The Baby Track (8 page)

The feathered escapees flew helter-skelter through the room, and many of the guests already had departed in panic. Courtney wished that she had been among them. Instead, she had remained at the table while Connor and Emery conversed. She was still wondering why she’d stayed, silently listening to Connor use his considerable, subtle investigating skills to ferret out the details of Emery’s life.

What was it about Connor McKay that compelled her to go along with him, when common sense urged her to beat a hasty retreat? she wondered nervously. Instead of ejecting him from her office today, she’d allowed him to stay. In-

stead of telling him to get lost, she’d agreed to collaborate with him. And now tonight, instead of informing Emery that he had
not
prepped with Connor McKay—who also wasn’t a yuppie felon—she had sat quiescently and listened in fascination as he drew information about the Harcourts with skills that would have done any prosecuting attorney proud. He had even weaseled a ride home!

Still, she’d said nothing, allowing the unsuspecting Emery to go for his car, leaving her alone with Connor McKay.
Three strikes and you’re out,
she reminded herself, involuntarily glancing at him, taking in his sandy brown hair, still tousled from their little match under the trees, his deep green eyes, and his well-shaped, sensually compelling mouth. She swallowed, hard.

“I can see why you two have never made it to bed, though,” Connor continued thoughtfully, his voice breaking into her troublesome reverie. “I’ve never heard a guy in love refer to his woman as a fair-minded egalitarian. Not very romantic, Gypsy.”

“Maybe not by
your
standards,” Courtney retorted. Or by anyone else’s, either, she silently conceded. But then Emery wasn’t in love with her, she wasn’t his woman, and neither of them had ever pretended otherwise. Until now, with this stupid ruse she was playing at Connor’s expense. Poor Emery would be horrified at the deception. She considered telling Connor the truth about the two of them, then decided against it. The man was too smugly confident, too arrogant. He deserved to be deceived!

A peculiar flashback of Connor telling her and Kaufman about being sold as an infant suddenly appeared before her mind’s eye. He hadn’t looked arrogant or smug then. The i bleakness in his eyes, in his tone, had touched a chord deep within her. She determinedly shook off the feeling, which had returned in full. She felt sorry for the hurt young boy he had been then, she assured herself. For the current Connor, she felt only hostility.

They reached the spacious lobby of the club. It’s hushed, solemn atmosphere was a distinct change from the noisy melee in the ballroom.

“But I still don’t understand it.” Connor shook his head, still pondering her alleged relationship with Emery Har-court. “You’re so damn sexy, and Harcourt seems like a normal functioning male, yet—”

“In case it hasn’t occurred to you, my relationship with Emery is absolutely none of your business,” Courtney interrupted crossly. “And since I do not appreciate your speculations on my—”

“Sex life?” It was Connor’s turn to interrupt and he did so, with unabashed glee. “Baby, you don’t seem to have one.”

She knew he was teasing her, but if he only knew how on target he really was! Courtney remembered all the virginity jokes she had endured in college when she had been foolish enough to confess she’d never had a lover. Now, as the only twenty-five-year-old virgin in the United States—perhaps in all of Western civilization—she kept her status a closely guarded secret.

“I’m sure no one has the peripatetic, athletic and feckless sex life that you undoubtedly indulge in, but what discriminating person wants to?” she snapped.

From his expertise in the faux grove, she deduced that all too many women had experienced his compelling sexual charisma. Her lips tightened.

“You really zinged me with that one, Gyps.” Connor laughed appreciatively. “Nice hit.”

His good-natured laughter increased her ire. She was also offended that
he
was not offended by her description of his life-style. He made it quite clear that he didn’t care what she thought of him.

“Oh, shut up and leave me alone,” she said coldly, storming across the lobby, away from him.

Connor immediately joined her. He couldn’t keep away from her, he enjoyed needling her too much; he enjoyed the way she held her own with him.

“I know you’re not a member of my fan club, Courtney.” His smile was more of a smirk, further escalating her blood pressure. “I’m not exactly a fan of yours, either. But since we’re going to be working together, let’s try to keep our mutual aversion under control, shall we?”

