Impulse
Lass Small
Headed For the Altar?The stranger's name was Chas Cougar and he was so divine that Amy Allen just had to meet him. He was in town for a Cougar family wedding, so she decided to pose as Cougar kin and crash the festivities. Oh, sure, it was deceptive… but what else was a lonely female to do?As for Chas, once he met Amy his senses were reeling. Why, he could tell right away that she was no distant "cousin." But if she was so bent on joining the Cougar clan, Chas knew he could sweet-talk her into becoming a relative the legal way - as his wife!
Impulse
Lass Small
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To
Elsie MacLean
friend and sage
with my love
Contents
Chapter One (#ucfe6abf5-c352-5dab-a9c5-e803eef1563c)
Chapter Two (#ud15a55fd-4e1c-57ff-8cea-3e4cb7b0e106)
Chapter Three (#ue1b5c170-ef92-5030-bc8f-00b4b94ed944)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
One
Speaking long-distance from Winter Haven, Florida, Mrs. Abbott assured her daughter in Atlanta, Georgia, “Well, Amy, you’re perfectly welcome to come home right now, but why not stay where you are for another day or two? With the rain, you’d either be trapped here in the house, or you’d have to go somewhere else. Unless, of course, being twenty-four years old and wearisomely mature, you’ve become tolerant of Mitzie and Peck?”
“How do you stand them?” Amy Abbott Allen inquired with genuine curiosity.
“As you know, I’m very grateful Peck saved Bill’s life all those years ago in Vietnam. I must add— however— the ‘saving’ is being told with increasing drama each year. I honestly believe Peck tripped at the crucial moment, but then you know how unbearably logical I can be?”
“I have seen hints of it.” Humor laced Amy’s droll words.
“Don’t try to ingratiate yourself to me with flattery. I cannot hint the Peckerels away. You know that. And they are such a refreshing change for your father. He needs Peck like some people need an occasional dose of Laurel and Hardy.”
“Peck is chatty, but he’s tall and thin, so he must be Laurel?”
“Yes, and Mitzie is Hardy har-har-har.”
Amy laughed with those sounds. “And what purpose does Mitzie serve?”
“I especially appreciate Mitzie’s visits. Bill looks at me in awe for simply days after we’ve been with the Peckerels.”
“I can’t begrudge you that, Mom. Instead of staying here, I think I’ll go to Saint Petersburg Beach.” She sighed dramatically into the phone mouthpiece. “I’ll sulk there until you finally get rid of the Peckerels.”
“Be careful of the prowling beasts.” Her mother’s voice became gentle. “The wolves are always after little girls like you.”
“Little? Mother, you fantasize. You know I take after Daddy.” While Mrs. Allen was five feet two inches, Amy was five feet seven, and her father was six feet four. Amy declared, “I’m a woman.”
“I...” But Cynthia Allen had hesitated too long, so she said airily, “Never mind, I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Let me guess. You’ve found the perfect husband for me.”
Cynthia chided, “Now, Amy, why would you say something like that?”
“I’ve known you all my life.”
“It’s been a delightful acquaintance, my love. I’m sure the Peckerels can’t stay more than another few days. We haven’t been too lively.”
“You’re very sweet to Daddy.”
“I like him.”
* * *
So on that early March day, Amy Abbott Allen drove her packed car from Atlanta down to Saint Pete Beach on the west coast of Florida. She drove under the portico at the Trade Winds, exited her car and went into the glassed lobby as the rainy evening came down.
On the lobby tree, the flamboyant parrots were tolerant of the attention they were getting from some of those in the laughing, milling group of well-dressed young adults to be registered.
As Amy waited her turn, she noticed most of the people in the lobby knew one another. They were having a teasing, greeting time, exchanging gibes and laughter.
That’s when she saw him.
He was somewhat ahead of her in the casual line for the desk. He was one of that special, friendly group. Her first thought was: There’s a man Dad would like.
Then she looked at him for herself, and a strange flicker went through her body before it concentrated in the bottom of her stomach.
He was big. Almost as big as her father. He was probably thirty. His suit perfectly fit his marvelous body. His hair was very dark, so his eyebrows were, too, and that explained his black eyelashes. His lower lip was full and his jaw looked stubborn. His lazy smile was being wasted on an obnoxiously beautiful redhead who flirted with him.
Any woman would flirt with him. Amy realized that right away. A woman could become quite silly in attracting him. She could be quite like a bitch wolf trying to impress the dominant male wolf. It always embarrassed Amy to see women be so obvious.
He didn’t seem to mind the redhead’s attentions as he stood so easily relaxed. He was probably that same way in the boardroom, relaxed and in control, but God help the careless employee.
He’d slay with one rapier glance, and he’d say, “Find it!” in a soft voice. And if that person made a second mistake, he’d...uh-h-h...he’d help the incompetent one to relocate. Amy scoffed that she could know all that about a man she’d only glimpsed across the crowded lobby of a beach hotel.
But that was exactly how he would be. She’d bet on it. It would be interesting to meet him...just to see if she was right. That was all. She wasn’t going to do anything about him. She was only— curious. There were a lot of men who wore facades of authority, but they were actually hollow men.
When it came to pressure, they lacked the judgment, the background of information or the skill of business. She’d seen a lot of men, having traveled with her father in his business.
It was her father who had carefully guided her to know people and how to judge them.
Amy glanced over at— What would his name be? What name would such a man possess? He hadn’t yet looked at her. That was unusual.
Men generally saw her in their first assessing sweep of a room, and she would meet interested eyes every time she glanced up. She had never deliberately invited such interest.
There in the lobby other men looked at her and talked for her benefit, ready to include her in their conversation. But he didn’t even notice her.
He didn’t need to look around. Women migrated to him like iron filings to an irresistible magnet. They had crowded him so that he was no longer in the line ahead of her but off to one side.
Amy thought such interest, from her, in a disinterested man was astonishing and, to distract herself from him, she began to listen to the group. How open they were! How careless with names and plans.
Privileged people don’t care who hears their idle chatter. They rarely consider the other people who are around or listening.
Apparently the group was there for the redhead’s wedding. The bride was talking solely to the formidable man. Amy wondered how her groom felt about his bride flirting with such a man.
