To Tell the Truth Read Free Page A

refusal darkened his lean features. Then with an arched black brow and a mocking curve to his mouth, Tell relented, accepting the money she handed him. When they rose from the table, his hand closed over her elbow.
    "I'll walk you to the lodge," he stated.
    "That isn't necessary," Andrea protested.
    But one glance at the resolute line of his jaw told her that in this he wouldn't yield. She was beginning to learn that he was a man who knew what he wanted to do and did it. No one stood in his way unless he allowed it.
    The night sky was still spitting snow, the tiny flakes making a light film on the sidewalk. The firm grip on her elbow had relaxed, but she could still feel the touch of his hand through her lined parka. Their silence seemed out of tune with the laughter and voices of the other skiers traversing the square.
    "Were you very much in love with him?" The silence was shattered by his softly spoken question.
    "Who?" Andrea stalled, glancing at Tell in false bewilderment. But the dark, knowing eyes weren't fooled.
    "The man who's made you so afraid of becoming involved again," he answered calmly and confidently.
    Stating straight ahead, Andrea neither admitted nor denied his observation. His perception was unnerving. She wishednow that she had never accepted his invitation to dine at his table.
    "You must have been very much in love with him," he concluded from her silence. "Was he married?"
    There was anger in the glance she darted upward to his face, a resentment that he should continue to probe a wound that was so obviously still painful. He met her look and returned it, letting Andrea see that he wouldn't be put off by her silence—he demanded a response.
    "No, he wasn't married," she answered tightly. "We were engaged. A month before our wedding he decided he cared for someone else."
    "When was this?"
    A breeze swirled around the corner of a building, sending a light curl across her cheek. She pushed it from her face with impatient irritation.
    "Three years ago," was her stilted response.
    "That's about the time you told me you lost your father," Tell remarked thoughtfully. "And your mother several months before that. The pain didn't seem to stop, did it?"
    Keeping her chin at a defiant angle, Andrea rejected any sympathy or pity from him. But there was none mirrored in his tanned face as he reached past her to open the lodge door.
    "It happens that way sometimes," he said, shrugging philosophically. "Do you have the key to your room?"
    "Yes." Andrea produced it from her leather purse as his hand again touched her elbow.
    "You mentioned that you and your parents came to Squaw Valley quite often in the winter. You must have a lot of happy memories here," he commented.
    She almost breathed her relief aloud at the change of subject. It was strange the way the tables had turned. At dinner she had set out to find out about this tall stranger. Instead he was the one who was finding out about her private life.
    "Yes, many memories," she agreed.
    At the door to her room, Tell Stafford took the key and unlocked the door, handing the key back to her after he had pushed the door open.
    "I haven't thanked you for sharing my table with me. I enjoyed your company."
    He offered his hand and Andrea again felt the firm warmth of his grip. There was a dark sparkle in his gaze. She couldn't be certain, but she thought it was from amusement at the vaguely tense smile she gave him in return.
    "Yes, thank you, Tell," she said stiffly.
    "I'll probably see you somewhere on the slopes tomorrow," was his casual goodbye.
     

 
    Chapter Two
     
    AT THE END of her second run down Bailey's Beach, Andrea recognized the carnelian-colored ski-suited man waiting on the bottom. Sun goggles concealed the direction of Tell Stafford's gaze but he raised a ski pole in greeting as she approached.
    In a way, she hadn't expected him to seek her out today, not after the resentment she had shown him last night. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She