by Robin Wells
She reluctantly pulled away. “I need to go.” She rolled off the bed and ran a hand through her hair. “I want to get home before Aunt Celeste and Jasmine so I won’t have to make any awkward explanations.”
Austin nodded. He understood, but the prospect of her leaving made him feel as empty and deflated as a punctured hot-air balloon.
She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. At some point in the night, all of her belongings had ended up in his bedroom. “What time do you leave for New York?”
“I have to be at the airport in Bozeman at three.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Three weeks, if we qualify for all the races. Then I’ll have a week off before the final race in Denver. I hope to spend at least part of that here.”
Frannie adjusted the strap of her purse. “I’ll miss you.”
Ah, hell, he didn’t want things to get all heavy and serious. That wasn’t his style. He swallowed hard. “Look—I’m, uh, not very good about calling. I mean, I don’t like to have any distractions while I’m focused on a race, and, well…” He let his words trail off. Damn, this was awkward. He felt like a heel. He cleared his throat. “I’ll call you when I get back to Whitehorn, okay?”
“Okay.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes looked hurt. “I understand.”
He was afraid she did. A funny ache settled in his chest as she looked away.
She pulled her car keys out of a side compartment on her purse. “Well, I’d better be going.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Austin flung back the covers.
To his surprise, Frannie blushed at the sight of his naked body. After all they’d shared, she still blushed. He grabbed a towel and wound it around him, feeling oddly touched and more than a little guilty. Why did everything about her this morning have to remind him that she wasn’t the type of woman who made love lightly?
He walked her through the main house. She stopped at the front door and gave him a quick kiss. It would have been no more than a peck if he hadn’t grabbed her shoulders and deepened the kiss. He immediately regretted it, because he felt an undeniable surge of fresh desire.
She did, too. He could see it in her eyes, see it in the way she backed away and smoothed her hair. When she spoke, her voice was breathless. “Well, thanks for everything.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
She opened the door and gave him a Mona Lisa-type smile over her shoulder. “No, it wasn’t. Not entirely.”
A slight drizzle was falling. He watched her walk to her car, her keys in her hand. She opened the driver’s side door, then paused. “Good luck at the races.”
“Thanks.” He tightened the towel around his waist and watched her duck down to enter her car. “Hey!” he called. She turned and straightened. “The roads are wet, so they’ll be slick. Drive safely.”
She looked directly at him, and her gaze hit him like something tangible, something with weight and warmth and depth, something that socked him right in the chest. “You, too.”
And then she was in her car, driving away, and he was more alone than he’d been in years.
Drive safely. Hell’s bells—he didn’t want to drive safely. He wanted to drive as though he had nothing to lose. Furthermore, he didn’t want to give a damn about how safely somebody else drove, either. What the hell was the matter with him?
He slammed the door harder than necessary and strode into the living room. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he saw a cream-colored towel sitting on the chaise longue, a taunting reminder of how he and Frannie had begun their lovemaking the night before.
Mumbling an oath, he turned away and stalked into the kitchen, only to face the dirty dishes left over from their midnight feast.
He heaved an exasperated sigh. Maybe he should just go back to bed and get some more shut-eye. He started toward the bedroom, then stopped. Hell. If the kitchen made him think of Frannie, the bedroom was bound to be ten times worse. Dad-blast it, even the thought of taking a shower brought Frannie to mind.
He fell heavily on his leather sofa. What the devil was the matter with him? He didn’t feel at all like himself. He’d been with women before, lots of women, and none of them had ever left him feeling this way—mooney-eyed and sad and forlorn, missing her like crazy when her scent still hovered in the air.
Well, it was a darn good thing he was leaving town this afternoon, he thought. Time and distance were just the ticket to cool things down. The sooner he put some miles between himself and Little Miss Hap, the better off he’d be. He’d take a shower in another bathroom, throw his things together, then get the hell out of Dodge. He’d leave the kitchen mess and rumpled bed for his housekeeper to deal with.