Or was he the bridegroom?
The bride’s name was readily available, since everyone was teasing her. She was Sally. And quickly, as Amy listened, his name was Chas, the diminutive of Charles.
Amy agreed with that choice of nickname. He wasn’t a Charlie, although the redhead did call him Charlie in such a sassy way she must be privileged. How privileged? Amy’s eyes narrowed on the redhead.
Then Amy thought, what business was it of hers? Well, at least Sally wasn’t marrying Chas. The groom’s name was Tad. Why the feeling of relief in her because the groom was not Chas?
“Any of Trilby’s bunch coming?” One of the group inquired of Sally.
“Who knows? I couldn’t find many and even they are all out of touch with one another. Trilby had ten children, all girls, and they married and scattered. With all the name changes, they’ve been hard to find. What we’ve found of the next generation, they were all girls, too!”
Some man’s voice offered, “Our bunch came down fairly intact. Male, of course.”
That male comment caused protests among the females and some teasing male laughter over the indignant female exclamations.
Since Amy was an only daughter, she was curious how Chas reacted to the thought of having only female offspring. She swiveled her head to see his reaction, but she even had to shift in order to look farther.
He was almost directly behind her! When had he moved? But she couldn’t see his face since he was turned away, talking to someone else. Not the redhead.
He had a great voice. It was low and rumbled. Even so, it sounded as if he lightened it so that it wasn’t too strong. It was still a commanding sound.
Amy’s imagination could see him on a battlefield shouting for his men to rally. And they would.
Now where did an idea like that come from? How ridiculous! Perhaps she was intrigued because he didn’t notice her.
When next he spoke, it was almost in her ear, and goose bumps flooded her body’s surface. The sensation was so peculiar that she was distracted from the lobby banter among the wedding guests.
She was so distracted that she moved to the desk and just stood there. The efficient couple behind the desk smiled at her and inquired, “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. Amy Aaabbott.” A couple of extra A‘s in there, since she’d almost said Allen. She was handed the reservation card and signed it.
Being her notable father’s daughter, she had begun to register as Amy Abbott, using her middle name. Her family agreed such action would be wise. Especially since she now traveled alone in this day and age. Who knew how strained and strange minds worked in revenge?
As she signed the card, she was aware Chas’s breath stirred her hair. He was facing her way. Probably impatient with her dawdling? She was being as quick as she could. Efficiently she inquired, “Was the fridge stocked?”
“Yes, it was, Miss Abbott.”
“Thanks.” She smiled back as she accepted the card, which took the place of a key. She declined an escort and was directed to the complex map, which she studied. There was a huddle of buildings named and explained. One was an indoor, heated pool. She located her third-floor suite.
Amy then went out to the parking lot and moved her car to the guest lot. She took out her weekender and made her way through the hotel complex. There she walked to the deck elevator for the six-floored north wing.
In the elevator, she was again with some of the wedding party. As Amy looked out of the back, glass wall of the elevator, she heard one of the women ask a man of their group, “Is Matt coming?”
“Oh, yes. He’s still trying to convince Connie to live with him.”
“They’re cousins,” a woman commented.
The male’s voice was lazy in his reply, “Only third, no problem. But Matt doesn’t want to marry her, he just wants to get her out of his system.”
“Connie’s smart to hold out.”
The male chuckled low in his throat. “I’m not sure she does, she just won’t live with him.”
Amy wondered how did the chatterers know she wasn’t from a gossip magazine. They weren’t even aware of her. At least the women weren’t. To them, Amy could have been a knob on the panel. The doors opened on the third level, and only Amy exited.
From the elevator, she turned left. The access walk on the floor above served as a roof, so her walkway wasn’t completely wet. She looked down on the second floor sun deck which, in turn, overlooked the courts for basketball, handball and tennis.
Through the well-placed palms, she could see the putting course and shuffleboard. Beyond was the bricked chessboard in the quadrangle formed by the buildings of the complex.
She went to Room 334 and put her sandpiper-marked card into the top of the lock. The lock’s light turned green. Amy removed the card and opened the door. But instead of entering, she hesitated.
Why should she feel this odd excitement? Apprehension? It was as if she was about to cross not only that threshold but an additional one. Prickles went up her spine. Amy shivered as if with fear, or thrills, took that step and entered her suite.
Nothing happened.
She dropped her weekender on one bed and walked down the connecting bath-hall and through her living room with its kitchen bar. The wall was glass, and so were the double doors. She opened the sliding door, which gave access to her balcony.
She stood in the doorway, breathing deeply of the rain-wet, salt-scented air. To her left was the Gulf, the beach and the prerequisite palms. Then she looked down at the man-made waterways plotted around contrived islands and used for the foot-peddled paddleboats.
In the evening’s darkness, Amy stood on her balcony in the dark, looking out on the calm scene. She was a little lonely. In just the last few weeks she’d begun to understand single men hunting companionship. Traveling alone was boring.
After being inside all day in meetings, there was the urge to do something physical in the evenings, to run, swim, anything that was different.
However, being a woman alone in such circumstances, in public accommodations, left her open to be approached. In all that time she’d met about every variety of male God could devise, and they were no big deal.
But traveling with her father had kept the wolves at bay.
Amy had served as a “side man” to her father during the summers, then full time in the two years since college. In that time, she had been listening silently and learning. She had been traveling for his political campaign advisory company for almost four months now on her own. It had been a revealing experience.
Her dad used her as a trusted representative. It was interesting work, but it would have been better if she was a man.
Men reacted to her not as Bill Allen’s representative, but as a young female. Their reactions ranged from indulgence, to tolerance for Bill Allen’s daughter, to genuine attraction, to lechery. But mostly they had trouble taking her seriously.
Where a man could have started at a basic level of acceptance, Amy had to work to reach up to that zero and then had to work hard for the men to even listen to her.
Her father told her, “It’s good experience,” and he ruffled her hair. He then grinned at her and said, “In another fifty years, they’ll listen to you and take you very seriously with genuine respect. By then you won’t be the sable-haired blue-eyed killer you are now.”
She’d fingercombed her hair back into place and given the disgruntled reply, “I’ll have it before then.” Her father didn’t realize his hair-ruffling was very like other male reaction to her. She was aware, but she could tolerate it from him since he was her father.