She was working on a suitable rejoinder when his expression, his posture, his entire demeanor suddenly changed. Courtney stared at him curiously. As if by the stroke of some magic wand, the laid-back, grinning tease had vanished, replaced with a tense, rigid and remote stranger.

“See that man coming through the archway?” he asked.

His voice contained some indescribable note, something inexplicable that put her instantly on alert. She followed his line of vision and spied a tall, distinguished-looking man, probably in his early sixties, with well-defined features and a full head of silver hair. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit that even to her untutored eye looked custom-made.

“That’s Richard Tremaine,” Connor said in that same strange tone. “Principal stockholder and CEO of Tremaine Incorporated.”

Courtney nodded. Who in the Washington area didn’t know of Tremaine Incorporated, a multimillion-dollar family company that owned a phenomenally successful chain of discount drugstores plus a popular chain of bookstores?

“Tremaine Incorporated gave a big grant to NPB this year,” she told Connor. “We used it to produce a wonderful documentary on the foliage in a Central American tropical rain forest.” She waited expectantly for his sarcastic remark about the program. Amazingly enough, he didn’t make one. Could it be that he found the topic interesting?

“I’m going to go over there and thank Mr. Tremaine personally,” Courtney decided impulsively.

“You mean you’re going to suck up to him, hit him up for some more cash,” Connor jeered. “At least be honest with yourself and own up to your true motives, Gypsy.” His face was hard, his eyes dark and cold.

Courtney flinched. His accusation hurt more than angered her. “I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by you,” she said tightly.

Obviously Connor had some grudge against hardworking, achieving members of the establishment, she decided, thus his hostility toward Richard Tremaine. She frowned. Given Connor’s idiotic job—straddling private investigating and reporting but not following through in either—she shouldn’t be surprised by his resentment of conventional success.

Well,
she
was a staunch admirer of it. Holding her head high, Courtney crossed the lobby and introduced herself to Richard Tremaine.

He was kind and courtly and graciously responded to her introduction and her thanks. They chatted pleasantly about NPB and its goals, and Courtney assured herself that she was
not
sucking up to Mr. Tremaine, as Connor had so crudely accused. It was simply good manners to show appreciation for a gift.

A few minutes later they were joined by a taller, younger and even more handsome version of Richard Tremaine. Courtney was introduced to his eldest son Cole, and Cole’s striking redhaired wife, Chelsea. The younger Tremaine sons, Nathaniel and l^ler, two more dark-haired Adonises, joined them shortly afterward with their dates, and once again introductions were made all around.

“I wonder who really did open those bird cages?” lyier flashed a smile at his brothers. A smile that made Courtney stare hard at him. There was
something
about his smile...

“So far I’ve heard at least fifteen different people claim credit for doing it, but I don’t believe any of them,” said Cole, affectionately lacing his fingers with his wife’s. “Not one has the nerve to jaywalk, let alone turn Hop’s birthday party into a scene from Hitchcock’s
The Birds.
”

The lobby was rapidly filling with refugees from the party. The wild birds had won control of the ballroom, driving everybody else out. As the Tremaines continued jokingly to speculate on the identity of the bird liberator, Courtney decided it was definitely time to fade into the crowd. With any luck, they never would find out who the real culprit was or her unfortunate connection to him. She excused herself and slipped away.

She looked for Connor, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was irritated to find him standing outside the club, talking to a glamorous brunette who was making a meal of
him
with her big, overly made-up eyes.

“Is Emery here with the car yet?” she asked, coming to stand between Connor and Cleopatra Eyes. Both of them welcomed her with the enthusiasm of vacationers faced with a bag of medical waste washed up on shore, which inspired Courtney to make an even greater pest of herself.

“I just had the nicest talk with the Tremaines. They’re four of the handsomest men I’ve ever met, but the middle son, Tyler, is to-die-for,” she prattled on. She normally eschewed such slang as “to-die-for,” but she decided it worked quite nicely tonight.

Connor’s attention immediately shifted from the brunette to Courtney. “Tyler Tremaine is way out of your league, honey,” he said tautly.

