Hidden Fires

by Sandra Brown

  Jared was slouched in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him with booted ankles crossed. He was examining the contents of a crystal tumbler with the exactitude of a chemist. The amber liquid matched the color of his eyes.

  The room was another expression of Olivia’s perfect taste. It was softly lit by glass lamps shaded with frosted globes. The sofas and chairs, arranged in harmonious order, were upholstered in pastel damasks and blended beautifully with the drapes that were drawn across the large windows. A Persian rug woven with the same muted greens, golds, and beiges evidenced in the furniture covered a large portion of the floor.

  Each vase, ashtray, and picture had been chosen and positioned with utmost care. It was a peaceful room. But, like the woman who had decorated it, it lacked warmth and cheer.

  Carson Wells was the first to notice Lauren, and he immediately jumped up from his chair and came toward her, both hands extended.

  “Miss Holbrook, you are indeed looking beautiful tonight.” He always met her with chivalry that was as overdone and outdated as his muttonchop sideburns, but Lauren appreciated his welcoming smile and returned it tremulously.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wells.”

  “Come and let me introduce you to our guests.” He took her arm and escorted her toward the two men standing near the table where they had previously been involved in their discussion.

  “Miss Lauren Holbrook, may I present Mr. Parker Vandiver and his son, Kurt. Gentlemen, Miss Holbrook.”

  Lauren nodded to each of them as they acknowledged the introduction. Kurt Vandiver took her hand in his, raised it, and kissed the air inches above it.

  “It is indeed an honor to meet so lovely a woman here in Coronado. An honor and a surprise,” said Kurt, his blue eyes glinting in the soft light.

  A rude, derisive sound came from across the room. Everyone chose to ignore it, but the embarrassed tint in Lauren’s cheeks deepened.

  “We’re proud of our beautiful Texas women, Miss Holbrook, but it seems they’ve all been transplanted from places like North Carolina. I believe Carson said that was your home?” The younger Vandiver hadn’t released her hand and, as he spoke the flowery compliment, Lauren gently pulled it away from his firm grasp.

  “Yes. Clayton, North Carolina. I thank you, Mr. Vandiver.”

  “Good evening, Lauren. Would you care for some sherry?” Olivia spoke to her for the first time. She was dressed in black, the first evidence of mourning Lauren had seen her display since the funeral. Jet earrings dropped from her ears and matching beads glittered darkly from the bodice of her dress. She was beautiful, but in a dangerous sort of way. Lauren looked at her much as one would look at a deadly beast—with admiration, but caution.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll get it myself,” Lauren replied to Olivia’s question.

  “No, allow me, please, Miss Holbrook. Sit down and I’ll bring it to you.” Kurt lightly took her elbow, guided her to one of the small sofas, and went to the sideboard that was well stocked with liquor and glasses.

  Lauren’s eyes moved involuntarily to the silent man lounging in the chair and she was disconcerted when they locked into his golden gaze. He had not even stood when she came into the room. How very rude! His stare was almost menacing.

  She held her breath, afraid that he would make reference to that afternoon, but he only held his glass to the light and studied it carefully as he said in a bored fashion, “Good evening, Miss Holbrook.” He made her name sound like an insult.

  Kurt handed her the sherry, and she took a quick sip, determined to divert her attention from Jared. Kurt sat next to her on the sofa and began asking questions about her visit to Texas. She kept her responses as general and vague as she could. Kurt’s interest made her uneasy. His heavy body took up much of the space on the sofa, and she had to make an effort to avoid touching him. Deftly she steered the conversation away from herself.

  “What line of business are you in, Mr. Vandiver?” Hadn’t Olivia and Carson referred to the Vandivers one evening at dinner? She couldn’t remember what had been said.

  “Investments.” She looked puzzled, and he laughed slightly. “All kinds of investments—railroads, lumber, cattle. Currently we’re interested in getting electricity into these smaller towns.”

  “I see,” murmured Lauren, although she didn’t see at all.

