She was here now, outwardly calm and mentally prepared to do whatever she must.
“Ms. Lovin?” the man asked politely, meeting her at the end of the pier.
Judy nodded, momentarily unable to find her voice.
“We’ve been expecting you.” He reached for her suitcase, taking it from her hand. “Come with me, please.”
Judy followed the stranger. He led her into the nearby trees to a cart that reminded her of something she’d seen on the golf course. Only this one was far more powerful and surged ahead at the turn of a key.
When they came upon the house, Judy’s breath was trapped in her lungs. It was the most magnificent place she’d ever seen. Built on the edge of a cliff, it was nestled in foliage and adorned with pillars and balconies. Tropical vines climbed the exterior walls, twisting upward.
“This way,” the man said, standing on the walkway that led into the grand house.
Judy climbed out of the cart and followed him through the massive doors. In the marble entryway she was met by a short, thin man. She identified him immediately as McFarland’s assistant, the man she’d heard her father mention. He looked like an Avery, she thought—efficient, intelligent…bookish.
“Ms. Lovin,” he greeted her with an embarrassed smile. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one.”
“Most pleasant.” She returned his smile, although her knees felt like tapioca pudding. “You must be Mr. Anderson.”
If he was surprised that she knew his name, he didn’t reveal it. “Your rooms are ready if you’d like to freshen up before dinner.”
“Please.”
He rang a bell and a maid appeared as though by magic. The woman’s gaze didn’t meet Judy’s as she silently escorted her up the stairs. The maid held open a pair of double doors, and Judy walked into a parlorlike room complete with fireplace, television, bookshelves and two sofas. Off the parlor was a bedroom so lovely Judy stared in amazement at the elegant pastel colors. The view of the ocean from the balcony was magnificent. She stood at the railing, the wind whipping her hair about her face, and saw a swimming pool and a tennis court. To her far right, she located another building that she assumed must be the stables. Her heart gladdened. She’d been riding almost from the time she could walk and loved horses. Her cage was indeed a gilded one.
“Dinner will be in fifteen minutes,” the maid informed her.
“Thank you,” Judy responded. She squared her shoulders and her heart pounded faster. Soon she’d be meeting the infamous McFarland—the man her father called the Beast.
But Judy was wrong. When she descended the stairs, armed with questions to which she was determined to find answers, she learned to her dismay that she’d be dining alone.
Mr. Anderson lived in a small house on the island and had departed for the day. McFarland had sent his regrets, but business prevailed. His brief note indicated that he was looking forward to meeting her in the morning.
The dining-room table was set for eight with a service of the finest bone china. The butler seated Judy at one end. The servants brought in course after course, their footsteps echoing in the silent room. Each course was delectable, but Judy ate little. Afterward, she returned to her room.
Her sleep was fitful as questions interrupted her dreams. She wondered if McFarland was playing some kind of psychological game meant to intimidate her. If he was, then she’d fallen an unwilling victim to it. She didn’t know much about John McFarland. He was rarely if ever seen in public and she’d been unable to locate any photos of him on any Internet site. Her father insisted he was arrogant, impudent, insolent, unorthodox and perhaps the worst insult—beastly.
What a strange place this was, she thought tiredly, staring up at the darkened ceiling. The house was built in a paradise of sun and sea and yet a chill pervaded her bones.
By six, she couldn’t bear to stay in bed any longer. Throwing back the covers, she rose and decided to head for the stables. She yearned to ride, to exorcise the fears that plagued her.
The house was like a tomb—silent, dark, somber—as Judy crept down the stairs. The front door opened easily and she slipped outside. The sun was rising, cloaking the island in golden threads of light.
At a noise behind her she twisted around. A stranger on horseback was approaching her slowly. Even from a distance, Judy noticed that he sat tall and straight in the saddle. He wore a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
She hesitated. No doubt he was a security guard and from the way he regarded her, he was either looking for trouble or expecting it.
“Good morning,” she called out tentatively.
He touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Is there a problem?” His voice was deep and resonant.
“A…problem? No, of course not.”
His finely shaped mouth curved with amusement as he studied her from head to foot.
Not knowing what else to do, Judy returned his look, staring into those compelling blue eyes. She thought for a moment that he was silently laughing at her and she clenched her fists. Hot color climbed up her neck, invading her cheeks. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
“Were you thinking of going for a walk?” He shifted his weight in the saddle and at the sound of creaking leather, Judy realized that he was dismounting. He took a step toward her.
Before she could stop herself, Judy stepped back in retreat. “No…I was going to the stables. McFarland said I could go anyplace I wanted on the island and…I thought I’d have someone choose a horse for me. Of course, I could saddle it myself.”
Bold blue eyes looked straight into hers. “I frighten you?”
“No…that’s ridiculous.” She felt like a stuttering fool. He didn’t frighten her as much as he enthralled her. He radiated a dark energy with his brooding eyes and tall, lean build.
