by Brenda Gayle
She’d never imagined in a million years that Libby Hunter would even be aware of her and her work. How could she have passed up the opportunity to meet that great lady? Now, she wasn’t so sure she should have agreed to accompany Hunter.
“Are you certain your grandmother specifically asked for me to come?”
“Yup.”
“Me, specifically? By name?”
“She’s a big fan of yours.” He turned and held up the burgundy jumpsuit, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
“My sister bought that for me.”
“Figures.” He put it back, and walked to her dresser.
“What do you mean by that? What’s wrong with it?”
“Have you ever worn it?”
“No. I’ve never had the opportunity to. It’s a little too…it would have to be something…really special, I think.”
She had considered wearing the jumpsuit this evening. She had even tried it on for the first time. But the deep slit down the back and the only slightly less revealing front had been too provocative for her. That wasn’t the impression she wanted to make on Libby Hunter, and she definitely didn’t want to do anything to suggest to Hunter that she thought of this as anything more than the opportunity to meet her idol.
He had opened the top drawer of her dresser and was rummaging through her underwear.
“This is really terribly rude, you know.” Nora sank down on the bed, and then immediately jumped to her feet again. If she could figure out a way to stop him, she would.
“At least you invest a little more in your lingerie than the rest of your wardrobe,” he said.
She could feel the color rise to her cheeks. She tried to cover her embarrassment by turning the tables on him. “Do you have a lingerie fetish or something?”
“No more than every other red-blooded American male,” he said, and turned to give her a wolfish grin. “Here we go. Perfect.” He triumphantly held up a bronze silk camisole. “Ditch your button-down and wear this.” He tossed it to her.
“A camisole? That’s supposed to go under something.”
“Only in your world, hon, not mine. Trust me.” He walked out of the room. “Oh, and get rid of the watch. Tonight you’re off the clock.”
Nora closed her eyes and willed herself not to scream in frustration. She stared at the camisole. Even the burgundy jumpsuit would be better than this.
She didn’t know why she was even considering changing for him. She should just tell him to go to hell. Still, it was his grandmother, and Hunter knew her better than she did. And she really, really wanted to make a good impression.
“Ready?” Hunter called from the other room.
“Not yet.” She took a deep breath and removed the jacket and blouse. She’d have to change her bra, too. The lacy texture would pucker the silky fabric of the camisole.
She fingered through her collection trying to determine which would be the best choice. Her face grew warm as she remembered Hunter doing the same thing only a few moments ago. The nerve of him.
She pulled out her coral pink satin bra. Perfect. Its matching panty seemed to beckon to her from the drawer. Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s going to know whether your panties match. Still, they were a set.
Fine. She tugged down her pants. So what if he had to wait a little longer. It would serve him right.
From the living room she heard it, the unmistakable call of her cell phone.
“I hear music,” Hunter yelled.
“It’s my phone.”
“Is that Elton John?”
Nora was almost totally naked. She tried to pull on her pants and clip the bra, but she knew she’d never make it.
“Do you want me to answer it?” he called.
“No!”
“Shall I bring it to you?”
Let it go to voice mail, she tried to tell herself. But what if it’s important?
She glanced up in panic as the bedroom’s doorknob turned.
“Don’t come in!” she yelled.
An arm snaked through the opening, offering her the cell phone.
She picked up the camisole and held it in front of her as she sprinted across the room and grabbed the phone from him.
“You’re right, it does vibrate.” He chuckled as she slammed the door shut.
Damn him.
She caught a glimpse of the caller-ID before it was routed to voice mail—Stacy Turnbull, a woman who ran an outreach art program for troubled youths. She probably wanted to know whether Nora had received the invitation to the Kids’ First art show this weekend. She made a mental note to RSVP in the morning.
Finally dressed, Nora looked at herself in the mirror. The camisole was simply cut with a nice scooped neckline that wasn’t too low. The silky fabric clung subtly to her body, hugging her breasts and then flaring out slightly to emphasize the rounding of her hips. The bronze color brought a healthy caramel glow to her skin even in the poor light of her bedroom. She hated to admit it, but it looked good on her—really good, considering it was underwear.
She had very few pieces of jewelry so it wasn’t difficult to decide on the double string of elongated turquoise beads and the turquoise teardrop earrings set in silver. She debated tying her hair back up, but decided against it—he’d probably just take it down again.
“Nora?”
“Coming.” She grabbed the jacket. Just before she stepped into the living room she remembered the three-inch sterling silver cuff bracelet Karen had sent along with the jumpsuit. She slapped it on her wrist, covering the watch.
Hunter’s eyes widened as she stepped into the middle of the living room. He didn’t say a word as he walked around her, examining her from all sides.
“Do I pass inspection?” Nora didn’t even try to hide her irritation. He could at least say something.
“With flying colors. You are stunning, Nora. You should dress like this all the time.”
She felt a pleasurable flush rise to her cheeks, and her body grew warm under his admiring gaze. Then he glanced down at her black Mary-Jane shoes.
“I suppose it’s too much to expect you to have something with a heel or a strappy sandal, isn’t it?”
