by Carsen Taite
“Our parentals were worried about you. I volunteered to provide a full report.”
“Worried?”
“Darling, your picture was splashed across the front page of every paper in the country. Even our NPR-listening, Wall Street Journal–reading, career-driven parents couldn’t help but hear you were the rebound sex kitten for the misbehaving Greer Davis. A bit out of character for Little Miss Workaholic. Do you blame them for being concerned?”
A plausible excuse, but Ainsley wasn’t buying it. She knew from holidays and other special occasions that her parents knew how to use a phone. Melanie perceived some benefit from traveling across the country, ostensibly to rush to her side; otherwise, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a hotel lacking the requisite five stars.
“So, how cozy are you with the famous Greer Davis?” The non sequitur told Ainsley half of what she needed to know. Melanie was curious, not concerned. The unanswered piece of the puzzle was why. “What’s your sudden interest in my love life?” Ainsley was instantly sorry for her poor word choice.
“Love?” Melanie arched her eyebrows.
“Figure of speech,” Ainsley answered. “Why are you really here?”
“I guess you haven’t known her long enough to figure out if she’s happy with her investment advisors.”
“Damn it, Melanie. Don’t tell me you flew your ass all the way out here because you want to handle Greer Davis’s portfolio?”
Melanie’s smile was catlike. “By my rough calculations, the price of the flight is nothing compared to the possible return. If you were handling everything else in your customary fashion, seems like I’d have an excellent chance.”
“Sorry to be such a disappointment. Someday maybe you’ll learn how to get business on your own without whoring out your little sister.”
Melanie reached in her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “All may not be lost.” She tossed the paper on the bar and Ainsley casually glanced at the unfamiliar scrawl. A phone number and one word. A name. Greer. Ainsley leapt from the bar stool and backed away from Melanie. Melanie stared at her with a perplexed expression. “Ain, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Ainsley fought to keep her voice from rising. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” But she couldn’t. She couldn’t find the words to voice her anger, choked as it was with wild jealousy. She had been made a fool of again. She remembered Greer standing in her office, looking contrite, asking for a chance. She must have given Melanie her phone number within moments of her declaration. Ainsley couldn’t decide if this latest deception was worse than the first. It didn’t matter. Any lingering thoughts she had about the emotional connection she had with Greer evaporated when she saw Greer’s name on the paper Melanie had carried around all afternoon like a trophy. Ainsley knew Melanie’s interest in Greer was nothing more than a financial one, but Greer obviously had her sight set on her next conquest. Melanie had been right. Ainsley was nothing more than a rebound girl, a brief stop in a parade of endless lovers.
“Ainsley, you look apoplectic. What’s going on?”
Melanie actually looked concerned. Ainsley figured Melanie could afford to be magnanimous since she had what she wanted. She couldn’t wait till Greer found out her sister preferred the other white meat and all Melanie was after was her millions. Ainsley almost laughed out loud, but she felt like crying instead. The roller coaster of emotions choked off all expression. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” It wasn’t nothing, but she wasn’t about to give Melanie the satisfaction of seeing her spill tears over a woman who couldn’t spare more than a few minutes to grieve what might have been.
Melanie looked relieved the subject was closed. She glanced at her watch, grabbed her purse off the bar, and slid off the bar stool. “Thanks for the drink, darling. I have to run. I’m headed out in the morning. I have a proposal to prepare. Lovely to see you again.” Ainsley barely had time to process her abrupt departure when Tony the bartender interrupted her thoughts. He held the slip of paper Melanie had left on the bar. “This yours?”
Ainsley’s answer was quick and short. “No.” Yet, as she watched him ball it up and raise his hand to toss it into the nearby trash can, she heard herself call out, “Wait! Can I have it?” Tony handed the crumpled paper to Ainsley and she tucked it into her pocket. She had no idea what had gotten into her. Oh well, I can throw it away myself. Maybe.
“Your sister’s kind of a bitch.”
