by Sandra Brown
“I will get directly to the point of this discussion, Miss Holbrook. I’m ignorant of my husband’s reasons for inviting you here. I had construed some, though upon meeting you, I realize that they were wrong.” She didn’t explain and her meaning eluded Lauren. Olivia continued, “In any case, he was determined that you stay for at least two months. The night he had his seizure, as ill as he was, he asked me to allow you to stay for that length of time. Your being here was obviously important to him.”
Lauren moistened her lips nervously with her tongue. She wasn’t sure she could speak. “Your husband told me that you might find me helpful in handling your correspondence, entertaining, things like that. I envisioned myself as a sort of secretary.” Lauren’s heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely hear her own words.
Olivia came the closet to smiling that Lauren had ever seen. Carson Wells reached over and patted her hand as he said quietly, “Miss Holbrook, Ben liked to surprise folks and joke with them. Olivia is an astute businesswoman and has a number of clerks at the bank at her disposal. Ben may have told you his wife needed a secretary, but he had an ulterior motive, I assure you.”
Bank? She didn’t know anything about a bank. She was grasping at straws and she knew it, but she stammered, “I… I play the piano quite well. Maybe he thought I could give small concerts for your guests or something.”
Olivia lifted a derisive eyebrow. “That would be lovely, I’m sure, but we don’t even own a piano.”
Lauren was stunned, and had nothing else to say. She looked first at one and then the other. Humiliated beyond endurance, she bowed her head and stared at the soggy, twisted handkerchief clenched in her lap by white, trembling fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of this. You must think… I was so sure… He didn’t tell me…” The tears that had been clouding her vision finally flooded her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.
“Now, now, no need for that,” Carson said quickly. “I’m afraid old Ben was just playing one of his notorious tricks on someone at your expense, and didn’t live to see it through. You can stay for a while. Olivia and I will try to make this an enjoyable visit for you. Come now, stop crying.” Carson sounded genuinely distressed and was patting her hand so vigorously that it stung.
“Will you join us in the dining room at seven-thirty for dinner, Miss Holbrook?” Olivia sounded annoyed at this display of emotion.
Lauren took her cue of dismissal and stood as she said, “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Lockett.”
She summoned all of her poise as she nodded to them in turn and then glided to the heavy panels of the door. Olivia called her name sharply. “Miss Holbrook.”
“Yes?” Lauren said tremulously as she turned back to face them.
“There’s something I must know.”
“Olivia, please—” Carson interjected. He was ignored.
“Were you my husband’s mistress?”
Mistress! The word screamed at her, echoing in her head and ricocheting off the walls of the room. Had Olivia thrown stones at her, Lauren couldn’t have felt more abused. Her cheeks flamed with color, but her whole body had turned cold.
“No!” she gasped. “Whatever…? No, no.” She was too astonished by the question to deny the allegation more eloquently.
“I didn’t think so,” was Olivia’s only reply. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
Retracing her way to her room, Lauren barely held on to a tenuous thread of composure. When she was in her room, she collapsed on the bed and cried. She felt mortification for her naïveté and Olivia’s surmise. All too recently similar words had been flung at her, and had been equally unjust. Why was she suspect?
She grieved for a man whom she had trusted and who had deceived her. Trepidation for an ominous future consumed her.
Two months! What had Ben expected to happen in that time? And at the end of those sixty days, what was she to do?
* * *
She dressed carefully for dinner, wearing one of the two nice dresses in her wardrobe. It was made of soft lilac voile. Slender pleats and tiny pearl buttons adorned the bodice, and a high, lace-lined collar reached to just under her jaw. The skirt fell in soft folds to the instep of her white leather slippers.
Elena assisted her with her toilette. It seemed almost natural now for the Mexican girl to help her bathe and dress. Lauren had always been more or less alone, but these last few days seemed the loneliest of her life, and she was grateful for her new companion.