He grinned at her response and the movement crinkled the lines around his eyes and creased his bronze cheeks. “Relax, I’m not going to pounce on you.”
She stiffened. “I didn’t think you would.” Surely the help respected McFarland’s guests—if she could call herself that.
“I’ll walk you to the stables.” He reached for the reins and the huge black horse followed obediently behind.
“Have you been on the island long?” she managed shakily, and attempted to smile.
“Three years.”
She nodded, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. This was the first person she’d had the opportunity to speak with and she wanted to find out as much as she could about McFarland before actually meeting him. In her mind she’d conjured up several pictures, none of them pleasant. She knew he had to be an unhappy, lonely man. Old, decrepit, cantankerous. “What’s he like?”
“Who?”
“McFarland.”
A muscle worked in his lean jaw and when he looked at her again, his eyes were dark and enigmatic. “Some say he’s a man without a heart.”
Judy grinned and lowered her own eyes to the ground. “My father calls him the Beast.”
“The Beast.” He seemed to find that amusing. “Some claim there’s no compassion in him. Others say he has no conscience.”
She glanced at the man’s lathered, dusty horse and then at him. Pride showed in the tilt of his strong chin and the set of his shoulders. Thoughtfully, she shook her head. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t agree with that.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” she repeated confidently. “He appreciates beauty too much. And if he didn’t have a conscience he would’ve—” She realized she was saying much more than she should to one of McFarland’s employees. McFarland could have ruined her father ten times over, but hadn’t. He might not have a heart of gold, but he wasn’t without conscience. Nor was he cruel.
“What do you think he’s like? I take it you haven’t met the man.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about him. As you say, we haven’t met, but from what I’ve seen, I’d guess there’s precious little joy in his life.”
The man laughed outright. “Look around you,” he said. “He’s said to be one of the richest men in the world. How could any man have so much and not be happy?”
“Joy comes from within,” she explained. “There’s too much bitterness in him. He obviously hasn’t experienced true contentment.”
“And who are you? A psychiatrist?”
It was Judy’s turn to laugh; she’d grown more at ease with this dark stranger. “No. I formed my opinions before I came to the island.”
“Wait until you meet him, then. You may be pleasantly surprised.”
“Perhaps.” But Judy doubted it.
They arrived at the stables and were met by a burly older man who ambled out.
“Good morning, Sam.”
“Morning,” the other man grumbled, eyeing Judy curiously.
“Saddle Princess for Ms. Lovin and see to it that Midnight gets extra oats. He deserves it after the ride I gave him this morning.”
Judy turned abruptly. “How did you know my name?”
He ignored her, but his eyes softened slightly at her questioning look. “Tomorrow morning, saddle both horses at five-thirty. Ms. Lovin and I will be riding together.”
“Consider it done, Mr. McFarland.”
Embarrassment washed over Judy. She dared not look at him.
“I’ll see you at lunch, Ms. Lovin.”
It was all she could do to nod.
The morning passed with surprising speed. Judy hadn’t ridden in months and her body was unaccustomed to the rigors of the saddle. She hadn’t gone far, preferring to investigate the island another day. A hot breakfast awaited her after she’d showered and she ate eagerly. When she’d finished, she had written her father a long letter. She’d been told that no direct contact—like phone calls or e-mail messages—would be allowed; letters were permitted, however, and would be mailed for her. Once she’d completed and addressed the letter, she lay back on the velvet sofa and closed her eyes, listening to music. The balcony doors were open and the fresh sea air swirled around her.
Someone knocked politely at her door. A maid had been sent to inform Judy that lunch would be served in ten minutes.
Experiencing dread and excitement at once, Judy stood, repaired the damage to her hair and makeup and slowly descended the stairs. She paused at the bottom, gathered her resolve and forced a smile, wondering how long it would last. She didn’t expect to maintain the cheerful facade, but it was important to give McFarland the impression that she’d been unruffled by their earlier encounter. Her palms were already damp in anticipation of the second meeting with the man who ruled an empire from this island.
He stood when she entered the dining room.
“I trust your morning was satisfactory,” he said.
Boldly, Judy met his probing gaze. “Why am I here?” She hadn’t meant to immediately hurl questions at him, but his discerning look had unnerved her.
“I believe it’s to eat lunch. Please sit down, Ms. Lovin. I, for one, am hungry, and our meal will be served as soon as you’re comfortable.”
The butler held out a mahogany chair at the end of the table, where she’d eaten the night before. With rebellion boiling in her blood, Judy sat on the brocade cushion.
A bowl of consommé was set in front of her. When Judy lifted her spoon, she discovered that her hand was trembling and she tightened her grip.
“How long do you plan to keep me here?” she asked. Six place settings separated them; the distance could’ve been far greater for all the notice McFarland gave her.
“You’ll be free to go shortly,” he announced between courses, having waited a full five minutes before responding.
“I can leave?” she said in astonishment. “When?”
“Soon.” He gauged her expression grimly. “Are you so miserable?”