Ainsley looked up to find Drew perched on the stool next to her. “I think we’ve definitely found something we can agree on.” She cocked her head. “I thought I sent you home.”
“You did. And I appreciate it, but I checked in with my father and everything’s fine. The hotel’s packed and I figured I should be here in case you needed me. Besides, I understand you’ve been slacking off. Buying dinner for the management team instead of working.” She delivered her comments with a smile and Ainsley grinned back. “Got me. Sorry you missed dinner. And as for my sister, she should be leaving in the morning.”
“Any particular reason she traveled cross country to see you? Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem to have a loving sibling relationship.”
“You’ve got that right. She said she was concerned about my welfare, but the truth is she’s stalking your cousin.” At Drew’s shocked expression, she added, “Call it financial stalking. She’s a broker and she sees Greer as a gold mine.”
“I doubt she’d be the first, but would she really try to take advantage of someone you’re dating?”
Ainsley intentionally ignored the dating reference. “Your initial assessment—bitch? Well, that was spot on. Melanie would do anything to get what she wants. She’s the picture in the dictionary under sibling rivalry.”
Drew laughed. “Greer and I certainly have our differences, but I don’t think she’d stoop so low.”
“What’s behind your differences, if you don’t mind my asking?” Ainsley didn’t care if Drew did mind. She wanted to know.
“I’m not sure I can put my finger on it. We were like sisters growing up, but we’ve grown apart. We live completely different types of lives. I feel like I don’t know her anymore.”
“Well, she’s in for a surprise with Melanie. I’m sure Melanie has no clue Greer views her as her next conquest.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Within moments of our rift, Greer gave her number to my sister. Rich, huh?”
“Are you sure?”
Ainsley held up the slip of paper in her hand. “Certain.”
Drew shrugged. “Strange. Greer called me a few minutes ago. Asked me to get you to call her. If she’s moved on, seems like she would’ve asked for Melanie.”
Ainsley didn’t know what to make of Drew’s revelation. Greer wanted her to call? She knew the number to the hotel; why couldn’t she call Ainsley directly? Well, she had been at dinner for the last couple of hours. What did Greer want to tell her? Why had she given her number to Melanie? Lots of questions. She glanced at the paper in her hand. Were all the answers merely a phone call away?
*
“Good morning, everyone!” Greer greeted Drew and her uncle and tried to ignore their surprised looks. She hadn’t made early mornings a habit and doubtless they were curious about her seven a.m. appearance. The truth was she hadn’t been able to sleep. After her uncle’s gently delivered ultimatum the night before, she had spent the night wandering the ranch, considering her options. None of them seemed very appealing. She could dive back into the public fray, sans agent, and face her critics head-on, or she could hide out a while longer until she figured out a plan to take back control of her life. The last option definitely sounded more appealing except for the part where she was supposed to earn her keep and tolerate Drew’s constant expressions of disapproval. Rick’s idea about checking into rehab was almost tempting when faced with Drew’s disdain. But Greer knew her real problem wasn’t the drugs, it was what the drugs symbolized. She had lived her life
with no responsibility, no accountability. Normal everyday concerns didn’t apply to her and, as a natural extension, she was insulated from the consequences of her actions. Until now. Macy’s death had set in motion a chain of events that toppled the structure of Greer’s world. Faced with her choices, staying at the ranch was the most appealing alternative, and not only because it meant she was closer to Ainsley and a possible reconciliation.
But if she wanted to stay, she had to figure out a plan. She could afford to buy this ranch and all the surrounding property, but she was certain her uncle had a more personal investment in mind than money. Greer looked across the table and realized how tired Clayton looked. He held open a copy of the Wall Street Journal, but his eyes were squinting at the page as if he were on the verge of nodding off. She was curious about why her retired, ill uncle bothered to get up at this hour, but she was reluctant to engage in conversation until Drew left. It seemed every word Greer spoke was a lightning rod for Drew’s derision. She didn’t have to wait long before Drew pushed her seat back and mumbled something about how some people had to actually work for a living before she took her leave.