However, the next time she’d gone to have her hair cut, she’d told Peter to give her a hairstyle that would allow her father to ruffle it without destroying anything calculated.
Peter had groused a sympathetic, “Men!” He then spent almost forty minutes studying her head before he cut her hair in the matter of about twenty minutes in a neat, shake-right swirl.
Peter believed in style not fad, and he said, “You’re lucky you can wear your hair any way you choose and forget it. You have enough hair, your head shape is good and your features are well placed. Ears can be a bore. Yours aren’t bad.” From Peter that was accolades only to her luck. He had meant nothing personal.
* * *
Below Amy’s balcony, down on the pedestrian walkway, a group of wedding guests strolled along in the misty evening, laughing. Even from two floors up, Amy could clearly hear, “But who else will come?”
“Who knows? It’ll be interesting to see.”
How carelessly those elegantly, casually clothed people chatted. Anyone listening closely could intrude and pretend to be one of them.
Being oblivious to listeners was the way with any specialty group whether it was business, politics, travelers or, as in this case, monied people.
It never occurred to them they were overheard and someone could carefully listen. Look at the information she’d gleaned just in the lobby, the elevator and just now. They didn’t actually know who all would be there at the wedding of Sally and Tad.
Even Amy, who had no ulterior motives, could go to any of them and say, “Well, hello! I’m a descendant of your Aunt...” Was it Tilly? No, not Tilly. It had been Trilby. “I’m your long lost cousin, Amy Abbott!”
She could say that quite easily. They didn’t know all of their relations. Even those they knew weren’t in touch with the others. She could fake being related.
And they would accept her. After a certain strata in life, people were no longer snobbish. They would include her quite nicely, for a time, just for the novelty if for no other reason.
All Amy had to do was take advantage of their careless tongues. She could do it. And if she did...she could meet Chas! Ah, yes. Did Chas know he was a carrot to her goatish...uh...ewe-ish desires?
If she did pretend to be related to them, it would give her the opportunity to find out what kind of man he really was. She would learn if he was solid or hollow. She could do it as a test of her father’s schooling. An independent study. Test her skill of summation. What a neat cover-up for lust.
Lust? She? Of course not! It was simply... curiosity.
However, it would be interesting to have an affair with him. To have him look at her with that sinfully lazy smile. To have him bend his head down to hear her and watch her mouth as she spoke. To be the object of his attention.
She might be able to do that, too, with complete immunity. Not only could Amy Abbott Allen invade their celebration, but she could contrive to have an affair with the dominant male wolf.
They were all strangers, she wasn’t native around there. She could very easily perpetrate such a masquerade...and get away with it.
She did pause. Again. It was another threshold. Was it the one she’d sensed as she’d entered the suite?
She was contemplating a very rash thing here. Strange behavior for the puritan Amy Abbott Allen. It was one thing to fake an acquaintance and invade a private gathering just to see if she could, but it was another thing entirely for a woman of her upbringing to even think about plotting an affair.
An affair with a stranger she’d only glimpsed in a hotel lobby? Insane! She’d been working too hard. She was alone too much. Her male contacts called it burnout or nerves or relaxation or distraction or almost any other word. She’d always sneered and called the affairs predatory usage.
Could it be she was no better than any prowling male? Women did do this sort of thing. Amy knew they did, but she’d always thought they were a different kind of woman.
Perhaps Amy’s interest now was only because she’d never before seen a man she wanted.
Amy did want to try for him.
With the decision, she spent a long time listening to a wild, shocked debate inside her head— all of which she realized she’d heard before! Had she only been thwarted from seduction by her conscience? Was she a victim of Victorian morals?
She was not! While not quite past this one, she was a Twenty-first Century Woman!
She could live like any man. She could take her pleasures as she found them and enjoy the freedom of choice. She could.
She could stand on her back legs and howl just like any others of the wolf pack. She could go right ahead and have an affair, right there, with Chas...if she could entice him.
What if he wasn’t interested? Well, there were others in the party. She could... No. She could look them over again, but she hadn’t seen any of the others who’d rated a third glance.
It was to Chas that her eyes had clung. It was he whose body spoke to hers. She wanted him.
And of course, she had the advantage of being unknown. She could vanish into the night, like a highwaym— highwaywoman.
* * *
Lochinvar had carried off the bride. Amy would be a female Lochinvar. One who carried off a man from a wedding celebration. It was an omen.
He’d be something to try to carry off since he was so big. And she only wanted the affair. It would be an affair of mystery for she would vanish. Would he pine for her? Search?
Her mind made up all sorts of tales of his search. He’d stand on the outer edges of her life, she would at last recognize him and she would be kind.
No, that would never do. When she left, it would be finished. She couldn’t have old lovers turn up here and there. That would make her life too cluttered.
The affair would stay an interlude of enchantment. And he would never know who she really was.
Of course, once she met him, there was the chance that she might not be interested. He could well be hollow. But the opportunity was there for her to find out if he was a solid man.
She didn’t have to languish through the days of simply catching glimpses of him around the hotel. She could get to know him, and she could judge whether or not she wanted to know him...better.
Wasn’t that the word men used? “I’d like to know you...better.” All she had to do would be to enter their group, ta-dah! and reveal herself as a long-lost cousin!
Having that distraction from boredom, the affair would entertain her. She had to have something to do until Peck and Mitzie left her parents’ house. She could read up on the campaign of Harry Albert Habbison, who was running for a State Senator’s job in Illinois.
H.A.H. seemed so relaxed and easy, but he was about the shrewdest hayseed she’d ever met. He was going to use the State Senator’s position to campaign statewide, and he’d then become a U.S. Senator or he’d have scalps.
Amy was curious what her father would do with her notes in working up a rough on Harry’s campaign. Harry had a good chance of winning his district. And in a sampling in the state, people didn’t yet know of him.
That was good. If they had no opinion of the unknown, there was nothing to counteract.
In Illinois, the Republicans had always ruled the state while the Democrats held Chicago. But that was changing. Could a Republican hayseed make it? Harry thought so. How would her dad advise on that, and what would be his comments on her notes? It would be interesting.
