by Amanda Cabot
For the remainder of the meal, they spoke of trivial things, but it didn’t matter. TJ knew they’d crossed a boundary, and though he’d feared his original question had reminded Gillian of her pain and loss, he now knew that his reaction to her playing had confirmed that she’d accomplished her dream.
Gillian’s response left him feeling like a knight in shining armor who’d defeated the dragon and saved the princess. He wasn’t a knight. Or if he was, his armor was tarnished, but still it was a heady sensation.
When she’d drained her coffee cup, Gillian glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time to leave for church. Would you like a ride?”
The euphoria that had surrounded him popped like a soap bubble. “No thanks,” TJ said more curtly than he’d intended. “That’s not the place for me.”
12
It had been more than twenty-four hours, and Gillian was still pondering TJ’s reaction to her invitation to church. She had thought that, as the child of missionaries, he was a regular churchgoer, but it appeared she was wrong. Though she had wanted to tell him that God welcomed everyone into his house, TJ’s frown had been so forbidding that she had said nothing. She didn’t want to chide the man, but he was wrong. So very wrong.
And so were her father and her brother George. They viewed church attendance as a social obligation, part of being a pillar of the community. It had been Sally who’d shown Gillian the difference between sitting in church for an hour each Sunday and living a Christian life. That was one of the reasons Gillian was here rather than on a cruise with her father.
Biting back a sigh, she pulled out the laptop Kate had lent her and began to compose an email. The absence of cell service at Rainbow’s End meant that vacationers here were free of electronic tethers, but there were times like this when Gillian was grateful for technology. Though she doubted she’d get more than a cursory response, since Dad was noted for the brevity of his written comments, she wanted him to know that she planned to remain at Rainbow’s End until Kate’s baby arrived.
So far, though he’d sent pictures of each port of call, there’d been no commentary other than the brief captions explaining the sights. Classic Dad. He was taking what many would consider the trip of a lifetime, a cruise around the world, and all he’d shared were photos of places he’d visited. No pictures of people, no indication of whether or not he was enjoying the cruise itself, the other passengers, or the sights he’d seen. But that was Dad, unwilling or maybe unable to express his feelings.
As she clicked “send,” Gillian felt a sense of relief. She’d done her duty, and thanks to Kate, it had not been difficult. Though the other cabins had neither phones nor internet access, since Isaiah had been designed for staff, Kate and Greg had decided it should have the same connections as the office and their apartment.
Gillian rose and peered out the window. With Kate and Greg shopping in San Antonio and a light drizzle discouraging outdoor pastimes, she had spent the morning in her cabin. But now that the rain had stopped and cabin fever had set in, there was no reason not to go to the main lodge. TJ might be there, and if all else failed, she could chat with Carmen. The woman who provided such delicious meals had told Gillian she was always welcome in the kitchen.
Gillian was approaching the front entrance when a man blocked her way.
“Gillian Hodge!” The man doffed his Stetson in greeting. “If I’d known you were here, I would have come sooner.”
He was a stranger. But what a handsome stranger. With classic features, sandy blond hair, china-blue eyes, and a height of an inch or two over six feet, he could have been a movie star, although Hollywood might have asked him to beef up a bit. The stranger was thinner than current fashion demanded. Dressed in what she had come to call the Texas uniform of jeans, a western shirt, boots, and hat, he looked like the quintessential cowboy, and yet he moved with such assurance that Gillian could picture him in a business suit or a tuxedo. It was no wonder Kate was worried. This man exuded charisma, and charisma combined with a healthy bankroll was extremely powerful.
“You must be Mike Tarkett.”
“Guilty as charged, but how did you know?” Mike grinned and extended his hand for a quick shake. “I recognized you from the local paper’s coverage of the grand reopening, but I doubt you subscribe to the Blytheville Times to know who I am.”
His grip was firm, and if he held her hand a bit longer than courtesy demanded, Gillian wasn’t complaining. There was something comforting, something almost familiar, about him. “No Blytheville Times,” she agreed, “but I do subscribe to girlfriend gossip. Kate Vange told me you were arriving today. It didn’t require Sherlock Holmes’s skills to deduce that you were Mike Tarkett, since the other new guests are couples.”
Mike wrinkled his nose. “I was afraid of that. I told Mom I’d be a fifth wheel here.” He paused for a second before adding, “She’s the one who insisted I spend a week doing what she calls recharging my batteries.”
If he was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Kate had no reason to worry that the Tarkett family wanted to either buy or compete with Rainbow’s End, but that was a big if. “This is a great place for battery recharging.”
Mike wrinkled his nose again, making her wonder if that was a characteristic gesture. “It would be more fun with a companion. I don’t want to sound presumptuous, especially since we’ve just met, but if you don’t have any other plans for the afternoon, I wondered if you’d show me around the place. Maybe we can even play tennis. My mother said the court is supposed to be a good one.”
He was being presumptuous, but Gillian didn’t care. Spending time with Mike Tarkett might help her discover whether he and his family had any ulterior motives for his week at Rainbow’s End. “It probably is a good court, but I can’t play.”
