TWENTY-ONE
The rain was falling so hard that if Madeline could have reached her mother, she wouldn’t have been able to hear her. She put her phone aside and turned around—and saw Luke beneath the arched entry into the kitchen and dining area. He was leaning up against it, holding a frozen pizza. He smiled at her. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Madeline said gratefully.
She followed him into the kitchen, watched him turn on his oven, then slide in the pizza. He then reached into his fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. He twisted the top off of one and put it in front of her. “We should toast your great sale,” he said.
Madeline stared at the bottle as he took the top off the second one.
“Don’t tell me you don’t drink beer,” he said.
“Rarely.” She glanced up at him. “Okay, never. I drank it once.”
“Don’t like the taste?”
“No, that’s not it. I don’t drink very much. I spent too many years cleaning up after my mom’s drinking.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But this is good beer, and your big sale deserves a big toast.”
He was right. If Trudi were here, she’d be yelling at Madeline to step outside her bubble, pick up the beer and drink. She smiled at the image of Trudi and picked up the beer. How ironic that of all the people in the world who should be here to share this moment with her, it wasn’t Trudi, it was Luke Kendrick.
“To Blue Eyes Pruett,” Luke said, lifting his bottle aloft, and nodding at her to do the same. “The best realtor in Orlando, Florida.”
Madeline grinned. “Here, here,” she said, and tapped her bottle to his. She drank hesitantly, but was surprised that the beer went down smoothly. “Hey,” she said. “It’s good.”
“Of course it’s good,” Luke said. “It’s made right here in Denver with pure mountain water.” He gave her a wry smile and turned back to the stove.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting side by side at his kitchen bar, eating pepperoni pizza, drinking beer, and chatting. Luke was great company, Madeline had to admit. He was easy to talk to, and seemed genuinely interested in her.
He asked how she got into real estate.
“Looking for something,” she said picking at the pepperonis on her second slice. “I wanted to go to college. I had grand dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer. You know, something important,” she said with a laugh. “If I could have figured out how to do it, I would have, but unfortunately, we didn’t have the money for me to go to college.” She bit into her pizza. The lack of money was a sore spot for Madeline. Her grandparents had saved for her college, but they’d made the mistake of leaving her mother in charge of it. It was the story of her life—her mother abused her parents’ trust and their resources time and again, and time and again, her grandparents kept trying to pretend their daughter was a stand-up adult.
“So you went into real estate.”
“Yep. I was looking for a profession where I thought I could make a decent living and one that I would like. One summer, my best friend’s parents put their house on the market, and I just happened to be there when their realtor came to talk to them about listing it. I remember thinking she was so pretty, and so professional. But what really impressed me was that she was driving a BMW.” Madeline laughed.
He smiled. “There are worse reasons to choose an occupation.”
“What about you? Why did you choose architecture?”
“Same kind of thing,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t good enough at football to go pro after college. And I hated English.” He laughed. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Then my mom got sick, and college became a hit-or-miss kind of thing. I would go one semester, drop out the next. Enroll again. It took me almost six years to finish as it was.” He tossed a crust onto his plate. “If that doesn’t focus you, nothing will. I landed on architecture and didn’t look back. I couldn’t afford to look back. And I’m struggling for time,” he added with a shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish the semester because I’ve missed too much. I have to redeem myself next week on a test, or I have to drop the class.”
“Oh no.” Madeline would be beside herself if she’d paid for a class and couldn’t finish it. She looked at Luke’s hands. They were strong hands, with thick fingers, a scar across the back of one, calloused across the pad of his right hand. He’d built his life with his hands.
“It’s not the end of the world,” Luke said. “If I have to, I’ll just take it again.”
“Are you glad you chose architecture?” Madeline asked.
“Yeah, I am. I discovered that I really liked the math and puzzle of it. You know, putting things together, making different designs work.” He suddenly smiled at her, and—whether it was the beer or the moment, Madeline was dazzled by it. Truly dazzled. Warm and fuzzily dazzled.
She smiled, too, took another swig of her beer. “I would love to see your houses and designs sometime. Houses are my thing, you know.”
“I know,” he said watching her. “Ironic, huh?”
