Free Mr Perfect by Linda Howard Page B

she was out of practice in getting along with men; since the breakup of her third engagement, she had been off men in a big way. But what woman wouldn't be, with her history? Three engagements and three breakups by the time she was twenty-three wasn't a good track record. It wasn't that she was dog food; she had a mirror, and the mirror reflected a slim, pretty woman with almost-dimples in her cheeks and an almost-cleft in her chin. She had been popular in high school, so popular that she had gotten engaged to Brett, the star pitcher on the baseball team, in her senior year. But she had wanted to go to college and Brett had wanted to give baseball a shot, and somehow they had just drifted apart. Brett's baseball career had been a nonstarter, too. Then there was Alan. She had been twenty-one, fresh out of college. Alan had waited until the night before the wedding, rehearsal night, to let her know he was in love with an ex-girlfriend and he had only gone with Jaine to prove he was really over the ex, but it hadn't worked, sorry, no hard feelings.
    Sure. In your dreams, bastard.
    After Alan she had eventually become engaged to Warren, but maybe she had been too gun-shy by then to truly commit herself. For whatever reason, after he asked and she said yes, they both seemed to pull back and the relationship had kind of died a slow death. They had both been grateful to finally bury the thing.
    She supposed she could have gone ahead and married Warren, despite the lack of heat on both their parts, but she was glad she hadn't. What if they had had children, then split? If she ever did have children, Jaine wanted it to be in a solid marriage, the land her parents had. She had never thought the demise of her engagements was her fault; two had been mutual decisions, and one had definitely been Alan's fault, but… was something wrong with her? She didn't seem to inspire lust, much less devotion, in the men she had dated.
    She was jerked out of her unhappy thoughts when T.J. stuck her head in the office door. T.J. looked pale. "A reporter for the News is here talking to Dawna," she blurted. "God, you don't think –?"
    T.J. looked at Jaine; Jaine looked at T.J.
    "Ah, hell," Jaine said in disgust, and T.J. was so upset she didn't even demand her quarter.
    That night, Corin stared at the newsletter, reading and rereading the article. It was filth, pure filth. His hands were shaking, making the little words dance. Didn't they know how this hurt? How could they laugh? He wanted to throw the newsletter away, but he couldn't. Anguish gnawed at him. He couldn't believe he actually worked with the people who had said all these hurtful things, who mocked and terrorized – He took a deep breath. He had to control himself. That was what the doctors said. Just take the pills, and control yourself. And he did. He had been good, very good, for a long time now. Sometimes he even managed to forget himself.
    But not now. He couldn't forget now. This was too important.
    Who were they?
    He needed to know. He had to know.

  
CHAPTER SEVEN
    It was like having the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head, Jaine thought gloomily the next morning. It hadn't dropped yet, but she knew it would. The "when" depended on how long it took Dawna to spill the beans that she had gotten the list from Marci. Once Marci's identity was known, they might as well all start wearing signs that said, "I'm guilty."
    Poor T.J. was worried sick, and if Jaine had been married to Galan Yother, she would probably have been worried sick, too. How could something that had been innocent fun between four friends have turned into something that might break up a marriage?
    She hadn't slept well, again. She had taken more aspirin for her sore muscles, soaked in a hot tub, and by the time she went to bed, she was feeling much more comfortable. Fretting about that darn article kept her awake long past her usual bedtime, and woke her before dawn. She positively dreaded getting the morning