He took her shoulders and shifted her back from him, saying thickly, “You’re not making this easy.”
She smiled. He didn’t like his control threatened, and for the first time she experienced the thrill of affecting someone else. Intentionally putting forth her will.
“We’ll call your father in the morning.”
Back to that subject? Not as easily distracted as she’d thought. She frowned.
“Someone’s got to walk you down the aisle.”
“I can walk myself.”
He stroked her cheek. “I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
Hadn’t Morgan told her as much? Another century, he’d said. “Then let it be Hank.” She lowered her lashes and parted her lips.
Rick broke eye contact, fighting her lure. “If it comes to that, Dad would be willing. But your father gets first chance.”
Power draining, she closed her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
Michael Fallon stood in the marble entry of the weekend house of Ms. Clarice Overton. He took in the imposing foyer and the massive, crystal chandelier suspended from the towering ceiling. To his right, a sweeping staircase curved up, and at its base stood a life-size marble nude. Resting his gaze there, he thought how much he deserved tonight’s entertainment.
Five months of hell warranted a respite, no matter how unsatisfying the replacement might be. After all, hadn’t Saturday’s Post listed him among the most eligible bachelors in New York’s most powerful circles? He had clipped the article from the society page to keep it for Noelle when he found her.
He frowned. Yes, when he found her. Even though Sebastian had proved ineffective, he would find her. He handed his coat and scarf to the butler, then turned as Clarice caught sight of him.
“Michael.” She stepped away from her companions and swept into the entry.
Michael eyed her, an arresting face with too aristocratic a nose, but a figure that drew his attention immediately. She knew how to accent her best features to minimize her worst.
“How nice of you to come. I was trapped in a murderously dull conversation. You’re my salvation.”
Michael laughed. “Somehow I’ve never pictured you needing redemption.”
“Nevertheless, your appearance here is the pinnacle of my success.”
“And why is that?”
“You, my dear Michael, are the prize sought at every event this season. And I am the first to acquire you.”
“How very mercenary.”
She laughed low, a manly laugh that shook her bosom—intentionally, he was sure.
With her on his arm, he walked into the ballroom—it couldn’t be called anything less. Clarice soaked up the glances like a sponge, tipsy with her successful acquisition and the fine champagne carried on trays. Many of the faces were familiar either by acquaintance or reputation, and Michael was greeted with nods as they passed. Clarice was well connected. He might improve more than his personal life this weekend. But how the tongues would wag.
They circled the room, tittering here, tittering there. He didn’t mind the attention, but Clarice had a way of wheezing up into her nose before she laughed that made him want to pinch it shut. Maybe he would. He stopped in front of a vibrant eight-foot oil abstract. It was ugly even to his eye. “Tell me, Clarice, what do you see in this?”
She slid her fingers inside the back of his tux and looked up at the work. “I see passion, vigor, obsession.”
“Amazing.”
“What do you see?” Her nails scratched up the back of his shirt.
Tacky, Clarice, and way too obvious. “I see an artist with very little skill. I’m a realist. I want to see things as they are, not someone’s warped representation.”
She pressed close. “Then how do you paint passion?”
He looked into her eyes, then let his gaze rove downward. “Passion is an experience, not a focal point. Art should reflect what causes passion and leave the experience to the beholder.”
“I have something passionate in the library.” Clarice wheezed into her nose. “Would you like a private viewing?”
Michael allowed her to lead him away from the crowd, knowing every eye followed them. William would hear of it, think Michael had at last recovered from the blow. Noelle would hear, somehow she would hear. And she’d come back. She would think he’d turned his sights elsewhere. But she would be wrong.
“Is this what you meant?” Clarice motioned upward to another massive work of terrible art.
He eyed the crude painting of a groping pair, grotesque really, with thick lines of green shadow that looked more like slime. He turned away, bored, and glimpsed a decorative easel holding a small, delicate work, so out of place amid Clarice’s other choices, he asked, “What’s that?”
“Oh, that. No passion at all.”
Michael crossed over and stopped before it. Something so subtle would be totally lost on Clarice. The glow of the craggy mountain, the cool growth beneath. The detail both portrayed and hinted. Michael almost felt he was there. “This, Clarice, is art.” Then his throat went dry. “Where did you get this?”
“It was a gift, but I can find out. Personally, I don’t think much of it—”
Michael gripped the frame and wrenched it from the easel.
“Michael, what is it?”
He stared at the bottom corner. Noelle St. Claire. At last.
Noelle stood still just inside her bedroom door, hand on the knob. Last night Rick had shown her to the room with a wry smile, whispered, “good night,” and kissed her gently, then gone quietly to his own room. She heard him downstairs now with another male voice. Simon? Rick’s friend had watched the ranch in their absence and was probably leaving now. She cracked open the door and saw them in the entry.
Simon shrugged. “Didn’t seem threatening or anything. Just said her father was worried, wanted to know where she was.”
“What did you tell him?” Rick spoke low, obviously trying not to disturb her.