She smiled. “A little.” They sat gazing at each other. Madeline could feel the tension swirling around them again, but then the lights over the bar suddenly flickered. She and Luke looked up at the same moment, and in the next, the power went out.
“Great,” she said.
“It happens a lot in the spring. Hold tight,” he said, and got up from the bar, disappearing into the living room. Madeline shivered; the kitchen and dining area were awash in the green, murky light of the storm. All around that little bungalow, the wind howled, and flashes of lightning illuminated the room for a few seconds before the rain swallowed up the light and made the room murky again.
A moment later, Luke reappeared. He had a flashlight. “Grab the beers, okay?” he said, and held out the light, pointing it on the floor where Madeline was to walk. He led her into the living room, where he had propped two floor pillows against his couch, just before the hearth.
“Fabulous!” she said. It was warmer before the fire. They could hear the storm raging, could still see the flashes of lightning, but the fire seemed to form a barrier between the storm and them.
Luke’s legs stretched long in front of him, his arm casually draped across the couch behind her. “So who is Trudi?” he asked. “You’ve mentioned her a few times.”
“She’s the sister I never had,” Madeline said airily, before she realized what she’d said. She smiled sheepishly. “I mean, until now.”
“That must be strange, finding out about siblings at this stage of the game.”
“It’s surreal,” Madeline agreed.
“What about your mom?” he asked. “She didn’t know about them?”
Madeline snorted and settled deeper into the cushion. “No.” She felt warm and fluid after two beers, and uncharacteristically trusting. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said sagely. “My dad wasn’t the only bad parent in my life. My mother…” She took a breath and let it out, slowly, thinking how best to describe her. “She’s not very responsible. No, wait, let me rephrase that. She’s totally irresponsible,” she said, pointing with her beer bottle for emphasis. “I’ve always had to take care of her.”
“I gathered,” he said. He put his hand on her leg and squeezed softly. “Sorry.”
“I’ll break it down for you,” Madeline said, feeling safe. “One, lots of stepfathers and stepfather wannabes. Two, she never held a job more than a couple of months. Three, she squanders everything anyone ever gives her, and four, she’s kind of self-centered.”
“Wow,” Luke said. “Sounds like you’ve had a tough life.”
“You have no idea.” Madeline liked this, she thought. She didn’t get any judgmental vibes from Luke. He made it easy to confess the truth about her family. “I had good grandparents,” Madeline said with a shrug, as if that made up for the completely ineffectual mothering she had received. “I bet your parents were Ozzie and Harriet.”
Luke gave her a rueful smile. “I won’t lie—they were pretty damn good parents. I had a great life at the ranch.”
“Until now,” she said.
Luke didn’t say anything at first. He turned his head and looked at her, his expression resigned. “Until now,” he agreed.
Madeline felt bad for him, truly horrible. But she couldn’t change what had happened to his family. She looked to the window; the rain was still coming down hard, but the wind had begun to die down. Her gaze fell on a picture on a shelf on the wall. She could see Luke and a man who looked a lot like him. Luke had his arm draped around his shoulder. But sitting just to his left was the blonde woman who had come into the Stakeout the first night she’d met him. “Hey,” she said, pointing her beer bottle at the picture. “That’s Julie What’s Her Name.”
Luke glanced up from the study of his beer label and seemed surprised. “I forgot that was there.” He hopped up, walked across the room, and picked up the picture. He took it down, slid it onto a table inside the entry hall.
“Why’d you do that?” Madeline asked as Luke settled back onto the floor beside her. “Isn’t she your friend?”
“More like someone I used to know.”
Madeline felt as if she’d intruded on something very personal. It seemed obvious to her that Libby was right—he still had feelings for Julie. “She must be more than that if you don’t want to talk about her,” she said, and glanced at Luke from the corner of her eye. She smiled. “I’m just saying.”
Luke smiled wryly at her attempt to elicit information about Julie from him. “You don’t want to hear about it, trust me. It’s boring.”
“Yes I do. For one, I’m a good listener. Two, I am basically nosy.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’re right,” Madeline agreed. “I’m not really a good listener.”