The dining room was decorated with the same elegant understated taste evident in the rest of the house. If either Carson or Olivia noticed Lauren’s reddened eyes, they didn’t mention them as they took their seats.
The meal was served by an obese Mexican woman who Lauren supposed was Rosa, Elena’s mother. Each time she carried in a platter of food, she looked at Lauren and smiled with open friendliness. Lauren smiled back thankfully.
The food was sumptuous and she ate everything except the beans and picante sauce, which seemed to be a staple at every meal except breakfast.
The conversation was limited to trivial, everyday topics, and since Lauren had supervised many dinners similar to this in the Prathers’ parsonage, she was at ease. She wondered at the absence of Jared Lockett, and started violently the first time Carson made reference to him. His not being there seemed of no concern to them. Olivia mentioned to Carson in passing that Jared would be at Keypoint for several days.
Olivia was relieved to see that Lauren Holbrook exhibited good manners at least. If someone came to call, she wouldn’t have to explain a gauche, stupid strumpet, which was how she had pictured the girl when Ben had first told her about Lauren. She was obviously well read, and maintained her composure this afternoon even when she resorted to that weak, feminine trait of crying. How sweet, how captivating, thought Olivia sarcastically. Carson had naturally succumbed to the tears, as all men did. They couldn’t resist a vulnerable woman.
Carson Wells had indeed felt compassion for Lauren’s pitiful state this afternoon. She wasn’t the scheming, devious woman he had feared she would be. He had expected a floozy who would drop a baby on the Locketts’ doorstep, declaring Ben’s paternity and demanding a sizable purse.
Lauren Holbrook was an innocent, a victim of circumstances. Olivia could have spared the girl the question about her relationship to Ben. He hadn’t wanted her for a lover, Carson was certain of that. Ben had liked them lusty, naughty, and buxom. This fragile, doe-eyed young woman could melt a man’s heart with her delicate beauty, but she would never have stirred the loins of Ben Lockett.
As for Carson, there was only one woman for him. Always had been. But no man was ever going to possess her. No man. Still, Carson loved Olivia Lockett. After all this time, after all the pain she had put him through, after having to bear the guilt of betraying his best friend, Carson loved her.
The talk turned to business, and Lauren listened distractedly, not really grasping or caring about the subject. Instead, she speculated on which chair Jared sat in when he ate in this dining room.
A few facts did manage to arrest her attention. The Locketts owned the Coronado Bank. They were trying to get a railroad trunk to Coronado, though there were some obstacles involved. Keypoint was managed by someone named Mendez, though the Locketts were apprised of the profits and liabilities to the penny.
Carson was speaking in an emphatic voice. “We’ve got to get Vandiver out here and wine and dine him, Olivia. He’s the power behind it. Without him, we don’t get the railroad. Now that Ben… well, now is the time to approach him again.”
“We’ll have to come to terms with the water rights, you know,” Olivia said coolly.
“That’s something we’ll face when the time comes. The important thing now is for us to let them know we’re interested. What about Jared, Olivia? Do you think he’ll object?”
“Jared will do whatever we tell him to,” she snapped. “There may be some resistance but he knew that Ben wanted the railroad. I think that’s the point to
stress to him.”
They were quiet for a moment, and Lauren looked timidly at their faces. Both were wearing expressions of deep concentration.
* * *
Jared was tired, dirty, and in dire need of a drink as he trudged up the stairs. The ride from the ranch had been hot even on this early-October day. The trails were dusty, choking off a man’s breath. It hadn’t rained since the day of the funeral. He stopped abruptly in mid-stride and forcibly thrust that thought from his mind.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed that the door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. For some reason he couldn’t name, he stepped lightly as he approached his room. So stealthy were his footsteps that his spurs didn’t even jingle. Thorn would be proud of him, he thought with a smile.
He stopped outside his room and put his hand on the doorknob, but an overwhelming curiosity compelled him to continue down the hall until he stood in front of the door to the guest bedroom.
