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  “Doreen is a good friend of the family,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “Nothing more.”

  Tyla nodded and headed for the door.

  “Wait a minute.” He stepped out in front of her, blocking her path, and for a moment she thought he was going to put his hands on her shoulders and keep her from leaving, but he dropped his arms to his sides. His warm breath touched her as his intense eyes traced her face. “You told me once that there had to be honesty between us. And I have to know where I stand. Is this chemistry between us purely academic? Am I just some interesting specimen you have under a microscope?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “What, then? I’ve tried to make it clear that I’m very much attracted to you but every time I try to break through that professional front of yours, you only retreat further away.”

  “I can’t do my best work if my personal feelings are involved. And I’m trying to maintain a clear perspective…about you and Cassie.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I have to accept what Cassie tells me without bias,” she said evenly.

  “What in the hell does that mean?”

  “My personal feelings take second place to those of my clients as long as I’m responsible for their therapy.”

  “Why does there have to be a conflict between the two?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” she answered bluntly. She brushed past him and started down the hall.

  “Wait a minute. Don’t you want to see the rest of the house?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.

  “Perhaps another time.”

  As they went down the center staircase, he asked abruptly, “Did you meet Karl?”

  She nodded. “He was in the living room with Harriet when I arrived. In spite of Mr. Millard’s physical limitations, I sensed a strong inner energy. What is the prognosis for his recovery?”

  “Uncertain. There’s been little improvement in the last six months. Lynette’s death really set him back. I suppose that Harriet made you welcome in her warm, gracious manner?”

  “Something like that,” she conceded, returning his wry smile. “I don’t think she likes—” The rest of the sentence remained unfinished.

  Harriet came through the arched door into the front hall and stood waiting at the bottom of the staircase. She glared at them as if she were struggling to keep a lid on her raging fury. Apparently Doreen had not lost any time sharing her version of what was going on in Clay’s bedroom.

  Tyla tensed but Clay gave her a conspirator’s wink and, before Harriet could open her mouth, he said smoothly, “Will you fix me a drink, Harriet? I’ll see Dr. Templeton to her car and then I’ll join you in the living room.”

  He took Tyla’s elbow and deftly guided her past the woman. Once outside, he surprised Tyla by laughing softly. “Do you have the feeling that my former motherin-law is choking on all the things she planned to say?”

  “That doesn’t upset you?”

  “Why should it?”

  “Because she and Doreen have undoubtedly jumped to a lot of erroneous conclusions.”

  “Like what?” He leaned against her car and folded his arms, challenging her to explain.

  “You know as well as I do.”

  “No, I don’t think I do,” he countered. “What is erroneous about the fact that we’re attracted to each other, Tyla? And if they’re saying that I’ve found a woman who has attracted me on more levels than I ever knew existed, nothing could be closer to the truth.” He remembered how fiery desire had swept through him when he’d felt her body leaning into his. In another moment he would have tasted her sweet lips and felt her supple body cradled against his. “I wish to hell Doreen had minded her own business.”

  “Maybe she thinks you are her business.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “There’s nothing like that between Doreen and me. She’s been a great help with Cassie and Karl, and I really don’t know how I would manage without her, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  That might be far enough, thought Tyla, and then chided herself for an unmistakable twinge of jealousy. What on earth was the matter with her? She’d been without a man too long, and apparently her nunlike existence was taking its toll. She had no designs on Clay Archer.

  “If you think I give a damn about what Doreen or Harriet thinks, you don’t know me very well,” he said. “And I’d be very surprised if you let other people run your life.”

  “You don’t seem to understand my professional commitment in this situation,” she said stiffly. “I can’t allow any personal feelings to enter into my work with Cassie.”

  “And admitting that you have feelings for her father would do that?”

  “It might.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “At the moment I don’t, either,” she admitted, “but I have to be certain that my judgment is never at risk because of any personal involvement. I’m not sure what may come to light…” Her voice trailed off.

  “About me?”

  She lifted her unwavering eyes to his. “Yes.”

  “I see.” His deep-set eyes were suddenly as chilled as ice. “What is it you hope to discover about me?”

  Why your daughter has turned so fiercely against you. She let the unspoken words hang between them.

  “I’m waiting. What is it you hope to discover about me?” he repeated.

  Gone was the pulsating sexual tension that had been radiating between them. Tyla almost reeled from the onslaught of his fury and anger.

  When she didn’t answer, he opened the car door. “Be sure and let me know when you dig something up.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and strode toward the house.

  For the first time in her career, Tyla felt the agony of being pulled in two directions at once.

  Chapter 9

  Tyla would have preferred to spend the evening alone, trying to organize her fragmented emotions, but Barry picked her up promptly at seven o’clock.

  He took one look at her listless expression and shook his head. “I didn’t know that going out with me would have such a totally exhilarating effect on you, Tyla. You should have warned me.”

