Читать книгу The Case Of The Vainshed Groom - Sheryl Lynn - Страница 10

A reasonable explanation existed. One always did, even if it didn’t appear exactly reasonable at first glance. Or so Dawn told herself as she stared at Ross’s confused face.

But explanations, reasonable or otherwise, eluded her completely. Ending up naked in a bed with her husband’s best man defied explanation. Scarcely daring to breathe, her heart drumming in her ears, she inched backward, cringing as her breasts collided with his chest. She groped blindly for a pillow, found something fluffy and snatched it to her bosom. Never taking her eyes off Ross’s face, she crawled slowly, clumsily across the bed.

Ross watched her as if she were a strange, potentially dangerous species of animal.

The mattress seemed a hundred yards wide, but finally her feet found empty air and she slid onto the floor. Hunched over, holding the pillow over her breasts and belly, she backed toward the bathroom.

Ross suddenly dropped an arm over his eyes.

She scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door, fumbling with the lock until it turned. She looked wildly around the bathroom. Spying a pair of fluffy, terry-cloth robes hanging on the back of the door, she grabbed one, dropped the pillow and clothed herself.

Half-fearing Ross would come bursting through the door, she kept a fierce gaze on it as she sank onto the rim of the bathtub.

“A nightmare,” she whispered. Her heart thudded, making her chest ache.

This had to be a-nightmare—a reasonable enough explanation considering all the champagne and rich food she’d indulged in last night. If she went to the door and peeked out, the man on the bed would be Quentin. She’d married Quentin, she’d gone to bed with Quentin, she’d explored Quentin’s body and nearly made love to him.

She was going insane.

Or perhaps. Her eyes widened, and her heart began hammering anew. She’d had a nightmare and sleepwalked, something she’d done often as a child. This wasn’t the honeymoon cabin, it was Ross’s room in the lodge. By now, Quentin must have realized she was missing and he’d never understand how she’d ended up in his best friend’s bedroom.

Sharp raps on the. door made her moan. She clutched her knees, certain she was going to be sick. Please be Quentin, she prayed, let me wake up and discover the man banging on the door is Quentin.

“Dawn? What’s going on? Open the door.”

Ross! Tears rose, but she choked them down, leaving her throat sore and her eyes burning. She rocked on the tub edge.

“I’m in trouble here,” he called. “Please open the door.”

He was in trouble? As far as he was concerned, this situation held the potential for a funny story to tell all his friends. She, on the other hand, had awakened from a somnambulist nightmare in another man’s bed and hadn’t the faintest idea how to explain her near-adultery to her husband!

“Dawn? Sweetheart, answer me. Are you all right? Dawn!”

The edge of fear in his voice reached her. She crept to the door. “Please go away,” she called through the wood.

“I can’t. Open the door.”

Steeling her nerves, she unlocked the door and opened it about an inch. She peered out. To her relief Ross had wrapped a sheet around his waist.

He held up a hand, showing her his empty palm. “I swear to God, I don’t know how I got in here. Where’s Quent?”

She opened the door wide enough to take a good look at the room. She recognized the honeymoon cabin. So it was her bed, not Ross’s. She opened the door all the way.

With one hand clutching the sheet, Ross held his head with his other hand and staggered toward the bed. He sat heavily, bent over so his face nearly touched his knees. “Where’s Quent?”

Good question. She tiptoed out of the bathroom and turned on a nearby light. Ross winced away from the new source of illumination. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. Glancing frequently at him to make certain he didn’t try anything funny, she searched the room. No Quentin.

She did find her belongings. Her luggage was stacked neatly inside a closet and her garments had been draped on hangers or folded and placed in dresser drawers. But she didn’t find anything belonging to her husband. Not a suitcase or a shirt or a hairbrush, nothing. Feeling a rise of panic, she dropped onto a chair and lowered her head between her knees. She breathed deeply until she could think again.

“Dawn?” His eyes were a little clearer. “Do you feel sick, too?”

“Where is my husband? What have you done with him?”

“I didn’t do anything.” He gave his head a shake, and winced. “Feels like two weeks’ worth of bad booze.”