Luke laughed outright. He tapped his fist against Madeline’s knee as if he were considering it. “It’s old news, Maddie.”
“Not to me.”
“Ay yi yi,” he sighed. “I was engaged to her, okay? But then she called it off.”
“Why?” Madeline asked before she could stop herself. “No, sorry, scratch that. I’m too nosy.”
“It’s all right,” he said, and tapped his fist against her leg again. “My brother got sick. He has a nerve disease that attacks the muscles.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Madeline said, and pictured something like muscular dystrophy.
“Yeah, that was heavy, but we were managing to get on with it, and then my mother got sick. I don’t think Julie could handle all the attention my family needed from us.”
Madeline gaped at him. That seemed so callous to her. “I’m sorry, Luke,” she said softly. “That must have hurt.”
“Sure it did.” He smiled ruefully. “But it was a while ago, and you know how those things go. You get over them.” He tapped her knee once more. “You know what I mean.”
“Umm…” She tried to think of something clever to say, but her hesitation led him to cock a brow.
“Wait—you haven’t suffered a bad breakup?”
Madeline shook her head.
“Seriously?”
“I dated a guy a couple of years ago. He broke up with me.”
“How long did you date him?” Luke asked curiously.
“I don’t know exactly—four or five months?”
He reared back a little as if he didn’t know what to make of her. “I am not talking about puppy love, baby. I’m talking about full-on adult love. You know, men and women, sex, rock and roll—a lot of emotions and things you wish you’d never said, more things you wish you’d said. Crazy love, crazy pain.”
When he put it like that, heartbreak sounded almost desirable. But the truth was that Madeline hadn’t experienced anything like that. She’d never allowed herself to get close enough for that. She was an expert at keeping a respectable distance from emotions, which was why Trystan broke up with her.
“You’re kidding, right?” he insisted. “Never?”
“No,” she said, her face flaming. “Don’t make fun.”
“I’m not making fun.” He shifted around to face her. “But are you telling me you have never been in love? How old are you, anyway?”
“God, Luke,” she said, trying to squirm away, but he stopped her with a hand to her leg.
“How old?”
“Almost thirty,” she said, feeling slightly apologetic for it. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not so unusual.”
“Wait,” Luke said, ignoring her argument. “What about the guy?”
“What guy?”
“The guy, the guy,” he said, gesturing at her with his hand. “The one you sort of acknowledged at dinner the other night.”
“Who, Stephen?” she asked.
“Ha! I knew there was someone. So Stephen, what about him? What’s wrong with him?”
“There is nothing wrong with him,” Madeline said. “He’s a great guy. It just takes a lot for me to get emotionally invested.”
“Aha,” Luke said, eyeing her curiously. “I get it. Either this guy is beyond lame, or you’ve got some impossible standards. What does it take?”
She snorted. “Come on, Luke.” She moved to stand up, but he was too quick. He caught her wrist and held her there.
“You come on, Maddie. Tell me what it takes for you to become emotionally invested.”
A million things flitted through her mind. Trust. Belief. Courage. She had never really put actual words to the fears that tumbled around in her. “I don’t know,” she said impatiently, and tried to pull her wrist free of his grasp.
But Luke tightened his hold. “I think you do know. You can tell me, Maddie. I won’t laugh, I won’t judge. And in a few days, when you go back to Orlando, you can forget you ever said anything.”
“What difference does it make?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, his lips warm and soft on her skin. “But it does. I like you, Blue Eyes. And I am curious to know what demons are hiding in that hot body of yours.”
Madeline’s pulse began to quicken, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“So what is it that keeps you from putting yourself out there?”
She didn’t want to acknowledge what had been rattling around in her for so long, shaping her, forming the hard edges of her life.
Luke’s expression softened; he seemed to get that this had gone from a playful conversation to something more serious for Madeline. He cocked his head to one side, brushed his knuckles against her face, pushing her hair away. “I wasn’t kidding, you know. You can tell me. Whatever you say is safe with me.”