  She managed an apologetic smile. “It’s not the company.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” he said with mock relief. “I’d hate to think I put those shadows under your eyes.” Then his forehead furrowed. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing specific,” she lied. “I’ve just had a challenging week.” In more ways than one, she admitted to herself. Both on a professional and personal level. She’d never had a case affect her emotions so deeply. She felt drawn to Cassie and even identified with the child when recalling her own bewildering early experiences with ESP. And then there was Clay, a man who sent her emotions into a tailspin, threatening to crash-land if she didn’t get her feelings under control.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so uptight, Tyla. Maybe you should share the load with someone. I know a great therapist…even has an office down the hall from you.”

  “Thanks, Barry, I’ll make a note of it,” she countered with a smile. Under different circumstances she might have been tempted to talk over some of her concerns with him, but her confusion bordered too much on the personal.

  She picked up a cashmere cardigan sweater that matched her tailored pink dress. “I’m looking forward to some of Mama Rossini’s pasta,” she said, trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice.

  Barry’s hands lingered as he laid the sweater across her shoulders, and then he startled her by letting his fingers lightly massage her neck. “Lady, you need a relaxing massage.”

  She gave a dismissing light laugh and moved away quickly. There was no reason for her to be surprised at his flirtatious behavior. From the first, he’d made it clear that he wanted to pursue a personal relationship with her. He was a nice guy, but she had no intention of getting involved with him. The only reason she’d agreed to have dinner with him was to get infor
mation about Lynette Archer. Maybe combining business with pleasure wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t want to mislead Barry, nor did she want to confide in him even though they were colleagues. She knew he would be supportive if she asked for his advice, but at the moment she wasn’t sure what the questions should be.

  He gave her several measuring glances as he drove them to a small Italian restaurant in west Denver. She leaned back in the plush seat and let the flow of lights, people and traffic slip by her. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated at her silence and the way she sat on her side of the seat. She didn’t much care either way. She had more on her mind than turning the evening into a social event.

  Barry glanced at her closed face a few times and then turned on the radio. He moved the dial until he found a. station that filled the car with soft, tender love songs. Tyla’s thoughts kept moving back to the disturbing events of that afternoon, remembering the way an exploding desire had made her lean into Clay’s muscular body. His embrace had blocked out all rational thought. For that brief moment she had been completely mesmerized by his nearness and the feel of his hands on her waist, pressing her closer and closer and—Stop it! An embarrassing heat surged into her face.

  She quickly turned and looked out the window, hoping it was too dark in the car for Barry to see the hot flush in her cheeks.

  Once inside the restaurant, seated at a small table and waiting for their orders, she introduced the subject that had brought her there. “What can you tell me about Lynette Archer?”

  He took a sip of wine before answering. Then he chided, “I was hoping we would put business off until dessert at least.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that this case has some interesting aspects. I guess I’m a little anxious.”

  “So I’ve noticed. Want to clue me in?”

  “Too early for a consultation,” she said evasively. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

  He put down his wine and leaned back in his chair. She noticed for the first time that he was wearing a handsome blue sport coat and a white embroidered shirt that must have been imported from Mexico. A full head of hair, helped by the black toupee, was fashionably styled to give his face a youthful look. He’d taken pains with his appearance, and she felt a little guilty for not even noticing—or caring.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to think I got you here under false pretenses,” he said, “because there’s really not very much that I can tell you. I only had a couple of sessions with Lynette Archer, and they weren’t very enlightening. She was the kind of woman who liked to play games, you know. Very attractive, very sure of herself and very unhappy in her marriage.”

  Tension coiled in Tyla’s stomach. “Did she say why?”

  “Not really, but I gathered it was the usual thing… incompatibility. Apparently, her husband spent his time making money and she spent hers spending it. There was a lot of conflict over the little girl. According to Lynette, everybody in the household was trying to turn her child against her.”

  My wife’s a pathological liar. Tyla remembered the anger in Clay’s face when he talked about Lynette. How much of what Lynette told Barry was the truth? “Did you ever feel that Lynette might be lying to you?”

  “No more than any of my other clients. You know how it is. They all try to hide the truth at first.”

  “What about Lynette’s parents? She had them move in with her after her father’s stroke.”

  Barry thought for a moment. “She didn’t say much about her mother but she made an interesting comment about her father. Said he had a lot of strange quirks and she was afraid he’d passed them on to his granddaughter.”

  She masked her expression as best she could. Was Karl Millard psychic? Had Cassie inherited her paranormal tendencies from him?

  “Just exactly what are you looking for?” asked Barry.

  “I’m not sure. Everything that relates to Cassie is important.” She didn’t want Barry to ask her questions about the case. And she certainly didn’t want to talk about her visit to the Archer home that afternoon. The psychiatrist was astute enough to pick up on her emotional confusion over what had happened.

