New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  “Will you be able to come, Brock?” she asked, meeting his gaze for the first time, hoping desperately that her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt.

  “I’d really like for you to be there.”

  “I’ll come,” he said briefly, his dark eyes unfathomable, his features calm and composed. “Thanks for asking me, Amanda.”

  “Is seven o’clock too late for the girls, Lynn?”

  “Hardly,” Lynn said cheerfully. “Those two are usually still going strong at midnight when I’m altogether wasted.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday.”

  Amanda moved back to her own table, still shaken by the enigmatic look in Brock Munroe’s dark brown eyes.

  But she knew she was doing the right thing. The only way to clear her mind and convince herself of her folly was to put Brock Munroe together with Edward Price in a social setting—and she’d never have another chance to accomplish that feat.

  And afterward, when it was all over, Amanda would be cured of this strange haunting obsession. She’d be able to say goodbye to Texas and all the disturbing things that had happened to her since she returned. She could fly back to New York and the life she was meant to live, and there would no longer be a single doubt in her mind, no wistful backward glances.

  Not one single doubt, she told herself firmly, sliding in opposite Edward and smiling at him with more warmth than she’d shown since his return from Dallas.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AMANDA HURRIED around her little kitchen, simultaneously keeping track of the stuffed chicken breasts in the oven, the green beans and almonds rotating in the microwave and a pot of hollandaise sauce bubbling on a burner.

  Edward, who loved social occasions like this, stood at the counter with a chef’s apron tied around his waist. “Angel…” he said, frowning at the label on a wine bottle.

  “Yes?” Amanda threw him a distracted glance and grabbed a spoon. “Edward, can you stir the hollandaise for a minute while I check the potatoes? The damn stuff burns and sticks in a second if you…”

  He moved over beside her, dropped a kiss on her flushed cheek and took the spoon, stirring the bubbling golden sauce in a perfunctory fashion.

  “I was about to ask,” he said mildly, “if you know the sweetness code on the wine. I don’t believe I’m familiar with that label.”

  “It’s a Texas wine. I’ve never tasted it, either, but Cynthia says it’s nice with poultry.”

  “Cynthia?”

  “Cynthia McKinney. The pregnant one.”

  “Ah, yes.” Edward nodded approval. “A most attractive woman. Dresses wonderfully despite her condition.”

  “Well, of course she does. She’s one of my clients,” Amanda told him cheerfully, but her smile faded when she saw the sudden guarded look on his face. More and more, it seemed that Edward hated to be reminded of her career.

  “You’re jealous of my business,” Amanda told him, poking a fork into one of the chicken breasts. “Aren’t you, Edward?”

  “Of course,” he said with lofty sarcasm. “After all, you must be doing at least one or two percent of what I turn over in a year. How can I possibly endure a threat like that?”

  “That’s not what I meant. You don’t like to see me being successful on my own, because it shows that I could get along without you. Right?”

  Edward cast her a quick wary glance, but her face was calm, her blue eyes mild and steady, so he chose an offhand approach. “Let’s not start a fight just before the guests arrive, shall we, Angel? Suffice to say that you’re altogether wrong about this. I’m proud of your success. I spotted you years ago, and your little business venture just proves that my judgment was impeccable as always.”

  Amanda looked at him a moment longer and he gave her an easy smile.

  “Now, about the guests,” he said, “could we run over this one more time, just to refresh my memory? There’s Beverly and Jeff…”

  “She’s my friend, the one I went to college with. And Jeff’s her boyfriend, the brother of the man we met at Kickers who runs the dude ranch.”

  “And Lynn’s the jockey….”

  “J. T. McKinney’s daughter, and Beverly’s cousin. She’ll be bringing a couple of kids with her. They’re the daughters of—damn!”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I touched the oven rack with my arm, but I don’t think I burned it badly.” Amanda rubbed her arm with an awkward motion, relieved that the conversation had been diverted.

  Edward still believed that Brock Munroe and Lynn McKinney were a couple, and Amanda didn’t seem able, somehow, to tell him the truth.

