Critical Affair Page 3

  “Let’s see,” Michael said after taking a healthy gulp of his Flame. “Five years ago you had just completed your bachelor’s degree in atmospheric science and were trying to decide if you should continue at UCLA and get your master’s. Right?”

  She didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting him to ask, but that definitely wasn’t it.

  “I’m surprised you remembered,” she said. “I only mentioned that in passing during the seminar.”

  “It was an important decision facing you. Whether to follow in your parents’ footsteps and go to work for the government, or step out on your own. Did you enter the master’s program at UCLA?”

  No, because that would have meant staying in the area and possibly—just possibly—running into you.

  She took another sip of her drink. “I got my master’s at an eastern college, then went to work for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration back there.”

  “What did you do?”

  “For a while I was in research. My title was synoptic meteorologist, which is a fancy name to describe my sitting in front of a computer trying to see if I could come up with more sophisticated mathematical models for weather forecasting.”

  “Which you did.”

  “I found a few new approaches,” she admitted, pleased that he had no doubt. “But I also found interacting with a computer all day somewhat less than rewarding.”

  “Where did you go from there?”

  “I became an operational meteorologist at the National Weather Service’s Severe Storms Forecast Center in Kansas City.”

  “One of the brains behind the country’s storm alerts.”

  “One of the meteorologists who read the instruments and hoped to hell she got it right,” Jennifer corrected. “Even with all the latest in satellite, computer and radar technology, a prediction of cloudy skies can still turn into a tornado.”

  “I can see how that might be embarrassing for a meteorologist.”

  “Especially if a professional golf tournament is being played that day—or would have been played if the sudden appearance of the whirling cloud hadn’t sent everyone scurrying for cover after the second hole and ended up costing millions in lost advertising revenue.”

  “Did that happen to you?”

  “To one of my colleagues. But it could just as easily have been me. When it comes to reading the weather, we still get it wrong.”

  “Your prediction rate at KSEA has been perfect so far.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m one of your many fans.”

  His words warmed her even better than the drink.

  “Are you folks ready for another?” the waitress interrupted.

  Jennifer looked down in some surprise to see her glass was empty. She realized then that she’d been getting carried away. And no wonder. Michael listened as though everything she said was important to him.

  After the waitress had left to bring them refills, he asked, “How did you get from the severe storms center in Kansas to doing the weather five nights a week on local TV?”

  “About eighteen months ago an opening came up at the NWS operational station in this area. I decided to take it. A couple of months after relocating here, KSEA offered me their meteorologist slot.”

  “Going to let me in on the secret of your accurate forecasting?”

  “I’ve been using one of the new mathematical models I developed at NWS to predict the effect of the different converging air currents for which Courage Bay is renowned.”

  The waitress returned, set their refills on the table and left.

  “Can this mathematical model predict how long this fog is going to be with us?” Michael asked.

  His question was good—the very one she’d been wrestling with the past week. Reminding herself that he was a psychiatrist and she his patient, Jennifer faced the fact that he might be trying to get her to relax by discussing a safe subject that didn’t matter until he could comfortably steer her into the one that did.

  Was he?

  She stared at her glass, fingered the rim. “Maybe you should ask me the questions for your report so we can get it over with.”

  “I don’t have to ask you any questions,” Michael said. “‘My report’, as you call it, is finished.”

  “You don’t want to know what happened?”

  “I know what happened.”

  She gathered her courage to look at him. “How do you know?”

  He returned her gaze evenly. “There’s only one reason why a woman would suddenly dump ice water on her fiancé’s crotch. You caught him cheating on you.”

  Jennifer downed a good portion of her second drink. She should have known he’d figure it out.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  No, I don’t.

  “It might help.”

  To make me look and feel like an even bigger idiot? Yeah, that would certainly top off the sterling events of the evening.

  “If you’d prefer, we can get back to the weather,” he said. “Pretty safe topic for most of us. Of course, as the meteorologist who’s had to forecast this incessant fog every night for the past week, you may find it a sensitive issue. I’m conversant on the far sunnier subjects of war, famine and pestilence. Any of those appeal to you?”

  He was smiling at her.

  She remembered then…all those times she’d found herself telling him things. It wasn’t because he’d coerced her. Or manipulated her. Or lulled her into a sense of security so she’d drop her defenses.

  It was because he hadn’t tried to do any of those things.

  Jennifer took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “For the past six months, my fiancé’s been having an affair with my best friend. If she hadn’t confessed to me tonight, I never would have known.”

  She gulped more of her drink.

  “You believed he was honest with you because you were honest with him,” Michael said gently.

  Nice of him to see it that way. She wished she could. But the truth was, she’d made a critical error in judgment. She firmly believed that her choices reflected who she was. Her choice of Russell was so deeply flawed it made her cringe.

  “What did he say when you confronted him about the affair?” Michael asked.

  “He told me it was no big deal, just sex. Nothing for me to be concerned about.”