Why not open it? She probably wasn’t in there. And if she were, what the hell? This was his house, wasn’t it?
He pushed open the door. Thanks to its well-oiled hinges, it opened silently. Lauren sat at a small desk. She was writing acknowledgments to letters of condolence. She had insisted on a project, and Olivia had grudgingly, and with a secret respect for the girl, assigned her this tedious job.
Well, well. The old boy hadn’t done so badly for himself, Jared thought. All he could see was her back, but Lauren turned her head slightly as she bent over the letter she was composing.
It was completely silent in the room except for her pen scratching across the paper and a small clock ticking on the bedside table. Dust motes danced in the warm afternoon sunlight that projected into the room at slanted angles.
Lauren straightened her shoulders slightly and sighed deeply as she dipped her pen in the inkwell. Jared held his breath lest he be discovered, but she bent over the paper once again. From his position at the door, Jared had only a partial view of her face—a smooth ivory complexion with a hint of blush at the cheekbone, and a pair of small eyeglasses perched on the straight, slender nose.
Her clothes were too proper to be true, he thought. The white, high-necked shirtwaist and the maroon skirt could have belonged to a schoolmarm. It was fetching the way the buttons on her blouse followed her spine as if inviting a man to trace his fingers along that graceful back up to a slim column of neck above which was piled a luxuriant mass of hair. God, what hair! It was coal-black with dark blue highlights that added to its richness. A few tendrils had escaped the heavy bun on the top of her head and lay coyly on her neck. Jared wondered what those curls would feel like between his fingers.
She was slender. Maybe too slender. Skinny.
Moving slowly, hoping not to attract her attention until just the right moment, he reached into his breast pocket and took out a cheroot and a match. He clamped the cheroot between his teeth and, putting on the face he showed the world, struck the match against the doorjamb.
The sound was like a cannon shot in the small, quiet room, and Lauren bolted out of her chair. She drew herself up sharply against the desk when she saw Jared, and clutched a dainty, tight fist to her breast.
Jared’s eyes flitted to her chest, and he amended his first speculation. No. She wasn’t skinny.
She looked at him in terror from over the top of her spectacles, and Jared was momentarily taken aback by his first full look at Lauren’s face. What in hell color eyes were those? Blue? No, gray. Goddam. He had to hand it to his old man. She wasn’t bad at all.
Lauren felt like a cornered animal as she leaned against the desk for support. Jared lit the cigar, his eyes never leaving her. The smoke wreathed his face as he lazily pushed the flat-crowned hat back off his head with his thumb. It caught on a thin leather cord tied around his neck and hung against his shoulders.
He squinted at her through narrowed eyes in an insolent and lascivious fashion, raking her body up and down until her cheeks were on fire with embarrassment.
Lauren did not move or speak as she returned Jared’s scrutiny. His hair was brown, with sun-bleached strands giving it the golden highlights she had expected. His complexion was dark, a combination of heredity and long hours in the sun. His eyes, though brown, were light, amber-colored. Like two perfect topazes.
There was a lot of Ben in him, particularly in his physique, but his face showed none of Ben’s merriment. The stance, the face, the expression communicated arrogance, conceit, and contempt.
He leaned negligently against the doorframe, ankles crossed, dressed in much the same manner as the first time she had seen him in the back of the wagon, except this time there was a colorful bandana around his throat. The silver spurs on his boots fascinated her, and she stared at them for a moment before her eyes traveled up the long body to catch his amber eyes, which were still fixed on her in an unsettling appraisal.
“Miss Holbrook, I came to offer my humblest apologies. I understand that on our first meeting, I was somewhat indisposed and behaved abominably.” His voice was Ben’s. It held the same soft timbre and low pitch, but was full of sarcasm. Lauren wondered what she had done to earn this disdain. He was the one who deserved ridicule. “What can I do to redeem myself?”
“You might start by apologizing for entering my room without invitation,” she commented.