  He leaned forward in his chair. “I want to help…not only as a colleague but as a friend. You’re important to me, Tyla.”

  She suppressed a smile. No doubt this affectionate tone was effective in establishing an intimacy with a client, but she knew all the tricks. Barry wouldn’t be able to coax any confidences from her until she was ready to give them.

  He filled her goblet. “You know, of course, that there was some speculation that Lynette Archer might have committed suicide.”

  Tyla set down the glass so fast that some of the red liquid spilled over onto the tablecloth. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t know all the particulars. The newspaper said that she’d driven off the road at a place where cars often parked to get a view of the city at night. Authorities looked into the possibility that she could have deliberately driven off the edge to kill herself. Nothing came of the investigation as far as I know.”

  “Did she seem suicidal to you?”

  “No, but I’ve been fooled before. A suicidal personality isn’t always that pronounced. You know that. But that’s enough morbid talk. Have I told you about my new saddle horse? You have to come and see my place. I’ve remodeled the cabin and built a new corral.”

  He deftly maneuvered the conversation away from anything relating to business. Tyla did her best to be a pleasant dinner companion, but it wasn’t easy. Suicide? Her stomach felt queasy.

  When Barry took her home, he lingered a few minutes at the entrance door of her apartment building. “We’ll have to do this again.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “When we have business to discuss, of course. I have to admit you’ve got me interested in this Archer kid. I’d be willing to help you gather more background material on her father. That guy really rubbed me the wrong way the other night.”

  The way his gaze centered pointedly on her face, she wondered if Barry had discerned more about her feelings than she would have liked. “Thanks, Barry, but I know you have enough cases of your own to keep you fully occupied.” She slipped through the open door and said over her shoulder, “Good night, and thanks again.”

  Tyla had trouble falling asleep, turning restlessly in her bed, trying to convince herself that she didn’t need any man disrupting her life. Especially one like Clay Archer, who seemed bent on throwing her well-ordered life into emotional upheaval. But her emotional wounds had healed, and she was lonely. The admission startled her. She was young, healthy and filled with a resiliency that had put the past behind her.

  She stared up at the ceiling and admitted the truth. She wanted to be in bed with Clay Archer. She wanted to curl up against him, feel the warmth of his legs thrown over hers and sleep in his embrace after making love. She was certain she hadn’t misread his interest in her, but a nagging doubt remained that the attraction was without a hidden agenda. Was he trying to control her findings about his daughter? Was he afraid that she might learn the truth about Cassie’s open hostility to her papa?

  About one o’clock she was beginning to ease into sleep when, on some floating level of unconsciousness, she was aware of the insistent ring of the telephone.

  She sat up in bed and lifted up the telephone receiver. Only a dial tone. For the second time the telephone ring was only an impression. Closing her eyes, she laid both hands on top of the telephone. An ambiguous impression that someone was trying to contact her remained, but the harder she tried to receive the telepathic communication, the fainter it became, finally disappearing altogether.

  Her forehead was moist with perspiration when she finally gave up and put the telephone back in its place. Was Cassie trying to contact her, send her a message? For two nights in a row she’d received an impression of her telephone ringing but she’d been unable to grasp the origin.

  Tyla got out of bed, walked through her apar
tment and then sat down at her desk. She rested her head in her hands. Maybe it wasn’t Cassie. Clay? Had he been thinking about calling her? Perhaps he’d been staring at the phone with a compelling force that had been strong enough to transmit the imaginary ring of a telephone. Maybe she should call him. Just for verification, she assured herself, and not because she wanted to hear the deep timbre of his masculine voice.

  At two o’clock in the morning?

  She drew her hand away from the phone. What is the matter with me? Such impulses were totally ridiculous. Totally unprofessional. What would she say to him? Pardon me for calling in the middle of the night, but I thought you might be thinking of me so I decided to give you a ring? And if she tried to explain the weird psychic telephone call, what would he think?

  She threaded her hands through her hair in an exasperated gesture. Damn it, forget the whole thing and go back to bed.

  It was at times like this that Tyla wished she had a dog or cat for company. Turning into a regular old maid, aren’t you? She grimaced as she flung herself back into bed.

  She wouldn’t think about Clay Archer—she wouldn’t! Anyway, why was she so certain that the impression was coming from Cassie or from someone connected with her? She had plenty of other cases that were almost as challenging. Any one of her single mothers could be fighting a temptation to call her. She’d given them all her home phone number, assuring them that they could call at any time, night or day. But even as she considered the possibility, she rejected it. She’d been working with most of the single mothers for nearly a year, and she’d never experienced any kind of telepathic transference with any of them.

  She wished her father was still alive. He’d always helped her sort out her intuitions and hunches. She wondered what he would have to say about Clay. He’d probably tell her to trust her feelings. But that was the problem. She didn’t know which feelings to honor, the bewildering attraction Clay held for her, or the dark presentiment that hovered over him and Cassie.