“I told him you were somewhere in Iowa and I didn’t know when you’d be back, which was true since you hadn’t told me a thing.” Simon put on his coat. “I couldn’t exactly claim I didn’t know her when I’d already recognized the picture.”
Rick forked his fingers into his hair. “It’s not a big deal. We’re taking care of it this morning anyway.”
Simon handed the card back to Rick. “Not every day a P. I. comes looking for you, though, is it?”
Rick shook his head. “She had her reasons.” He slid the card into his shirt pocket. “Thanks for keeping the place.”
“Any time. Gets me away from Bruce and Rob. Nice to have a house to myself sometimes. Those guys … well, you know how they are.”
Rick smiled. He didn’t seem overly worried, but Noelle’s heart thrummed. Maybe she could make him see. When Simon went out, she started down. Rick closed the door behind his friend and turned. If she could just—
But he had the phone on the table beside the door. He held it up the moment she joined him.
She frowned. “No good morning?”
He wrapped his arm around her back and kissed her. “Good morning.” Then he sat her on the couch and handed her the phone.
She sighed loudly but dialed. The sooner this was done…
“Yes?” Daddy’s tone was gruff. He must be busy already, but then, it was later there.
“Daddy?”
“Noelle! Where are you?”
But she didn’t want to say that yet.
“What on earth are you doing? Why did it take so long for you to call? Do you realize what I’ve been through?”
Did he realize what she’d been through? She started to shake.
“Noelle? Talk to me!”
Fear became anger. “What do you want me to say?”
Her tone must have warned him. She could hear his collecting breath, as he called it. She imagined his eyes closed, his hand rubbing his face. “Tell me you’re all right
.”
The anger faded. “I am all right, Daddy. And I have someone for you to meet.”
Silence. She waited.
“What have you done?” His voice sounded old.
“I haven’t done anything.” She glanced up at Rick and shook her head. He smiled.
“Come home, and we’ll discuss it.”
“I’d like it if you came here, Daddy.” No, she wouldn’t, but Rick had forced the issue.
Again silence, then he forced a calm, reasonable tone. “Where are you?”
This time she had to answer, but before she did she said, “I’ll tell you, but I don’t want Michael to know.”
He didn’t ask why. Had Michael given some warped version already? “All right. I have a pen.”
She made arrangements and hung up before he could press her further, then took a deep shaky breath and looked up.
Rick kissed her. “Feel better?”
“I don’t know.” In some ways she did. He was her father. But she knew from experience he would not embrace her decision. In fact, he would exert superhuman effort to bring her back … without Rick. If they had married before he knew—even then Daddy would find some way.
There was a knock at the door, and Rick opened it.
Noelle looked out past him. “Hello, Myron.”
“Hello, Noelle.”
She held up the phone. “I was just talking to Daddy. He’ll be here this afternoon.”
Myron chuckled. “Always a step ahead.”
“Myron, this is my fiancé, Rick Spencer. Would you join us for some coffee?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I think I’ll get home to the wife. You and William can take things from here.”
“I’m sorry you had the trouble of this trip.”
Myron shrugged. “I’m glad you and your father are talking. He’s been awfully worried.”
Noelle only nodded.
“Well, then I guess I’ll go.” He glanced at Rick, then raised his hand in farewell.
Rick closed the door and turned. “I expected more than that.”
Noelle smiled. “He saw all he needed to. But his wife won’t have him yet. He’ll perch out there somewhere and make sure I don’t sneak away.”
Rick looked out the window at the car turning in the apron and starting for the drive. “Pretty cold for perching.”
“Daddy pays him well.” She felt the cage closing in.
Rick studied Noelle as she sat back down on the couch. Something was different, something in her motion, the angle of her head. He recalled his impressions of her the first evening she’d come. It was that same brittle poise. She’d been cool, almost smug, with Myron, a wealthy woman with a lesser. He’d never seen that side of her.
“I suppose he’s phoning Daddy with all the details just about now.” She looked out the window. “Nice place. Nothing like the estate, of course. No, the man seemed all right, but she called him her fiancé. Not that Daddy hasn’t guessed already by what I told him.”
Rick sat down beside her, a painful check in his spirit. Why was she doing this? Acting so cold, so above it all. And then there was last night, when she’d been almost seductive. Where was the woman he knew? Or did he know her at all? “What’s the matter, Noelle?”
She looked at him. “You have no idea.”
He waited.
“You think you can handle anything, that nothing will change what you want.”
He covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t?” She raised her brows sharply, then looked up and around the room. “I came here to escape.”
“You don’t need to escape anymore. You’re safe.”
Her laugh was glass shattering on stone. “You haven’t met Daddy. You have no clue what you’ve put in motion.”
Rick tightened his hold. “Whatever it is, we’ll meet it.”
She sighed, the first crack in her poised indifference. “He’ll try to take me home.”
“What, he’s bringing the militia?”
Her eyes pinned him. “It’s not a joke, Rick. If anyone could mobilize the militia for personal reasons, it’s Daddy.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“I doubt he shares your sentiment.”
