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  Ashley gave a little salute. “Yes sir.”

  Just then the side door banged open and the conversation was stopped in its tracks by a grand entrance.

  “Oh, no,” Ashley muttered.

  “Who’s that?” Zach asked.

  “Sonja Haager. She’s our choreographer.”

  Sonja glided to them, her face a mask of despair, her voice sailing imperiously throughout the room. “We cannot go on! It is impossible! The dancers they are having trouble with too fast a tempo while they must also sing!” Sonja’s accent was a combination of Rumanian heritage and Greek tragedy.

  “I told Matt it wouldn’t work,” Ashley mumbled.

  Zach leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Is the sky falling, or does she tend to dramatics?”

  Ashley turned toward him and realized, too late, that his lips were mere inches away. The effect of his closeness was downright frightening. Everything else faded from view, even the agitated choreographer. All the invisible shields Ashley had so painstakingly erected against emotional disruption crumpled like so much tissue paper, leaving her completely vulnerable. Never in her life had she experienced a reaction even close to this magnitude with anyone else. How foolish to apply silly words like “platonic” to this relationship! She loved him. Still. With a passion that not only had failed to diminish during their separation, but seemed to have grown to uncontrollable proportions.

  “Ashley?” His eyes narrowed in concern, deepening the fine lines at their edges. A very appealing expression. Ashley shook her head. This was a mistake, all of it. She hadn’t exactly dug her own hole, but she’d certainly leapt in with mindless abandon.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m afraid my mind was wandering.” Sonja’s high-pitched wail was re-entering her sphere of consciousness.

  The dancer’s whole body was one long dramatic statement. The near-skeletal thinness, the straight line of the back and the neck, the high carriage of the imperious head. She stood over Matt, arms flailing. “How could you do this to me? Are you expecting from me miracles?”

  Matt started to open his mouth to answer, then turned instead to Ashley, a look of trapped panic on his face. “Ashley?”

  Jerry looked over at her, his expression one of amused warning. “Ashley . . .”

  She hunched her shoulders. “Who else is going to deal with it?”

  Jerry grimaced. “You’ve got me there.”

  Ashley stood, turning to Zach. “Be back in a few minutes.” She went to Sonja, laying a consoling hand on her arm, and led her off to another room, with Matt trailing after.

  Jerry shook his head. “That girl’s going to run herself ragged. Well, Joe, are you ready to go in and watch the fun?”

  “Sure am.” They all stood up.

  “Zach,” Jerry laid a restraining hand on Zachary’s arm.

  “Could I speak to you privately for a minute?”

  Zach looked at Joe and Joe nodded. “Fine with me. Like the man says, we can’t talk in there, anyway.”

  “Okay.” The two men sat back down as Joe headed for the side door.

  “Listen, Zach — ” Jerry shifted his chair a little nearer “ — I don’t want you to feel like you have to run for cover every time one of us comes near you, but I have this little problem. . . .”

  By the time Ashley returned, Zachary was sitting alone in the big room, a bemused expression on his face. He looked up and watched her as she walked toward him. “Well, pretty lady, who won the fight?”

  “Sonja. Sonja always wins. She has an unbeatable tool on her side.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Intimidation. She intimidates all of us.”

  He cocked his head disapprovingly. “Now Ashley. That’s basic Psychology 101. If someone intimidates you, it’s because you’re allowing yourself to be intimidated.”

  “I know. But you try reasoning with a choreographer. As Craig says, unlike you or me, they’re wondrous but formidable creatures who accomplish incredible things without the detriment of logic.”

  “Sounds like a spoiled child who’s been indulged too long.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Sorry. I know not whereof I speak, so I shouldn’t. I have something else I’d like to talk to you about, anyway.”

  “Oh?” She sat down beside him.

  He leaned toward her, his elbows on his knees, an intense look on his face. “Honey, how about flying up to Stowe this weekend to meet me? The snow is supposed to be superior. You could continue your ski lessons, and we could have a couple of days all to ourselves.”

  Her expression became stricken. “Zach, I couldn’t possibly — ”

  He cut her off. “Come on, Ashley. Think about it before you automatically say no. Jerry told me again, after you left, that you really should take a rest — that he was sure everything could go along without you for a few days. You could fly out Friday evening and come back on Sunday in plenty of time for a good night’s sleep. The whole show couldn’t collapse in that amount of time!”

  She jumped up, terribly agitated. “Zachary, this isn’t fair! You’re putting pressure on me to do something I’ve already told you is impossible. These weeks of rehearsal . . .”

  “I know, are hectic. So tell me, how come you seem to be the only one who feels you’re indispensable every second of the time? Craig came in while we were talking about it, and he agreed you should get away.”

  “Dammit!” She whirled on him. “That takes a lot of nerve, to go around discussing me behind my back! I can’t go, and that’s that!”

