SAY AHHH... Read online

  Her fantasies had grown wicked over the course of the week. They'd begun innocently enough. She'd thought about the gazes they'd shared and imagined a deeper meaning to them. She'd added a few intimate whispers, then a stirringly private conversation … and had somehow progressed to this! Good heavens, she'd only met the man once, yet couldn't get him off her mind … or out of her wildest fantasies.

  As she forced her attention back to dusting the furniture in the family room, an incredulous question carried on the breeze from the adjoining sun-deck where Mimsey Whittenhurst, the willowy blonde from the doctor's office, lounged in the hot tub with Lorna Hampton. "Are you telling me that he asked you out on a date?"

  Sarah couldn't resist a peek through the open window. Mimsey looked flabbergasted. Sarah moved away from the window and resumed her dusting. Mimsey hadn't seemed to recognize her as the patient who had practically run from Dr. Wade's examining room last week, thank goodness. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed her flight past the nurse's station.

  "He's taking me to the Spring Charity Dance at the club tomorrow night," came Lorna's reply. Without even seeing her face, Sarah could picture the young widow's smug smile. She must have bagged some hot date.

  Absently Sarah wondered who. Not that she actually cared; she had very little real interest in Lorna's private life, and probably wouldn't know the man, anyway. She'd deliberately avoided people since she'd come to Sugar Falls. Any personal relationship might compromise her secret. Until she remembered more, she'd keep strictly to herself.

  That resolve, wise though it was, filled her with an undeniable loneliness. Maybe that was why she'd been so affected by her visit with Dr. Wade. She'd been virtually alone since the accident, with only guilt-ridden Annie to talk to … and now, Annie was gone on her camping trip. Loneliness could be a powerful aphrodisiac, she supposed. Especially when confronted with a man as potently male as Dr. Wade.

  "That's just too, too fantastic!" Mimsey gushed. Sarah thought she detected a note of envy in her enthusiasm. "I haven't heard of him dating anyone since he came home."

  "Me neither." Lorna's reply fairly oozed with self-satisfaction. "Not only that—" she paused, probably to sip her wine cooler and draw out the suspense of the moment"—he's coming to my dinner party tonight."

  "You can't mean it! Patsy Jennings is going to be green. Pea green."

  "She should have held on to him back in high school. Of course, she's let herself go since then, poor dear."

  "She foams at the mouth every time she sees him."

  "Don't we all?" The ladies shared a chummy laugh.

  Curious now as to who this local heartthrob might be, Sarah waited for another clue as she finished polishing an end table. She supposed she'd find out soon enough. Lorna insisted she help out at the party tonight, along with a waiter from the country club. Sarah planned to work mostly in the kitchen. She didn't want to risk drawing attention to herself. In a town as small as Sugar Falls, questions could be provoked too easily. She couldn't afford questions.

  A shriek from the sundeck startled her into dropping the dust cloth. "My sandals! My new sandals!" Lorna cried. "Tofu, you bad dog. Look what you've done!"

  Sarah winced and peered out through the open French doors. Sure enough, Lorna's black-and-white Shih Tzu reclined beside the hot tub with a shredded sandal between his paws. Sarah wished she could somehow spare the dog the punishment that was sure to follow. He was already under too much duress. Lorna's preferential treatment of her new poodle, Fluff-Fluff, was interfering with Tofu's need to stake his claim as the dominant male. Why couldn't Lorna see that? It was perfectly plain to Sarah…

  "Sarah!"

  She jumped at Lorna's plaintive call, set her bottle of furniture polish aside and hurried out onto the sunny deck where the auburn-haired widow and her elegant blond guest sat in a tiled hot tub, their gold necklaces, earrings and bracelets glittering against well-cultivated tans, their manicured fingers wrapped around tall wine coolers.

  Before Sarah could utter a word, Lorna nodded toward the dog whose ears lay back. "Look what he's done to my new sandals. They're a pile of shredded leather. Clean up the mess, please, Sarah, and put Tofu in the broom closet. He's got to learn that spitefulness will get him nowhere." To Mimsey, she confided, "He's been so jealous since I brought Fluff-Fluff home that he's destroyed shoes, clothing, furniture—"

  "Since you've mentioned it, Mrs. Hampton," interjected Sarah, pushed beyond her usual prudence by a need to make her understand, "it's really not jealousy causing the problem. It's a dominance issue. Punishing Tofu won't help. You see, he's—"

  "Now, Sarah," cooed Lorna in a honeyed tone, "I've asked you to call me 'Miss Lorna.' You're part of the family now."

