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“Of course we have,” said the old man. “From the look of her, she’s that pretty psychologist Denise told me about, the one you had breakfast with this morning.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Colin told Alex, “news travels fast in Sobriety.”
She nodded, unable to say anything at the moment.
“Have to get this damn medicine down somehow,” Herb said. “Vet’s orders.”
“Maybe he just needs a little distraction,” Colin suggested.
He pulled up a chair next to Alex. Their knees brushed as he petted the little terrier. Odd that he had such powerfully built hands, yet they could be so gentle...
Dusty was enjoying all the attention, and he relaxed enough for a pink tongue to loll out. Herb popped the pill in, and Colin held the dog’s jaw shut, forcing him to swallow. Now Dusty got an offended look and hopped down from Alex’s lap.
“Done,” said Herb.
A silence descended. Herb glanced from Colin to Alex. “Well,” he said. “Guess you want me out of here. From what Denise says, you two have things to talk about. Come on, boy.” He left the kitchen, the little dog trotting after him.
Alex and Colin were still sitting knee to knee. She pushed her chair back awkwardly.
“Mr. McIntyre—”
“Colin, remember?”
“Right. Colin.” She felt foolish, didn’t know why, and that just made her feel more out of sorts.
He stood, took a mug from the cabinet and set it on the table. Then he opened a tin, pulled out a tea bag and filled a kettle with water. He placed it on a gas oven that looked too modern next to the lumbering wood-burning stove.
“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the domestic type,” she said.
“I can boil water. Don’t expect much else.” He turned his chair around and straddled it, resting his arms along the back.
“You remembered that I drink tea,” she said, feeling more foolish than ever.
“Sometimes I’m observant,” he said. “Take right now, for instance. You’ve tracked me down, Alex Robbins, but you’re still wondering if you even want to talk to me.”
“Of course I want to talk to you,” she said. “Why else would I be here—”
“You tell me,” he said.
She stared into his eyes, and her pulse did something erratic. She reminded herself how important her research was, the one thing giving meaning and shape to her life these days.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about that phone conversation I had with your boss the other day. He said some pretty interesting things... about that apartment fire, for instance. Apparently you were more than a little reckless in the process of rescuing that little boy. So reckless that both you and your partner almost lost your lives.”
She knew she was trying to goad Colin, unsettle him somehow. But all he did was gaze back at her impassively. The kettle whistled and he went to turn off the burner. After splashing some water over the tea bag in Alex’s mug, he sat down again.
“Don’t you wonder about it yourself?” she asked. “Why you need to risk your life.”
“I do my job,” he said. “That’s all.”
Alex shook her head. “It’s never that simple.”
“Guess it’s not,” he said. “Look at you, Alex. You keep saying you want to study me...but what you’d really like to do is catch the next plane back to Chicago and never see me again.”
She stared at him. “What makes you think—”
“Like I said, Alex—I’m observant.” He looked at her speculatively. “Have to admit I’m curious. What’s making you stick around here, doing something you don’t want to do?”
How neatly he’d turned the conversation from himself. Worst of all, how perceptive he was. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to feel this strange unease.
“Might as well drink your tea,” he said.
When she picked up the mug, her fingers trembled just the slightest. She set it back down quickly. What was happening to her?
She didn’t know. But whatever it was, it had something to do with Colin McIntyre. And that scared her most of all.
CHAPTER TWO
IF YOU WERE COMING to northern Idaho by plane, the Silver Lake airport was the closest you could get to Sobriety. Not that the airport was anything to shout about—commuter flights and twin engines were usually all that landed here. The fact that Colin’s fifteen-year-old son was arriving by charter would probably cause a commotion.
Colin stood at the window of the small airport building, staring out at the tarmac. The last time he’d seen his son was a month ago, and as usual the encounter hadn’t gone well. His ex-wife said he was just trying too hard with Sean, trying to make every visit an event. But when you were divorced and you only got to see your kid every so often...you had to make it an event, didn’t you?
Colin had an image of the way things should be when you had a fifteen-year-old son. The teenage years were supposed to be the special years, the best time to be a dad—throwing a football around in the park, hockey games, basketball tickets to the Lakers, fishing trips and backpacking through the Sierras. Trouble was, Sean didn’t seem to like doing any of those things with his father. In fact, he didn’t seem to like his father much at all.