  He got up slowly and stood silently for a moment, staring down at the worn floor. “This reminds me, unfortunately, of another period of time. When I not only slid way down from first place on your priority list but was, for all intents and purposes, dropped from your agenda.”

  “Zach . . .”

  “You used to be quick to tell me I was unreasonable. Well, so be it. Heaven forbid someone else should have to placate some irrational, eccentric hothead while you wasted your time with me!” With that, he strode across the room, picked up his coat and left.

  By the time Zachary reached his town house in Boston, it was once again past midnight. He headed straight for his bedroom. God, he was tired. He’d have to get off this crazy schedule soon, or he’d be a zombie.

  He didn’t know how he’d ever get to sleep; his mind kept turning their argument over and over, cringing at the memory of his tactless words, resurrecting her angry replies.

  Without allowing time for reconsideration, he strode across the room, picked up the phone and punched out her New York number. What a routine he was forming: screw things up when he was with her, then call in the middle of the night to apologize!

  “Hello.”

  Zachary almost hung up the phone, but social amenities were too deeply embedded. “Hello. Is Ashley there?” He’d never get used to the idea of calling the woman he loved in the wee hours of the morning and having the phone answered by a man. Especially when the man was related only by strains of music!

  “Is this Zach?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, listen, Zach, she’s here but she’s asleep. She felt crummy so I told her to hit the sack.”

  Zachary tried to clamp his mouth shut, but before he made it, the question popped out. “If she’s in bed, then what the hell are you doing there?”

  “Hey, whoa. For God’s sake, Jordan, lighten up. What the hell do you think I’m doing here? I’m finishing the arrangement we were working on while it’s still in my head. I have all my clothes on, and I haven’t set foot near the bedroom. Satisfied?”

  Zach ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, Matt . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what the devil’s gotten into me. I call to apologize to Ashley for being such a jerk today and end up apologizing to you for the same thing tonight.”

  “I hate to tell you, pal, but
it’s morning.”

  “Yeah, so it is.”

  “Listen, Zach, don’t sweat it. You’re in love. It does terrible things to the brain waves. Ashley’s in love. She’s also irrational. I wish you two would find a solution. Have you considered acupuncture?”

  Zachary chuckled in spite of himself. “That’s an idea. It’s about the only thing we haven’t tried.”

  Matt’s voice took on a more serious tone. “I wish I could help. I really do.”

  “Thanks, Matt. I guess we’ll just have to keep working on it. Say, would you do me a favor and not say anything . . .”

  “Rest easy. I’ll just tell her you called and said you were sorry she’s feeling bad.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Good night.”

  Zach put down the phone, feeling pretty crummy himself. They were both back on the treadmill, running in separate circles that seemed destined never to touch.

  Chapter Six

  As Zachary exited at the top of the Mt. Mansfield ski lift, he paused a moment to savor the beauty of the Vermont peaks. Stowe was covered with deep, newly fallen snow. A white-frocked wonderland. He sucked in a lungful of the clear, sharp air. With a wave at the young woman standing nearby, he shouted, “See you at the bottom!” She smiled and kicked off, heading down the steep slope with Zach a short distance behind.

  He watched her slim body gracefully parallel down the trail, aware that his own movements displayed the same ease, the same sureness. He and his sister had been racing down mountains for so many years that it held the satisfying comfort of familiarity — and right now Zach needed both comfort and familiarity.

  The bite of the cold air on his cheeks increased the exhilaration of his swift flight. How he loved it, the front of his skis skimming through the powder while the backs kicked up pure white wisps of flakes. He grinned as he slipped past his sister, pleased that this part of the pattern, too, was still in place. He always beat her, probably by dint of weight. He wanted no surprises, no alterations of habit; his psyche was jarred enough already. This weekend of skiing was designed to clear his head of stale New York air and jumbled emotions.

  As he schussed down the trail, he remembered that wonderful winter when he’d brought Ashley to Vermont. She didn’t consider herself much of an athlete, but she’d taken to skiing with an ease that amazed and delighted her. Zachary smiled, recalling her excitement when she had made her first full run down the beginner’s slope and her pride when she conquered an intermediate trail. Ingrained as she was with cadence and rhythm, both enormous helps in the movements of the sport, she was a natural. They’d always had such a wonderful time together everywhere they went. Zachary relished his role as teacher, and Ashley proved an apt and eager student who quickly took to the disciplines of not only skiing, but sailing and snorkeling as well. She even learned how to sustain a fair volley on the tennis court. Each sport seemed brand-new and exciting to Zach as he introduced Ashley to them. She was like an eager child, interested in everything, willing to try.

  Zach cut across under the ski tow to reach the steepest section of the trail. Life was so damned complex at times, so full of contradictions. In legal circles he was renowned for his clarity of thought, his ability to zero in on the core of a problem and find a solution. He could probably count the number of times he’d lost control of his dignity or his temper without getting to double digits. So how could a mind like his, orderly and disciplined, turn to mush merely through exposure to one woman?