  Frustrated by the interruption, Sarah forced a slight smile. Which other member of the family, she wondered, called her "Miss Lorna"? "Miss Lorna, then. As I was saying, Tofu's resentment probably stems from—"

  "And I know you're not going to argue with me about how to reprimand my own dog." Beneath Lorna's gracious smile glinted a flash of steel.

  "I don't mean to argue, but—"

  "Good. Be sure to get all the scraps of leather up off the floor and lock Tofu in the broom closet. And if you haven't finished polishing the silver for tonight, I suggest you concentrate on that for the next few hours." Lorna leaned back against the ledge of the hot tub, closed her eyes and lifted her flawless face to the sun. "The boys have a ball game after school today. Get their uniforms ready, and then walk them down to the park. They have to be there on time. After the game, fix them supper and make sure they bathe."

  Biting her tongue to stifle an impulsive reply, Sarah scooped the little black-and-white Shih Tzu up into her arms. If only she didn't need this job so badly, she'd tell Lorna a thing or two about relating to dogs, kids and employees. She did, however, need the job badly.

  Persevering against a sudden, dizzying wave of fatigue that she suspected was as much mental as it was physical, she carried the squirming, whining Shih Tzu into the house. She heard Lorna tell Mimsey, "She doesn't have a driver's license. Can you believe it? She has to walk everywhere. It gets annoying."

  Sarah almost snorted on her trek through the family room. Lorna thought it was annoying for her? Sarah found it almost intolerable that she couldn't simply slide behind the wheel of a car and drive wherever she wanted to go. But how could she apply for a license without identification?

  From the open window, she heard Mimsey commiserate with Lorna. "It's s-o-o-o hard to find good help, isn't it?"

  Sarah rolled her eyes on her way to the kitchen. She hoped they'd both get wrinkles from too much sun.

  Mildly ashamed of herself for such a thought, she installed Tofu in the broom closet and surreptitiously supplied him with toys and other comfort items. She then raised her chin with determined pride and returned to the sundeck to clean up the mess of shredded leather. As she drew close, she was relieved to hear that the women had finished their disparaging appraisal of her and had apparently returned to their original topic of conversation.

  "You don't mind my dating him, do you?" Lorna was asking Mimsey.

  "Mind! Why should I mind?"

  "Oh, c'mon, Mims. Why else would you have taken a job?" Lorna let out a sly little chuckle. "I can't blame you for wanting to, er, get to know him better."

  After an initial huff and bluster of protest, Mimsey gave in to a sheepish giggle. "Well, I suppose that is one of the most alluring benefits of the job … getting chummy with the boss."

  Sarah froze just inside the open doorway of the family room. They were talking about Dr. Wade. They had to be. Mimsey worked in his office … and he was definitely a heartthrob. Which meant he'd asked Lorna Hampton out on a date. A curious lump of misery formed in Sarah's stomach.

  The earlier part of their conversation replayed in her mind, and another startling realization hit her. He'd be coming to the dinner party tonight.

  The mountains themselves were decked out in full spri
ng dress for the party, bright with pink, yellow and indigo wildflowers lacing their verdant slopes—a vivid backdrop for the rolling green golf course that adjoined Lorna's backyard.

  A peal of thunder and a flash of lightning, however, announced a quick change of plans for an outdoor supper on the brick patio. Dodging huge, cold raindrops, Sarah and a waiter from Sugar Falls Country Club moved the elegant table settings into the dining room, while Lorna welcomed her guests into the spacious formal living room at the front of the mansion.

  Sarah hoped to stay out of sight for the entire evening and work behind the scenes in the kitchen. André, the slim, balding waiter with an engaging smile and European charm, had plenty of experience serving at parties. Surely he could handle this private dinner for ten.