“No,” she admitted, smoothing the linen napkin across her lap. “The island is lovely.”
“Good.” His eyes grew gentle.
“Whose decision was it for you to come?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Mine.”
He nodded and seemed to approve. “I imagine that your father and brother were opposed to your willingness to sacrifice yourself.” He said this with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Adamantly. I probably never would’ve been told of your…ultimatum, but I accidentally overheard them discussing it.”
“You were wise to come.”
“How’s that?”
“I wouldn’t have hesitated to call in the loan.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” she said, disliking him. Her fingers gripped the napkin in her lap, but that was the only outward sign of anger that she allowed herself.
His grin lacked humor. “If you’d refused, you would’ve been burdened with a terrible guilt. In time, your peace and happiness would have been affected.”
The butler took away her untouched salad and served the main course. Judy stared down at the thin slices of roast beef, smothered in gravy and mushrooms, and knew she wouldn’t be able to eat.
“Have you always been this dictatorial?” Judy demanded.
“Always.” He carefully sliced his meat.
She thought of the class of four-year-olds she’d left behind. “You must have been a difficult child.” His teen years didn’t bear contemplating.
Slowly, deliberately, McFarland lowered his knife and fork to the table. His eyes were sad. “I was never a child.”
Princess was saddled and ready for her early the following morning. Judy patted the horse’s nose and produced a carrot from the hip pocket of her jeans.
“At great personal danger, I sneaked into the kitchen and got you this,” she whispered, running her hand down the mare’s brown face. “Now, don’t you dare tell Sam, or he’ll be mad at me.” Judy had quickly realized that Sam ruled the stables like his own castle and she could well be stepping on the older man’s toes.
“Do you have something for me, as well?” The deep male voice spoke from behind her.
Judy whirled around to see McFarland. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I hope you don’t mind…” She eyed the rapidly disappearing carrot.
He was dressed in black this morning, his expression brooding. Once again his hat brim shadowed his face. His mood seemed as dark and dangerous as his clothes. “You needn’t worry about stealing vegetables.”
Without another word, he mounted his horse with supple ease. He hesitated long enough to reach for the reins and sent Judy a look that said she was welcome to join him or go her own way.
Quickly, Judy placed her foot in the stirrup and swung onto Princess’s back, grabbed the reins and cantered after him.
McFarland rode at an unrelenting gallop, leading her into the jungle. The footpath was narrow and steep. Birds cawed angrily and flew out of their way, their wings beating against the underbrush. Leaves and branches slapped at Judy’s face; mud spattered her boots and jeans. Still he didn’t lessen his furious pace. It took all of Judy’s skill just to keep up with him. She barely managed. By the time he slowed, she was winded and her muscles ached. He directed Midnight onto the beach and Judy followed gratefully, allowing Princess to trot along the sandy shoreline.
Judy stared at him. Panting, she was too breathless to speak coherently. “Good—grief, McFarland—do you always tear—through the jungle like that?”
“No.” He didn’t look at her. “I wanted to see how well you ride.”
“And?”
“Admirably well.” He grinned, and his eyes sparkled with humor. Judy found herself involuntarily returning his smile.
“Next time,” she said between gasps, “I choose the route.” Dark mud dotted her clothes and face. Her hair fell in wet tendrils around her cheeks and she felt as though they’d galloped through a swamp.
He, on the other hand, had hardly splattered his shiny boots.
“Tell me about Judy Lovin,” he demanded unexpectedly as they trotted side by side.
“On one condition. I want
you to answer something for me.”
“One question?”
“Only one,” she promised, raising her right hand as though swearing an oath.
“All right.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Details.”
She nodded curtly. “I weighed just under seven pounds when I was born—”
“Perhaps current information would be more appropriate,” he cut in.
Judy threw back her head and laughed. “Fine. I’m twenty-six—”
“That old?”
She glowered at him. “How am I supposed to tell you anything if you keep interrupting?”
“Go on.”
“Thank you,” she muttered sarcastically. “Let me see—I suppose you want the vitals. I’m five-five, which is short, I know, and I weigh about…No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s information a woman should share with a man.”
He chuckled and Judy drew back on the reins, surprised at the deep rich sound. She suspected he didn’t often give in to the urge.
He sent her an odd, half-accusing look. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she responded, feeling self-conscious. He really should laugh more often, she thought. He looked young and carefree and less—she couldn’t find the word—driven, she decided.
“What about men?”
“Men?”
“As in beaux, boyfriends, dates, male companionship—that kind of thing.”
“I date frequently.” Although that was a slight misrepresentation of the truth…
“Anyone special?”
“No—unless you consider Bobby. He’s four and could steal my heart with a pout.” She stopped Princess, swung her leg over the horse’s back and slowly lowered her feet to the ground.
McFarland dismounted, as well.
“My turn.”
He shrugged. “Fire away.”
“May I call you by your name?” She found it ridiculous that a man would be called simply McFarland.
Fairy Tale Weddings Page 16