  He was chagrined by the series of events in New York. The dinner at the Veau d’Or had been his idea; he’d initiated the lovemaking; it was he who’d fostered the ridiculous notion that they could be just friends. All his own doing, each step of the way, and he’d marred every encounter by displaying the unforgivably bad manners of an adolescent having a snit. Matt must be right — being in love did crazy things to the brain.

  He was approaching the final run, so he turned his skis straight downhill and crouched low. The speed was a tonic. The faint chance of danger a bracer. But even flying down the slope at a dizzying pace didn’t stop the relentless churning of his mind. He was still so much in love with Ashley that the mere thought of her demolished all orderliness in his mental process.

  When he reached the bottom, he flipped his skis sideways and dug in to stop. Emily was close behind him. She traversed to his side, a smile of pleasure on her face. “Hey, big brother, this is what I call perfect snow conditions!” Her skin was aglow, her cheeks red from the nipping wind.

  “It sure is.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. I’m famished.”

  When they sat across the table from each other over steaming bowls of chili and grilled cheese sandwiches, Zachary moaned, “I’m afraid my days of winning are numbered, you’re coming in closer and closer on my heels. Soon you’ll beat me and do irreparable harm to my masculine ego.”

  “Oh, poor baby. You’re losing your edge from lack of practice. What’re you doing, spending all your time in court or behind that imposing desk of yours?”

  Zachary stared down at his spoon, making lazy circles in the chili. “Well, not entirely.”

  “Mom said you had business in New York. That you planned to see Ashley.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is she?”

  “Very well. More beautiful than ever. More famous than ever. Looks like she has another hit coming up.” He kept staring downward, avoiding his sister’s knowing eyes.

  “How was it? Seeing her, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “Wonderful.” He glanced up and met her questioning gaze. “Awful.”

  “Discombobulating?”

  He laughed. It was their favorite expression for all unsettling events. “Yeah, every syllable’s worth.”

  She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I miss Ashley. She was always so much fun and so full of life. And it was exciting to hear about the different stars and all.”

  “Yeah, exciting. Her life is that, all right.”

  “Is her career still as important to her?”

  “Probably more so. Certainly more important than anything else.” That had been proven, once again, at their last meeting.

  “Any chance of your getting together?”

  “You mean for marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see how. It would be a little awkward to maintain two full-time households, one in Boston and one in New York.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like you can’t afford the plane fare.”

  He made a disgusted noise. “Come on, Emily. That’s no way to live. I want a wife to come home to at night. I want to have children.” He shrugged. “I guess, all in all, what I want is a conventional marriage.”

  “In that case, why not marry Joan?”

  “How the devil did Joan get into this?”

  “Well, she’d certainly be willing to be the kind of wife you say you want. And she’s pretty and nice and from a ‘proper’ background. And she’d marry you in a minute. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s got her wedding dress in the closet just hoping you’ll pop the question.”

  Zach couldn’t help laughing at that. “Oh, Em, how you exaggerate!”

  “Not at all. In case you don’t know it, brother dear, there are vast numbers of attractive, suitable women who’d jump at the chance to marry you. In fact, I’m sure I could make a bundle by raffling you off. If you’d go along with it, of course.”

  “Good Lord. What would you charge, five chances for a dollar?”

  “Nah. I’d get more than that.” She studied him sympathetically. “I have a feeling that you really still want Ashley.” He looked at her for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. You probably think I’m nuts.”

 
“Not at all. She’s the best of the bunch.” Emily took a sip of cola, watching her brother over the rim of the glass. “Zach, your problem is that you’ve fallen in love with an extraordinary woman, and you want to turn her into an ordinary housewife.” She paused. “Remember that old song Fred Astaire used to sing about an irresistible force meeting an immovable object?”

  He plunked the spoon on the table in exasperation. “Em, what’s the point?”

  “Don’t you remember the lyrics? ‘Somethin’s gotta give, somethin’s gotta give’. . . .”

  “Does it have to be me?”

  “In some ways, I think it does. Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, Ashley would be a fool to give up all that success to stay home to play the good wife and mother role.”

  Zach sat back in his chair, scowling at her. “There’s plenty of theater in Boston. Why couldn’t she be content with participating in that?”

  “That’s like suggesting that a major league baseball star make a permanent move to a farm team.”

  “Okay. I concede the point. So we’re back to the same conclusion I’ve already reached. It’s hopeless. Hurry and finish up, we’ve got some serious skiing to do.”

  Emily was not to be detoured. “What took you to New York in the first place? Is Mom right? Did one of your clients actually invest in Ashley’s musical?”

  Zach hesitated. He wanted to get off this subject, but he didn’t want to hurt Emily’s feelings by being curt. “Yes. Joe Sanders . . . you know, you met him about a month ago when you dropped into the office. Good-looking, in his sixties, with gray hair?”