  Through the French doors that led from the dining room to the living room, Sarah caught a glimpse of the guests, dressed in casual yet elegant attire, laughing and chatting around trays of hors d'oeuvres set on various tables. Most of the guests, Sarah had learned from André, were members of the country club or patrons of the nearby ski resort that Lorna owned.

  Sarah wondered if Dr. Connor Wade had arrived yet.

  He's not going to notice you, she assured herself. You're just the hired help. And if he did, so what? Regardless of how insulted he might have felt about her demanding another doctor, he surely wouldn't mention her visit in a social situation, would he? Of course not. He probably wouldn't acknowledge her presence at all. Servants were virtually invisible at functions like these.

  Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when she'd finished setting the long, linen-covered table in the dining room and retreated to the sanctuary of the kitchen, where she arranged appetizers on trays.

  It actually wasn't Dr. Wade's reaction that concerned her, she realized. It was her own. She'd been so powerfully attracted to him that she'd nearly made a fool of herself in his office last week. She'd sat in dumbstruck silence for most of her visit, then blurted out that ridiculous comment about the calluses on his hands. If she couldn't trust her own decorum in his presence, she had to maintain a safe distance. A buffer zone.

  "Will you pour four glasses of Chardonnay, please, cherie?" André asked. "I'll be back for them."

  She nodded, admiring the waiter's upbeat energy. She needed some of that energy. Her own was seriously flagging. The day had been a long one … and rife with the oddest mix of anxiety and anticipation.

  She didn't want to see Dr. Connor Wade again. Yet, her pulse beat faster at the very thought.

  Forcing him out of her mind, she poured wine into delicate crystal flutes. Light shimmered through the pale, fragrant Chardonnay, and suddenly a memory materialized. She'd been holding a crystal flute like this one, lifting a cool, fragrant glass of wine in some toast.

  A memory! An honest-to-goodness memory! She set down the wineglass to stop from spilling it as excitement fizzled through her. She'd been so afraid that memories would never return … and now this one had. Closing her eyes, she savored the brief, remembered scene, then tried to recall more, to see the people she'd been with or identify the place.

  No other details surfaced.

  Though somewhat disappointed, she finished pouring the wine with a much lighter heart. At least a fragment of memory had returned. And although she couldn't be sure, she believed the toast had been made in her honor. A celebration of some kind. What had she been celebrating?

  Distracted by her speculation, she was taken completely off guard by the sound of a low, masculine voice that reached her ears from the living room. She recognized the voice … and her own warm, sensual reaction to it.

  He was here.

  She fervently renewed her resolve to spend the evening in the kitchen and found plenty to keep her busy. Her luck held all the way through the predinner cocktails, soup, salad and the main course.

  The problem came with dessert. "While I'm serving the pie and ice cream," André instructed, "you pour the coffee." No argument would sway him. The ice cream would melt before the coffee was served if Sarah didn't pour.

  She considered feigning an illness, but couldn't stand to ruin André's presentation. He took such pride in his work.

  You're bound to run into Dr. Wade sooner or later … especially if he's dating Lorna.

  With that grim thought, she took the coffeepot in hand and followed André. As she neared the ornately carved archway of the dining-room entrance, she heard the cheerful hum of conversation; saw the warm glow of the crystal chandelier reflected in the polished paneling; picked out the deep, almost musical voice of Dr. Wade relaying some lighthearted anecdote.

  She saw him the moment she rounded the corner. He lounged in his chair at the center of the long table and spoke with a casual, humorous charm that kept everyone attentive and smiling. Dressed in a silky dark shirt left open at his strong throat and a charcoal-gray jacket that snugly fit his powerful shoulders, he looked elegant in a virile, nonchalant way that tugged at something feminine and primitive within her. If she'd thought him handsome the other day in his lab coat and jeans, he was nothing short of devastating now.

  Lorna Hampton sat on his right side, looking slim and tan in a peach satin blouse and pearls that perfectly complemented her auburn prettiness. Mimsey, with an elaborate coiffure, sat on his left in a low-cut beige-lace top.

  Highly conscious of her own drab white blouse, black skirt and red apron, her hair escaping the twist she'd hurriedly pinned at the top of her head, Sarah felt like a scrubwoman after a long day's work.

  As a matter of fact, she was a scrubwoman after a long day's work.