He was surprised at her aplomb and cocked a skeptical eyebrow. He recovered quickly, however, and said in soft, conspiratorial tones, “Would you invite me into your room, Miss Holbrook?”
She flushed at his emphasis on the “miss.” Realizing that she still held her fist against her chest, she lowered it quickly, touching her watch fleetingly. At the same time, she took off her eyeglasses with the other hand. Smiling wickedly at her discomfiture, Jared watched her hands, particularly the one that fondled the watch.
“It’s still there,” he said quietly. “I’m not a thief.”
She was furious at having drawn attention to her body.
He pushed himself away from the doorjamb with a shove of his shoulder and crossed the room with the slow, predatory gait of a stalking cat. His spurs jingled on the hardwood floor.
Lauren’s throat closed completely when he stood only inches in front of her. He towered over her, and she had to tilt her head back to look into his face. It required a tremendous amount of courage to do so, but she instinctively knew that it would be to her disadvantage if he thought she were afraid of him.
Her false bravado evaporated as he raised his hand and extended it toward her. The long fingers reached out and, by an act of will, she didn’t recoil.
“What is this, anyway?” he asked softly. His fingers closed around the watch pinned to her shirtwaist. His breath stirred the fine hairs that framed her face, and she caught the pungent fragrance of tobacco.
He held the watch in the palm of his hand and stared at it in a silent pensiveness that contrasted with the fierce emotional explosions that erupted from deep within Lauren’s body.
She was on fire. Every cell burned with an unnamed compulsion to move even closer to this man who tormented her with his nearness.
The brooch was laid back in its original position, but not without the firm pressure of Jared’s hand on her breast to assure its security.
For long moments, time ceased to exist. Amber eyes locked with gray, and the cynicism in the amber ones was replaced by wonderment. Jared’s head descended toward Lauren’s with imperceptible motion. For one heartbeat, she thought he was about to kiss her. Her moist lips parted of their own volition.
She didn’t know that it was that involuntary gesture of welcome which jerked him back into the shell of scorn he used for protection. Mockery cooled the eyes that had been clouded with warmth, and Lauren was sensitive to the change. The pressure on her breast increased, but without the former tenderness.
She swatted his hand in a lightning reaction.
He chuckled deep in his throat. “What’s the matter, Miss Holbrook? I was only c
hecking the time of day,” he sneered.
She ignored his sardonic words and tried desperately to restore balance to the spinning world. Still, she was gasping when she said, “Please, Mr. Lockett, I have a lot of work to do.” Why was her heart thumping this way? Her whole chest was hurting and congested. She could no longer look directly into his handsome face or those brown-gold eyes. Why didn’t he leave? Why didn’t she want him to?
He stepped away from her and took a long draw on the cheroot which he had been holding at his side in his inactive hand. “I’ll see you at dinner, I guess,” he drawled.
He never looked back as he sauntered down the hall to his room. Lauren walked, entranced, to her door, and closed it.
Chapter 5
They were all in the formal parlor adjacent to the dining room. Lauren could hear their muffled voices as she descended the wide staircase. Not only would she have to endure her first dinner with Jared Lockett at the table, but Elena had informed her there were three guests tonight. One was Mr. Wells, whom she felt moderately comfortable with. She had shared most dinners with him at Olivia’s table. The other two guests were important men from Austin.
Lauren’s dress rustled against her legs as she walked across the wide foyer. She dreaded entering the dining room. Meeting these powerful men from the state capital would be intimidating enough, but the real cause of her consternation was having to face Jared Lockett. Her private introduction to him in her room this afternoon had left her flustered.
She wore her best dress, a peacock-blue crepe. The high collar and straight, tight sleeves were trimmed with cream-colored lace. The cummerbund was of the same cream color and adorned with one pink silk rose that was pinned to the left side of her waist.
Nervously she stood framed in the doorway, watching the others.
Olivia and Carson were bent in concentration over some charts that the two men from the capital had spread before them on a low table. All four were poring over the diagrams with rapt attention.