“Get dressed and get out! If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. So you—”

“Quit yelling at me.” He pressed his hands to his ears. “I can’t think.”

Dawn jumped off the chair and rushed to the bed. She tore through the covers around the floor, looking for Ross’s clothing. She didn’t find so much as a sock. “I don’t want you to think. I want you out of here. Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know.” He held out a hand, but she skittered away, putting as much distance between them as possible without actually leaving the room. He groaned and dropped his hand. “Fine. I’ll just march my naked butt across the grounds to the lodge. Everybody will get a big laugh out of that.”

She gazed at the window. The sun was up. “You don’t know where your clothes are? You don’t know where my husband is?”

“No.”

The mournful look he gave her went straight to her heart. Acknowledging his status as a victim did little to calm or assure her. She clutched her knees with shaking hands. “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

“Okay?” He eyed her expectantly. “What?”

“To start with, how did you get in here?”

He turned his attention to the door. Neither the chain nor the security catch were fastened. “I think I got conked on the head.” He lifted a hand to his head and poked around the back of his skull. He winced. “I’ve got a bruise.”

Warily, hoping he was telling a tall tale—the implications of his telling the truth were too horrible to contemplate—she moved to his side. He leaned forward and she examined the back of his head. She found a tender spot and a bump on his scalp.

“Do you think you have a concussion?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I saw a prowler sneaking around the honeymoon cabins. He must have hit me.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, but away from him. Even touching his hair reminded her too vividly of how closely she’d come to unwitting adultery—how much she’d desired him. Even looking at him was dangerous.

“I was helping out Stefan last night. Playing valet and fetching cars for your guests—”

“You were working?”

“I made twenty-eight bucks in tips.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his haggard face. “Anyway, your last guest left around midnight. I was about to turn in when Stefan said he saw someone carrying luggage to the parking lot.”

“Why is that unusual?”

“It’s unusual at midnight when there aren’t any guests checking out. But when I reached the parking lot, I .couldn’t find anybody. It bugged me. Stefan is just a kid, but he doesn’t make things up. He and I hung out in the parking lot for about an hour. I finally sent him to bed, but then I saw somebody on the walkway headed toward the Honeymoon Hideaway.”

She made herself look closely at his face while he spoke. The story had a fishy ring to it, beginning with him helping Stefan fetch cars for the guests. None of this led to an explanation as to where her husband had gone.

“The lights were on inside this cabin. I thought I saw somebody peeking in the window.”

Dawn inhaled sharply. “A peeping Tom?”

“I don’t know for certain,” he added quickly. “The bushes and trees are thick. Shadows are funny. What I really had was a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Call it a hunch.” He averted his gaze. “I was worried about you. The Colonel doesn’t have professional security people. He thinks he can handle any problems himself. So I snooped around.” He touched the back of his head, his expression turned thoughtful. “Somebody hit me.”

He looked much, much better than he had only a few minutes ago. His color was normal and his eyes had cleared. Dawn shook her head in denial. If he’d been struck hard enough to render him unconscious for hours, then he would have a severe concussion. Yet at the moment he didn’t display a single symptom of a head injury.

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

“My husband is missing. You’re not. I’m sorry, Ross, but your story has a few holes in it.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Like the Jesse James suite was the truth? Or what about the white stallion your father caught trying to steal mares from the stable, which turned out to be a valuable circus horse kidnapped for ransom? I believed those tall tales, at first.” She jumped to her feet and paced. The snakes in her belly writhed painfully. “If this is some kind of horrible joke you and Quentin have concocted, it isn’t funny. It will never be funny.”

“Dawn, look at me. Do you see me laughing? Do you see one teeny-tiny ha ha anywhere in this scenario? Yeah, I like a good joke, but I’m not cruel.”

She paused in her pacing and stared miserably at the floor. “Then where is Quentin?”

“I don’t know.” He combed his fingers through his hair and frowned, his gaze distant. “Look around. See if he left a note. A message on the phone. Anything.”

She had already looked, but did so again. Confirming that all of Quentin’s luggage and other belongings were missing only heightened her fear. “Robbers,” she said. “They stole all of Quentin’s belongings and took him hostage. I must call the police.”