  If she told Edward that Lynn was actually engaged to Sam Russell and the two little girls were Sam’s daughters, then how could she explain Brock’s presence at this dinner party? Just a stray man who’d happened to be at the table when she issued the invitations?

  Amanda shook her head and burrowed in the fridge for her carefully wrapped salad greens.

  Edward was too shrewd to accept an explanation like that. And despite her brave resolve to examine this whole situation honestly, Amanda wasn’t at all sure that she could bear to have him suspect that there was something between Amanda and the disheveled young rancher.

  She paused with the salad in her hands, frowning, wondering what Edward would do if she simply told him that she and Brock had made love.

  Would he be angry? Would he storm out of her life in a towering rage?

  Not likely, Amanda decided. Edward would be more likely to jeer at Brock, make fun of Amanda’s taste, sulk for a few days and finally forgive her this embarrassing little indiscretion. But he’d also be careful to remind her of it every now and then when he needed to regain the upper hand. That was Edward’s way of dealing with things, and it was powerfully effective.

  Her mind was still whirling with these thoughts, her hands automatically chopping salad ingredients, when the doorbell rang. Edward hurried to answer, shedding his apron and straightening his hair with a deliberate motion.

  Amanda’s heart began to thunder again. Her fingers shook, scattering bits of lettuce over the counter. She bit her lip and moaned silently, wondering if she’d been a fool to set this whole thing in motion, and how she was ever going to survive the awkwardness of the evening?

  “Hello, hello,” Edward was saying heartily, always the gracious host no matter what his private thoughts might be. “I see you’ve all arrived together, so we can open the wine immediately. My goodness,” he added in a less artificial tone, “what is that?”

  Still trembling with emotion, Amanda turned to peer at the crowd in the doorway and saw a small red-haired child standing close to Edward, holding something bulky in her arms.

  “It’s my hamster cage,” Sandy Russell said solemnly to Edward. “His name’s Buttons. He isn’t feeling good tonight, so Lynn said I could bring him.”

  “Not feeling good?” Edward asked, peering nervously at the plump furry object in the cage. “Do you…do you have any idea what might be troubling him?”

  “Brock says he needs a girlfriend,” Sandy reported, gazing up at the handsome man in the silk shirt who had just answered the door. “He says it’s time for him to have a mate.”

  “Brock should know,” Beverly said cheerfully, handing her jacket to Edward. “After all, the man’s an expert on livestock.”

  “If not girlfriends,” Jeff added with a grin, ambling into the apartment behind Beverly and looking around with interest.

  “All this abuse and I haven’t even taken my coat off yet,” a deep voice complained mildly from the vestibule, setting Amanda’s heart pounding once again. She smiled automatically at Lynn and Allie Russell, Sandy’s older sister, then hurried back to the counter to continue chopping green peppers.

  “Hello, Amanda,” Brock said, so close to her that she almost cut herself with the sharp knife. “I brought some wine.”

  Amanda glanced up at him, speechless. She was frightened suddenly…terrified of this ma
n, of his strange physical power over her, of what had happened between them. How easily, with just a couple of words, he would be able to use that one incident to destroy her relationship with Edward and quite possibly her entire future.

  But he said nothing, just smiled down at her with the casual ease of an old friend and set his brown-wrapped bottle on the counter.

  Edward lifted it, removed the wrapping and gave the label a quick disparaging glance. “Not quite the thing for poultry, I’m afraid,” he announced, shoving the bottle carelessly back into a corner. “Angel, do we have something we can give these children to drink?”

  “There’s juice in the fridge,” Amanda said in a distracted tone, turning back to her salad. “And Edward, if you could just…”

  She glanced up in astonishment at Brock, who had lifted a spoon and was stirring the hollandaise sauce. “This stuff burns real easy,” he told her with a cheerful smile. “You gotta be careful with it.”

  “I know. Thanks, Brock,” she added, feeling almost faint with confusion and distress. She finished tossing the salad and hurried to place it on the dining table so he couldn’t see how much her hands were shaking.

  “Hey, Amanda, is it okay if Buttons sits here by the lamp? He likes to watch everybody.”