  Jennifer stared at the tablecloth, shaking her head as she relived that unbelievable scene with Russell. His total lack of remorse for having betrayed her. His dismissal of her feelings as though they were unimportant.

  “From our first date he’s pushed for an exclusive relationship between us,” she said. “For a solid year I’ve been hearing nothing but how I was the only woman for him. How committed he was to me and our future together. How he could never want anyone else.”

  She downed the rest of her drink, relishing the bracing trail of warmth it left.

  “When did you agree to marry him?” Michael asked.

  “A week ago. Looking back on it now, I realize that ever since we set the date, I’ve had this feeling that something wasn’t right.”

  “But not before?”

  “Candy, flowers, cards, the daily phone calls. Russell had all the right moves down. I just didn’t realize the wrong man was behind them. Look, I know I acted like a two-year-old tonight. I’m sorry I—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Michael interrupted. “What you did tonight was what any self-respecting woman would have done. The cheating bastard deserved everything he got and a lot more.”

  Jennifer stared at Michael, stunned at both the message in his words and the passion with which he’d delivered them.

  She’d fully expected him to remind her that maturity meant channeling anger in healthy, nonviolent ways. Certainly, the calm and objective Dr. Temple had suggested that often enough to his seminar students.

  But this Dr. Temple was being anything but calm and objective. He was openly incensed and taking he
r side.

  Jennifer had wanted to hug him on numerous occasions in the past, but never more so than at this moment.

  MICHAEL FINISHED HIS DRINK as he worked to control the anger that had so rapidly gotten the better of him. And belied every tenet of his training.

  For ten years he’d been a psychiatrist, exposed to every heartache and demon that could inhabit the human psyche. And in all that time, no matter what emotions he’d felt, he’d kept them strictly to himself.

  Until now.

  “Are you always this nice to your patients?” she asked.

  “You’re not my patient, Jennifer.”

  She was still staring at him in a kind of wonder. He knew he’d shocked her by his outburst. He’d shocked himself as well.

  “Thank you for that,” she said. “And for understanding about Russell. And for suggesting we have this drink. Why did you?”

  “I thought you could use a friend tonight.”

  “I’ve never had a better one.”

  She meant it. That was one of the first things he’d noticed when he met Jennifer. Everything about her came across as genuine. He knew that was one of the reasons why her TV weather forecasts had become so popular. Viewers saw that quality in her, as well.

  Jennifer called to a passing waitress and ordered another round. Michael could have declined his. He should have.

  But seeing her again had brought to the surface feelings so strong that they interfered with his normal good sense. And talking face-to-face with her like this was a reminder of those special times they’d shared five years before.

  He’d given the seminar on grief at the local community college to try to be of service to others as well as give himself something to do with his empty nights. On a personal level, reviewing the steps toward healing also proved helpful in his own private journey.

  Jennifer had been only twenty-three then, in the throes of a deep grief from having lost both of her parents in a boating accident the month before.

  He remembered her soft gray eyes gazing up at him as she sat in the front row of the classroom, listening so attentively. How good it had felt to watch her change from a sad, withdrawn woman into a joyful and vibrant one.

  When she stayed after a session to discuss a point further, he was happy to indulge her. After all, she was working hard at her recovery. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was also a very beautiful woman.

  As they strayed to other topics, he’d discovered her sharp mind and easy humor. And refreshingly positive view of people and life. Talking with her in the deserted classroom after each evening’s session soon became the highlight of his day.

  Michael carefully kept his growing feelings for Jennifer to himself. He knew how wrong it would be for him to do anything else.

  Then on the final night of the seminar, she’d once again lingered. He’d thought it was to thank him and say goodbye. He’d never expected she’d put her arms around him and give him a kiss that said anything but goodbye.

  Michael had wanted nothing more than to return that kiss and show her how he felt. But instead he’d gently extricated himself from Jennifer’s arms and, calling upon every ounce of his self-restraint, told her that he was married.

  She’d mumbled an apology and fled.

  He knew he’d done the right thing—the only thing he could do. But when she’d left that night, a light had gone out inside him.

  As he looked at her sitting across from him now, Michael faced the fact that being with her like this wasn’t wise. He should have taken her up to his office at the hospital and stayed with her until he was sure she was going to be all right.

  But in an office setting, she would have felt like his patient. He couldn’t do that to her. Or himself. A psychiatrist did not feel about a patient the way he felt about her.

  Their refills arrived. Michael took a healthy swig of his. He should not ask her any more questions about Russell. Her relationship with the guy was none of his business. But none of his business or not, he wanted to know.

  “You said earlier that Russell had been asking you to marry him for a year, but you only agreed a week ago. Doesn’t sound like he swept you off your feet.”

  “A woman needs her feet firmly planted beneath her when she’s facing something as serious as marriage.”

  “You weren’t in the throes of a mad, careless rapture?” he asked, needing the confirmation and yet disappointed in himself for that need.