Though his hat shaded his eyes, Gillian detected a note of regret in Mike’s voice as he said, “I should have realized you’d have something else planned.”
“It’s not that. I meant ‘can’t’ literally. I’ve never played tennis.”
“Oh.” He paused, evidently digesting the idea. Based on what Kate had said, Mike was part of the country club set, where women were expected to be accomplished tennis players. Had Gillian not been a pianist, Dad would have insisted she learn to play, but music classes, her practice schedule, and the fear of falling and injuring her hands had kept her off the court.
Today was the first time Gillian wished she’d taken tennis lessons. A match or two might be a good way to pass the time. And a match with Mike would be fun. His smile was so warm and welcoming that Gillian suspected he wouldn’t mind if her skill level was far below Wimbledon.
“Maybe we could do something else,” he suggested.
Gillian looked at the now dry ground. Something else—anything else—sounded like a good idea. “My feet are in good working condition,” she told him. “Once you’ve checked in, we can wander around the resort if you’d like.”
Which was how she found herself strolling along the edge of Bluebonnet Lake with Mike Tarkett. Gillian had walked this way half a dozen times before, and each time she’d discovered something new. Today instead of natural beauty, she was discovering that Mike was unlike the other men she’d met.
On the surface, he resembled her manager and some of the other performers, but there were differences. Though he had the same careful grooming and obviously expensive haircut, Mike was more handsome than the other men. He was at least as confident as the others, but on Mike that confidence seemed natural, not tinged with arrogance. Best of all, there was no initial awkwardness between them. Instead, Gillian felt as if she’d known Mike for ages. It was an unexpectedly comfortable feeling.
“This place is even more beautiful than I’d heard,” he said as they walked by the lakefront cottages. As far as Gillian could tell, there were no undertones to his statement, no hidden agendas. Mike appeared to be looking
for nothing more than a vacation.
“It’s obviously your first time here.”
“Yeah.” He paused and stared across the small lake. The light breeze had died down, leaving the water almost as smooth as glass. It was no wonder Kate and Greg stocked rowboats rather than catamarans.
Mike tipped his head to one side, reminding Gillian of a robin listening for a worm. She wouldn’t tell him that, of course, for what man wanted to be compared to a worm-eating bird?
“I’ve lived in the Hill Country my whole life and must have driven by Dupree thousands of times, but I never bothered to turn off the highway.” Mike shifted his weight and looked down at Gillian. “It was only after the reopening got so much press coverage that it hit my mother’s radar screen.” He chuckled. “Mom’s going to gloat when I tell her she was right: this is the perfect place.”
Gillian’s antennae began to quiver, and she reconsidered her assessment of Mike’s motives. Maybe he was looking for something more than a break in his routine. “Perfect for what?”
“For relaxing. What did you think I meant?”
There was nothing to be lost by being honest. “I wasn’t sure. There’s been speculation that your family might be expanding its horizons.”
“It’s true. We’re talking about it.” Mike gave her a self-deprecating smile. “To be more accurate, my parents are talking. I’m listening.”
“Were they talking about a hotel or a resort?”
Surely the confusion Gillian saw in Mike’s eyes wasn’t counterfeit. “What do you . . . oh, I see.” He chuckled. “The Vanges thought I was scoping out the competition. You can reassure them that we have no intention of entering the hospitality industry, at least not for the foreseeable future. It’s politics that interests my father.”
Picking up a small stone, Mike attempted to skip it across the water, frowning when it sank after only the second skip. “He wants me to run for mayor of Blytheville and use that as a stepping stone to state office. I think he has illusions—or delusions—of Washington.” Mike’s tone left no doubt about his opinion of those aspirations.
“You mean the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue?”
Mike nodded. “No one ever claimed my father had small dreams.”
That confirmed what Kate had said. Cal Tarkett was a shrewd and determined businessman who wanted the Tarkett name to be as familiar as Rockefeller and Carnegie were a century earlier.
Gillian looked at Mike, admiring the openness of his expression. Another man might have tried to hide his discomfort, but he did not. “You sound as if you’re not sure those are your dreams.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s had her share of parental pressure.”
Mike looked intrigued, or perhaps he was simply relieved that the conversation had shifted away from him. “Did they push you into music?”
“No, that was my dream. It’s only been since the accident that my dad has started to pressure me into what he calls a ‘suitable lifestyle.’”
“And that would be . . . ?”
Gillian paused. As comfortable as she felt with Mike—and that was strange, because she’d never felt so comfortable so quickly—they were venturing into highly personal territory. But she’d been the one to open the subject. She owed Mike an honest answer.
“The usual,” she said as casually as she could. “I’m supposed to marry someone suitable, produce grandchildren—preferably girls since my brother has already given him a grandson—and live in a McMansion.”
Mike’s chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. “If you change ‘live in a McMansion’ to ‘live in the White House,’ that’s my parents’ dream.” He grabbed both of Gillian’s hands and smiled at her. “So, what do you think? Should we elope to Vegas and make everyone happy?”
