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Cade stared at the woman seated behind the reception desk.
“You’re not Emily,” he said.
She smiled politely. “Emily’s not here anymore.”
“She isn’t?”
“No, sir. She took a position at another firm. May I help you?”
Cade looked at the closed door to Angelica’s office. “Yes,” he said, “yes, you may. My name is Cade Landon, and—”
“From Landon Enterprises?” The woman rose to her feet. “What a coincidence, sir. I was just about to post this letter to your Denver office, and—”
“Is—is Ms. Gordon in?” he said. He took a step toward Angelica’s door and then he stopped. “Not that I wish to see her,” he said, frowning, “but—”
“No, sir. She’s not.”
Cade cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that’s all right. I’m sure you can help me with—”
“I’m afraid Ms. Gordon doesn’t work here anymore.”
Cade swung toward the woman. “What?”
“It’s all in this letter, Mr. Landon. Ms. Gordon resigned. She told me to post this first thing this morning, and-”
“That’s impossible,” Cade said sharply. “She couldn’t have resigned.”
“Well, she did. She hired a replacement, of course, if you wish to meet him…”
“Let me see that letter,” Cade said, and grabbed it from her.
He read it through, but it said nothing; it might as well have been a form resignation copied straight from a business manual.
“When did she leave?” he snapped, and tossed the letter on the desk.
“Well, on Friday, sir. I mean, that was when she left the office. But I don’t think she left Dallas until Saturday, or perhaps—”
The woman gasped as Cade caught her by the arms. “She left Dallas?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did she go? Dammit, woman…”
“My name is Carlisle, sir. Alice Carlisle.”
“Ms. Carlisle,” Cade said. “Alice.” He took a deep breath, lifted his hands from her and stepped back. “This is very important, Alice. I must find Ms. Gordon. I have to find her, and tell her—and tell her…” He smiled, or hoped he did. God only knew if he were smiling or grimacing in pain. “Do you know where she’s gone?”
“Why, she went home, of course. Some town in Connecticut, Mr. Landon. I have it right here—”
Cade snatched the slip of paper from Alice Carlisle’s hand. His eyes skimmed the address, and then he turned and hurried from the office.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE LITTLE town of Eastgate, Connecticut, was picturepostcard beautiful, a traditional bit of New England that might have been created by an artist—or an overly zealous Chamber of Commerce.
Clapboard saltboxes with dark slate roofs stood sentinel around the village square. In summer, the square was a verdant green; now, in late autumn, the maples and oaks that lined it had shed their leaves, covering the grass with a carpet of crimson and gold. A church flanked the square, its spare lines an acknowledgment of its Puritan ancestry, its white steeple reaching toward the sky, the golden spire catching the last, sharp light of the late afternoon sun.
A block north of the square, a column of stately elms lined the cobbled driveway that led to the handsome Gothic structure that was Miss Palmer’s Academy. The original stone building had been extended over the years so that now it was a large and imposing edifice. Beyond its west wing, a breeze delicately ruffled the waters of Eastgate Pond, where the young ladies of the academy swam in the languid heat of summer and ice skated in the brisk chill of the New England winter.
Angelica sighed as she gazed down on the scene from the gentle rise on which she stood.
It was a perfect picture, she thought, just as she’d thought so many times before—and she waited for the rush of pleasure that should have accompanied the knowledge that she was back where she belonged.
But the feeling wouldn’t come.
She had arrived yesterday, spent the night at the Eastgate Inn and met with the academy’s headmistress this afternoon. Miss James had been gracious. The school would be delighted to have Angelica back, she’d said; her old position would be waiting for her at the start of the next semester.
Her friends on the academy staff had greeted her warmly. No one had questioned her return; everyone simply hugged her and said how wonderful it was to have her back.
“You’re home again,” Jack Brenner had said, whirling her around in a circle.
Then, why was there this awful heaviness in her heart?
This place, this familiar part of the States, was home. And Jack and Miss James and the others were not just friends, they were her kind of people. They spoke the same language, had the same expectations…
And yet, every time Angelica smiled, she felt as if she were forcing her face to assume an alien mask. Every time she said yes, she was very happy to be back, she felt as if she were speaking a lie.
And it was all Cade’s fault, damn him! It was all because he’d ended up being the contemptible, insensitive, chauvinistic bastard she’d pegged him for from the beginning.
At least she wasn’t still in love with him, she thought, lifting her chin—if, indeed, she ever had been. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she, of all people, had ended up believing the hoary old wive’s tale that said a woman always fell in love with the man to whom she gave her virginity.
Yes, she thought, that had to be it. She’d fed herself romantic propaganda rather than accept the truth, which was that what had happened between her and Cade was nothing but meaningless sex…
“Angelica?”
Angelica frowned. Jack, she thought, with a twinge of guilt. He’d gone walking with her, and somehow she’d forgotten all about him.
She moistened her lips, fixed them in a smile and turned to him.
“Jack, I’m terribly sorry.” She put her hand on his arm. “I must have been daydreaming.”
“There’s no need to apologize.” Jack took her hand in his. “I understand how you must feel, Angelica. It must be wonderful, being back home again.”
Angelica nodded. “It is,” she said quickly. “It’s—it’s wonderful.”
Jack laced his fingers through hers and they began walking slowly along the crest of the hill.
“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” he said, smiling at her.
She laughed and put her hand to the long, loose curls the breeze was gently tossing against her shoulders.
“I guess I finally figured out that there’s no point trying to disguise myself, Jack. I am who I am, and that’s that.”
He grinned. “Sounds good to me.” His hand tightened on hers. “I just can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.”
“And I’m glad to see you, too.” Angelica sighed. “It’s just that—I don’t know, it seems impossible that I’m back here in Eastgate.”
“Yes. It seems that way to me, too. I’d really begun to think we’d lost you forever.”
Angelica’s smile tilted. “Nothing is forever, Jack,” she said. “That’s one thing I’ve learned these past months.”
“I’ll bet your exile in Siberia must have seemed like forever,” Jack said, and grinned.
Angelica grinned back at him. “That’s another thing I learned. Believe it or not, Texas is part of the United States.”
“Maybe—and then again, maybe not.’’ Jack made a sweeping gesture that took in the town nestled below them. “But it can’t compare to this.”
“Well, it’s entirely different than this. New England is beautiful. But Texas—Texas is beautiful, too.”
“I suppose.” They strolled along in companionable silence, and then Jack glanced at her. “So,” he said quietly, “I take it that the Dallas thing didn’t work out?”
Angelica shook her head. “No. No, it didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it wasn’t anything you did—”
“I mad
e a lot of mistakes, Jack. I realize that now.”
Jack put his hands lightly on Angelica’s shoulders and turned her toward him.
“But it’s over with, right? You sold your dad’s company?”
“Oh, it wasn’t mine to sell. It turned out he’d sold it himself, before he died. I just—I ran it for a while, and then—and then the conglomerate that had bought it from my father sent somebody down to check things out, and—and…”
“And what?” Jack frowned. “Don’t tell me he fired you?”
“No. Well, he was going to, but…but he ended up offering to let me stay on.”
“For how long?”
Angelica took a deep breath. “For—for as long as I wanted.”
Jack gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m lost here, Angelica. This corporate pencil pusher came down to give you the once-over, and—”
“He wasn’t a pencil pusher,” she said quickly.
“Whatever. He looked things over, liked what you were doing—so why’d you quit?”
“He didn’t. Like what I was doing, I mean. He—he said I didn’t know anything about the oil business.”
Jack grimaced. “Sounds like a typical chauvinist to me.”
