Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  “Mind if I fix myself a drink?” he asked, pointing toward the bar.

  Rachel shrugged. “Be my guest, although I haven’t the faintest idea what’s there. I generally don’t drink.” She headed for the kitchen to put the rose in a vase of water.

  Jules took off his suit coat and tossed it on a nearby chair as he strolled toward the wet bar, raising his voice enough to be heard as she left the room. “Of that I’m well aware, my dear. I’ve certainly escorted you to enough soirées to know that by now.”

  Rachel smiled, although to be honest, she would have preferred it if he’d just left her at the door and gone about his business. She wanted to shower and change into something more comfortable. And she wanted to call Esther Goodman. It had been days since they’d talked.

  She put the rose into water and then walked back into the living room, eyeing the man at the bar. She had to admit he was good-looking, even though he was too cosmopolitan for her tastes. His dark hair was always perfectly groomed, his clothes impeccably tailored. His eyes were even darker, his features just the least bit hawklike. But she supposed that had more to do with his position in life than with his personality. He was powerful and rich and in charge. He simply looked his part. She shrugged off the thoughts. Except for the Timeless campaign, what Jules Farrier did with his life was of no concern to her.

  “Would you like a sandwich to go with that drink?” Rachel asked. “There’s plenty left from the ham I baked on Sunday.”

  Jules paused, his fingers curling around the bottle of brandy.

  “You cooked?”

  Rachel stared at him, almost grinning at the oddity of his question. “Well, yes. How else would I eat?”

  Jules let go of the bottle, his interest in the brandy forgotten. He kept trying to picture Rachel standing before a stove, stirring and chopping and whatever else people did to create marvelous meals. It didn’t work. All he could see was the woman who’d been moving before the cameras only a short while ago, scantily clad and undulating to a drumbeat that he could still hear playing in his mind. He shuddered, trying to remember what she’d asked. Oh yes. Something about eating.

  “The women I know either coerce someone into taking them out, or they order in,” he said.

  Rachel laughed. “How boring.”

  It was the laugh that did it. The joy on her face. The delight in her eyes. He forgot the promise he’d made, both to himself and to her.

  “My God, Rachel Austin, why isn’t there a man in your life?” He crossed the room and took her in his arms, his voice breaking with need. “And why the hell won’t you let it be me?”

  Rachel froze. Somewhere within her she’d known this would happen sooner or later, even though he’d promised their relationship would stay strictly business. They’d been in each other’s company for far too long. She took a deep breath, trying out the thought in her mind, but all she could see was Houston’s face, Houston’s eyes, Houston’s smile. She closed her eyes and pushed away, aching for Houston’s touch.

  “Don’t,” she begged, and to her horror, she started to cry.

  It was probably the only thing that could have stopped Jules in his tracks. At the sight of her first tear, his lust died.

  “Damn, Rachel, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Rachel covered her face. “It’s not you. It’s not you,” she sobbed. “It’s just me.”

  Jules took her in his arms again, but this time as a friend.

  “What’s his name?”

  If Jules hadn’t been holding her up, Rachel would have gone to her knees. He felt her weakness, and in that moment whatever lies he’d been telling himself simply ended. Her heart would never be his. She’d already given it away.

  “His name is Houston Bookout.”

  The name was strange to him, just as the place from which she’d come was something he couldn’t fathom. He didn’t understand small towns or country ways, and yet he knew that world had forged the woman Rachel Austin had become.

  “Why aren’t you with him? Better yet, why isn’t he with you?”

  She shook her head and tried to pull away from his embrace. It was too painful to think about. But Jules wouldn’t let her.

  “Answer me, Rachel. What happened? What’s wrong?”

  With every ounce of strength she had left, she tore free of Jules’s grasp. Her eyes were full of anger, at herself and at the situation life had thrust upon them.

  “I left him,” she muttered, and then started to shake. “I left him because we were poor.” She moaned and turned away, staggering to the window and then staring down into the streets below.

  Jules followed her. Because he had to. Because he couldn’t let her bear this pain alone.

  “But you have money now,” he said softly.

  Rachel spun around. “And he has pride. More pride than any man I’ve ever known. And honor.” Her voice broke. “Too damned much honor to take anything from me. His love was all he had to give me. But I thought that it wasn’t enough. I was afraid. So afraid of winding up like my mother and father and dying destitute and homeless.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering as the words continued to spill out. “Now I have money and fame and people who cater to my every whim, and it means nothing.” Her fingers curled into fists as she met his gaze. “God’s giving me a little lesson in humility, you know. I must say it comes hard to bear, but it’s no more than I deserve. I gave up the best thing I had for silver and gold.”

  Jules ached, both for her and himself. He’d had no idea of the depths of this woman, and in that instant he learned a hard lesson about himself. Before, he’d judged people far too many times on outward appearances. It would never happen again. Just because someone had both beauty and brains, that was certainly no indication that her life was perfect.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. So sorry.”

  She seemed to wilt before his eyes. Her shoulders slumped as she looked away.

  Jules frowned. “No one’s perfect, Rachel. Accept that about yourself and go on.” Then he glanced at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to forgo the pleasure of your cooking today. Another time.”

