dare!
” He
sighed again.

“I was frightened,” she went on. “And then I
heard you coming. But I didn’t know it was you. How could I?”

He didn’t answer the question, prudence
telling him site didn’t want to know that, either.

“I didn’t have any weapons. I didn’t have
any light. I didn’t have anything. So I broke a branch and when you
walked next to my tree, I hit you.” She sniffed. “Frankly, I’m
surprised I didn’t faint dead away from terror.”

Looking up from the torch, Colin peered at
her, wondering if she were deliberately lying to him or if she’d
forgotten their brief conversation prior to her trying to brain
him. Also, Brenda hadn’t before now appeared to be the fainting
type. Perhaps she was exaggerating to make her point. “You answered
me when I spoke to you,” he pointed out. “That was before you hit
me.”

“Oh, hush up!” Folding her arms over her
breasts, she turned around. She stood there, rigid, for a moment,
then whirled back. “I was frightened! Terrified! Scared to death!
And all you can say is, ‘You answered me’! Oooh! I wish I’d knocked
you out with that branch!”

He could tell she meant it, and he couldn’t
fathom her reasoning. He suspected it wasn’t reasoning at all, but
rather another example of her state of hysteria. Surmising that she
was unable to appreciate rational conversation, he said gently,
“I’m sorry you were frightened, Brenda. I understand. I was worried
about you, so I came out here to try to find you. I didn’t mean to
scare you.”

To Colin’s horror, her bottom lip began to
tremble. Good God, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? Colin had
always hated it when women cried in front of him. He considered
such tactics lowdown and dirty. His sisters used to cry when they
couldn’t get their way in any other, more logical, manner.

Brenda’s voice shook when she said, “And
then you trounce in here and call me an idiot. An idiot!” She
dashed away tears. Colin felt awful. “You mean, mean, mean, mean
man.”

She burst into tears, and Colin stood there
feeling helpless and contemptible and miserable—feeling like, in
fact, exactly what she’d called him. He held out a hand
uncertainly. “Here, Brenda, don’t do that.”

“D-d-don’t do what?”

“Don’t carry on so,” he pleaded. “I
understand that you’re still hysterical, but please—”

“I am not hysterical!”

He saw her eyes brimming in the moonlight.
They looked like dark pools of misery to him, although he’d never
harbored fanciful thoughts before. He felt rotten.

Her mouth trembled. Emotion surged within
Colin’s breast. “Here,” he pleaded. “Don’t cry. Please.”

“I hate you, Colin Peters,” she stated
flatly. “I hate you more than liver. More than anchovies. More than
anything.”

And then she launched herself at him He
staggered backwards and would have fallen flat on his back again
except that he bumped up against a fir tree. His arms went around
her, and he held her as she sobbed against his jacket.

For a long time—it might have been seconds
or minutes; Colin didn’t know—they stayed locked in each other’s
arms. Then Colin’s brain started functioning again.

Good God, Brenda had thrown herself into his
arms.
His
arms. Not Gil Drew’s arms. His. Colin’s. His right
hand began moving of its own accord, first stroking her back, then
finding the soft skin of her neck. He whispered, “You’re cold,
Brenda.”

It was a statement of fact, and he cursed
himself for not being more eloquent. But he’d never needed
eloquence before. She nodded and continued to weep
pathetically.

He said, “Let me get the blanket. You can
wrap it around yourself.”

This time she shook her head, although she
still seemed wretched. He didn’t understand her reluctance to take
advantage of the blanket, although he wasn’t going to argue with
her. She was in his arms, for the love of God. Any man would be a
fool to release her if she didn’t want him to.

He continued to stroke her, gently running
his right hand down her arm, trying to determine if she might be
suffering from shock. It seemed unlikely, given that the weather
recently, while a little chilly at night, was quite spring like.
Her body felt like heaven pressed against him. He wouldn’t mind
staying like this for the rest of his life, actually, although he
knew he’d tire of being vertical sooner or later.

For the first time in his life, he regretted
being of such a literal turn of mind. If he had an ounce of whimsy
within him, he wouldn’t have considered such a thing as his feet
wearing out. As long as Brenda was in his arms, he should feel
wonderful.

Yet it was true that his feet had begun to
hurt. Also, he feared Brenda might have suffered more than he’d
initially believed. He couldn’t account for her state of panic
unless something dreadful had happened to her. Perhaps she’d
thought she’d seen a bear or something. He didn’t believe she
really had, but she might have been mistaken, which would be every
bit as frightening as if the bear had been real.

He whispered softly, “Here, Brenda. Let’s
get the blanket. We can sit down and you can warm up.” He’d be more
than happy to hold her in his arms all night long, for that matter,
although he didn’t say so, recalling her accusations of lousehood a
few minutes earlier.

She nodded, sniffling and looking unhappy.
Colin picked up the blanket from where it had fallen when she’d
bashed him and shook it out vigorously. Then, after thinking the
matter over for no more than five seconds, he spread the blanket
under a large sycamore tree. He removed his jacket and, very
gently, slipped it around her. Then he took Brenda’s hand and led
her over to sit down upon the blanket. He sat next to her and drew
up the blanket so that it covered them both.

In a voice so tender it alarmed him, he
asked, “Are you comfortable?”

Again she nodded. Then she shook her head.
Colin heaved a silent, internal sigh. Obviously, she was still in a
state, although she no longer screeched, thank heavens.

“What can I do to make you comfortable? We
don’t want you to catch cold.”

Which was a tolerably stupid thing to say.
Cold weather never hurt anyone. It was germs and bacteria that made
people sick. He didn’t explain, knowing she didn’t care.

“N-nothing,” she mumbled in what, to Colin,
sounded like a last-gasp sort of voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes.”

With another, bigger sigh, Colin realized he
was beginning to react to her closeness. There was something about
Brenda that struck him on his raw side; he hadn’t even known he’d
possessed one until he met her. When he’d first seen her, she’d
seemed almost too perfect to be real; he’d had an easier time of it
when he was still able to look upon her as an animated doll.

Then she’d begun to ask him questions about
his work. Under more normal circumstances, such interest from an
attractive woman would have pleased his vanity. Since he was in the
unnatural setting of a motion-picture location, and Brenda was an
actress and all, he’d mistrusted her motives. Not that he had, to
this day, any idea in the world why he should have done so. What
could her motives have been, other than a quest for knowledge? But
there you go. Human beings were an odd lot; Colin knew it from long
years of study. And he was as human as anyone else—if slightly more
intelligent.

Unfortunately, along with his mistrust of
her motives had come an understanding that, far from being some
kind of perfect automaton, Brenda was entirely human. This fresh
awareness had been accompanied by an insatiable lust, which was
rearing its ugly head again now, as he sat under a tree in a forest
with his arms around a recently hysterical Brenda.

He expelled a huge breath and wished he
could be a scholar and not a man all the time instead of merely
from time to time. It didn’t seem right that both parts of him
should be so inextricably entwined with one another in a situation
like this.

But this was a human condition, he supposed,
and there was no gainsaying it. Because he was embarrassed by his
condition—not that Brenda could see it since, except for that one
shaft of moonlight penetrating the leaves overhead, the atmosphere
was black—he decided it might hurry things along some if he were to
apologize for his behavior earlier in the day.