There was no room in his life for sentimental soggy-headedness, he told himself, rising to his feet. No room at all.
Across town, Lyle Brooks stood as a tall, silver-haired man strode toward his table in the dining room of the Whitehorn Country Club. At seventy-two, Garrett Kincaid still cut an intimidating figure. Lyle swallowed down his nervousness and pasted on what he hoped was a warm smile. “Grandfather. So glad you could make it.”
“It’s good to see you.” The athletically built older man seated himself at the table. “You could come out to the ranch once in a while, you know.”
Lyle lowered himself back into his chair, trying not to let his grandfather’s chastisement rattle him. “I’m afraid I’ve been very busy lately, what with the construction project up in the air.”
Garrett’s blue eyes cut across the table like the blade of a hunting knife. “What do you mean, up in the air?”
Lyle shrugged. “The Indians are all upset about the two deaths at the construction site. Seems they’ve gotten it in their heads that the location is cursed.” Lyle took a sip of water, trying to play it cool. “There was even an article about it in today’s paper.” Lyle had planted the story himself by making an anonymous call to the business reporter.
“I haven’t seen the paper yet.” Garrett spread his napkin in his lap and took a menu from the white-jacketed waiter who’d silently materialized at their table.
Lyle accepted a menu, as well. He paused until the waiter had filled both of their cups with coffee and moved away. “Well, it has to with the fact that the land is the burial ground of ancient Cheyenne warriors. The Indians think their spirits will return to bring death and destruction to anyone who disturbs their graves.”
“You don’t say.” Garrett took a long slurp of steaming coffee, his face inscrutable. Lyle nervously took a sip of coffee, too. Damn, but the old man gave him a case of the jitters! Sometimes it felt as if the old goat could see right through him and somehow read his mind.
Lyle leaned forward, trying hard to look earnest. “Some of the Indians are really up in arms. They think the land is sacred. It could bring all sorts of problems for us if the tribe decides to stop the project.”
“Are they threatening to?”
“Well, not yet. But you know how these things spread like forest fires, especially if any more accidents happen. That’s why I want to bring up another option for your consideration.”
Garrett squinted at him. “And just what might that be?”
Lyle carefully added a packet of sugar to his coffee. “Well, we’re not too far into this project yet. It’s not too late to move the site to another location.”
Garrett’s jaw twitched. “And would that location happen to be on your land?”
Lyle squirmed. Damn, but the old man was shrewd. “Not exactly. Under my proposal, the land would no longer be mine. It would be Gabriel’s.”
Garrett’s gaze fastened on his face like a bear trap. “What are you sayin’, boy? You’re going to give your land to Gabriel?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Lyle picked up another packet of sugar, wanting an excuse not to look his grandfather in the eye. “It wouldn’t be an outright gift. I would simply swap my land for his.”
The old man’s eyes turned cold. “We�
�ve already covered this ground, and I’ve told you no. I’m not trading your land for Gabriel’s.”
“But this curse business puts everything in a whole new light! If the resort is moved, then the northern land becomes the more valuable property.”
“And you’d want Gabriel to have the more valuable property out of the goodness of your heart?” Garrett snorted. “Pardon my skepticism, son, but I wasn’t born yesterday. What’s in it for you?”
Damn. Lyle inwardly squirmed. “A guarantee that the project won’t be held up indefinitely by some legal injunction.”
The hard set to Garrett’s mouth softened, but he still looked less than convinced. Lyle decided to try to appeal to the old man’s emotional side. “There’s another reason, too. A couple of them, actually.”
“I figured there was.” The old man drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, let’s have it.”
“Well, I’ve, uh, gotten real interested in Indian history lately. And the fact is, I hate to disturb the burial grounds myself.”
“Is that a fact.” Garrett looked as if he’d have an easier time believing the table in front of him would sprout wings and fly. “What’s the other reason?”