  Carson picked up the conversation by launching into what he considered a humorous tale. Out of the corner of her eye, Lauren watched Jared get up from the chair, saunter to the sideboard, and pour himself another neat whiskey. Abruptly Olivia suggested they all go into dinner. To Lauren, the suggestion sounded like a command. Or a threat.

  Lauren looked toward Olivia quickly and saw her gimlet eyes boring into her son. As if to be deliberately provoking, Jared gulped his drink and poured another, which he carried into the dining room along with the crystal decanter. If anyone but Lauren had noted this hostile exchange between mother and son, they didn’t show it. The Vandivers laughed heartily at Carson’s story as they crossed to the dining room.

  Olivia and Carson sat at opposite ends of the table, with Lauren and Kurt on one side, and Jared and Parker on the other. Jared was directly across from Lauren. He gave her a slow appraisal as he took his seat, but his face was expressionless.

  As dinner was served by Rosa, who had forsaken her bright skirts and loose blouse for a starched white uniform, Lauren studied the Vandivers.

  Parker had a pugnacious face, almost brutal in its strength of feature. His piercing blue eyes darted around the room in quick movements, as if looking for hidden secrets. His voice and manner were polite and conversational, though Lauren suspected that he absorbed only the facts he considered pertinent and sloughed off the rest of what was said as inconsequential. His body was thick and solid. His fat hands, with fingers like tight, pink sausages, rested folded on his stomach whenever he was not using them. This relaxed posture was contradicted by his busy eyes.

  Kurt was taller, though built in the same solid way. His eyes were as aggressive as his father’s, but he had deep dimples which appeared and disappeared at will, relieving the belligerence of his face. The cropped blond hair, also like his father’s, was crisp and wiry, fitting his head like a snug cap. His ruddy complexion made his eyebrows look white against his beefy forehead.

  Though the Teutonic-featured Vandivers had exhibited perfect manners toward her, Lauren was instinctively wary of them. Their etiquette was too polished, their conversation too eloquent, their attitude too humble. Their entire demeanor seemed too rehearsed to be sincere. When she caught Kurt’s eyes on her, she shivered involuntarily. His rapacious expression was reminiscent of William’s.

  Jared spoke very little, ate almost nothing, drank quite a lot. He responded in low, disinterested mumbles when anyone directed a question to him, and initiated no conversation himself. Lauren was uneasy at his careful, persistent scrutiny of her. It seemed that his implacable eyes never left her face for the hour they were at the table.

  If Lauren found the meal tedious, to Jared it was interminable. He despised the Vandivers and the grasping ambition that they unsuccessfully tried to camouflage with sleek conversation and courtly manners. Jared hated all forms of deception and pretense. And this China doll opposite me is an expert at it, he thought cynically.

  He tried to ignore Lauren, but finally gave up the effort and studied her, wanting to figure her out. He admitted to himself that she wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. And Jared didn’t like surprises. That’s why he had been furious with Ben the night before he died.

  No, I refuse to think of that, he told himself.

  Lauren handled her cutlery with graceful ease, and Jared was intrigued by her hands. They looked soft and smooth. The fingers were long and slim and tapered to pink oval nails that were well kept. What had he expected to see? Red nail lacquer?

  What had Ben said? Oh, yes. She was a pianist. Jared chuckled to himself and thought ribaldly of a more pleasant activity for those han
ds. Then he wondered fleetingly if this woman even knew about things like that, and quickly decided that she didn’t. He had seen the fearful caution in her eyes this afternoon when he had touched her. It was genuine. That was the rub.

  She raised the velvety lashes that hid her eyes and glanced in his direction. For a moment, she returned his steady gaze, then rapidly shifted her eyes away from him. He could see why Ben had been hoodwinked by the little tart. A man could drown in those dove-colored eyes before he even knew he was sinking. She knew how to use them, too. You were never graced with a full look, only an elusive glance. It was enough to make you go crazy if she didn’t look at you directly.

  She had too much hair, he decided. It was too heavy for her finely boned face and figure. Yet the knot on top of her head was softened by the bouffant fullness around her face. She didn’t need any “rats” like other women used to achieve this style. The wispy tendrils that framed her temples seemed more translucent than the china from which they ate.