Amy’s father was considered one of the country’s most brilliant campaign advisors. A lot of gimmicks were attributed to him. The handwritten notes whose ink actually smeared. The shirtsleeves and loosened tie with suit coat carried over one shoulder with the left fingers holding it— leaving the right hand free to shake any hand.
The coat over the shoulder was attributed to Sinatra’s long-ago album cover, as Mr. Allen pointed out. Although, before then, his candidates had used it— for a time.
By now the folksy, shirtsleeved bit had been so overused, and used so awkwardly and with such calculation, that no Allen-advised candidate touched such a cliché.
Any Allen campaign pattern was so quickly copied that he allowed others to take credit for them, because by then he’d gone on to better ideas. The senior Allen didn’t like to be coupled with ideas that were past their time. The only thing he pointed to— with clients— was who had used him and how many had won.
So, naturally, there was the question as to how many of those who won had beaten better men? Whose side to take was faced with every potential client.
The preliminaries for the decision was Amy’s job. It turned on who was the client, his reputation and how he reacted to her.
She probed as to what sort of people were around the candidate and what were his goals.
There had been potential clients who’d been turned down who had won. And there were good men Allen had accepted as clients who’d lost. No one won them all.
So what would her dad do with Harry A. Habbison? Something ought to be done with that double H. Her father might shun such a gimmick. Honest And Honest? Double H for double Honor?
The man was honorable. She’d stake her judgment on that one, but he was peculiarly unpalatable. However, the H.A.H. might be used by the opposition as the derisive sound, hah! Maybe they shouldn’t draw attention to his initials.
What was Chas’s full name? Now there was a man who would tempt any woman to vote for him. Chas, the dominant male wolf.
A woman always wants the best man around. And there was the warrior in Chas which would inspire men to believe in him. Ah, to have Chas for a candidate client. All they would have to do would be to put him on television and ask him to say his name and what he wanted.
Amy really didn’t care what he wanted. She wanted him. She wanted to talk to him, and have him look at her, smile at her, to reach out, put his hand on her nape and draw her to him. Yes.
It was getting quite cool with her balcony door open. Why would she stand there, in the cool wet darkness, dreaming about a man who hadn’t even looked at her?
He was probably a loyal husband with six kids. Any wife of his would willingly have six kids for that man. She...well, no, she wasn’t having his children. She simply wanted an affair, if he was single.
She was going to try. Tomorrow she would contrive to meet Sally and introduce herself as a long-lost cousin. And after that, it would only be a matter of time before she met Chas. The impulse was a little heady, and she felt a strong recklessness. It would be an adventure.
Two
Amy had gone to bed so early that she wakened at a completely uncivilized time on Thursday. The morning’s gray sky was still dripping. With the balcony door open, the air smelled fresh and cool like San Francisco’s fog.
Instead of using one of the beds in the bedroom, Amy had opened out the sleeper sofa in the living room and slept there, snug and warm under a fleecy blanket.
She stretched and stretched and yawned before she lay peacefully in an unusual indulgence. She’d heard there were actually people who wakened before they got up. She could get used to it.
Her empty stomach indicated it was hungry. She could easily eat there in her suite, from her stocked supplies. However, the time factor made utilization of The Relative Plan rather urgent.
It would be wiser to go down to one of the dining rooms for breakfast in order to begin her deception. Did they serve this early? Would any of the wedding party even be up?
Amy sat up and swung her legs off the sofa bed, then stood and stretched as she enjoyed just doing that. Going down the suite’s hall into the bedroom, she looked at her wardrobe. She’d have to get some more things from her car.
She flicked through the few things hanging there and pulled out a shockingly expensive jogging suit. She’d bought it because the color matched her blue eyes exactly, and it beat utilitarian gray bulk all hollow.
Amy surveyed herself. She did not look like a serious athlete.
Her headband was an old one from her father. It bore the label McMahon, for the ex-quarterback of the Chicago Bears. She picked up a purple-hooded sweat jacket, put her door card in the back pocket of her pants and went down to the breakfast room.
Quite a few people were there! What were all these people doing up at such an ungodly hour?
There was a hum of conversation in the room, and the waiters moved around. There was the clink of plates and rustle of people.
Then Amy realized most of the diners were wedding guests. In her quick scan, she didn’t see Chas. But she did see those present were dressed in a wide range of casual sports clothing, and her impulsive sports buy wasn’t beyond reason.
She chose a seat within earshot of Sally, the redheaded bride-to-be, in order to pick up on any mention of their Aunt...was it Tilly? No, it was Trilby. Their “relative in common.”
Amy noted that Sally wore a deliciously baggy old gray utilitarian sweat suit. Sally could wear a barrel and still be a knockout. Amy was glad Sally was getting married. Chas’s cousin or not, Amy wanted Sally out of the way.
Looking over the menu, Amy threw caution to the wind and ordered a monster breakfast. Eggs with an S, pancakes, trout, bacon, strawberries and tea. And she ate it as she listened only to the table next to hers.
The bride said, “The dresses haven’t arrived.”
The woman with Sally soothed her. “They’ll get here. Don’t panic.”
“The wedding is Saturday! The day after tomorrow! I don’t want to get married in this sweat suit.”
“You have that green dress.”
“I used to wear it with Frank.”
“Well? So?”
“Every time I wear that dress, I think of Frank, and even you will have to admit I can’t marry Tad while I’m thinking about Frank.”
“Why don’t you give it to the League’s Second Chance Boutique?”
“It looks terrific on me.” Sally’s voice was deliberately mild in her acceptance of looking great.
“I have to agree to that. Did I ever tell you I once stole it? But when I put it on, it looked like a dishrag on me, so I put it back.”
“The color is wrong for you. You have a great figure.”
“It was too tight.”
“So that’s when it happened! Do you know I had to mend that seam?”
“Old Simmy would have been proud of you!” Sally’s companion exclaimed as she laughed. Then she asked, “Where is Tad?”
“He and Chas went on a soggy jog.”
“Chas is probably having to tell Tad what marriage means.”
“Tad knows.”
The other woman chuckled in a very amused way.