Colin paced restlessly at the window. Sure, he’d put his time in when Sean was young. He’d done his share of diapers and midnight feedings, school plays, parent-teacher conferences. But for a while now Sean had been old enough for the good stuff—those special years. Only, the good stuff didn’t seem to be good enough for Sean. What was wrong with the kid?
Of course, there’d been a new development this past year: Sean’s landing a part on that TV show. It had complicated things big time. His son, the actor. He still couldn’t get used to the idea. In all fairness, he knew his ex-wife couldn’t get used to the idea, either. Beth hadn’t gone looking to make Sean a child star. She’d just been catering a party in L.A., and Sean had been helping her out. One of the guests had turned out to be a producer. He’d been intrigued with Sean, said the boy had potential. Next thing anybody knew, Sean was reading for a part. Next thing after that, he was in a TV series. Fairy tale come true...or nightmare. Because now, according to Beth, Sean was out of control. Beth was fed up with him, and Sean was being shipped out to Idaho for Colin to “set him straight.”
A speck appeared in the sky, grew larger, and soon his son’s charter came in for a landing. Colin watched from the window a moment longer, then realized he should be out there with a greeting. He was halfway across the tarmac when he saw Sean emerge from the plane. Taller, it seemed, than a month ago, and a little on the lanky side. The dark glasses he had on gave him a too-sophisticated look.
Colin raised his hand. Scan didn’t wave back. Instead he went down the steps and, without another glance in Colin’s direction, disappeared into a limousine waiting a short distance off. Then the limo drove away.
At first Colin thought it was just a misunderstanding. He even began to jog after the car. But then he realized what a damn fool he must look like, sprinting across the tarmac and waving his arms at a rapidly vanishing limousine. This was no misunderstanding. Sean had, for all intents and purposes, ditched him.
A few moments later Colin was in his Jeep. His son had a good start on him, and by the time he reached the highway he could barely see the limo way up the road. At least it was headed toward Sobriety. Colin pressed on the gas. Eventually he was right on the limo’s tail. He couldn’t see inside it, though, the windows were that tinted. What did he think he was going to do next—start honking, force the limo off the road? And then give his son a big welcome hug?
He followed the limo all the way into Sobriety, staring at the tinted glass that wouldn’t let him see in. And he couldn’t help noting that the dark barrier between his son and him symbolized their relationship precisely.
Question was...how did he get Sean to open up to him?
IT WAS ALEX’S SECOND visit to Herbie McIntyre’s house. As she used the old-fashioned brass knocker, she half expected to see Dusty the terrier come bouncing out. Instead, when the door opened, she was confronted by a teenage boy. He looked familiar, and no wonder. He was so much a younger version of Colin—the same dark hair, same intent blue eyes, maybe the same stubborn demeanor.
“Hi,” the boy said with interest.
“You’re late, Alex.”
Colin appeared behind the boy, and Alex was struck by the fact that the two were even dressed alike—khaki shorts and a Dodgers T-shirt for the man, faded cutoffs and a Packers T-shirt for the boy.
“Thought maybe you’d decided not to come,” Colin said quickly.
“Actually I’m right on time,” she told him, not seeing the need for that brief amusement in Colin’s eyes. Colin hadn’t argued about her coming over today, but he still hadn’t agreed to be her “guinea pig.”
“This is my son, Sean,” he said. “Sean—Dr. Alex Robbins.”
The boy gave Colin a disgusted glance and wandered back inside the house. Colin gazed after him with a slight frown. It seemed that the McIntyre males were at odds.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” Alex said.
“Unfortunately Sean doesn’t appear to know it, either,” Colin said dryly.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Do you have kids, Alex?”
“No,” she said, “but I do know a thing or two about them—”
“It wasn’t an accusation.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “More like a rhetorical question.”
“Could we just get started? I don’t think you’ll find our session too painful.”
“So now it’s a session,” he said, his tone ironic.
