Flirting With Temptation

The man sure knew how to hit the nail right on the head. If she didn’t go, she’d always wonder about the man who might be her father, wonder what he was like, wonder if she was like him…

A knock at the door had her whirling around. She spotted Muriel Ponsonby through the glass, and, for one brief moment, she was tempted to duck under the table and hide. Too late. Muriel was already waving at her.

“Hold on a minute,” she said to Jack. “Someone’s at the door.” She no sooner pulled it open than Muriel beamed a huge smile at her and said, “Missy La Rue had to cancel for bridge tonight, and Harold Mitzenfeld has agreed to fill in. I’m going to make sure he’s your partner.”

For a moment, Corie was sorely tempted to fake a faint. It couldn’t be all that difficult. All she would have to do was close her eyes and slip bonelessly to the floor. Then Muriel would have to find someone else to be Harold’s bridge partner. Middle-aged and portly, Harold Mitzenfeld was a recently widowed geology professor at the college. The few times she’d run into him in the library, his conversation hadn’t strayed beyond rocks.

“You’re speechless,” Muriel said, rubbing her hand together. “I knew you would be. I just had to let you know. Eligible bachelors are so hard to come by in Fairview, but I know your mother would expect me to do my best for you. And she would have approved of Harold. Now, don’t you be late.” With a wave, Muriel turned and hurried off.

Corie stared after her, but she wasn’t seeing Muriel. All she could see was her life in Fairview unfolding before her—an endless sea of bridge clubs, quilting circles, book discussion groups…and Harold Metzenfeld!

Whirling, she closed the door and marched back to the hall table. Jack’s face smiled up at her from the book jacket—pure temptation. Then she met her mother’s steady gaze—pure guilt trip.

In desperation, she glanced up at the mirror that filled the wall above the table. The person staring back at her did not look like she belonged in San Francisco. Plain brownish blond hair was slipping out of the bun she wore it in. Even at twenty-five, she looked to be exactly what she was—a plain-looking, boring college librarian. In short, she was the kind of woman that her neighbors thought was a perfect match for Harold Metzenfeld.

She did not want to be that woman!

Panic and frustration bubbled up inside of her. She’d felt just this way the day that she’d stood on the roof and wanted so much to fly. She did not want to be Corie Benjamin, drab librarian. And if she went to San Francisco, for seven whole days, she could try her wings and be someone else.

Grabbing the phone, she drew in a deep breath and said, “All right. Yes.” The moment the words were out, she felt her knees give out and she sank onto the nearest chair.

“Yes, you’ll come?” Jack Kincaid asked slowly.

Corie drew in a deep breath. It had to be easier to say the second time. “Yes. I’ll catch the seven-fifteen flight on Wednesday.”

“That’s great. I’ll meet you at the airport in the baggage claim area. I’m going to bring a friend with me. You won’t be able to miss him. He has very odd taste in clothes.”

Clothes! Corie’s eyes widened. If she was going to be someone totally different, she was going to need some new ones. And her hair—it was going to need some work too. “I just have one request. You said you’d do anything to help me make this decision.”

“Yes?”

“Before I make contact with…Mr. Lewis, I’d like a makeover.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. “A makeover?”

“Yes.” She very nearly smiled. It was the very first time she’d heard surprise in Jack Kincaid’s voice. “I’m sure you’ve seen them on TV—on Oprah? They take someone fairly…drab and ordinary and completely redo her hair, makeup and clothes. I’ll pay for it, of course. I just want to look my best if I’m going to meet my new family.”

“A makeover,” Jack repeated. “I’ll look into it. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Anything else?”

Corie narrowed her eyes as she stared once more at her reflection in the mirror. Was it her imagination or did she look different already? There was certainly a touch more color in her cheeks. And her eyes were brighter.

“No.”

“Good. You won’t regret this, Corie. I think you’ll find the evidence I’ve gathered very compelling.”