Then Sally said, “There she is!” And from the corner of her eyes, Amy saw Sally straighten and lift a hand up just above her head. She rose in welcome as another woman, in a traveling suit, came to the table to be hugged. Then she was greeted by others of the wedding guests before she was settled at Sally’s table.
“Matt will be glad you got here. He was sweating it. He wasn’t sure you’d come. I told him you’d have to be here to witness me actually getting married.”
Matt? Amy tried to remember what she’d heard about a Matt. Someone had said something about a Matt last night. Moving in with...
“Connie, do you care for him at all?”
Connie. Matt wanted to live with Connie, who apparently was reluctant. And Amy waited like a soap-opera fan to see what Connie would say.
Instead of answering, Connie asked, “Have the dresses arrived?”
Impatiently, Sally told her, “No! Your asking that means you’re not going to tell me about Matt.”
Quite primly Connie’s voice replied, “You’re not involved.”
In a teasing way of old friends and cousins, Sally pushed it, “I ought to get some sort of reply. Here we got up at this ghastly hour to welcome you! And anyway, you’re my maid of honor. You owe me.”
“I did come.” Connie was still formal and withdrawing. “Did you find any of Trilby’s bunch?”
“Who would dream any of Trilby Winsome’s winsome offspring could be so elusive. No one can find anything about five of the daughters. Faith, Hope, Charity, Prudence and Ellen. They’ve vanished into...”
With opportunity knocking, Amy interrupted from her table to say, “I beg your pardon. I couldn’t help overhearing. This is a very strange coincidence, but my grandmother was Charity Winsome...Abbott.”
For an endless minute, the three women at the other table stared at Amy, then Sally smiled and questioned, “Really? Well, hello, cousin!” And the other two laughed and echoed the greeting.
Amy smiled, and with applaudable restraint, she returned to her meal. She was aware the other three women exchanged questioning looks and minute shrugs. But after that they talked more softly among themselves, more privately.
Having finished eating, Amy signed her bill. She rose from her chair, smiled at the other women, who smiled back, and left the dining room. She had planted the seed. What an interesting thing to see if it would germinate. She felt she had handled it perfectly.
As she left the morning room, Chas and...Tad, the bridegroom, came inside. Chas looked right through Amy. He didn’t even see her.
But as she went through it, she caught her arm on the door and stumbled as she looked back. She saw that he’d turned to watch her. She looked away immediately.
He wasn’t so indifferent to her, after all. Hah! If Chas only knew it, the preliminaries to their affair were progressing splendidly.
On her way through the quadrangle toward the beach, Amy went by the glass windows outside the morning room. She looked into the room from the slitted corners of her eyes.
She saw Tad was leaning over Sally, as Chas was moving Amy’s vacated table next to Sally’s, while Connie and Sally were talking and indicating Amy to the men. Amy walked on. With her last discreet glance, she could see both of the men had looked up through the windows at her.
Walking away, she smiled inside, with an odd lick in her lower stomach. If Chas only knew what she had planned for him! Ah, yes. Would he tremble in his Nikes? He had probably had affairs with every woman who caught his attention.
That would be the trick! She would have to catch his attention. Then she would lure him into bed the way men did women. She would use him for her entertainment.
But for now, she would have to wait.
The wedding party bunch were good-looking people. It would be nice to really be kin to them. Being an only child, Amy had always longed for a big family. Would they approach her?
She would be discreetly available if one of them did. They were so curious about Trilby’s children that Amy doubted if they could resist at least questioning her.
Since they knew nothing of that branch of their family, Amy could be quite easy about her replies. It’s too hard to remember lies. While keeping her own identity secret, she would tell the truth as nearly as possible.
With that premise to entertain her, Amy went out on the beach and walked leisurely south, down toward the pink palace. She found some sand dollars and was disgusted with herself for collecting two handfuls of shells. She had boxes of shells!
Collecting shells was like drinking beer. There is more beer in the world than anyone can drink so no one should try to drink it all.
There were also more creatures in the sea making shells than she could ever collect, and she ought to quit picking them up. Even as she thought of that, she stooped over and picked up another one! But it was another perfect one.
Trudging in the spent waves, Amy wondered what color were his eyes? Blue? With his hair that dark, they would probably be brown. He was beautiful. Formidable. She nervously licked her lips. Maybe she ought to just move to another hotel and forget this whole thing.
The plan was reckless. Were men this strained in the planning of a seduction? Or did they just take women as they came along without any qualms at all?
If men could manage, then she could handle it. Out of bed, anything men could do, she could do. Equality. By George, she wouldn’t be a quitter. She’d see the seduction through. She’d planted the seed of curiosity and it ought to grow.
By the time she arrived at the pink palace, sitting flauntingly on the beach south of the Trade Winds, Amy was experiencing a fresh feeling of determination. She turned back to retrace her steps along the beach.
She ruthlessly shoved her shells into her clean purple jacket’s pockets, washed the sand from her hands in the swirl of the waves, getting her sneakers wet. She squished along, her head bent to the mist. The lumps of shells in her pockets bumped in soft clinks against her thighs.
Besides Amy, there were other idiots walking the beach. However sparsely, there were others out. Therefore when a man’s muscular, gray sweat-panted legs came along in front of her, she moved to her right, but he matched her move and his Nikes stopped.
She looked up and...it was Chas! My God. His eyes were green! Very green. She simply stared.
“Hello, Amy Abbott. Or should I say ‘Cousin’?”
He was so cool. So adult. He was not one that any idiot would trick. This was the man she was going to trick? Uh huh. This one. She questioned, “Cousin?”
“You told Sally, Elaine and Connie that you’re one of Trilby’s issue.”
“No. I said my grandmother’s name was Charity Winsome. I only know that. I have no idea what Charity’s mother’s name was.” She watched as he smiled faintly. He knew she lied? She contrived to look honest and straightened her spine. A straight spine is always honest.
“Your eyes are blue.”
She nodded, admitting that.
His husky, deep voice said softly, “With your being a third cousin, that makes us kissing cousins.”
Her eyes became enormous over the idea of being kissing cousins with Chas. She was so bemused by it that she watched his head block out the rainy sky as he leaned forward and kissed her simpleton mouth. She simply allowed the opportunity to pass without doing anything!