Lyle swallowed nervously. “This is kind of embarrassing to admit because it’s not very business-like, and I pride myself on being business-like, but, well, I spotted a bear and a couple of cubs. I hate to destroy their home.”
“That’s funny.” Garrett’s voice was curt. “I don’t recall you bein’ much of a nature lover. In fact, I don’t recall you havin’ much use for the wildlife at all.”
“Well, I don’t let most people see my softer side.” Lyle reached for yet another sugar packet, trying hard to appear confident and chipper. “So, what do you say? If I can convince the Indians to move the resort to the land up north, will you let me swap that land for Gabriel’s?”
“No.”
The old man was impossible. A burst of rage shot through Lyle. He tried to tamp it down. “It would be in the child’s best interests. How can you possibly object?”
“Because you’re up to something.” Garrett stared at him hard over the rim of his coffee cup. “But I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”
Lyle sat back and did his best to look wounded. “Granddad, how can you think that? I’m your own flesh and blood. It hurts me that you distrust me.”
“Yeah, well, it hurts me that you’d try to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Garrett slammed down his coffee cup, making the saucer rattle. Coffee sloshed over the sides as he leaned forward over the table. “That land’s no burial ground. If you were half as interested in Cheyenne history as you say you are, you’d know they used to place their dead up on tall stilts, not bury them in the ground.”
Oh, hell. Why hadn’t he checked his facts? He should have known the old goat would know all about the customs of the Cheyenne. Lyle’s hands knotted into sweaty fists under the table. “Well, maybe a lot of them were put on stilts on that land. Or…” Lyle thought fast. “…Or perhaps they died in battle there. I don’t know all the details. All I know is the Indians are saying the land is cursed.”
Garrett stared at him across the table, his eyes as cold as the eyes of a trout. “I’ve got good friends among the Cheyenne. My own grand mother was Cheyenne, and I’ve never heard that tale before now.” Garrett plopped his napkin onto the table. “I don’t know why you want that land, boy, but I’ve designated it for Gabriel, and that’s not going to change. Cursed or not cursed, that land is his.” Garrett scooted back his chair and rose.
“Granddad, wait a minute.” Lyle stood and reached out his arm, wanting to restrain the old man. “Where are you going? We haven’t even ordered.”
Garrett shrugged off Lyle’s hand. “I seem to have lost my appetite. I’ll talk to you later.”
The old man stalked out, leaving Lyle to stare after him. Lyle slowly sank back into his chair, his spirits sinking with him.
Hell. He’d been sure the curse approach would work. Instead of convincing his grandfather to give him the deed to the land he wanted, he’d only managed to make him suspicious.
The waiter stopped at Lyle’s table and gave a solicitous smile. “Are you ready to place your order, sir?”
“Yeah. Bring me a bloody Mary. Make it a double. Hell, bring me two doubles.”
“Yes, sir.”
He watched the waiter scurry away, his dejection hardening into anger. He’d have to come up with another plan. He wanted that land, and by damn, whatever he wanted, he got. He could do anything he set his mind to. Hell, he’d already gotten away with murder.
And it had been surprisingly easy, Lyle thought, drumming his fingers on the table with satisfaction. Peter Cook had met him at the construction site that night, just as Lyle had asked him to. The heavy equipment operator had been excited at the prospect of getting his hands on some money. When Lyle had asked him to point out exactly where in the pit he’d found the sapphire, he’d been more than eager to comply. The unsuspecting construction worker had crept close to the ledge and bent to point out the location. By the time he realized Lyle was about to shove him in, it was too late. He’d put up a fight, but Lyle had been on solid footing, and Peter had been too close to the edge. After a brief struggle, the sucker had lost his balance and fallen to his death.
Lyle had no intention of giving up his quest for the land now. No, sirree. His grandfather wasn’t buying his story about the curse, and Jackson Hawk hadn’t believed it, either, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be persuaded to change their minds. It might take another accident to do it, but it could be done.