13
You don’t have to worry.” Gillian smiled at Kate as she accepted a cup of coffee and settled onto the comfortable couch in Kate and Greg’s apartment. Though it had been the better part of a day since Mike had arrived, this was the first opportunity Gillian had had to talk privately with Kate, and she wanted to relay the good news. There’d been no time after supper, and when Gillian returned from Firefly Valley, she’d seen no lights in the apartment. Recalling Kate’s saying that she was trying to schedule a date night with Greg, Gillian guessed they’d found a movie they both wanted to see.
Kate returned Gillian’s smile. “That’s what the doctor said. I wasn’t worried, but she was a little concerned about my weight gain. She thought it might be the first sign of preeclampsia until I told her about Carmen’s cooking.” Kate gestured toward the plate of fruit in front of her and the tray of Danish pastries she’d pushed to the far side of the coffee table. “We both agreed I need to be more careful. Fruit instead of pastries and clear soup instead of tamales.”
Though tamales had not been a big part of Kate’s diet until she came to Rainbow’s End, she’d soon developed a craving for them and had even served them at her wedding reception. “I’ll bet you’d be allowed one.”
Rolling her eyes, Kate reached for a piece of pineapple. “Come on, Gillian. You’ve tasted Carmen’s tamales. You know they’re like potato chips. Eating one is impossible. I don’t have the heart to tell Carmen they’re on my do-not-eat list. Fortunately, Marisa and Blake are due back from their honeymoon tomorrow, so Carmen will have something to think about besides what I am—or am not—eating. She’ll be watching Marisa like a hawk, trying to figure out whether she’s pregnant.” Kate speared a strawberry and added it to her plate. “Carmen can’t wait to be a grandparent.”
“Like my father.” Gillian sighed, remembering the last discussion she’d had with Dad. When Gillian had pointed out that George had already produced the Hodge heir, he simply pursed his lips and said, “What else are you going to do now that your career is over? It’s time for you to be married and start raising a family.”
Gillian had gritted her teeth and remained silent, though she’d been tempted to mention that at twenty-nine she was hardly over the hill and that while her father’s generation may have thought women should marry as soon as they graduated, hers did not.
She’d been surprised when Dad had added, “I worry about you, Gillian. Who’ll look after you when I’m gone?” Though he’d been quick to assure her that the doctor had pronounced him in excellent health, he’d given her a little hug as he’d said, “There’s no ignoring the fact that I’m old enough to be your grandfather. Your mother and I were thrilled when we learned she was pregnant again, even though we knew it wouldn’t be easy having a second child when we were that age. We never even considered that one of us would be doing the parenting alone.”
He’d done his best—Gillian knew that—but there were times when she’d wished for a younger dad and more times than she could count that she’d longed for a mother rather than a succession of nannies.
“Marisa’s lucky if her parents don’t pressure her,” Gillian told Kate. “You know my dad isn’t exactly reticent where the subject of marriage and grandchildren is concerned.”
“He just wants you to be happy.”
That was Kate, the peacemaker. When they’d been growing up, Kate had tried to put a positive spin on everything. The day Gillian had been sobbing her eyes out because her father was heading for Australia, claiming Gillian was having her own vacation because she would be staying with Kate and her grandparents instead of at home with the nanny, Kate had pointed out that this would give Gillian the chance to try ice-skating.
Every time Gillian had asked for permission to join her classmates at the local rink, Dad had refused, claiming Gillian might fall and injure her hands. But he had never told Sally that Gillian wasn’t supposed to skate.
“We’ll have so much fun,” Kate had declared.
And they did. Though Gillian had fallen countless times, she’d suffered noth
ing more than a few bruises as she learned to navigate the ice. For two glorious weeks, she’d felt like a normal kid, not Gillian Hodge, child prodigy.
“No matter what Dad says, I’m not going to marry the first man who asks me to run off to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator.”
As Gillian had expected, though she had no idea that Gillian had received a joking proposal to do exactly that, Kate laughed. “Think about your wedding album. Wouldn’t that give him bragging rights?”
“Because Elvis would outshine the bride? No thanks. I’d rather have a small church wedding with the man of my dreams. If I ever find him, that is.” Despite her father’s claims, Gillian was certain there was another alternative for her besides marriage . . . if only she could figure out what it was.
Kate took a sip of her herbal tea before she said, “It might be just my imagination, but it certainly seemed as if Mike Tarkett couldn’t keep his eyes off you last night.”
“There are logical explanations,” Gillian replied, glad that she’d managed to subdue her blush. Kate was her dearest friend, but that didn’t mean she wanted her to know how much Mike’s apparent attraction had affected her. She’d felt relaxed with him, and that had made the afternoon special. When she was with TJ, Gillian’s senses were on high alert, but there was none of that hyperawareness with Mike. Instead, she felt comfortable. It might not be the “Some Enchanted Evening” moment Sally touted, but Gillian had found the afternoon unexpectedly enjoyable.
“So, just what are those logical explanations?” Kate made air quotes around the words. “The way I see it, a very eligible man finds you attractive.”
Placing her now empty coffee cup on the table, Gillian said, “Number one: there were no other single women at the table. And number two: we spent the afternoon together. I gave him the grand tour of Rainbow’s End.”