He said it so casually, as if it were a matter of course for him. As if someone off the street could tell him things and he would keep them safe. His voice, his expression, cloaked Madeline with a sense of security. “I have to know that they aren’t going to leave me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to tell him that they’d all left, every one of them. Her father, the men who had traipsed through her life with her mother. It was weird—she had wanted them all to leave and for so long and had harbored some stupid hope that maybe her father would come back and rescue her. Eventually, when they all left, and her father never came, the girl in Madeline had convinced the grown woman that it was because she somehow deserved it.
She opened her mouth to say all those things, but couldn’t find the courage. She closed her mouth. Luke’s expression didn’t change; he traced a finger under her chin. “But how will you know they will never leave you if you don’t put your heart on the line once or twice?”
“I know, it’s screwed up. Believe me, I know,” she admitted. She’d said too much. She felt a little short of breath. She pulled her hand free of his grip and tried to wave it off. “No big deal,” she said, wanting to erase her confession. She picked up her beer bottle, downing the little bit that was left, and peered into the empty bottle.
“No?” Luke said, and settled back, away from her, his expression dubious. “It seems to me that it’s had a great effect on you. I mean, you just said you can’t get emotionally invested with this guy.”
She forced smile. “I just sort of suck at dating, that’s all. Stephen is a great guy. But I don’t have a lot of time for him.” That was all she was willing to admit.
Luke chuckled.
“Why is that funny?” she asked, confused.
“Because you don’t lie very well, Maddie. You know what you need?”
Madeline sighed dramatically and fell back against the pillows. “Go ahead, take a number. There is always someone waiting in the wings who can’t wait to tell me what I need.”
Luke was undeterred. “Maybe you should put down the highlighter and just let life happen.”
“Ha,” she said with a snort. “You think I haven’t heard that before? News flash, I know I’m a control freak. But that doesn’t mean I can just snap my fingers and make it go away, any more than you can make your attachment to a woman who dumped you go away.”
Luke’s smile suddenly faded, and Madeline felt horrible. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, and sat up, put her hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. See? I suck at this.”
Luke grinned. “You said you suck at dating. Does this mean we’re dating?”
“No!”
With a laugh, he gracefully hopped to his feet. He moved to the bookshelves and turned on a radio.
“Hey,” Madeline said as country music began to fill the room. “How did you do that?”
“Backup battery.” He stepped across the pillows and reached out his hand. Madeline eyed it suspiciously. “Come on, give me your hand. Let life happen.”
He smiled so charmingly that Madeline hesitantly slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“I’m going to show you one very easy way to loosen up.”
“I don’t need to loosen up—”
“Madeline.”
She sighed. “You sound just like Trudi, you know that?”
His smile deepened. He slipped his hand inside the jacket she was wearing, around her waist, and pulled her into his chest.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stiffening, panicking slightly. “My God, I don’t dance, Luke.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said easily. “Everyone does. It’s just that everyone has their own rhythm.” He pulled her closer, tucked her hand and his between them, and put his chin against the side of her head. “Relax,” he said softly. “It’s just a dance.” He swayed with her to the right, then to the left, and back again. “Move your feet.” He guided her again, moving her slowly one way, then the other, moving just enough to force her to take steps.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, but the truth was that it was nice. Very nice. She was moving on a cloud, her eyes closed, nothing but the strength and feel of Luke against her, the music washing over them and mixing with the sound of the rain. She could not remember the last time she’d felt so soothed, so mellow, so relaxed.
Around the room they languidly went, the music mixing in with the sound of the rain on that dark, fire-lit evening. Madeline let herself go down the path of desire that steadily built. She was floating along with very little thought; she didn’t think about Julie or Stephen. She didn’t think about DiNapoli. She didn’t worry about complications or where this thing with Luke was going, or what it meant. She just allowed herself to exist in that very pleasant, slightly magical place.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder and allowed him to move her along until the song ended. Even then, he didn’t stop right away. He continued to sway a little bit until Madeline opened her eyes and looked up at him.
His gaze was warm, shining from somewhere deep, mesmerizing her. She felt fluttery again, just like the first time she’d seen him on Sometimes Pass. Madeline didn’t flinch, she didn’t look away as was her nature. She knew he would kiss her again. She knew before he lowered his head, before she lifted hers, that she would forget her private vow not to let it happen again.