Somehow, some way, Lyle Brooks always made sure he got what he wanted.
Fourteen
“Frannie, come quick!” Celeste’s voice called from the hallway. “The sports news is coming on, and they’re about to interview Austin.”
Just the mention of Austin’s name was enough to make Frannie’s heart pound. Lately it seemed as if everything elicited an emotional response from her—the ringing of a phone, the delivery of the mail, the opening of a door. He’d been gone for two and a half weeks, but instead of becoming accustomed to his absence, she felt it more deeply with every passing day.
He’d told her he wouldn’t contact her until he came back to town, she reminded herself. It made no sense that she should feel so awful about not hearing from him when he was only keeping his word.
He’d said he didn’t want to be distracted from concentrating on each race, but she knew it was something more. He was deliberately keeping his distance. He didn’t want to be attached to anyone or anything.
“Hurry, Frannie! They’re almost back from the commercials!”
Putting down her book, Frannie rose from her bed and padded barefoot into Aunt Celeste’s room to watch the end of the ten o’clock evening news.
“Austin Parker was today’s top finisher at the qualifying race for the Daytona 500 in the Winston Cup series,” the dark-haired newscaster said. “We have a reporter at the track who talked with Austin after the race.”
Frannie sank onto Aunt Celeste’s bed, her hand over her stomach, as Austin’s face filled the screen. The reporter thrust a microphone toward him. “Austin, you’ve been on a roll here lately—a win last week in Atlanta, and now finishing first here in the qualifier. To what do you attribute your winning streak?”
Frannie’s heart jumped in her chest as the camera zoomed in on Austin. “I have the best crew in the business. All the credit belongs to them.”
“Well, your driving is certainly a major component,” the reporter said.
“I just try to do my best.”
“Austin, we were all touched to read about how you and your girlfriend saved a baby and her mother from drowning in a cold Montana pond this summer.”
“Did you hear that?” Aunt Celeste said, squeezing Frannie’s hand. “He called you his girlfriend!”
Would that it were so, Frannie thought. She watched Austin tuck his helmet under one hand and run a hand through his hair. “We, uh, just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
“Well, I understand our network is airing the story about that rescue on next week’s ‘Celebrity Spotlight’ show.” The reporter grinned. “What does your girlfriend have to say about your performance at the tracks lately?”
“I, uh, haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone except you and my crew since finishing here today.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be proud. Have you got a strategy for the race on Sunday?”
“Just to make sure that the car’s in top shape and to drive my best. There are a lot of excellent drivers here. It’s a tough race, but I’m looking forward to it.”
“We are, too. Best of luck to you, Austin. Steve, back to you.”
Celeste hit the remote control, turning the TV set off, then turned to Frannie, her eyes glowing. “They talked about you nearly as much as they talked about Austin.”
Frannie traced a rose in Celeste’s floral comforter with the tip of her finger, trying to blink back the tears that threatened her eyes. “I noticed he managed to change the subject every time that interviewer brought it up.”
Celeste’s hand landed on Frannie’s shoulder. Frannie could feel her aunt’s eyes on her. “Honey, are you all right?”
Frannie nodded. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“There’s just something about you…” Celeste regarded her silently for a moment. Her voice grew soft and low. “Frannie, are you pregnant?”
Frannie looked up, startled. Her eyes filled with tears. “How did you know?”
“Oh, Frannie.” Celeste reached out and hugged her.
“How did you know?” Frannie asked again.
Celeste slowly released her. “Your hand. You put it on your stomach just the way Blanche always did. I remember doing that myself with Cleo and Jasmine.” Celeste patted Frannie’s hand. “Oh, Frannie, is it Austin’s?”
She nodded. The tears she’d held back so long came pouring out, along with a rush of words. “I just found out this morning. I did a home test, and it was positive, so I called my doctor. She worked me in on my lunch hour, and when she checked me, she confirmed it. It’s very early—I’m just a few days late. But I’m definitely pregnant.”