  She tensed as he touched her cheek gently.

  “And there will be another time, my dear. We’re in this for the long haul.” Then he held out his hand. “Partners?”

  She hesitated, but only briefly, before accepting his handshake.

  “Partners,” she whispered.

  Jules mentally kicked his noble ass all the way to the door. It wasn’t in his nature to be so generous, but Rachel Austin had a way of bending even the most hardened of men to her way of thinking.

  He opened the door, then turned. Rachel was right behind him. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and her cheeks were still tracked from the ones that had previously fallen. Never had she been more beautiful, or farther out of reach.

  “Thanks for seeing me home,” she said.

  Jules smiled. “You’re very welcome, my dear.” Then he cupped the back of her head and kissed her on the nose.

  “We’ll talk soon.”

  Rachel accepted the kiss for what it was. Comfort. Consolation. And also goodbye. From Jules Farrier’s standpoint, he’d just given up the chase.

  “Soon,” she echoed, and stood in the doorway, watching until the elevator doors had closed and taken him away.

  With a sigh, she turned and went into her apartment, carefully closing and locking the door behind her, unaware that there had been a witness to the kiss and embrace.

  Beatty Andrews was shaking with rage. She’d kissed the man. He’d seen it with his own eyes. It was just as his mother had told him: Never trust a woman. They’ll cheat on you every time.

  “No,” he muttered, staring at the door in disbelief. “No, no, no,” he repeated, hammering his fists against his thighs until they ached. “You bitch, you bitch, you beautiful, cheating bitch.”

  Blind with rage, he staggered to the service elev
ator. A short while later he emerged from the car into the basement.

  The building janitor looked up from his office, where he was reading his paper.

  “Hey, Andrews! I thought you were off today.”

  Beatty didn’t bother to answer. He just kept on walking.

  As Beatty made his way out the door, the doorman on duty looked up, surprised that Beatty was on the premises.

  “Can’t stay away even on your day off, huh, Andrews?”

  Beatty pushed his way past without commenting.

  The doorman shrugged and quickly forgot he’d even seen him.

  The air was warm, the traffic on the streets typically heavy. Cabs careened through nearly impassable traffic as if they had their own set of laws. Someone yelled from a passing bus. As he passed a corner café, a couple at a nearby table on the street suddenly leaned toward each other and kissed. Beatty’s stomach began to knot. That could have been him and Rachel. But she messed everything up. Women always messed everything up.

  “Hey, mister! Look out!” someone yelled.

  He looked up just as a cab sped by right in front of him. The driver laid on the horn, sounding his displeasure at Beatty’s lack of concern.

  Beatty stepped back onto the curb, fighting a nervous urge to pee. Damn. He’d almost walked in front of that cab. Two seconds later and he would have been dead. He started to shake. It was all her fault. He looked around, for the first time taking stock of his surroundings and realizing he didn’t know where he was.

  Music drifted out of a doorway ahead of him. He shuddered, and then wiped a shaky hand across his face. Without thinking, he followed the sound and found himself inside a neighborhood bar. As he slid onto a stool he caught a glimpse of himself in a long, smoke-dimmed mirror. He stared, then glared at the oddity of his reflection.

  “Stupid,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. That’s what he was, plain stupid.

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

  Beatty looked up, startled by the question. “Uh . . . beer. I’ll have a beer.”

  “Imported or domestic? Light or—”

  “Just a plain fucking beer,” Beatty snapped.

  Moments later a brown bottle was set in front of him. Beatty picked it up, downing it in one long, thirsty gulp.

  “Do it again,” he said as he set the empty down with a thump.

  This time the need to exterminate something wasn’t so strong. He took his time, nursing the cold brew while his anger continued to grow. There was a program in progress on the television above the bar. Unsolved Mysteries—his mother’s favorite show. Most of his thoughts were centered on getting even with Rachel and what he was going to tell his mother when he came home with liquor on his breath. And then he picked up on the story in progress and started to take special note. The longer he listened, the more certain he became that he’d just found a way to make Rachel Austin pay.

  An hour later he was locked inside his room, his fingers flying on the keyboard of his computer as he slipped into a chat room where would-be warriors went to play.

  Houston signed the check with a flourish and then slid it across the loan officer’s desk.

  “There you are, David. That makes the loan on my ranch paid in full. And we’re all straight on the Austin purchase as well, right?”

  David Winters smiled and shook his head. “Right. You know, Houston, you’re one lucky son of a gun, and I’m real happy for you. If we can do anything for you, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  Houston grinned. “That’s a whole different tune from the one you were singing when I took out the loan a while back.”

  The loan officer had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry, Houston, but you know how it is.”

  Houston nodded as he stood. “Yeah. You can borrow money out the ass when you have it to spend.

  But when you really need it and you’re hard-up and broke, you couldn’t borrow a quarter to call home.”

  Winters stood up as well. “Still, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

  Houston paused. “I bought the Baker place last week. It adjoins my land.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Winters said.