Just like that, he’d spoiled her high. “Don’t push your luck.”
He chuckled as he took her arm and ushered her out the door.
Her excitement returned as soon as she saw Hunter’s sports car. She wasn’t generally impressed by opulence, but the night-blue BMW Z4 was a thing of beauty—if a car could be described as beautiful.
She slid into the buttery-soft leather seat and sighed in contentment, just as she felt the telltale vibration and heard the first strains of her cell phone’s polyphonic ring tone.
She ignored Hunter’s quizzical stare as she pulled the phone from her handbag and answered. The conversation with Becca was brief. By the time she hung up, Hunter had steered the car out onto Canyon Road, heading for the Santa Fe National Forest.
“Why Candle in the Wind?” he asked after a few moments.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just surprised you would have a musical ring tone.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be in a room full of people and have one cell phone go off? Everyone dives to check to see if it’s theirs. This way, I know when it’s mine.”
“Of course, but why that particular tune?”
“Do you have something against Elton John? It’s a nice tune, not too brash. I think it’s pretty classy.”
“I would have thought that if you’re working with kids, you might want something at least from this century,” Hunter said.
She turned sharply to look at him. Was he making a dig at her age? She wasn’t that much older than him. Only five years.
He glanced from the road to meet her stare, holding it longer than Nora thought safe.
“What would you suggest?” she asked, relieved when he returned his attention to the road.
“I don’t know. There are a lot of good bands out there. E
ver heard of Green Day?”
When she shook her head, he pressed a button on the stereo and the car was filled with raucous drumming and screaming guitars. She glanced at him in surprise. This was the kind of music he listened to?
“What did you expect?” he asked, throwing her a knowing smile.
She felt her face grow warm. Nora was pretty sure he knew what she’d expected from Santa Fe’s notorious playboy—something sexy and seductive. Definitely not thrashing guitars and hard-to-make-out lyrics.
Jeez, Nora, you’re starting to sound like an old prude.
They did have a good beat, she conceded after a few minutes, but she couldn’t imagine listening to it every time her phone rang, even if it did make her seem cooler to the kids she dealt with. After the song ended, a quieter, more melodious tune began.
“This is nice,” she said—well, at least it was better. “What’s it called?”
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” he said.
Nora was pretty sure she heard him mumble “figures” under his breath, but he didn’t say anything more.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of driving in an expensive sports car. The ride was truly exhilarating as the performance vehicle hugged the curves through the forest and purred like a contented kitten as they left the main road for Casita Hunter. She was unlikely to experience anything like this again, and she was determined to savor it. Besides, Nora knew from experience there was no cell coverage until they got to the house.
She used the few seconds it took for Hunter to get out of the car and come to her side to check her phone for messages. There was one but, as it was from Karen, Nora decided that it could wait for another time.
Her hand tingled when Hunter took it to help her out of the car. He didn’t step back and she found herself wedged between him and the car’s sleek body. As his thighs pressed into hers, scorching embers slithered up into her belly.
He smelled of sandalwood with undertones of deep, earthy cocoa—an intoxicating blend of exotic spiciness and home cooking. He lifted both his hands and raked his fingers through her hair, calming the waves.
Then he rested his palms against her cheeks and gazed down into her eyes. She thought she was going to swoon and fall into the sea of his lovely lavender eyes. No man deserved to look and smell so good.
“I want you to do two things for me tonight, Nora.” His breath was warm against her skin, and his voice was as soft and firm as the velvety jacket pressing against her breasts. “First, I want you to leave your purse with your cell phone in the car. Can you do that for me?”
Her heart beat crazily and she nodded, barely able to breathe let alone speak.
“And second, I want you to enjoy yourself. Have fun.”
Suddenly there was a vacuum where he had been. She shivered, disoriented by the feeling of loss. Before she knew what was happening, he had tossed her purse into the car, slipped her arm through his, and was leading her up the steps and into Libby Hunter’s home.
Chapter 4
“Nora, welcome. I’m so glad you could come.”
Nora could feel tears stinging behind her eyes as the diminutive woman rushed forward to embrace her. She couldn’t believe she was finally meeting the legend she had admired for so many years. Libby released her and turned to Hunter, allowing Nora a few seconds to compose herself.
Hunter bent down, kissed his grandmother’s cheek, and murmured something into her ear. Libby laughed, her blue eyes dancing with delight and she swatted him playfully.
“I guess introductions aren’t required,” Hunter said.
“Thank you so much for inviting me, Mrs. Hunter,” Nora said, relieved her voice didn’t betray her nervousness.
“Nonsense, I regret that we haven’t met sooner. And please, call me Libby.” She squeezed Nora’s hand. “I have been so impressed by the work that you’ve done with the Children’s Action Network. You started that organization, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I set up CAN about ten years ago.”
“Yes, very impressed. You’ve made a real difference in this state, done some wonderful work.” Nora didn’t miss the meaningful glance the woman shot at Hunter. He smiled back, seeming oblivious to his grandmother’s implication.
“I’ve invited a few people with similar interests. You may know some of them already. Come, my dear, let me introduce you.” Keeping hold of Nora’s hand she led her into the great room. Nora couldn’t stop her eyes from turning to where the antique stepladder used to stand, and she felt a rising panic.