Good grief! She stood there as if she was fourteen again and it was her first non-party kiss, for God’s sake. He lifted his head and smiled at her; and he had creases at the corners of his eyes that were enormously attractive. She took an unsteady breath as a part of her mind said: Hmm, this might be very, very nice!
“If your Charity is part of our family, her mother was Trilby Cougar Winsome. Trilby was my great-great-aunt. Apparently— from the stories— she was a pistol. Unpredictable. Are you that way, too?”
He knew! “No.” Her voice was thin. He couldn’t possibly know.
“I’m Charles Cougar. My friends call me Chas. So do cousins, Cousin Amy.”
“Cougar? Are you kin to Indiana’s John Cougar Mellencamp?”
“Cougar isn’t John Mellencamp’s real name. When he first started, his record company named him John Cougar. Our name comes down three hundred years from Billy Cougar. He was a hunter in the Appalachian system. He wore a cougar’s skin on his back with the cat’s head on his head. That’s how he got his name.
“We know he was a Brit. An Englishman. But we have no idea if he was a younger son come here to the New World to make his way, or if he was deported.” He grinned at her. “But he was a hunter, a trader and an organizer.”
“Yes.” She was still not working on all cylinders. She was distracted by the fact that she was trying to figure out a way to get another chance at a cousinly kiss. “How did you know my name?”
“I was in back of you when you registered.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t being too swift at conversational allure. If she planned to entice this man, she needed to be a great deal more sparkling and interesting. She inquired politely, “Did your wife come with you?”
He couldn’t prevent a laugh. He controlled it quickly, but he had laughed. He replied nicely, “I’m not married, are you?”
She solemnly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. Why was he so amused?
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he suggested. “It’s getting a little wet out here.” He took her arm, and they went on back.
The shells bumped against her thighs as she lengthened her stride to keep up. She felt like a fool. She ought to tell him right now she was a sham. Yes. She took a breath and said, “Ah...”
“You will come to the wedding? It’s going to be in those rooms off the lobby. With the fountains? Have you seen them? If it’s still raining, they’ll cover the roof so it’ll be warm enough. You will come?”
She nodded, still very serious, but she realized just how fragile this opportunity was. She needed to take hold and use it. No man would be tongue-tied and silent. He’d flirt a little and smile. Did men have to work this hard?
She stretched her mouth incredibly and managed a small grin. Then the whole ridiculous situation hit her funny bone, and she laughed. She boldly took his hand and pushed back her hood enough so that she could look up at him, striding along beside her, and she actually swung his hand a little as she laughed again.
He grinned back and his big, warm hand enclosed her small, cold, wet one. He was playing along! Did preying men feel this sense of exhilaration? But as she watched his smile, her eyes lifted to his, and his eyes were guarded. He was suspicious of her.
Did she look like a predator? A predator like some of the men who had pursued her? There are men who women instantly recognize as dangerous so they can avoid them. Had her intent changed her into something else? Had it changed her from the safe, businesslike woman into a huntress? Did her very pores smell of danger to men, telling them to beware?
And Amy considered that the men who looked predatory had probably once looked bland and safe. Criminals eventually had a look about them that was hard and scary. It could well be that women changed, too, as their life-style was changed, and...
Such thinking was all completely idiotic. She’d been working too hard. Her imagination had never taken control this way, before now. Of course she’d never before deliberately set out to seduce a man.
“Where is your home?” Chas asked.
She blinked once to come back to the reality of being with Chas. “Home? A suitcase. I travel.”
“Oh? And what makes Amy run?”
“I’m in research. Polls.” That wasn’t too far from the truth.
“That must be interesting. What do you ask?”
“Depends on what we’re researching.”
“House to house?” he inquired.
“That, too, depends on what we’re researching.”
“Phone banks? Boiler-room surveys?”
“Even that sometimes.” Her reply was also true.
“What is your firm?”
“Freelance.” She had to smile at his effort to pin her down. He probably would never fully know how adroit she had been in replying. Too bad. He would appreciate the game.
Now, how did she know he’d appreciate her intrusive game? If he knew she was being tricky, it would more than likely make him mad. Men didn’t like being fooled.
But what he liked didn’t matter. It was what she liked or wanted that mattered. And she could well decide to want Charles Cougar. Cougar. Men were supposed to walk like cats. He walked like a hunter of cats.
They separated to change into dry clothing and met in the glassed corner of her floor’s discreet nook of chairs and tables. He rose as she came around the corner to him, and he suggested, “Why don’t we go up on sixth and meet the others?”
“Others? There’re more of you?”
“Oh, yes. And not all of us could come. So there are even more of your newfound family for you to meet another time.”
He said “another time” so casually, as if there could be a future for them. “How many of you are there?”
“They all have kids so fast we ought to be called rabbits instead of cougars. I don’t know what the latest count could be. We’ll see if anyone on sixth knows. Come on. They’re dying to talk to you. And of course you’ll go to the wedding. Will you need a gown?”
She shook her head. He went on, “Some of the pools are heated. We might swim later, before supper. We’re on our own tonight. Do you play chess?” He gestured to the waist-high chess pieces on the clever brick board sitting idle in the soft rain.
Again she shook her head.
“Well, how about putting? When the rain stops, we can do that?”
She nodded. She’d been a runner up in a golf competition at their club during the summer she was twenty. She could handle golf.
He was telling her, “Tomorrow night’s the bachelor’s dinner in the main dining room. Everybody goes to the dinner. That’ll be fun. You’ll learn a lot about the family skeletons there. Tad’s family are nice people. You’ll have a good time.”
They were inviting the fox right into the chicken house? She smiled in a foxy way. It would be an experience. What a story this would make when she next saw her best friend Elsie! Elsie would say, “You did what? I don’t believe it.”
But Elsie knew Amy didn’t have enough imagination to make up this impulsive madness. Elsie would have to believe it. Or...would she ever tell Elsie? She’d have to wait and see how it all turned out.
They went up to the sixth floor where the wing’s whole series of suites were opened together, taken over by the Cougar Clan. Chas and Amy went from suite to suite and were welcomed with laughter and chatter. Amy kept saying, “I may not be any kin at all!” The truth can be said so that one is safely misunderstood and accepted. How strange that was.