  “I’m building a house. In fact, the dozer is out there today, building a pad. I might be needing to borrow some money before it’s finished. Just a short-term loan, though. Nothing major.”

  David Winters beamed. “Whenever you’re ready, give me a call. Since we already have your file, I could have the papers drawn up on short notice.”

  Houston nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

  There was a spring in his step as he left the bank. The next stop was Dale Emery’s Feed and Seed. As he walked in the door, he kept thinking that he would never have imagined turning in his resignation. Getting fired, maybe. Quitting, never.

  Dale Emery saw him coming and sighed. He could tell by the look on Houston’s face what was coming.

  “You look too damned happy for a man who’s about to be unemployed,” Emery muttered.

  Houston grinned. “It’s been a long ride, Dale, and you can’t know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  Emery returned the grin. “Why do I think there’s more yet to come?”

  Houston laughed, thinking how good it felt to be debt free.

  “Is the Mace kid working out?” he asked.

  Emery nodded. “Yeah. He reminds me a whole lot of you. A little cocky, but willing. I reckon he’ll do.”

  Houston nodded and then held out his hand. “If my leaving this abruptly leaves you shorthanded, give me a call. I’ll be happy to help you out for the next couple of weeks.”

  Emery shook his head. “Nah. I’ll manage. Besides, I probably couldn’t afford you now, anyway.”

  Houston grinned as he walked away. It felt strange, knowing that he would never be committed to someone else’s timetable again. Then he amended the thought. It felt strange, yes. But it also felt good. Damn good.

  “Hey, Houston, honey! Where you goin’ in such a big hurry?”

  Houston stopped. Amy Dalton was leaning against her car. All five luscious feet of her were packed into skintight Levi’s and a fitted red shirt. Her hair was blond and curly. Her eyes were blue and full of promises even a fool couldn’t miss. She was pretty and willing, and he couldn’t have cared less. His heart belonged to a tall, leggy Indian with long black hair.

  “Afternoon, Amy. How’s that fiancé of yours?”

  Amy pouted. “Shoot, Houston, Will Benton is just my boyfriend, not my fiancé. You don’t see a ring on my finger, now, do you?”

  She waved her hand to prove her point.

  Houston arched an eyebrow and then grinned. “That’s because he pawned it last week in a poker game. You’ll have it back by the first of the month, just like always, and you know it.”

  She pouted. “Maybe I don’t want it back. Maybe I’m tired of playin’ house with a man who keeps losin’ the key to the door.”

  Houston shrugged. “Maybe you two need to quit playing and get down to serious business.” Then he tipped his hat. “I’ve got to be running along,” he said. “Real nice to see you again.”

  He left, ignoring the pout on her lips. He knew where it came from and he knew why she’d even bothered to speak. A month ago she wouldn’t have acknowledged his existence. But now that he was a man of substance, he was finding himself with a whole new circle of “best friends.” Friends he could well do without.

  As he slid behind the wheel of his truck, it occurred to him that Rachel must be going through similar experiences of her own. Last week he’d seen another magazine with her picture on the cover. He could only imagine the adulation she was receiving. Then his gut tightened. And the men. There were bound to be men standing in line at her door. Angry with himself for letting her back in his heart, even for a second, he gunned the engine and sped out of town.

  Nine

  The shadows were lengthening as Beatty made his way through Central Park. It had bee
n three days since he’d witnessed Rachel’s deceit, and going to work was a physical pain. The urge to quit, to remove himself from her presence, was strong. But he couldn’t let her ruin what he’d worked years to achieve. She needed to be taught a lesson. And since he was the man she’d wronged, it was his right— even his duty—to avenge his honor.

  As he emerged from a copse of trees, he looked ahead to the bench beneath a large, spreading oak. It was already occupied, and by a man in black! A surge of adrenaline left him giddy. He stifled an urge to laugh. This was just like the stories in his magazines. Secret meetings. Dangerous men doing dangerous stuff. For the first time in his life, he was behaving like a real man.

  A few moments later he slid onto the opposite end of the bench, took a sack from his pocket, and started tossing out crumbs. Within seconds a handful of pigeons and a couple of squirrels were scrambling about his feet. Beatty glanced at the man on the far end of the bench. Other than to turn the pages of the newspaper he was reading, he hadn’t moved. Beatty took a deep breath.

  “One for all,” he said nervously.

  The man never looked up. “And all for one,” he growled.

  Beatty could barely sit still. “Did you bring the stuff?”

  The man turned a page. “Did you bring the money?”

  Beatty nodded, then realized the man couldn’t see his answer.

  “Yes,” he said quickly, and emptied his sackful of crumbs onto the ground. Then he took a bulging legal-size envelope from his pocket and laid it on the bench. After that, he wadded up the empty crumb sack in his hands and got up to throw it away. When he turned back around, the man was gone and a small gym bag was lying where his money had been.

  Beatty bolted for the bag, clutching it to his chest as he quickly surveyed the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No one was in sight except an old man tottering down the path about a hundred yards ahead. A burst of excitement shot through him. He’d done it! Now he had what he needed to teach Rachel Austin a lesson. He wanted to look inside, but there would be time enough later to see what his money had bought.