Corie sat right where she was for a few minutes after Jack broke the connection. In the two weeks since he’d contacted her, informed her of his theory and set her life spinning, she’d searched the house for some clue that what Jack had told her might be true, and she’d uncovered some compelling evidence of her own. Rising, she now went to the closet and pulled the box down from the shelf. She’d found it under a loose floorboard in her mother’s bedroom.

Removing the lid, she picked up the brown envelope and drew out her birth certificate. On it, her father’s name was Lewis Benjamin. Not Benjamin Lewis, but it was very suggestive. Replacing it in the envelope, she stared down at the bundles of letters. They’d been written over a period of twenty-six years and they chronicled every important event in her life. There were photos of everything—from her first bath to her first date. There was even a picture of the birthmark on her right arm—the one that her mother had always said was a mark of her heritage. The envelopes were stampless and unsealed. The letters were all written by her mother and addressed to a man named Benjamin Lewis. But they’d never been mailed. The “Benny Letters” was what she’d dubbed them since they’d all begun with “Dear Benny.”

Was Benjamin Lewis the charming man who’d lied to her mother? Corie suspected that he was. And that was just the first of many questions. If Benny was her father, why had her mother run away? Corie had only had to read the letters to know that her mother had loved the man she was writing to, so why hadn’t Isabella mailed them? And why had she kept “Benny’s” existence a secret?

Reaching beneath one of the packets of letters, Corie drew out the only other item in the box, a menu from Edie’s Diner, a restaurant in the same town that the Lewis Winery was located in. By calling directory assistance, she’d learned that the diner no longer existed. But when she contacted the chamber of commerce, they’d informed her that Edie’s place was now called the Saratoga Grill. She hadn’t called, but she intended to go there in person. Perhaps someone could tell her more about her mother.

As she closed the box, Corie wished it were just as simple to put a lid on the feelings rushing through her. Tomorrow she would take the first step on a journey that could lead her to her lifelong dream of having a real family. Tomorrow was the beginning of a whole new life—even though it might only last a week.

So why did she feel so…guilty? Placing the box back in the closet, she walked down the hall to the kitchen, passing by the living room she and her mother had used only on holidays and the dining room table that had never been set for company. How many years had she waited, hoping to break free of this house?

If her mother hadn’t died so suddenly two months ago, she might never have been able to leave. She might never have found out that she had a father and a family outside of Fairview. Instead, she might have ended up married to Harold Metzenfeld. Corie shuddered at the thought. Then she glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror and shuddered again. Maybe she wasn’t that woman who was staring back at her. Didn’t she deserve the chance to find out?

And she wanted to find out the answers to her questions. She was enough of a realist to know that she might not like the answers. But she owed it to herself to find out why her mother had spent so much of her life as a recluse—and why she wanted Corie to do the same thing.

She’d made the right decision.

If only she could get rid of the nagging voice in the back of her mind that was chanting her mother’s third commandment: Be careful what you wish for.

JACK ROUNDED THE CORNER, drew in a deep breath, and steeled himself for the final sprint that would take him to the end of Pier 39. At 6:00 a.m. the Fisherman’s Wharf area of San Francisco was one of his favorite spots. Later the stores and walkways would be thronged with people. Boats would be blowing their whistles, announcing departures to Sausalito or Alcatraz, and there would be ample evidence that only Disney World and Disneyland surpassed Fisherman’s Wharf as a tourist attraction.

But right now, there was silence except for the occasional sharp call of a seagull. Sprinting up a flight of wooden steps, Jack welcomed the burn in his shins and lungs. This morning he’d doubled the length of his run, hoping to ease his tension, but so far it hadn’t worked.

He should be feeling relieved and elated that he’d persuaded Corie Benjamin to come to San Francisco today. Instead, he’d spent two sleepless nights, and even now he had that anxious feeling deep in his gut, the one he always had when he was pursuing a lead and something was about to go wrong.