Courtney flashed what she hoped was an enigmatic smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

She watched with satisfaction as he turned his back on his new chum to focus completely on her. “Did he ask you out?” he demanded.

“Here’s Emery,” Courtney sang out and sailed down the wide stone steps.

Connor dogged her heels. “Did he?” he demanded. His heart was pumping at an alarming speed. Tyler Tremaine— his own half-brother—and
Courtney?
He felt a shocking wave of fury wash over him, followed by another of pure despair. He caught her arm, just as she was about to open the car door.

Courtney was grinning. “Did you see the way Cleopatra up there was glowering?” She didn’t bother to question why diverting his attention from the other woman should make her feel so gloriously happy. “If looks could kill, I’d be on a life-support system.”

“Stay away from Tyler Tremaine. And from all of the Tremaines,” Connor said hoarsely. His fingers tightened on her arm.

“Let me go!”

“I’m serious, Courtney. You will not have anything to do with Tyler Tremaine.”

He had watched her talking and smiling with his father, with his brothers, and the sight had shaken him profoundly. She’d looked as if she fit in with them, as if she belonged. He could imagine her discussing art with his father, who, he knew, had a sizable collection of modem paintings. He could see her chatting cozily about babies with Chelsea Tremaine, who a year ago had given birth to little Daniel Richard—the nephew he would never know, just as he’d never known his father or his brothers.

And as he had stood there, watching her with the Tremaines, imagining all sorts of scenes that would never come true, the intensity of the feelings coursing through him had made him wonder if he were on the verge of totally losing it. He’d made it a habit not to feel, a career of keeping longing and emotion at bay. Now his internal walls seemed to be cracking and he’d rushed away in alarm.

But there was no escape. Nothing he had ever experienced compared to the riot going on inside him at the thought of Tyler with Courtney. His brothers had had everything their entire lives, including their natural father, who’d claimed them and given them his name. Tyler Tremaine was not going to have his Gypsy!

His?
Connor froze. This unprecedented attack of possessive jealousy unnerved him more than anything else. He released her arm from his grasp and backed away from her, as if she were emitting radioactive rays.

Courtney watched him curiously, wondering at the range of emotions flickering in his eyes. He tried so hard to be cool and unreadable; now he was anything but. His intensity disturbed her as much as it did him, and she sought to lighten the mood. And to reassure him?

“You certainly have an exaggerated estimation of my appeal,” she said wryly. “Tyler Tremaine could date movie stars if he wanted, he’d hardly pick me. Oh, and let’s not forget my relationship with Emery—who is waiting so patiently while we’re standing here, tying up traffic.” She quickly hopped into the front seat of the car.

A moment later, Connor climbed into the back. He didn’t say one word the entire way home, although Emery tried to include him in the conversation by offering some hilarious prep school reminiscences he assumed they shared.

Five

Her stepsister Michelle was sitting on the sofa watching television when Courtney let herself into her apartment. She suppressed a groan. It wasn’t that she was not enjoying Michelle’s visit; it was just that she would have preferred to slip into bed without a postmortem of tonight’s events. How v could Courtney offer up a comprehensible summation of the evening when she couldn’t begin to make sense of it or her own surging emotions?

“Hi!” Michelle smiled warmly at her. “How was the party?”

Her stepsister was always so genuinely glad to see her. Courtney felt a twinge of guilt for even momentarily wishing Michelle back in her own Harrisburg apartment. She flopped down onto the sofa and managed a smile of her own. “It was—uh—”
An adjective, Courtney. Find an adjective
.
She cleared her throat. “Interesting.”

Michelle chuckled. “That covers a lot of territory, from the sublime to the pits of horror. I know. I’ve spent some 
i
nteresting
evenings myself. Emery seems nice,” she offered. They’d met when he had come to pick up Courtney this evening. “Have you been dating him long?”

“I’m not dating him at all, Michelle. That is, not in the way that you mean. We’re strictly friends and will never be anything more.” An idea suddenly occurred to her. “Maybe you’d like to go out with Emery while you’re here? As you said, he’s very nice, a perfect gentleman. He’s quite intelligent, a terrific conversationalist and definitely available. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. You’d be ideal together.”