Greer waited till Drew was out the door. “Clayton, why are you up so early?”
He smiled indulgently at her. “Habit.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“Treatment’s wearing.”
Greer realized she had been on the ranch for over a week, and she still didn’t know jack about the status of her uncle’s cancer or the treatment he was receiving. No small wonder Drew thought she was a beast. She decided to remedy the situation. “Tell me more about your diagnosis and treatment.”
“I have lung cancer. What more do you need to know?” He shrugged and turned his attention back to the paper. Greer reached over and pulled down the edge of the paper and gave him an intense stare. “Humor me. I want to know more.” She employed her best wheedling tone. “Please?”
Clayton folded the paper and methodically discussed his illness. Six months ago, at Drew’s insistence, he’d gone to the doctor with a random array of symptoms. Shortness of breath, decreased appetite, fatigue. He figured the doctor was going to ride him about working too hard or put him on a fancy diet with fistfuls of vitamins. He was totally unprepared for the declaration “get rid of your damn cigars” and the extensive battery of tests that followed. Chest x-ray, CT scan, biopsy. His doctor had been direct and thorough and quickly confirmed his first impulse: cancer. Stage III lung cancer.
“What does Stage Three mean?” Greer asked.
“It means they still go full guns on treatment as if it will make a difference.” Clayton’s sarcastic tone was the first glimpse Greer had into the level of his optimism. She was surprised he let his despondency show.
“It’s curable, right?”
“Sometimes. In a minority of cases. Most of the time the treatment results in partial remission. Recurrence rates are high. The reality is I probably have a few years.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“Radiation, like yesterday, and chemo. I’m on my second round. Finish up this week.”
“And then what?”
“They do a scan to see if it did any good. Then they’ll monitor me every few months to see if things are working.”
Greer had a ton more questions, but Clayton looked tired and she decided she could find out a lot of what she wanted to know with a few clicks on the computer. She planned to take Betty to Pimentel and Sons for a tune-up, and she could pick up a laptop while she was in Albuquerque. She could think of several other things she needed to pick up in addition to a computer. Clothes topped the list. Normally, she would have directed Rick to get her whatever she needed, but she felt a rush of freedom at the prospect of doing for herself. Fear of being recognized didn’t outweigh the anticipation of being her own person. As she plotted out her day she knew the thing—make that person—that ranked number one. She was concerned Ainsley hadn’t called, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Once she had a few other details well in hand, she was determined to take care of her top priority. “Uncle Clayton, what time is your lawyer coming over?”
“He’s coming by after he leaves the office, around five thirty.”
“Perfect. You don’t mind if I run some errands today, do you? Do you need anything?”
“No. I’m drained, but no other nasty symptoms. The chemo makes me tired. It’s the radiation that sucks the life out of me.”
“You have chemo tomorrow, right?” When he nodded, she nodded back. “I’ll see you tonight.” She started from the table. “Clayton?” When she had his attention again, she said, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ainsley was utterly unable to focus. She sat at the expansive desk in the management office with a half dozen open binders filled with spreadsheets crammed with figures. They needed to make some decisions, and Paul had scheduled a design team to come in the afternoon to give a presentation on their ideas for renovations. The Lancer hadn’t undergone any significant design changes since its original opening years ago, and its dated look needed serious assistance. Usually this aspect of the transition was the most exciting. It was when Ainsley could feel the staff starting to rally together to make the “new” hotel everything it could be. Nothing like a new look to improve everyone’s attitude.
But Ainsley’s enthusiasm for this project was sapped by the energy she expended wondering about the women in her life. She was glad Melanie was well on her way back to New York. She couldn’t take any more of her sister’s not-so-subtle attempts to win access to Greer Davis. Melanie was convinced the tabloid stories were true, and she was as good as hitched to the client of her dreams. Nothing Ainsley said could dissuade her. Melanie had Greer’s number in her BlackBerry and she couldn’t wait to get back to New York to plot her next step. As mad as Ainsley was at Greer, she wouldn’t wish her sister’s relentless scheming on anyone.