“Robbers,” he echoed, making no attempt to soften his skepticism. “I can think of a lot easier things to steal than your husband. Maybe it was Quentin who Stefan saw carrying luggage to the parking lot.”

“Are you saying he deserted me?”

He lowered his face.

“He wouldn’t do that. He loves me. We’re newlyweds!” She rushed to the telephone. “I must call the police. Quentin could be hurt. Oh my God, he’s been kidnapped—”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

She pressed the handset to her breast. “What?”

“I’m in my birthday suit.”

His meaning sank in. A naked man who was not her husband, but inside her honeymoon cabin, might distract investigators. Not to mention the embarrassing scandal it would cause when Ross’s family and the resort employees found out. Her only consolation was that all her guests had returned to Colorado Springs. Deliberately scandalous acts were usually forgiven, but stupidity rarely was. Ending up with the wrong man in her bridal bed reeked of idiocy. She caught her lower lip in her teeth.

The more she considered it, the more Ross’s words rang with truth. This situation was cruel. Not to mention the fact that her valuables weren’t missing. If robbers had invaded the cabin, why wouldn’t they have stolen her wallet and jewelry? She hung up the telephone. “Did you say something to Quentin?”

He drew his head warily aside. “Like what?”

Guilt tangled with her fear. Quentin could have intuited her doubts about the wisdom of their marriage, or worse, somehow sensed her attraction to Ross. Quentin could have punished her by arranging for Ross to end up in her bed.

“About us. Did you say something to make him jealous?”

Her question appeared to offend him. He rose from the bed and straightened the sheet about his waist.

“Answer me.”

“You don’t deserve an answer.”

“You can’t deny you tried to stop me from marrying him.”

“Any aspirin around here?” He headed for the bathroom.

“Answer me!”

He turned her a black scowl. “Yeah, I didn’t want you marrying him. He’s a sleazebag and you’re too good for him. But I didn’t say a word about you to him. I’d never hurt you like that. Not in a million years.”

“If you’re trying to convince me of your nobility, it’s not working. That’s a mean, rotten thing to say about your best friend.”

“Best friend?” He snorted. “I barely know the guy.”

Before she could demand an explanation of what he meant, he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

ROSS EXCHANGED the bulky sheet for a bathrobe. As he tied the belt, he gazed at the Elk River logo embroidered on the robe. Harassing the colonel was a lot of fun, but this mix-up held the potential to give the old man a stroke. Not to mention the harm it might do to Dawn. What a mess.

He cursed himself for not listening to his gut instincts concerning Quentin Bayliss.

Steeling himself, grateful that the fuzziness in his head had abated, he opened the bathroom door.

Dawn was perched on the edge of a chair, her hands clenched in her lap and her feet pressed together on the floor. The Elk River robe swaddled her slim shoulders and the hem pooled around her feet, making her look smaller than she was. Her calm was an illusion. Her big, blue eyes spoke loudly of her pain and fear. For one of the few times in his life, words eluded him.

“I called Janine,” she said.

His mouth fell open.

“I had to call someone.”

He dropped onto a chair. “Why my sister?”

“You’d rather I’d called the Colonel? Janine is bringing clothing for you.” Her chin quivered and her eyes glistened. “I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t know what to tell her. Should I call the police? What shall I tell them?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, not looking forward to confronting Janine. She was almost as hardheaded as the Colonel.

“There must be a reasonable explanation.”

Her quavering voice threatened to break his heart. He didn’t see anything reasonable about any of this. He fingered the half-dollar sized tender bump on the back of his head. He couldn’t figure out how an injury so minor could have knocked him out. Or given him a headache that had temporarily felt like the world’s worst hangover. Since he hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol last night, it made no sense whatsoever.

“Everything has a reasonable explanation,” she said. “With a bit of thought and applied logic, an answer can be found for any mystery.”

Her determined efforts to make sense out of senselessness made his heart ache. “Did you and Quent argue last night? Stefan told me there was some kind of disturbance at the reception.”