“If you aren’t, we’ll adopt you,” Matt announced, and Connie gave Amy a rather cool look.
So Matt was a flirt? Connie was jealous? Would Connie finally move in with Matt just to keep him? Ah, What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive! How unknowingly we influence other lives. Would her bold intrusion cause Connie to do something rash? Would she do something she wouldn’t ordinarily have done?
The Cougars accepted Amy. That unquestioning acceptance made her a little uncomfortable. And Chas stayed close. He would say, “I’ll tell her about it and see to it she gets there.” And that easily, Chas established them as a pair.
Did women fall into men’s laps this readily? Did men simply decide who they wanted and then just wait for it to happen? It was amazing! No wonder men were womenizers. There was no sweat to it at all.
Chas, the catch of the entire clan, was hers! And it was he who’d paired them off. After this, she should be able to get him into bed in two days at least. By Saturday. Right on schedule.
The clan all had lunch together, still talking. The clouds broke, the sun came out, the sand absorbed the rain and dried on top.
The wedding dresses arrived, and some of the women went to try on the dresses. Tad was teased about whether or not he had the ring or had ordered the flowers. He was tolerant. For Amy, it was like really being a member of a large clan. It was nice.
After lunch, Chas pulled Amy to her feet and said they were leaving. They made their goodbyes and went back out into the bright afternoon. They strolled through the marvelous myriad latticed walkways, around and over and throughout the complex, through the open and sometimes on hidden, secret stairs.
As they chatted quite casually, Chas said, “Since you’re a cousin, I wonder if you’d volunteer to help out the family. My cou— our cousin Robert and his family, with four kids, haven’t a reservation.”
Chas explained in an aside, “The eldest didn’t have chicken pox after all. If you wouldn’t mind, I could bunk with you, and they could have my place.” Chas’s face was bland and logical.
He elaborated, “If we can’t double up enough, they’ll have to stay at another hotel, and they’ll miss half of the fun. I can give them my suite, but I don’t want to move away from the hotel, either. How about letting me sleep on your living room couch?”
Now that was fast! In the space of a couple of hours, she’d not only been accepted as a cousin into their clan, but now Chas was using “family connections” to move into her suite. Good grief!
Amy’s mouth fell open and she gasped. Then as her blue eyes hit his very green, very steady watching eyes, she thought: In this situation, a man would jump at the chance! Really? This wasn’t... She hadn’t planned... This was really very fast. She said, “Uh...”
“We’re cousins,” he reminded her mildly. “It would be okay.”
“Well... Uh...”
“Some problem?”
“No, no. I just...” But she couldn’t think what she just. He was going to move into her suite— just like that! If he did move in, it would make the maximum opportunity syndrome very maximum, all right.
She couldn’t get her conscience-stricken vocal chords to do anything. But with some concentration she got her head to go up and down— once each way.
He accepted that lame movement as agreement and said, “Robert and Jean will be so glad. This way, in my suite, they can close the door on the kids and have the living room sofa bed all to themselves and not have all of them jammed together into one room. That’s restrictive for couples with kids.” He added that thoughtfully.
He still held her hand as they walked along. She’d met him about— what— five hours ago? And here they were, walking along, holding hands. He’d already kissed her within the first minute, and now he was going to move into her suite.
Her seduction was really going along very quickly. She ought to be jubilant with things working out so well. But instead, she felt rather as if she’d stepped on a merry-go-round and was having a little trouble balancing to its speed as it carried her around quite madly.
He said with quick efficiency, “I’ll just run upstairs and nab Robert to tell him the good news, and I’ll be down to your suite with my things in about five minutes. If we go by your place, you can let me have your lock card and wait for me there.”
So that’s what Amy found herself doing. They took the garage elevator up to the third floor and walked around the deck to her place. She unlocked her door, handed him the card and he left.
Bemused, she wandered on through the bedroom, down the bath hall and stood in the living room. She was feeling as if she’d just now stepped off that merry-go-round and was unsure which direction she was supposed to go.
It did occur to her then that surely some of Chas’s clansmen had an extra bed. But if she was intent on seducing Chas, this certainly presented a remarkable opportunity. Another handy opportunity.
She had snatched the first one, and now here she was, that much closer to her goal. Any man would be dancing and grinning and exuberant!
Her prize was at hand! And there she stood, wide-eyed and astonished. It would begin. So easily! Actually, it had started. How would it end?
Her deck door opened, and Chas busily wheeled in a double-ended hanger luggage cart. He efficiently emptied it as she simply stood there and watched, with her arms hanging from her shoulders.
He put things in the bath, in the bedroom closet and in the vacant bottom drawer. He added things to the refrigerator. He was moving in.
He smiled, gorgeously. “We’ll have to go down to re-register me with you. I’ll split the bill. No long-distance calls without my okay. Know anyone in China? India?”
Very seriously, she shook her head.
“Peru?” He was being funny and enjoying it.
But he was also laying down rules. She understood that. He was. It was her suite, and he was laying down the rules.
Well, that was good. There had to be some ground rules if they were going to share the suite. He in the living room, and she in the bedroom.
Three
Chas and Amy went back up to the sixth floor to find out if there were any specific clan plans, which they might want to consider. They found a rather organized chaos. Some of the kin were planning to fish in the Gulf the next morning, and some were driving over to Disney World.
And as they moved around, they encountered another cousin, Kenneth Cougar, who was promising Sally he would be back the next night for the bachelor’s party.
“Leaving us, Ken?” Chas asked.
“Just a quick trip.” Ken named the city. “I have to see a rising kingpin, Martin Durwood, and this is a good opportunity.”
“Martin Durwood?” Amy found herself asking.
“Yes. Know him?”
To leave the festivities, the meeting with Martin Durwood would have to be important to Ken, her new “cousin.” Amy replied, “Yes.” Then she inquired carefully, “Do you know him?”
“No. Not really.” Ken gave her a steady, measuring glance.
She cautioned, “Be careful.”
Both men focused on Amy almost as if they had opened second eyelids, their gazes were so intent and piercing. Ken asked, “Why?”
Chas asked, “How do you know Martin Durwood?”
Tellingly, she replied to Chas first, “A...survey.” She frowned a little at Ken. “What I have is privileged. Just be careful.”