He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “You’re twenty-four years old. I’m no babe in the woods. We’ll deal with your father when he comes.” He smiled. “Now, why don’t you make us some breakfast?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She wore such a superior look he wanted to shake her.
Instead, he grabbed her into his arms, growling, “Have woman. Want food.”
“Stop it!” She wiggled free. “I don’t see why you’re so cheerful. This could be the worst day of your life.”
He laughed, but it was wearing thin. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“That’s not a promise you can make. No one stands in Daddy’s way.”
“Noelle.” Rick gripped her shoulders. “God brought you to me. Do you really think your father can stand in His way?”
She stared up into his face. “I’d guess they’re pretty well matched.”
CHAPTER
27
William St. Claire spied Noelle through the crowd, and immediately his gaze went to the tall young man beside her. He closed the briefcase on his lap and studied the man with an eye trained by years in trial law. He saw strength—both physical and mental—determination, and unmistakable possession of Noelle.
Noelle clung to his arm, limping slightly, no doubt the injury Myron mentioned. And, by her expression, this would not be easy. She was no longer a child, and she’d set her heart on Richard Spencer. That much was clear.
He rose to meet them, gathered Noelle into his arms, and felt his resolve momentarily shaken. What right had he to change her course? He’d done his best to safeguard her future. But wasn’t that future hers to choose?
No. Not yet. Not until she’d heard him out. And certainly not until her escort had. He held her out from him and turned to the young man.
Noelle said, “Daddy, this is Rick Spencer.”
“The someone you wanted me to meet.”
Rick held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”
The handshake was firm and confident, as he’d expected. Eye contact, direct but non-confrontational. William could be equally direct. “I’d like to know the nature of your relationship with my daughter.”
“With your permission, I intend to marry her.”
Honest, yet diffident. “And without it?”
He straightened. “I’d prefer it with.”
William almost smiled. That was as polite an “in your face” as he had received in a long time. He turned to Noelle. “It seems you have a lot to explain.”
“Do I?” She’d never been so blatantly defiant. There was something undefinable in her eyes. Anger? Hurt? Blame? For what?
Rick said, “Do you have luggage, Mr. St. Claire?”
“No. I’ll be flying back tonight.” With Noelle if he had his way.
“Tonight?” She seemed surprised. She must know his purpose.
“Yes, tonight. Unlike my gypsy daughter, I’m not at leisure to go traipsing about the country. I came at your request alone.”
“Then come and see the ranch.” She took his arm.
William allowed her to lead him to the tan-colored Dodge Ram, not new by any stretch. Rick stayed silent as he drove, but William wasn’t fooled. He was a determined young man.
Noelle pointed. “Around this bend is the town, Juniper Falls.”
William scanned the little town, then the snow-packed road up the mountainside. Rick’s truck handled it, and they stopped in the yard. William climbed out. The ranch spread out around them, spacious, well maintained. He looked at Rick. “You own it?”
“Free and clear.”
“He built it all.” Noelle took his hand.
William turned to Rick. “I’d like to speak with my daughter alone.”
He expected a fight, but Rick said, “Go on inside. I have to see to the stock.”
William watched him walk away. Confident young buck. He must believe there was nothing William could say to change Noelle’s mind. He followed his daughter inside and looked around. Whatever else, Rick Spencer was no sluggard. The place was well built, if he really had done it himself.
Noelle took his coat and hung it.
He waited until she turned back. “When are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
She started toward the doorway at the end of the room. “I’ll get us some coffee.”
He caught her arm. “I don’t want coffee. I want to know what you’re doing here in the middle of nowhere with that man. I have a right to know.”
She spun. “Do you, Daddy? Do you have a right to control my life?” Her eyes burned with accusation.
They had never fought. Not once had he seen the defiance he saw now. Oh, she’d been stubborn sometimes, even willful. And on those occasions he’d succumbed. Small things. The instance with the red dress. But this was not small. What he saw in her face cut him. “Haven’t I given you everything? Have I denied you anything? Ever?”
Tears brightened her eyes. “Only a life of my own.”
He didn’t understand. This woman was his daughter, yet he didn’t know her. “How was your life not your own? Everything you wanted—horses, music, dance …” He spread his hands.
She turned away. “I don’t want to fight with you. That’s not why I asked you to come.”
“Why did you, then? Why call at all?”
“Because Rick insisted.” She turned back.
William realized with a shock that, yes, Myron had found her, but what now? If she wanted to sever their relationship she could. But what on earth initiated this rebellion? How had he hurt her? He calmed himself. His purpose was not to fight either but to bring her to her senses. “So you’ve had your mutiny. Fine. Now be sensible, Noelle. Come home.”
“I am home.” She spoke with such depth of emotion he couldn’t answer immediately. Why was she rejecting everything she had?
He said simply, “What about Michael? He’s been sick with worry since you left. Almost lost his position with the firm.” He saw her jaw tighten, but she said nothing. “You left without a word. Couldn’t you end your relationship fairly instead of disappearing like some petulant child?”
A Rush of Wings Page 34