When he did kiss her, Madeline was not prepared for the kiss that it was. She would not have guessed that a kiss so warm and gentle on her mouth could be so arousing. Her reaction was purely visceral; her mouth opened, her tongue met his. He pulled her tighter against him, pressing into her, and Madeline’s hands found his shoulders, his neck. His kiss was deliberate, and she found it to be devastatingly sensual, exciting to the point that it seemed to spill over its edges and splash around them, filling the space in that cottage, filling her lungs and eyes and ears and heart with it.
It seemed to last only moments before he lifted his head and left her wanting more. Her hands were still on his shoulders. Her lips were still wet. “I thought we agreed this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Did we?” he asked, his gaze traveling her face.
“I don’t remember,” she lied.
Luke smiled and lowered his head to hers once more, but this time, Madeline kissed him back. She kissed him like she had never kissed another man, like she had never imagined kissing anyone in her life. She could feel him in every pore, could feel her body soaking him up like a big ocean sponge. She felt full to bursting with want and hope and… and giddiness. Something in her snapped free and let go. Her inhibitions began to melt away like tiny little snowflakes. The blood in her veins began to turn to fire; she was erupting with desire so strong that she’d lost control of it before she realized it was there. It pushed against her, demanding release. The feel of his hard body beneath her hands was fanning the burn in her; she put her fingers in his hair, traced his ear, brushed her palm against his shoulders and chest.
His hands were moving, too, cupping her bottom, sliding up her ribs, to her breasts. She made a cry of surprise into his mouth when he lifted her off her feet and took them both down to the pillows before the hearth. He came over her, draping his leg across hers, and kissing her so fully that Madeline couldn’t help but cling to him and inhale the heat from the fire burning through her now.
The fire was so bright and intense that she did not feel uncomfortably exposed when he dipped his hand into her dress and freed one breast. Her head did not fill with questions of what she was doing, of warnings to flee when he took her in his mouth. On the contrary, she ignored who she was and lifted one arm overhead and closed her eyes, giving into the lush sensation of his mouth and his hands and his body on hers.
When his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress, she didn’t fight the urge to close her legs as she had in the past. It was as if that Madeline had been left behind in the Grizzly Lodge, and this Madeline was letting herself go, letting herself ride this storm, letting herself openly forage in the garden of sex.
He stroked her between her legs, his fingers dipping inside her. When she thought he would plunge into her and take her like a man who could only be sated by a woman’s flesh—and yes, she would have liked that very much—he suddenly slowed. He kissed her tenderly, his hand cupping her face, his lips pressing against her temple, her cheek, her mouth. He was almost reverent, certainly caring.
She understood why he was so careful with her. She was so uncertain around him, about so many things. But in this, she was surprisingly certain. In a few days, she might never see Luke again, so tonight, she was going to let the mountains pull her to them. She was going to let herself off her leash.
Madeline pushed Luke, forcing him onto his back. He laughed with surprise, but when Madeline straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt, his smile faded. His hands went to her arms, pushing the flannel jacket off of her. “Hey—” he started.
Madeline kissed his mouth before he could say anything, then traced a wet line down his chest, nibbling him. Luke’s eyes darkened; she could feel his body responding, hardening and pressing against her. She felt completely outside of herself, as if she were someone else entirely—a sexy, desirable woman.
Luke sat up, his arms around her, holding her tightly and kissed her fiercely. She dropped her head back so that he could devour her neck. “You’re driving me wild,” he growled into the hollow of her throat.
“Then we’re even,” she said huskily.
He made a sound deep in his throat and easily flipped her onto her back, kissing her as he unfastened his jeans and kicked them off. He sat up and removed his shirt, then braced himself above Madeline, his arms taut. He gazed down at her, dark-eyed, his jaw clenched as if he was holding himself back. The fire cast shadows across his face that made him look even more powerful. Like a warrior, Madeline thought dreamily. She smiled and touched her fingers to his face. “You are amazing.”
Luke groaned and lowered himself to her, kissing her, his hands on her breasts, on her waist, between her legs.