  “Of course, Sandy. You’d better make sure he’s safely tucked away so nobody knocks his cage over, though. Allie, what a pretty outfit,” Amanda added with genuine approval.

  Allie Russell, aged eleven, smiled modestly and smoothed her black tunic over a pair of bright flowered stirrup pants. “Lynn helped me pick it out,” she said.

  “Well, the two of you did a great job. Not many young girls can wear black, but it’s wonderful on you. Isn’t it, Beverly?”

  “Too damned wonderful,” Beverly agreed gloomily. “This kind of competition makes me feel old, Mandy.”

  “You’re not old, Bev,” Jeff told her, dropping an arm around her shoulder and cuddling her fondly. “Just ripely mature.”

  “Comfortably matronly,” Lynn added with a cousinly jeer at the lovely blond woman sitting opposite her.

  “God, what a mean group,” Beverly complained.

  “Where’s Brock?” she added, looking around.

  “The cowboy? He’s in the kitchen tending to the hollandaise,” Edward said with a sardonic grin, holding a lacquered tray and handling wine goblets around. “Obviously a man of many talents.”

  Amanda glanced up quickly. Despite the casual tone she recognized a slight edge in Edward’s voice and wondered if something had already passed between the two men, or if Edward just sensed that there was more to Brock Munroe’s presence here tonight than Amanda had told him.

  But when he handed her a wineglass, he smiled into her eyes and gave her a fond pat on the cheek, then leaned forward to kiss her gently. “Everything looks perfect, as usual, Angel,” he murmured. “You’re such a wonderful hostess.”

  Amanda flushed at this praise and sagged with relief, resolving to be very careful for the rest of the evening not to rouse Edward’s suspicions.

  Accordingly, she seated Edward at the far end of the table with Jeff and Beverly, hoping he’d be fully absorbed in their cheerful witty conversation. Lynn and Brock were opposite each other halfway down, and the two children sat closest to Amanda who was at the end near the kitchen.

  “Better put them one on each side so they won’t fight,” Lynn suggested, earning a scowl from Allie who was feeling very grown-up and pleased by the sophisticated dinner party.

  At least Amanda didn’t need to worry about the success of her party or her meal. Talk and laughter flowed freely around the table, and even Edward seemed to unbend and enjoy himself, to chuckle at Beverly’s stories and express genuine interest in the life and customs of the Hill Country.

  The sculpted chrome light fixture gleamed coldly on his shining hair, highlighting the soft rust-colored silk shirt he wore and the rings on his manicured hands. Amanda glanced at him from time to time, impressed all over again by his handsome patrician face and flawless manners, his beautiful flowing auburn hair and flashing smile.

  Next to Edward, Brock Munroe looked sun-browned and rugged, almost graceless in his hard masculinity. He ate steadily, complimented Amanda with evident sincerity on the delicious meal, questioned Edward briefly about his job, and spent the rest of the time in a quiet earnest conversation with little Sandy Russell who was seated next to him.

  Amanda strained to listen, but could only determine that they appeared to be discussing various types of veterinary problems, including sore eyes on turtles and cats suffering from fur balls.

  This had been such a good idea, she thought, congratulating herself. The dinner was progressing flawlessly, everybody was having a good time, and best of all, her plan was working.

  Brock’s not the man for me, Amanda told herself firmly. Not at all. Look at him beside Edward. How could I ever have thought…

  But when Brock looked up, intercepting her glance, meeting her eyes, she understood what had drawn her so forcefully. For a brief crazy time she stared at him, openmouthed and breathless. The guests faded, Edward vanished, the room swam in dizzy circles and all she could think of was her longing to feel those arms around her again, those lips seeking hungrily on her own, that hard-muscled flesh burning and thrusting against her naked body….

  Shaken and trembling, Amanda looked down quickly and felt a warm flush mounting her cheeks. She picked at her food, trying to concentrate on something Allie was telling her about music lessons, wondering for the thousandth time just what this man’s strange appeal actually was.

  “Say, Amanda,” Brock said, looking over at his hostess again, “have you seen Mary lately?”