  “I want a family. Russell said he wanted one as well. He presented himself as the kind of man who would be a good husband and father.”

  So, she wasn’t madly in love with the guy. The relief that surged through Michael was both immediate and inappropriate.

  “What will you do about the wedding?” he asked.

  She stared at the engagement ring on her finger, pulled it off, shoved it into her purse. “There’ll be no wedding. I told Russell we were finished.”

  “What if he acknowledges how wrong he was? Gets on his knees and begs your forgiveness? Gives you his solemn word that it will never happen again?”

  “I wouldn’t believe him.”

  And you’d be right not to. Guys like him seldom change.

  “Nor will I ever be able to trust Gina again. Losing her friendship is hard. We’ve shared so much this past year. No one could have convinced me she’d do something like this.”

  “Because you never would have done it to her,” Michael said. “We tend to see the traits in others that we possess.”

  Jennifer studied him for a moment. “Is that one of the profound tenets they taught you while strolling down those hallowed halls of psychiatric medicine?”

  “Actually, I got that one from my father.”

  “Is he a psychiatrist, too?”

  “He’s a full-time chef and a part-time teacher of parasailing out on the bay. Both of which work out quite well for me from a selfish standpoint. Anytime I’m in need of a meal, I can go see him. And when his parasailing customers screw up and land on their heads, he sends them to me.”

  Her laugh was low and warm and had the capacity to disarm him as easily as her tears. Michael finished his drink.

  “Now that it’s over, I think I’m actually more relieved than anything else,” she said. “I no longer even want to slit Russell’s throat. So, what do you think, Doc? Should I be losing my homicidal tendencies this soon?”

  Carefully, he repeated the message he’d given to her earlier. “I’m not here as a therapist.”

  “That’s what makes your company so therapeutic.”

  Her smile was full. And felt too good.

  She was going to be fine. She didn’t need him anymore—if indeed she had needed him at all.

  One of the things he’d discovered on those nights they’d shared their thoughts and feelings was her surprising strength. Even the strongest of life’s blows didn’t keep her down for long. It was time to see her home and then be on his way.

  “Jennifer Winn! I thought that was you.”

  Michael twisted toward the guy who had suddenly appeared at their table. Twenty something. Dressed like an Eddie Bauer catalog ad except for the Dodgers baseball cap on his head. And nearly drooling as he stared at Jennifer.

  “Hugo Bryson, this is Dr. Michael Temple,” Jennifer said, polite but cool.

  Hugo exchanged a brief nod with Michael.

  “Boy, it’s been a lot of years, Jen. Not that I don’t see you on the tube. Never would have thought you’d be Courage Bay’s weather babe one day. I’ve called the station several times. Guess you didn’t get my message.”

  He pulled a business card out of his pocket and slapped it down in front of her. “I’m a tax accountant now at Swanson and Munro. Top-notch firm.”

  She didn’t pick up the card.

  Drawing closer, he laid his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away.

  Hugo still wore his leering smile. Either he was incredibly obtuse or he simply chose to ignore her message.

  “I’m sitting ov
er there with a couple of the senior partners at our firm,” he said. “Box seat tickets at the game today. Nothing but the best when you travel with these guys. Have a drink with us. We can catch up on old times. Bring your friend here.”

  The reference to Michael was punctuated with a dismissive wave of Hugo’s hand.

  Before he could think of all the reasons why he shouldn’t, Michael was on his feet, edging Hugo away from the table, holding out his hand to Jennifer.

  “Sorry, Hugo, we were just about to dance. You’ll have to catch up with Jennifer another time.”

  She slipped her hand into his without hesitation. As Michael led her onto the dance floor, Hugo yelled after them. “Call me, Jen.”

  Jennifer neither looked back nor responded.

  “Weather babe.” She repeated the phrase with distaste when they’d reached the middle of the dance floor. “Hugo was an obnoxious creep when we were freshmen in college and he hasn’t changed an iota.”

  “Sounds like you did get his message.”

  “A long time ago. I gave him a bloody nose back then when he tried to put his hands on me. As a so-called TV personality, I have to be more circumspect these days. Not that you could tell, given the ice-water incident this evening.”

  “What I can tell is that you have too much sense to put up with creeps.”

  She faced him, rested her hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Your shining armor is positively blinding tonight, Dr. Temple.”

  Michael hadn’t danced in seven years and had never been very good at it. But he forgot all that as she came to him, an armful of warmth and softness.

  They swayed together to the slow, bittersweet ballad as the piano player sang about a love lost and found.

  It’s just a dance, he reminded himself. Don’t get carried away. But with every turn on the floor, he couldn’t stop himself from gathering her closer.

  JENNIFER HAD BEEN WRONG. She did enjoy dancing. Being in the circle of Michael’s strong arm felt wonderful.

  He moved with her in an effortless, natural rhythm that eliminated all worries about what the next step would be. She rested her cheek on his chest, closed her eyes, feeling the music and his warmth flow through her.