  And, by golly, she refused to feel socially inferior because of it! She was earning an honest wage. She had nothing to feel ashamed of. Squaring her shoulders, she paused at the nearest guest's chair, lifted the coffee cup and poured the steaming, redolent brew with as much grace as she could command.

  "The dean had an Arabian stallion in his stable," Dr. Wade was saying, a note of amused recollection in his tone, "one of the finest I've ever seen—jet-black, muscular and high-spirited, with a full, flowing mane and tail—as wild as he was pretty."

  Sarah moved to the next guest, who was seated across the table from the man she refused to look at. So, he liked horses. Loved them, from the sound of it. Why should that move her? Why should that tempt her to set aside her coffeepot and lose herself in his tale?

  Lifting another cup, she poured.

  His soft, reminiscent chuckle punctuated the story. "The dean's daughter, who, at the all-knowing age of eighteen, considered herself the world's best horsewoman, tried to saddle him. You should have seen when she—"

  He broke off suddenly, mid-sentence.

  Trying not to wonder what had interrupted his conversational flow and thrown the room into silence, Sarah concentrated on her pouring.

  "The dean's daughter tried to saddle him, and…" prompted Lorna, sounding somewhat bemused.

  But he didn't pick up on his cue. Sarah couldn't resist a quick peek at his face. A mistake.

  Her gaze connected solidly with his. He was staring at her with such a look of surprise that self-conscious heat climbed up her neck and into her face. Oh, he recognized her, all right. No doubt about that. She quickly wrenched her gaze away from his, just in time to realize that she'd picked up a sugar bowl instead of a coffee cup. Embarrassed, she set it back down and reached for the cup beside it.

  The doctor's silence stretched on as the guests waited for the end of his story. From her peripheral vision, she realized that he continued to stare. The others had begun to slant curious gazes her way. And why wouldn't they? He was gaping at her in the rudest manner possible.

  "You were saying, Connor?" Lorna's prompting now sounded rather peevish. She obviously wasn't pleased at having her trophy date's attention snared by the hired help.

  "Uh, yes…" he said, sounding as if he hadn't a clue as to what he'd been saying.

  "The girl tried to saddle the stallion, and…?" Lorna repeated.

  "S
he did a damn fine job of it, too," he murmured. No one could doubt that his mind wasn't on his words.

  Although she didn't chance another look at him, Sarah knew he watched her as she made her way to the end of the table. She'd be starting down the other side soon, heading his way. She wasn't sure she could take his scrutiny at close range…

  "Actually, the problem came in when she mounted the horse," he finally went on, relaxing in his chair and warming to his story again. Sarah felt immeasurably relieved that the spotlight of his attention had, apparently, shifted elsewhere. "She ended up on her backside," he said. "And when I tried to help her up, she did the oddest thing. She snatched her hand away from mine. Said she didn't like the feel of the, uh, calluses on my hand."

  Sarah's breath caught in her throat, and she sloshed coffee over the rim of a cup she was holding, burning her fingers.

  "What do you think, ladies?" Though he addressed the table at large, he was watching Sarah, with his head cocked and a teasing gleam in his hazel eyes. "Are calluses on a man's hands that disturbing?"

  The women replied all at once, their comments, retorts and giggles blending into one mocking roar in Sarah's ears. Though the others didn't realize it, he was making fun of her! Would a pot of hot coffee in his lap, she wondered, be "that disturbing"?

  André, thank goodness, had finished serving the pie. Without a word of explanation, Sarah handed the coffeepot to him and strode out of the dining room.

  Never had she been so humiliated. At least, not that she could recall.

  Connor sat staring in the direction Sarah Flowers had taken, barely acknowledging the response his nonsensical question had garnered from the women at the table.

  He'd almost given up on finding her. He'd watched for her everywhere, expecting to see her in town, or to hear about a newcomer who matched her description. But no one mentioned her at all. At least, not within his hearing.

  He'd stopped short of asking around. He hadn't wanted to draw attention to his interest in her—not until he knew who she was and why she was here. Maybe not even then. She wasn't the kind of woman he'd moved home to find. She was a stranger, a mystery, a complication waiting to happen … the last thing in the world he wanted.