Truth was she didn’t wish any ill will on Greer. Her thoughts about Greer consisted of remembering Greer standing close, arms around her waist, pelvis nestled against her rear, gently kissing her neck. Ainsley shivered at the memory of the sparks skittering across her skin at even the lightest of Greer’s touches. As angry as she was about Greer’s deception, she couldn’t help but admit those sparks had ignited a slow burn whose warmth she still felt.
Ainsley reached into her suit jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled slip of paper she’d retrieved from the bar. She ran her finger over Greer’s handwriting and relished the intimacy of tracing Greer’s penstroke. Her signature was sharp and fierce. She had pushed the pen hard into the paper. Before she could shake a nagging feeling she was reading too much into the pseudo connection, Ainsley picked up the phone and started punching in the numbers to make the connection real. Greer’s husky voice on the outgoing message evoked the wonderful, almost giddy feeling she felt while eating pie and making eyes at Tray just days ago. She listened as Greer told anyone who was listening that she was currently unavailable, but to be sure and leave a message and she would return the call. Ainsley’s words were few. “It’s Ainsley. Let’s talk. Call me at the hotel.” As Ainsley hung up the phone, she wished she could snatch back her words while at the same time she checked her watch to start counting the minutes till Greer called her back. Before she could give the matter more thought, the office door opened.
As Paul shut the door behind her, he asked, “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, not at all.” Ainsley knew she probably looked flustered and the thought drove her to unnecessary explanation. She glanced at the phone near her hand. “I was making a call, but I’m done.” She saw the odd look Paul cast her way and willed herself to shut up, biting her own lip to help her will along.
“Okay,” Paul said slowly. “Sure you don’t want me to come back later?”
Ainsley forced herself to smile instead of launching into more word vomit. “No, let’s get started.”
Drew joined them and they reviewed the information the design team had provided and prepared a final list of questions to be asked during the presentation. Ainsley caught her mind wandering more than once during the meeting. She searched her mind for all the reasons why making the call to Greer was a bad idea. She was angry with Greer for lying, but truthfully, the only deception had been a name. Greer had been careful not to spin a web of falsehoods, and Ainsley had chosen not to distinguish between outright lies and careful omissions. In her black-and-white world, both fell on the side of darkness. Only the intense pull of attraction prompted her to consider assigning shades of gray to the actions of Greer Davis. The draw was strong, but was she ready to give in?
*
Greer was thankful her uncle was good friends with the Santa Fe County Sheriff. He’d instructed a few of his deputies to patrol the winding stretch of roadway near the ranch. Their vigilance meant Greer had a fighting chance of getting out of Tesuque before she was spotted. The media had taken to hanging out at the local Tesuque Market, lying in wait for cars to appear on the dusty road, hoping to catch a photo of Greer Davis worthy of a front-page spread. Greer loved the Vette but realized she would have been better off yesterday in Joey’s beat-up Cavalier, especially with her uncle in the car. I should borrow his car again for tomorrow. She wasn’t sure when she’d reached the conclusion, but she had obviously already decided she would be the one to take Clayton to the doctor for his chemo in the morning. While she was here, she might as well take him for his follow-ups too. Maybe she could get more information about his condition since he seemed reluctant to talk about it. She needed to see if Joey would agree to a longer term car-swapping arrangement. Clayton would be a lot more comfortable if he wasn’t sitting on the ground, feeling the road on his trips to and from the doctor.
In the meantime, Greer was happy to have the Vette. She spotted the poorly disguised E! Entertainment TV media van as she whipped by the market and knew that even if they were poised and ready, their chances of catching her from a dead start when she was flying by at seventy-five was unlikely. She laughed as the van, followed by several others, disappeared in a cloud of her dust, unable to keep up with the powerful car as it twisted through the hairpin turns on the country road. She hoped the sheriff’s deputies wouldn’t be too hard on them when they were all pulled over for various traffic infractions from which she was luckily immune.
