Nick yawned.

“Sometimes you’re a jerk.”

“What? It’s my fault Grandmother’s trust fund paid our tuition? I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Brenda glared at him. “You could show some compassion.”

“For God’s sake, lots of people put themselves through school. What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah, but Emma’s different. She’s had to work twice as hard because of a learning disability she had as a child.”

He stuck the pot under the tap and started to fill it with water. “How much am I supposed to put in here?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned to find her staring out of the window, totally lost in thought. Her chin-length dark hair hid most of her face but he could tell by the slump in her posture she was really upset.

He turned off the water. “Hey, Bren, why don’t we go out for Chinese, or maybe Italian this time? My treat.”

She shook her head and gave him a wan smile. “Nah, I don’t feel like it.” She went back to preparing the chicken. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Ah, hell. Rotten timing. Of course Nick didn’t think Brenda would have a problem with doing him this small favor, especially since she’d been too busy studying the past few years to use the family ski house, but still. “I need the Aspen place for Thanksgiving.”

A small frown drew her brows together. “It’s my turn to have it this year, right?”

He didn’t like the way her interest suddenly piqued. “You’re not planning on using it.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” She had that lost-in-thought look again. It made him nervous.

“You haven’t been there in five years. You don’t even like to ski.”

“But it’s nice and quiet out there. An excellent place to unwind, study, whatever.”

“It’s quiet here.”

She glanced at him with that faintly amused look again. “What’s the deal? You promised some sweet young thing you’d take her skiing in Aspen?”

“So?”

“So, too bad. It’s my turn to have the house. You should have checked with me first.”

He muttered a curse. “Bren, come on.”

“Sorry, Nick, I really am.” She did look apologetic, as though she wasn’t going to give in. Dammit. “But I do need it this year.”

“Bull. You hadn’t even remembered it was your turn.”

“I know, but this thing with Emma…”

Oh, man, there was that apologetic expression again. “What does this Emma have to do with it?” He paused, struck by inspiration. “If you think she might be upset, shouldn’t you stick around and comfort her? You are her friend.” He tried to look sincere and concerned. Too bad Bren knew him too well.

Her look of disdain made him sigh. “Why don’t you rent another place?” she asked, turning back to cutting up the chicken.

“Are you kidding? Everything’s booked by now.” He took a long pull of his beer, annoyed that everything had gotten complicated. “Hey, how about I rent you a place? Anywhere you want. Jamaica? St. Thomas? You and your friend can soak up the sun and study to your heart’s content.”

She pursed her lips, drummed her fingers on the counter. Good. Obviously she was thinking about it. “I have another solution.”

“Okay.” He started to relax.

“You can be Emma’s subject.”

“What?”

“You let her study you for the next two weeks and the house is yours.”

“That’s no solution, that’s blackmail.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and turned back to the cutting board, but not before he saw the beginning of a grin.

“Study me? Like figure out what’s going on in my subconscious?”

“Not exactly. You simply relay your dreams to her and she analyzes them, and then compiles the data for her thesis.”

“Using a bunch of psychobabble.” He snorted. “That is so not going to happen.”

She shrugged again, the stubborn glint in her eye all too familiar. She meant business.

“What if I find someone else?”

“Nope. You’re perfect for the study. You can fall asleep in a heartbeat and you’re good at recalling your dreams. Besides, she needs someone yesterday.”

“Oh, man.” He abandoned the pot and sat at the kitchen table. “I can’t just drop everything for the next two weeks.”

She laughed. “Like what? Playing tennis, or maybe having dinner with your girlfriend du jour?”

He sighed with disgust.

“Like I said, suit yourself.”

“How many hours a day does this thing take?”

“You’ll have to talk to Emma about that.”

He narrowed his gaze in suspicion. “You aren’t trying to fix me up with her, are you?”

“Oh, God no. Emma’s much too good for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Just let me know if I should call and tell her to expect you.”

“You realize this is blackmail.”

Brenda smiled. “I call it a trade.”

He got up, muttering a few choice words as he headed out of the kitchen.

“What about dinner?”

“I don’t have time. Call your friend. Tell her she’s got a new sucker.”

Brenda waited until he was out of sight and then pumped her hand in the air. “Yes!”

She did a little victory dance around the kitchen table, and then headed for the Mickey Mouse phone Nick had given her last Christmas.

This was just perfect.

EMMA SNOW STRAIGHTENED HER BACK, squared her shoulders and looked Jake straight in the eyes. “Would you like to go to Dean Sutter’s reception next month? Um, that is, with me?”

Jake looked back blankly.

“Wait, let me try that again.” She flipped back her ponytail, and cleared her throat. “Next week Dean Sutter is having his annual reception for the students who are completing the graduate program. If you aren’t doing anything…what I mean is…would you like to go with me? As my date. Well, not really a date of course…just someone to sit with at dinner.”

Jake stared at her a moment longer, yawned and then walked away, clearly unimpressed.

She glared at his retreating back. “Thanks, you ingrate. See if I bring home any more kibble.”

He didn’t even turn around. Instead he gave her “the tail.” She was fairly certain it was the feline version of flipping her off. The persnickety tabby often turned and stiffened his tail when he was displeased about something.

“I heard they’re serving salmon for dinner,” she called after him, but he ignored her and disappeared down the hall.

Emma sighed. She didn’t know why she was going through this futile exercise anyway. If she didn’t complete her thesis, she wouldn’t be going to the reception. Which meant she’d be stuck in school for another several months, assuming Professor Peters’s patience didn’t run out. Or her funds did. Both were serious contenders to screwing up her degree.

God, she had to be the oldest graduate student in history. She sank onto the edge of her bed and dropped back onto the mattress and stared at the chipped ceiling. Of course that wasn’t true—many people returned to school after raising families or whatever, but it felt as though she’d been in the graduate program forever, lagging behind because money had run out, or her job as a teaching assistant required too much time, or her mother was calling her back home to Utah for some ridiculous reason.

Emma fell for it every time, no matter how flimsy her mom’s new excuse. Guilt would start gnawing at her for not having been the perfect child her parents had dreamed of having, and she’d drop everything to go be her mother’s crutch. Usually even without her mom’s subtle reminders of how much she’d sacrificed to work with Emma, the years she’d spent helping her learn to read so she could be a “normal” child.

She blocked the destructive thoughts from her mind. Her energy was much better spent finding a new subject for the final phase of her thesis, not that she honestly had much hope. It had taken her best Bob Seger CD, a nerve-wracking dinner with the lascivious Martin Stanley, and a promise to clean Norman Cove’s apartment for two months to secure the last three male subjects.

She sighed. Now that Norman had backed out, at least she didn’t have to scrape together a few hours a week to do his cleaning. Time was becoming more of an issue. As it was she didn’t know how she could continue to volunteer at the animal shelter.