The moment the end of the pier came into view, Jack began to slow his pace. Sun glared off the water, and cars streamed steadily across the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. “San Francisco at its best,” his Aunt Mel would have said.

Just thinking about his aunt had his lips curving. He’d been five when his parents had died in a car crash. His father’s sister, Melanie Kincaid, had been in the navy at the time, and it had taken her six months to free herself up to take him in. The months in foster homes had given him the worst memories of his life. His years with his Aunt Mel had given him the best.

“We’re the last of the Kincaids, kid,” she’d said. “We’ve got to stick together.” And stick they had—until he’d gone away to college.

“Why in hell would you want to go a whole continent away? What’s New York got that you can’t find right here in San Francisco?”

Everything, Jack thought. Or at least that’s what he’d thought at the time. His smile faded as he reached the end of the pier and planted his hands against the railing. He hadn’t come here today to rekindle old feelings of guilt. He’d come here because he needed his aunt’s advice, and he always felt close to her here.

He glanced at the rows of shops and restaurants. She’d brought him here to celebrate every good report card he’d ever gotten. Since her disappearance twelve years ago, he’d come here whenever his work schedule permitted. Dropping his gaze, Jack watched the dark water swell and push against the pilings. “I was right to talk her into coming out here, Aunt Mel.”

Corie Benjamin was his ticket to finding out what had really happened to his aunt when she’d disappeared twelve years ago. He’d been sure then, and he was sure now, that Benny Lewis had been behind his aunt’s disappearance. Melanie Kincaid had been working as the Lewis family’s personal chef, and she’d discovered something about the family that disturbed her. She wouldn’t tell him what, only that she was going to check it out. Later he’d learned that she’d disappeared within hours of calling him that day.

If only he’d been closer, he might have…

Impatiently, Jack pushed the thought away. Wallowing in guilt wouldn’t change the fact that he’d been a whole continent away, and by the time he’d made it back to San Francisco, the trail was cold, and no one would listen to his theory of foul play. Even then, Benny Lewis had established a reputation of being a leader in the wine-growing community and a philanthropist. The police had even located a witness who’d seen a woman matching his aunt’s description jump off this very pier.

What Jack knew for sure was that his aunt would never have taken her own life. The fact that the Lewis family had insisted on holding a memorial service for their late chef had infuriated him. Hotheaded and grief-stricken, he’d driven to the Lewis estate that day and accused Benny of having his aunt killed. From that moment, he’d been a persona non grata at the Lewis Winery, and a recent article he’d written, part of a series called “Crime Families in the Twenty-first Century,” had rekindled the old animosity.

The cry of a gull overhead brought him back to the present. Shading his eyes, he watched the bird circle and then light on a second-story railing. For years, he’d nurtured a hope that his aunt might be alive. To this day, he was sure that he’d caught a glimpse of her at his college graduation ceremony. His roommate Franco had told him that it was just some kind of wish projection, but Jack hadn’t been entirely convinced. Then there’d been the anonymous fan letters that he’d received during the eight years he’d spent abroad, covering stories and writing the articles that would become his first book. At times, he could have sworn he heard his aunt’s voice and phrasing in them. But none of them had been signed, and the postmarks had all been from different places.

Turning, Jack glanced down at the dark water as it pushed against the pilings. It had been twelve years, and it all came back to the same question. If his aunt was alive, why hadn’t she ever contacted him in person? One thing he was sure of—Benny Lewis held the key to answering his questions.

With Corie at his side and the threat of scandal if the story of an illegitimate daughter wasn’t handled “properly” in the press, Benny Lewis would have to finally grant him an interview. Then he could complete his work on crime families and send it off. His publisher was already pressuring him to think about a series of articles on the Middle East, so the clock was ticking.

Jack pushed himself away from the railing and began to pace. Why in hell wasn’t he celebrating the fact that he’d convinced Corie Benjamin to fly out here?