He led the way to a living room that was comfortably cluttered—a newspaper scattered on the coffee table, books with well-used bindings stacked on the shelves, a colorful rag rug with a dog bone tossed in the middle. What drew Alex, though, were the family photos tucked here and there. She drifted to the mantel and examined a picture of a much-younger Herb, his arm around a woman with soft, wavy hair. Another photo showed Colin with a strikingly beautiful brunette and a little boy who had to be Sean. Still another photograph, this one taking pride of place in the very center of the mantel, showed a cocky young man in an air force uniform. Again, the McIntyre genes were unmistakable.
Colin came to stand beside her, nodding at the first picture. “Herb and my grandmother. They got divorced a long time ago, but they’ve managed to remain friends. She’s the only person who can give him as much hell as he deserves.”
Alex moved on to the next photo. “Your wife?”
“Ex. Don’t know why Herb’s hanging on to that one.”
He didn’t sound disturbed, just indifferent. Alex studied the family grouping in the photograph: the little boy in front, about five years old, holding a toy airplane, oblivious to the camera, Colin with his arm draped casually around the shoulders of the beautiful brunette. She was turned toward him, laughing as if they were in the middle of an intimate conversation.
“Were you happy?” Alex asked. “I don’t mean the kind of happy that people put on for the camera. I just mean...were you happy?”
He remained impassive. “Is this part of being a guinea pig?”
She lifted her shoulders. “The personal life of the Type R man—believe me, that’s worth a couple of chapters in itself. But right now...I’m asking off the record.”
He gazed at the photo. “We were happy for a while, I think. At least, that’s my version. Maybe Beth would tell you different. She’d probably say I was a pain in the neck because I was always on the verge of breaking my neck.”
“Your boss was right, then,” Alex murmured. “You are reckless.”
He gave her a sardonic glance. “That’s not the only thing that drove Beth crazy. She was very good at living in the moment, taking one day at a time. I’m always pushing ahead. Always searching for something new...something different in my life.” He frowned. “Problem is, living in the moment has its drawbacks, too. If both of us had looked ahead more with Sean, we might have stopped this damned career of his before it even started.”
“Sean has a career?” Alex asked, intrigued by these glimpses into Colin’s life.
“Ever heard of Arrested Development?”
Alex nodded. “Vaguely. Television show, right?”
“I suppose,” he said gruffly. “It’s a sitcom about a police detective raising his two nephews. Sean plays the oldest kid.”
“No wonder he’s so familiar. I thought it was just the resemblance to you...but I’ve seen his face before. A couple of magazine interviews, maybe.”
“Too many,” Colin muttered. “All the publicity’s gotten out of hand. Everything’s gotten out of hand—Sean included.”
Alex picked up the photo, examined it again, then set it down.
“Sometimes,” Colin said, “I tell myself that if Beth and I were still together, Sean would be a whole lot better off.”
Alex heard the regret weighting his voice. “Hey,” she said, “it’s not like divorce is so uncommon. Seems to be happening to everybody.”
He studied her some more, and she found herself saying the rest of it. “My papers should be in the mail any day.” She tried to sound flippant but didn’t succeed. She was grateful when Colin didn’t attempt to be sympathetic.
“Married how long?” he asked.
“Eight years, if you count our anniversary last month. Not that I’m counting.” She wished she’d never brought up the subject of divorce—hers or anyone else’s. And she wished Colin McIntyre wouldn’t stand and stare at her with that quizzical expression.
“When the marriage turns bad,” he said at last, “it’s hard not to blame yourself.”
She glanced away. “Oh, I’m not that noble. I blame him plenty, too.” She went to sit on the sofa, then reached into her tote bag, drew out her tape recorder and set it on the coffee table. “We’ve gotten off track and we haven’t even started.”
“What is it we’re starting, Alex?” he asked gravely.
“Face it,” she said. “You’re curious. You want to know what it’s like to be a...guinea pig.”
He managed just a hint of a smile as he sat down in the armchair across from her. His attitude was clear: he gave her research so little credence he didn’t really care what she did next. Against her will, her gaze traveled over him. He looked ruggedly masculine in those shorts and T-shirt, his feet bare. Alex suddenly felt fussy and overdressed in her business suit.