  His eyes moved to the gold watch pinned to her breast. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and unconsciously moistened his lips with his tongue when he looked at the gentle rise and fall of her bosom. Whatever else was fake about her—her quiet voice, circumspect manners, her reasons for trailing Ben halfway across the country—one thing was real. He could still feel the firm cushion of her breast against his palm. His hand trembled slightly as he poured another glass of whiskey, and his manhood refused to relax.

  He should leave now. He should mount Charger and go into Pueblo for a nice, uncomplicated toss in the hay with a whore. But he didn’t really want to. He knew his constant staring was making Lauren ill at ease. If it weren’t such a damned entertaining exercise in itself, her discomfort was incentive enough for him to stay.

  * * *

  As they returned to the parlor after the meal, Carson commented, “It’s a pity that you don’t have a piano, Olivia. Lauren could play for us.”

  “That is a pity. I would love to hear you play,” Kurt said at Lauren’s elbow.

  “What brings you to Texas, Miss Holbrook?” Parker Vandiver asked bluntly as they took seats.

  Lauren was momentarily at a loss for words. The cold, incisive blue eyes seemed to challenge her.

  “Lauren is the sister of one of Jared’s friends at Harvard. Jared had visited the Holbrooks on some of his holidays from school, and we wanted to repay their hospitality. Since her brother has married, we issued the invitation to Lauren. Ben brought her back with him on his way home from New York.”

  Lauren stared incredulously as Olivia lied so glibly. The older woman smiled radiantly at the stunned girl as she continued, “She has been such a comfort to me since Ben passed away. I don’t know how I could have managed without her.”

  Lauren’s astonishment turned to anger. How dare Olivia lie about her that way! She had nothing to be ashamed of or to apologize for!

  “I don’t recall seeing her at the funeral,” Parker observed shrewdly.

  “She was overcome with grief. She and Ben had become quite attached on their trip. I wouldn’t allow her to go through such a public ordeal,” Olivia said simply.

  “That’s perfectly understandable. I felt that way when my mother died,” Kurt whispered as he reached out to pat Lauren’s hand. She pulled it back quickly.

  Carson redirected the conversation. “Tell us about this power plant you envision, Parker.”

  “It’s no vision, Carson. We intend to build it, one way or another. Of course, we would like to have the help of the Locketts.”

  “What will happen to the electric company that’s already here?” inquired Olivia, all business now. She referred to a small power plant owned and operated by Orville Kendrick. Lauren had heard Olivia and Carson discussing it. The plant provided electric power to the citizens of Coronado each evening from six until ten. Oddly enough, the Lockett house was not yet wired for electric power.

  “It will no doubt go out of business,” Parker answered Olivia’s question brusquely. “We will provide twenty-four-hour service. Kendrick won’t be able to survive the competition. One day soon, everything will be powered by electricity.”

  Kurt leaned toward Lauren and asked, “What do you think of electric lighting, Miss Holbrook?”

  All eyes turned to her, and she hesitated before timidly stating, “I think it’s ugly.” At their shocked expressions, she hastened to explain. “I see the need for it, and I agree with Mr. Vandiver that we’ll become more reliant on it, but I do think it’s ugly. I prefer the softness of gas lighting.”

  “Spoken like a true romantic,” Kurt said, and nodded his approval.

  “Hear, hear.”

  The two caustic words fell like stones into the room. Everyone looked at Jared, who had resumed his slouching position in the chair. This was his first utterance since dinner.

  “I’m interested in your opinions on all of this, Jared,” Parker broke the silence.

  “My opinion,” Jared snarled, “is that we cut all the bull and get to the heart of the matter, Mr. Vandiver.” His voice was hard and quiet.

  “And what do you perceive to be the ‘heart of the matter’?” Parker fired back.

  Jared unfolded himself and stood up slowly, strolled to the sideboard, poured a full glass of whiskey, and only then turned to face Parker. Lauren noted the impeccable fit of the black wool suit on his trim frame. His white shirt collar was a startling contrast to his dark face, which had hardened into a sinister scowl.