She played with her wedding ring. “We didn’t argue. He became a trifle upset when Connie brought Desdemona Hunter to the reception. Her photographer upset Quentin.”

“Desdemona…The name is familiar.”

“She writes the ‘Party Patter’ column in the newspaper. Society news. Quentin didn’t want any reporters covering the wedding. But he wasn’t angry with me. I know he wasn’t. He was perfectly happy when we came to the cabin. He—he carried me over the threshold.” She pressed a fist to her mouth. “I was…intoxicated. Everyone was making toasts. Quentin and I had champagne here, and it proved the final straw. I fell asleep.” She looked away. “I passed out.”

Ross frowned at a champagne bottle on a table. He’d seen the newlyweds leave the lodge last night. Dawn hadn’t been acting as if she were drunk. He went to the table and picked up the champagne bottle. It was nearly full. He checked waste baskets. No other bottles. His nape prickled. “You left the lodge around ten.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you, I was out front helping Stefan with the parking. You didn’t look drunk to me.”

“I was.” Hot color flushed her cheeks and she hunched over, hugging her elbows. “I must have been. The last thing I remember is drinking a glass of champagne. I slept in my wedding dress!”

Ross made an effort to ignore the implication that Dawn and Quent hadn’t consummated their wedding vows. Knowing Quent hadn’t made love to her pleased him too much. But seeing Dawn upset and near panic didn’t please him in the least, so he lifted the champagne bottle to the light, searching for clues.

A knock on the door startled him. He nearly dropped the bottle. Dawn leapt to her feet, shifting her gaze wildly between him and the bed. He recalled vividly the sight of her small, perfect body hovering over him and the feel of her silky skin. Despite his grogginess, he’d been ready and willing to make love to her, and would have if she hadn’t turned on the light.

“Be cool,” he said.

She patted her head. Her hair was damp. “What am I going to say?”

The knocking turned insistent.

“It’s Janine.” He hoped. At the moment he wouldn’t be surprised if Quent, playing a sick game of outraged husband, burst into the cabin.

Before he could suggest she get dressed, Dawn answered the door. Clutching an armload of clothing, his sister stood on the porch. Barely acknowledging Dawn, Janine swept inside and deposited the clothes on the bed. Ross recognized his jeans, a T-shirt and his tuxedo.

Janine turned on him. “What the heck are you pulling now, Ross? What are you doing here? Why was your tux in the bushes? You’ve pulled some bonehead stunts before, but this beats all. Do you have any idea what the Colonel is going to say? And what about Mom?”

Ross backed away from the finger Janine shook in his face. Even though she was two years younger than he, Janine had always acted older. Strong-willed, ambitious, and outspoken, she was their father’s daughter. He wished they were twelve and ten years old again so he could sit on her and make her shut up.

“Pardon me, Janine,” Dawn said. She stood rigidly, holding the neck closed on her robe. “Janine!”

His sister tossed her mane of thick brown hair and gave a start as if just now noticing Dawn.

“Quentin is missing. Ross and I are the victims of a crime.”

“Crime? What kind of crime?”

Ross grabbed his clothing and made a hasty escape into the bathroom. While he dressed in the jeans and T-shirt, he frowned at his tuxedo. Pine straw and bits of bark clung to the black fabric. He frowned, too, at Dawn’s rumpled wedding dress, which hung on a hook on the bathroom door. Someone knocking him out, stripping him naked, tossing his clothing into the bushes then putting him in bed with the bride was too twisted for one of Dawn’s hoped-for reasonable explanations. An explanation existed, but he doubted if it would be reasonable or pleasant.

When he emerged from the bathroom Janine had calmed down considerably. She gave him a suspicious glance, but continued listening to Dawn explain what had happened.

Dawn passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “I want to deny it, but I can’t. Quentin has been kidnapped.”

Janine twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. “You claim you saw a prowler, Ross. Why didn’t you call the Colonel?”

Stung by her skepticism, he said, “I didn’t have a phone.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck.”