Madeline felt herself sliding onto a little raft, floating on her own private sea of sensation. He moved between her legs and entered her so fluidly that she gasped with the pleasure of it. She opened her eyes and did not shy away from his gaze as he watched her, moving inside her, stroking her hair, kissing her mouth, her face. Madeline kissed him, too, his shoulders and chest, her hands sliding over rock-hard hips, then touching her fingers to his mouth.
They made love before the hearth, their breath hot and hard, their caresses urgent, their bodies slick with the intensity of their lovemaking. When Madeline’s body did at last erupt with the sensation of his touch, she felt herself showering down with the rain in that little bungalow.
He followed her, burying his face in her hair as he found his release.
Sex with Luke went beyond the pale of pleasure—it was New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all wrapped up in one moment. It was spectacular.
She and Luke lay there together side by side afterward, her leg now draped across his, their fingers interlaced, a throw rug loosely covering them. They talked about silly things, about houses, laughing as they compared the strangest houses they had ever seen. It felt to Madeline as if they talked about everything and nothing. It was easy. It was familiar, comfortable. His body was warm, his hands strong, but surprisingly gentle in their caress and when he ran a strand of her hair through his fingers.
Madeline didn’t know when the lights came on, because she had drifted to sleep. She didn’t know that Luke had gotten up to stoke the fire and find a heavier quilt, which he tucked up under her chin. Or that he had a last beer, watching her sleep in the soft glow of the fire, her hair spilling around her.
Madeline didn’t know anything except that it had been one of the most splendidly shimmering evenings she’d ever known.
And then came morning. Bright sunlight and chirping birds awakened her.
It took her a moment or two to remember where she was—oh yes, he’d awakened her in the night, had urged her to his bed. And then they’d made love again.
Again?
Madeline pushed up on her elbows and turned her head. Through her tangled hair, she could see Luke lying beside her, his body as magnificent in the morning light as in the murky darkness of a storm. He was sleeping soundly, one arm draped across his chest, the other above his head. He was gorgeous, magnificent. Trudi would drool if she saw him.
Madeline moved slowly, carefully disentangling herself from the bedsheets. When she stood beside the bed—a little sore and a little light-headed—she grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, and quietly made her way out. She darted down the small hall to the living area. There was her bag, her phone still on top. Madeline picked them up and stepped into the hall bath, locking the door behind her.
She sank down onto the edge of the tub, ran her fingers through her hair as she stared at the black-and-white tiles of the bathroom floor. She felt a little queasy. She wanted to believe it was hunger, but she knew herself too well. She had exposed herself, had lost control, and what she was feeling was anxiety, full-blown anxiety, that would lead to cracks in her façade and leaks in her foundation. It was unsteadiness and fear that came from letting any light in through those cracks, any light that could warm her, strengthen her, and ultimately destroy her if it was extinguished without warning.
Intimacy made Madeline feel ragged and chopped up on the inside, like a bunch of tiny nicks that were liberally salted when she was least expecting it. But this anxiety felt like a thousand knives dragging through her. She’d had bouts of anxiety, but she’d never felt it quite like this. It felt as if there was so much of her internal wiring at risk! It made no sense, she recognized that. She only knew that she couldn’t control this. She couldn’t organize herself out of attachment to him, or keep from getting hurt. She couldn’t keep from being rejected and left behind.
This was why she didn’t have casual sex, Trudi’s advocacy of it notwithstanding. Sex was never casual for Madeline. That wasn’t to say she regretted a moment of last night, God no, quite the opposite. It had been surreal, and she’d felt… she’d felt so happy. So damn free from all the rules and expectations she put on herself.
Which only meant the cuts would go deeper, and the fall would be that much harder. Because now she had to deal with the inevitable aftermath of last night. In spite of the feelings she had for Luke Kendrick, nothing had changed: Her life was still in Orlando. She’d spent time yesterday meeting with the realtor who would give her a valuation of the ranch and bring them clients, just so that she could go back to Orlando.
Luke’s life was here, and his heart was still attached, in part, to someone else. It was true—Madeline had seen the look on his face last night when he realized Julie’s picture was there. There was something about that woman that was still rattling around in him.
The trick, Madeline told herself, was to detach from an extraordinary night calmly, rationally, and without bothersome emotions. And she was the last woman who knew how to do that with any finesse.