She pulled a binder from her tote bag and flipped it open to the questionnaire she’d revised again and again. She started the tape recorder, then glanced at Colin.
“Will this bother you? Having their words on tape makes some people uncomfortable.”
“Not me,” he said.
She had the feeling that not much bothered Colin McIntyre. Of course, you couldn’t afford to be bothered by much when you risked your life for a living.
“Now,” she said, “the first thing I’d like to discuss—”
“Why rescuers?” he asked.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He settled back in his chair, looking completely at ease. “I’m just wondering why you decided to study so-called rescuers.”
She tapped a pencil against her questionnaire. “Well...if you must know, I’ve often asked myself the same question. It’s something that’s compelled me for a long time now. I don’t know why exactly.” When she realized how inadequate that sounded, she went on quickly. “I just kept wondering about people who put themselves on the line for others. You could say they do it out of altruism or heroism, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. I’ve found that a particular personality is drawn to rescue work. I’ve studied both men and women, of course, but I’ve chosen to focus on the Type R male—”
“You keep acting like I’m supposed to fit some kind of type,” Colin said.
“Let’s see...the Type R male. Arrogant, selfassured, thinks he’s invincible, doesn’t trust anybody but himself. Any of that sound familiar?”
Colin nodded. “Always wanted to be the kind who’d break the mold.”
“That’s another characteristic of the Type R man,” Alex said. She scanned her questionnaire. “Now, first off—”
“The guy you married. Was he a Type R?”
She stared at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just curious,” he said.
This interview wasn’t going exactly the way Alex had planned. “No, Jonathan is not a rescuer. He’s a lawyer, and a corporate one at that.”
Colin looked reflective. “Thought maybe you had a personal interest in the subject.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. “Like maybe I only date firemen.”
Somehow she had to get this discussion back on Colin. Once more she reached into her tote bag; this time she brought out a videotape.
“How much stuff have you got in there?” he asked.
“This is all that’ll be necessary. Can we play it?”
He didn’t seem overjoyed at the prospect, but he popped the tape into a VCR across the room and turned on the TV. A few seconds later an image of fire and smoke flared on the screen.
Alex stiffened, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. She knew what to expect——every time she watched this video, she felt an uneasiness she couldn’t explain.
Now it was starting all over again. A news anchor was talking about the small brushfire that had set an apartment complex ablaze...then the camera was panning the building itself, several stories high, smoke billowing from the windows, flames burning orange-red...
Alex felt as though a vise had clamped itself around her. The panic was worse this time—much worse. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Easy, she told herself, but the word made no sense. Nothing made sense at this moment.
The camera swung down and centered on Colin’s face—grim, soot-covered, eyes a cold, startling blue. And the vise tightened around Alex.
She stood, scarcely knowing she had. All she wanted to do was run away, escape the fear that engulfed her. The image of Colin’s face froze on the screen. Then Colin himself came to her. He took her hands in his.
“What is it, Alex?” he asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t answer him. All she could do was stand there, gripping his hands as if only he could save her.
But how could he save her from anything, when he was the one who frightened her?
FAMILY DINNER at the McIntyre house. Lots of good food and conversation. Amendment: lots of good food—tonight Herb had broiled some steaks and served them with crusty rolls, mashed potatoes and green beans—no conversation. The three McIntyres sat around the dining room table, no sound but the clink of forks against plates. Colin told himself you couldn’t have everything.
At last Herb, pointing his fork at Sean, spoke. “You’re next.”
“Say what?” Sean muttered, slouching in his chair, a long-suffering expression on his face.
“Tomorrow night you make dinner,” Herb told him. “And then your dad’s in charge night after that. We rotate.”
“Like I cook,” Sean said.
“You’ll learn or you’ll go hungry,” Herb retorted. “I guess on that television show of yours everything’s catered. But we don’t cater here.”
Sean mumbled something.
“Sean,” Colin said, “if you have something to say to your great-grandfather, say it. Otherwise...”
“I can handle him myself,” Herb said testily. “And I sure as hell don’t need anyone calling me a great-grandpa. Herb will do nicely.”
Maybe no conversation was the better choice. Sean hadn’t seen his great-grandfather—correction, Herb—since he was ten. The intervening five years hadn’t contributed to family togetherness, it seemed.