“I didn’t have time to call in the SWAT team. It was after one o’clock in the morning when I saw someone headed for the Honeymoon Hideaway. I thought I saw him peeking in the windows. For all I knew it was a pervert checking out the newlyweds. Should I have left him there while I ran back to the lodge?”

Janine reversed the twisting of her hair. “Let me see your head. Dawn says you’re injured.”

He sat so she could examine the back of his skull. Her ministrations weren’t nearly as gentle as Dawn’s had been. “Ow! Watch it.” He pushed her hand away.

“That’s not much of a bump.” Janine grasped his chin, forcing his face up. She peered critically into his eyes. “You look okay to me.”

“Ever consider nursing, Ninny? You’d be a natural.”

“Don’t call me Ninny,” she murmured absently, twisting her hair again.

“Ross was knocked unconscious. I can vouch for that much,” Dawn said. “You haven’t seen Quentin at the lodge?”

Dawn’s hopeful note tugged at him. If Janine hadn’t been here, he’d give in to his urge to offer Dawn a shoulder to cry on.

“I haven’t seen him.” Janine glanced at her wristwatch. “The dining room isn’t open yet. He wasn’t in the lobby drinking coffee, either. I just can’t believe he’s been kidnapped. Is there a ransom note?”

Dawn hung her head. Her shoulders hitched.

Ross stepped between them and gave his sister a pointed look. “Dawn, get dressed. We’ll figure this out.”

As if her joints were made of wood, Dawn gathered clothing from the closet and dresser drawers. When she entered the bathroom and closed the door, Ross turned on his sister.

“Ease up. Can’t you see how upset she is?”

Her blue-gray eyes flashed. “I’m starting to catch on to why.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.” She poked the center of his chest with a rigid finger. “Everybody saw how lovey-dovey the pair of you were last week. Did Quentin catch you playing patty-cake with his blushing bride?”

“Keep your voice down.”

She lowered her voice, but her temper seemed to increase. “Maybe it’s a big joke to you hitting on every woman you meet, but she was engaged. Quentin found out you’d been having an affair with his fiancée, didn’t he?”

Only Janine, who generally spoke first and did damage control later, would have had the guts to say that. But if she said it, then others would be thinking it. His pride was stung. Sister or not, she had no right to accuse him of acting like a creep. “You’re lucky you’re a girl. I’d deck you—”

“Go ahead!” She put up her fists.

Sisters! Not doubting for a moment she’d love a chance to pop him on the nose, Ross clamped his hands on his hips. “Dawn and I aren’t having an affair.”

“Then why did Quentin leave?”

He glanced at the bathroom door. Grasping Janine by the shoulder, he lowered his head until their faces were only inches apart. “Think what you want about me, but don’t you dare say a single word about Dawn. I’m not taking that from you or anybody. Got it?”

“What am I supposed to think? I know what I—”

“Shut up and listen to me. Quent lied to me. He—”

“Lied about what?”

“About her. He told me their marriage was a business deal. Merging two households for tax purposes. A marriage-of-convenience kind of thing. He made her sound like a dried-up old lady, always keeping a sharp eye on the bottom line.”

She began twisting her hair again. “Why would he say that? Every time I spoke to Dawn about the wedding arrangements I got the impression she was madly in love with him.”

He shrugged, growing irritable with confusion. “It was none of my business why they got married. She never said much about Quent, and I didn’t have anything to say about him, either. We never discussed their relationship.”

Janine took a step backward. Her eyes widened. “You actually care about her.”

“I care about a lot of people.” As a dyed-in-the-wool feminist, his sister delighted in ragging him about his Neanderthal attitudes toward women. Usually he delighted in egging her on and teasing her with his false machismo. Her accusing manner now made him realize she actually believed at least some of his self-generated reputation.

“You really care about her.”

“We’re friends, nothing more.”

“Look me straight in the eye,” she ordered. “And tell me you aren’t having an affair with her.”

“I wouldn’t lie about her.”

“You lie to the Colonel all the time.”

“That’s different. He enjoys being disappointed in me. I’m just making him happy.”

“Ross…”

He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Dawn and I aren’t having an affair.”

Janine crossed her arms. “So why did Quentin leave?”

He wished he knew.