  “Mary?” she asked vaguely. She sipped her wine and struggled to compose herself. “Oh, you mean Mary Gibson. No, I haven’t been there for a week or so. Why?”

  “Anybody else talked to her lately?” Brock asked, glancing at Lynn and Beverly.

  “Mary?” Beverly asked. “I saw her in the library yesterday. She looked just fine, Brock.”

  “Why?” Lynn asked, looking concerned. “What’s the matter, Brock? Are you worried about Mary?”

  “A little,” he confessed. “There’s something going on over at the Gibson place,” he added reluctantly. “Something real strange.”

  “Strange?” Beverly leaned forward, her lips parted eagerly. “Like what, Brock? Anything to do with Luke Harte?”

  Brock waved his hand in an abrupt angry gesture. “That stuff about Luke, it’s all just stupid damn talk,” he said scornfully. “No truth to it at all. What I’m talking about,” he added, “is all this coming and going. The past few days I’ve seen Cody Hendricks heading out there two or three times, and surveyors up on the hill by my place…. It just seems real strange.”

  “I know she’s been talking to Vern about selling the place,” Beverly volunteered. “Asking him what kind of price they could expect and how long it would take to sell, all that sort of thing. Maybe she’s sold the ranch and that’s why she’s got the bank and the survey people out there.”

  Brock considered this. “God, I hope not,” he said finally, his voice softening with emotion. “Poor ol’ Bubba, he’ll just die if he can’t ever come home again.”

  “Poor ol’ Bubba should have thought of that before he started killing his horses,” Lynn said coldly.

  “Women,” Edward said, exchanging a cheerful glance with Jeff and Brock. “They’re so terribly harsh in their judgments. Have you fellows ever noticed that?”

  “Frequently,” Brock said without humor. He turned to Amanda. “Maybe before you go away for good, Amanda, you should drop around and see what you can find out about Mary’s situation,” he suggested quietly. “She seems able to confide in you. See if she’ll tell you what’s going on, and if there’s any way the rest of us can help.”

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself, Brock?” Beverly suggested. “After all, y’all have been neighbors since forever. Why don’t you
just go on over there yourself and ask Mary what’s happening, and if there’s anything you can do?”

  “I did. Just yesterday,” Brock confessed, looking troubled.

  “And?”

  “And she laughed at me. She told me just to mind my own business and that I’d find out everything in good time.”

  The women smiled at one another, picturing timid little Mary Gibson saying that to her large neighbor.

  “Good for Mary,” Lynn said firmly. “You might as well just do what she says, Brock. More coffee down here, anyone?”

  Beverly and Jeff both held out their cups but Brock folded his napkin and pushed back his chair, smiling politely at his host and hostess.

  “None for me, thanks. I have to get home. Amanda, it was a wonderful meal. Thanks again for inviting me. Nice to meet you, Edward.”

  Amanda gazed up at him, wide-eyed and silent, while Jeff looked unhappy. “You leaving so soon, Brock?” he asked. “The evening’s young.”

  “I’m like Sandy,” Brock said with a faint grin, dropping his hand onto the child’s shining carroty hair. “I’ve got a sick animal at home, too, but mine was a little too big to bring along to the dinner party. I’d better get home and check on him.”

  “What animal?” Lynn asked with interest.

  “One of my little Brangus bull calves,” Brock told her. “Back a few weeks ago, the day Vern and Carolyn got married, in fact, I pulled a whole lot of porcupine quills out of his nose, thought I made a clean job of it but the flesh got infected. I’ve given him a few good doses of penicillin over the past few days, so if he’s no better by the time I get home I guess I’d better call Manny over.”

  Edward grimaced with distaste at Brock’s story, but Beverly and Lynn nodded sympathetically.

  Edward got courteously to his feet and followed Brock to the door with Amanda at his side. In the vestibule Brock slipped into his leather jacket while Edward hesitated, looking confused.

  “But isn’t…Will Lynn be staying?” he asked Amanda. “Are Beverly and Jeff going to take her and the girls home?”