Libby patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It was very old and brittle—well past its usefulness. Like some politicians I know.” She chuckled. “Isn’t that right, David?”
They had stopped in front of an older Native American man whom Nora recognized as David Begay, the long-time senator from Shiprock. She’d never met him—he wasn’t involved in any of the issues her association had lobbied on.
“David, I’d like you to meet Nora Cross. Nora, this is Senator David Begay. Nora’s from around your neck of the woods, I believe. Didn’t you grow up in Farmington, dear?”
“Yes, but I haven’t been back for years.”
“Farmington?” Begay’s voice boomed, echoing off the wood-paneled walls. “That’s just down the road from Shiprock. We’re practically neighbors, Miss Cross. It’s good to meet you.” He grabbed her hand and shook it enthusiastically.
He looked to be in his early sixties, but she couldn’t be sure. His hair was dyed pitch black and his face had an ageless quality. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, a denim shirt with a bolero tie, and a Navajo-patterned vest. Of course, he wore the requisite cowboy boots and held onto a Diamond Jim Stetson.
“Tell me a bit about your family, Nora. What did your father do? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” His questions seemed friendly enough, but his dark eyes bored into her and made her uneasy. She wasn’t used to dealing with so many personal questions. She knew the senator’s record on child welfare, so there was no point in trying to engage him on that issue. As Nora responded, she scanned the room for a reprieve. Libby had drifted off to welcome some new arrivals. Hunter was nowhere to be seen.
“My parents were teachers—both of them—and I have one sister. She’s quite a bit older than me, so we didn’t really know each other growing up.”
Begay continued firing questions at her. She tried to keep her answers brief, hoping his barrage would stop, but he just kept interrogating her. Where did she go to college? What did she do? Where was her sister now?
“Are your parents still alive?”
“No. They both died about a year ago, my mother only a few months after my father.”
“Oh, how very sad.”
“Yes, it was.”
“When was the last time you’ve been in Farmington?”
”I went for both my parents’ funerals, but that was the first time in more than ten years.”
Nora saw Libby return to the room, and it was even better than she could have hoped for. On her arm was Representative Christopher Pritcher, vice-chair of the Legislative Education Committee. Nora had been trying to meet with him for two weeks, but he kept ducking her calls. Now was her chance.
Interrupting Begay’s next question, she said, “Excuse me, please. There’s someone I must speak with.” She didn’t wait for a response and almost sprinted across the room to where Libby was introducing the representative to another couple.
“Representative Pritcher, excuse me for interrupting. I’m Nora Cross and I’ve been trying to talk with you for several weeks. We need to discuss your committee’s findings on national trends in public education.”
****
“Do you think she can help it, Nan?” Hunter asked.
Libby chuckled. “I like her. She’s got spunk.”
“Spunk? She’s buttonholed Chris Pritcher for the last ten minutes, and he looks miserable. See? He keeps trying to catch your eye to come rescue him.”
“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. But you, Hunter? Why don’t you step in and rescue her?”
“Come between the she-wolf and her prey? No thanks. I value my life. I think I’ll just sit back and watch the train wreck. It’s fascinating really. You know, Nan, I think the woman is totally incapable of relaxing and turning off from her work.”
“Then you should view reforming her as a challenge.”
“That’s a challenge I think I’ll pass on.”
“Chicken.”
“Nan...”
“Bawk-bawk.” She stuck her hands under her armpits and flapped her arms like wings as she walked away, much to the amusement of some of her guests.
“You’d think a woman of your age would show a little decorum,” Hunter called after her.
His grandmother was incorrigible. Challenge? Yeah right. He’d have to have some probability of success to accept that challenge. He was rapidly becoming convinced that Nora Cross was biologically incapable of having fun.
“Where did you find her? Are you taking on charity cases now?”
Hunter turned to the statuesque blonde who had slipped her arm through his and was rubbing her hip against his thigh.
“Hello Taylor,” he said, “I didn’t know you were coming.” Damn you, Nan. He was sure his grandmother had invited his former lover to make things more interesting for herself by complicating things for him. Of course, Libby wasn’t supposed to know about Taylor—no one was—but he was sure her presence here was not simply a coincidence.
Taylor Hart was the reason he no longer fished in the local stream. She was a nice girl, but expected—and deserved—a relationship with a man who wanted marriage, the white picket fence, two-and-a-half kids, the whole works. That wasn’t him, although she apparently hadn’t quite come to accept it yet.
The Harts and the Grahams had neighboring cattle ranches outside of Santa Fe. He’d had a friendly rivalry with Taylor’s older brother, Callum, but as she was quite a few years younger, he’d never really paid her much attention.
While Cal went off to business school, Hunter had tried to make a go of it on his family’s ranch, which often meant visiting the Hart ranch. Somewhere along the line—he was never sure how it happened—he and Taylor had floated into a secret relationship that had escalated into sex. Too late, he’d discovered that her expectations were much greater than his. Sharing a life together had been her plan since she was thirteen years old.