Sean mumbled something else.
“Speak up,” ordered Herb.
Sean glared at him. “I can’t cook.”
“First lesson is tomorrow.”
“Hell,” said Sean.
“That’s enough,” said Colin.
“I told you,” grumbled Herb, “I can handle him myself. Kid, you really like people waiting on you all the time? That’s what you want?”
Sean looked beleaguered. “I work.”
“Not real work,” said Herb.
“Yeah, right,” said Sean in a long-suffering tone. “Too bad I’m not slaving in a mine.”
“Damn right.” Herb pointed his fork again. “You find out what you’re really made of when you haven’t seen daylight for twelve hours, and you’ve got a drill hammering in your ears, and the muck is clogging your nose and your eyes, and you’ve just found out you’re pulling a double shift.”
“Your family owned the mine,” Sean said. “You didn’t have to work in it.”
“I wanted to work,” said Herb. “I was glad to work. No catering for me.”
“Hell, I work—”
“Not according to your mom,” said Herb. “According to her, lately you do everything but. Out late with a bunch of jerks.”
“They’re my friends—”
“Some friends, according to your mom.”
“When the hell does she talk to you—”
“Take it easy, both of you,” said Colin. “Sean, clean up your language and speak to your great—speak to Herb with a little respect. And Herb... give Sean a break. He does have a job. Maybe it’s not the kind of work you’re used to—but it’s work.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad,” Sean said caustically.
Colin studied his son. The boy had a belligerent attitude, but there was also a strain to his features, and an unhappiness the boy couldn’t quite disguise. You shouldn’t look like that at fifteen. Colin wondered what was going on with his son—and acknowledged he’d better find out soon.
“You know, Sean,” he said, “you can kick back a little here. This is supposed to be a vacation for all three of us.”
“Right,” said Sean in a low voice. “Just the three of us. Sure.”
“Sean,” Colin said, “whatever trouble you’re having, it might do you good to talk about it.”
“Who says I’m having trouble?”
“Your mother, for one,” Colin said. “Not that she’d need to—it’s pretty obvious something’s bothering you. I’m a good listener, believe it or not. Herb’s a good listener, too, even though he’d like you to think otherwise.”
“I’ll listen to anything that makes sense,” Herb said gruffly, tossing Dusty, who sat at his feet, a bit of crusty roll.
“I didn’t want to come here,” Sean said.
“You think that’s a surprise?” Herb asked. “All you’ve done since you got here is mope. Maybe we don’t have enough fans asking for your autograph.”
Sean stood up. For just a second he wore an expression of pure misery. But then it was gone, replaced by the belligerence. “Hell,” he said to the room at large, and made his exit.
Colin and Herb watched him go. “You could let up on him a little,” Colin said.
Herb snorted. “Think your method’s any better? One minute you’re disciplining him, the next you’re making excuses for him. I’m just trying to rile him, get him to open up. Something’s bugging him big time, and he needs to let it out.”
Colin could agree on the last point. He just didn’t agree with Herb’s way of doing things. Of course, his way wasn’t proving any better.
He didn’t know how to get through to his own son.
CHAPTER THREE
MAIN STREET IN SOBRIETY, Idaho, consisted of several blocks of ornate, redbrick buildings, facing each other like proper Victorian ladies and gentlemen in an old-fashioned line dance. Alex wandered along, stopping occasionally to gaze through store windows at any number of knickknacks. She knew that when you were a tourist you took leave of your senses and bought silly refrigerator magnets, gaudy teacups and cheap sweatshirts. Of course, Alex wasn’t in Sobriety as a tourist, and so far she’d managed to restrain herself.
“Hey, Dr. Alex.”
The voice came from behind her, deep and easy. Colin’s voice. She turned around and faced him with at least the appearance of calm.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you, Colin. Our appointment isn’t for two hours.”
“Appointment... that’s such an official-sounding word. How about we make it a date, instead?”
She saw the humor in his eyes and knew she ought to say something repressive. But all she could do was stand there gazing at him, in the middle of the sidewalk. Today he wore jeans and a blue-gray polo shirt. He looked dangerously handsome.