Free Beauty and the Brain by Alice Duncan Page B

self-assurance. “I won’t let it.”
    “Honestly,” Colin muttered, as if he could
think of only one thing more idiotic than baseball, and that was a
woman managing a team of Indian baseball players.
    But Brenda was having none of that. She
squinted at him “You don’t know anything about it, Colin
Peters.”
    She resented it when he rolled his eyes.
    “You’re right,” he said. “I know nothing
about playing ball games. Or you.”
    The way he said it gave her to understand
that he didn’t want to know anything about either of them, either.
Which was too darned bad because, she decided then and there, she
was going to pester Colin Peters until he either came clean and
admitted he was a fairy or unbent enough to be her friend.
Or—although she hardly dared think about it—something more.
    She only sent him a sweet smile and sailed
over to speak with one of her beaux, who’d been trying to catch her
eye for several minutes.
     
    Colin watched her walk away and wondered
what it was about her that seemed to bring out his least congenial
side. He wasn’t by nature rude, and his parents had taught him
vigorously and early how to behave in public. He’d known from the
time he was three years old that women were objects of respect and
consideration, even those who behaved in ways that would never be
tolerated in men. The three-year-old Colin hadn’t questioned these
teachings; he’d merely obeyed the rules of the game. It hadn’t
mattered to him anyway, since his mind was invariably on things
other than social situations.
    Yet here, in Brenda Fitzpatrick, he’d
discovered an object of irritation that he couldn’t seem to rise
above. Was it because she was so enticing? Perhaps. He pondered
that aspect of her being for a moment, and decided that, while it
was annoying to have her physical presence forever jostling his
senses, there was more to his aversion than that. If it was
aversion. Dash it, he was only confusing himself.
    “I have a feeling this is going to be a
lively production.”
    Colin turned to look at Martin, who had
spoken. “Er, yes.” Jarred out of his contemplation of Brenda, he
decided now was a good time to discuss some things with. Martin. “I
need to speak to you, Martin. About those Indians.”
    “Sure.” Martin gave him a grin that held a
modicum of wariness, as if he anticipated something unpleasant to
come. “Let’s go sit in the parlor.”
    “Very well.”
    Colin noted with some vexation that Brenda
was watching them as if she wanted to be part of this discussion,
whatever it was. He didn’t want her to be. She was only a woman and
an actress, and had nothing whatever to do with the important
aspects of the picture. With something that might have been
interpreted, even by himself, as pique if he’d seen it in another
man, Colin deliberately turned his back on her and walked along
with Martin.
    “I’m really glad it’s Brenda who’s playing
in this picture,” Martin told him with a pleased sigh. “She’s so
down to earth. No squeamish Mimi, Brenda. She’ll have made friends
of everyone in a day or two.”
    “Hmmm.”
    “Yes, indeedy.” Martin rubbed his hands
together in pleasure. “We’re fortunate to have her. She’s smart and
funny and a real joy to work with.”
    With whom to work , Colin thought
peevishly. Not that it mattered, and not that he generally spared a
thought for other people’s grammar. It must be that his senses were
disordered by that wretched woman. “Hmmm,” he said again.
    “It’s wonderful that she’s the actress
playing opposite those Indians, because everyone likes her, and she
likes everyone.”
    “Indiscriminate of her,” Colin murmured
nastily.
    Martin didn’t seem to have heard him, which
was probably a good thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met an actress
who was so little spoiled by her success,” Martin went on.
“Probably has something to do with her circumstances. She’s had to
shoulder more responsibilities than most