“You don’t like him.”
“There’s a saying. Let’s see. Yes, ‘If you shake hands with him, count your fingers.’”
“Oh?” said Ken. He lifted his head a little, intensely alert. Then he lowered it as he pushed up his lower lip and nodded several very small movements.
Chas then told Ken, “Listen to her.”
And Ken smiled at Amy. “Thanks, cousin. I’ll let you know tomorrow night what I find out.” He gave Amy a rather formal nod with a warm smile. As he left, Ken clapped Chas on his shoulder and quite cheerfully said, “You lucky bastard.”
And for some reason, Chas laughed.
It was just as Elsie always said: Men are different.
It was amazing for Amy to be absorbed into the wider group of strange people and accepted by them as one of them, without any effort on her part. Again she understood it was Chas who had maneuvered the phenomenon. So it was their trust in Chas that was involved. He had accepted her, therefore the rest did.
* * *
The most startling thing was how freely they spoke of the most intimate things. As Amy had thought once before, in listening to them in the elevator, they were fortunate she wasn’t from a gossip magazine.
As sometimes happens in a crowd, a quiet fell, and one conversation suddenly became general. A cousin was saying, “Well, after that they couldn’t allow her to be buried in the family plot. She’s off to one side, at the edge of the cemetery.”
“Who?” someone asked.
Another cousin hastened to assure them, “She wasn’t an in-law. That would account for several who never made the family plot, but Letty was a Cougar. Letty Cougar Milstone Wiggins LaCross Bernard. Those are the ones she married.”
“It wasn’t her interest in men that shocked everyone,” a female cousin said in a fact-keeping way.
“No. You’re right,” agreed another cousin. “The Cougars have always had a strong attraction for the opposite sex.”
That caused a good, indulgent chuckle among those cousins and siblings in the crowded suite.
But then the subject was changed, the different areas of the completely opened suite complexes led to more separate conversations.
Amy never did find out what Letty had done to be forbidden the family burial plot. Think of being shunned even in death! She wondered if Letty wouldn’t have wanted to be planted in another place entirely.
Before long, the cousins and siblings drifted outside. Especially the northerners wanted to be outside in the lovely March day. They shed jackets in the sunshine to walk and stroll the beach and select shells or play some of the games available.
* * *
Amy had never been anywhere in all her life where she suddenly knew so many people. It was marvelous fun to hear shouts of encouragement when she and Chas were in one of the paddleboats. Or to be watched by others as they used the putting course. And the critical observation with snide remarks when they were a part of a tennis foursome.
Men can feel competitive in sports with women, but Chas didn’t. She could never match his physical strength, but he paced himself so that their game was fun, and she could show off. He was an unusual man.
Only the Yankees joined her and Chas to swim. True Southerners know full well only Yankees and idiots swim outside that early in the year. Chas was so warm-blooded he could probably break ice and dunk himself without realizing the cold.
How marvelous it would be to sleep with a man like that. And she would soon know what it was like. By Saturday. The day after tomorrow.
Although Amy was dark haired, she had a redhead’s complexion. Her skin burned and didn’t ever tan, so she used sunscreen, and she didn’t sunbathe. Therefore, she seldom swam outside.
So it wasn’t remarkable that she swam at an indoor club and her suit was a practice Speedo. It was perfectly comfortable. Although it was cream colored, it was cut high in the neck, front and back, and it fit down over her hips for swimming comfort.
It was, indeed, comfortable. However, as feminine attire, it didn’t begin to compare with the other suits on display.
Chas smiled at her as she reluctantly took off her toweling robe. Then he gasped, “My God, you could be naked! It’s like a second skin.” His eyes glinted and his smile widened.
She blushed in pleasure. But for a modest woman, why should she like it that she looked almost naked to him? She reasoned she liked his saying that because he might not be too reluctant to submit, if it pleased him to look at her.
It certainly pleased her to look at him. She had to do it in quick glances because she had to resist the need to stare at him. He was something! He was so beautifully male. No one would mistake him for anything else. A no-waist-wedge. Nicely hairy. Muscles. His bathing shorts were like those of all males.
She was getting a little excited about him. Some unusual licks of feelings coiled and uncoiled deep inside her body. She had to swallow and blink.
She could swim quite nicely and she didn’t mind getting wet, so they played recklessly. She tried vigorously to drown him. He handled her without any effort at all. He chuckled. He had a great laugh.
His hands were a little careless but not groping. He let her take a breath before he pulled her down in the magic waters, and he kissed her very uncousinly.
She might be able to get him in twenty-four hours! That would be some sort of record, she was sure of it. Men weren’t the only ones who had their wily way. So did Amy Abbott Allen, the man-izer.
They said men notched their bedposts. How would she keep track? A pencil mark on her closet wall. A perfect solution. That would be discreet.
Then only she would know the full extent of her conquests. Her reputation would remain intact, and her mother wouldn’t start searching for a Presbyterian convent.
Now why wouldn’t people be as tolerant of a woman, who was a man-izer, as they were indulgent and titillated by a man who was always after women? Prejudice. Everyone should fight prejudice.
It rather pleased Amy to think she was taking up the Women’s Cause in seducing Chas. It gave a nice tone of unselfishness to her indulgence.
She sneaked a peek at him. How brave of her to seduce him for womankind. She laughed.
He looked up and grinned back. “What’s funny?”
She replied, “The day. The sun. Your ineptness in swimming?”
He took her to the bottom of the pool again. And again he kissed her. As they surfaced, and she pushed back her black hair, her blue eyes were almost hidden by her water-spiked lashes. She said, “See? You’re on the bottom of the pool all the time. You don’t know how to stay on the surface!”
She almost made it to the edge of the pool before he caught her. She laughed and gasped for breath, knowing what he’d do— again— but instead he held her across his arms and moved her about the pool in the most charmingly peaceful way.
He was powerful. His muscles roiled as he used them in handling her. His movements were so effortless. Seemingly effortless.
It no longer pricked her conscience when his family called her “cousin.” How quickly she had adjusted to being a part of them. From her lazy pool bed, with Chas her movement and buoyancy, Amy saw Connie and Matt walking along the latticed path as it wound near the pool.
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