Free To Tell the Truth by Janet Dailey Page A

introduction was abruptly halted by Tell's slicing response. "Yes, I have."
    Andrea had been carefully avoiding looking directly at him until it was absolutely necessary, but his words shocked her into staring. Her heart stopped as his piercing gaze slashed her to ribbons.
    His hard mouth was lifted at one corner in a mocking curl, deriding the pleading look in her eyes. "Actually," he said lazily, "I saw her when we drove in, picking flowers." He placed cutting emphasis on the last words, before he glanced at John. The sardonic expression was replaced by impassive courtesy. "But we haven't been formally introduced. She is your wife?"
    John took hold of her hand. It was a touch of warmth that she desperately needed as cold fear raced through her veins. She looked down with gratitude at his reassurance that she was not alone.
    "More than that, Tell. She's my secretary, my companion, my supporter and—"
    "Your youth?" Tell's quiet insertion held no sarcasm of mockery, but Andrea knew it was there. Concealed from John, but it was there.
    Swallowing nervously, Andrea watched the slight narrowing of John's gray eyes as he silently studied Tell. "That, too, I suppose," he admitted after a long moment. "But let me formally introduce you. Andrea, this is Tell Stafford, Rosemary's son. My wife, Andrea."
    Her son? Not Nancy's fiancé? Her knees nearly buckled at the announcement. The different surnames had thrown her. In the unexpectedness of seeing him again, Andrea had forgotten that Tell had told her his mother had married again when he was a child. She hadn't realized the additional agony she had felt picturing him in the young woman's arms until it was suddenly cast away.
    The discovery made the beautiful smile she gave him blissfully warm and natural. If anything, his expression hardened under the glow of her look. Her hand had been automatically extended in greeting. He glanced at it pointedly. Instantly, her joyous relief dissipated as she thought for one humiliating moment that he was going to rudely ignore her outstretched hand. Then his lean brown fingers closed over it, releasing her hand almost immediately, almost as if there were contamination in her touch.
    "And of course all of you remember Adam Fitzgerald," John continued, allowing a slight pause for Andrea and Tell to acknowledge their introduction before drawing the group's attention to the man standing just inside the door, "my manager and my legs."
    As everyone turned to greet Adam, Andrea slipped back to take a less obtrusive position behind John's chair and escape their notice for as long as possible. But Tell noticed her attempt to fade into the background, sarcastically raising one dark brow in mockery. Andrea's gaze fell away from his arrogant contempt.
    The respite was brief. Much too soon Andrea was pushed to the foreground when John suggested that she show their guests to their rooms, while he quickly went over the timber leases with Adam before lunch. Hotly aware of Tell's dark eyes boring into her back, she led them up the stairs, wasting little time directing them to their respective rooms.
    "How thoughtful of John to give me my old room!" Rosemary exclaimed as Andrea opened the door to the damask bedroom, a name she had attached to the room because of the beautiful, old damask bedspread that covered the antique four-poster bed. "He must have remembered how fond I was of the spectacular view of the mountains from this window." She smiled over her shoulder at Andrea. "And Nancy has her same room, too. It's like coming home."
    "We expected your husband might accompany you. That's why the adjoining bedroom is prepared for—" Andrea stumbled, unable to speak Tell's name "—your son. I'm sure Mrs. Davison and I could quickly enough get his old room ready. I'm afraid I don't know which one it is."
    It was still difficult for her to accept that Tell had spent any time in the house that was her home.
    "He used to have the room on the right where the mock tower