  “The heart of the matter is that you want to build a power plant that will destroy another man’s business. In order to generate that power plant, you must have water. The most accessible source of water is on Lockett land. Am I right so far?”

  “Your assessment of the facts is somewhat distorted, but it conveys the gist of the plan.” Parker spoke calmly, though his face was flushed once again, and his fat fingers were furiously working with the gold watch fob stretched across his stomach.

  “What happens to all of the people who depend on that water for their livelihood when you come along and dam it all up? The Locketts have prided themselves on being generous with their water. It’s a source of revenue, yes, but sometimes my father took a lamb or two as payment, sometimes as little as a basket of corn from a farmer who’d had a bad crop. Even before the land acts were effected several years ago, Ben allowed cattle or sheep ranchers with smaller herds to water their stock on our land. What will happen to those people when the water is no longer available?”

  Lauren listened avidly. Jared’s speech was eloquent. The thick brows that reminded her so much of Ben were drawn together in determination. There was no insolence in his manner now.

  “Mr. Lockett… Jared,” Parker said with condescending patience, “perhaps I understand the business world better than you do. After all, I’ve got about thirty years more experience. In every business venture, there are those who gain and those who lose. It’s a basic fact of economics.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Vandiver, so you needn’t talk to me as if I were,” Jared cut in. “I have a business degree from Harvard of which my mother is very proud. Please continue. I think I can keep up with you.” Jared mocked the other man with a salute of his glass.

  “Very well, I’ll be blunt,” Parker said. “You want something, and we want something. We make a trade. Your rail-road for our power plant. We both stand to profit tremendously.”

  “Parker, I don’t think it’s necess—”

  “Carson, don’t interrupt him,” Jared commanded sharply. Lauren was surprised when Carson obeyed without question. “We’re getting to the good part. Mr. Vandiver and son,” he said the last word with a sneer, “have come all the way from Austin bringing a detailed TransPlains Railroad diagram showing a straight track into Coronado.” Jared paused and took a long drink of the whiskey. “I’d hate to think they’ve wasted their time.”

  Lauren viewed this whole scene with fascination. The man became more of an enigma every time he opened his
mouth. Cowboy, Harvard graduate, businessman?

  “Vandiver,” Jared continued, “the railroad has been in Kerrville for several years. Comfort and Fredericksburg are in the process of negotiating one. With Lockett cattle, the granite quarries, and the cedar posts business, why do you imagine we need your help in obtaining a railroad?”

  “Shut up, Jared. You’re drunk and you’re offending our guests,” Olivia barked. Her face was a mask of fury.

  “Quite all right, Olivia. He asked a simple question, to which I will give a simple answer.” Parker bowed to her slightly before facing Jared again. “Ben Lockett was a respected man in this state. A very powerful man. I don’t have to tell you that. Yet for years he was unable to secure a railroad into Coronado.”

  “That’s because he wasn’t going to exploit the people who respected him!” Jared shouted.

  “Whatever the reasons for his failure, you still have no railroad. I happen to have many friends on the Railroad Commission. If I tell them that Coronado is a bad risk…” He shrugged expressively. “On the other hand, if I say that it’s a potential money maker, they’ll jump at the chance to build train tracks here. If a man as influential as your father failed to achieve this goal without my help, how do you propose to do it?”

  Some of the arrogance and fire went out of Jared then. He placed his glass on a small table and faced Parker, staring at him for several long, silent moments. Parker stared back levelly, clearly evaluating a foe.

  Calmly, hardly above a whisper, Jared pronounced, “You are a sonofabitch.”

  “Yes, I am,” Parker agreed grimly.

  Jared turned his alcohol-brightened eyes on Kurt, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. “I wonder what that makes you,” Jared said contemptuously. Then his eyes swept across Lauren to his mother and Carson. His face registered disgust and resignation before he turned and strode from the room, the heels of his polished black boots emphasizing his anger with each long, hurried step on the parqueted floor. A few seconds later, the front door slammed.

  Always the diplomat, Carson conciliated, “Parker, Kurt, you must be patient with the boy. He just lost his father. Ben’s death hit him hard.”