He would have to concentrate on teaching her to laugh again. To live and dare. And then he'd have to walk away.
Accelerating rapidly, he steered the car through the traffic and toward the freeway, needing the feel of the speed and power beneath him. Disregarding traffic limits, he let the huge engine in the car hurl him along, riding its power, hanging curves until he reached the freeway entrance.
Then he sped into the darkness, wishing for the cover of oblivion, knowing the price he'd once paid for that oblivion. Knowing he was still paying.
* * *
As usual, Barbara rose early the next morning – and found a note slipped beneath her door. It contained explicit directions that directed her to a quiet, neighborhood park. At seven-thirty on a Sunday morning, the place was deserted. Following the path, as directed in the note, she came to a clearing. Tied to one of the trees was a huge bouquet of brightly colored balloons, secured with a riot of curling ribbons.
Beneath the widespread limbs of a weeping willow, a blanket was laid out. As she approached, Barbara could see that a linen tablecloth topped the blanket and it was set with bone china and sterling flatware.
Yellow roses graced the center. To her amazement, crystal candle holders held long, flickering tapers.
A candlelight breakfast?
It was close to what she'd expected yesterday – but then he'd presented corn dogs and grape soda. And now he'd surprised her yet again. As a strategist, he kept at least two steps ahead of her. It should make her uncomfortable, rob her confidence in her own legalistic ability. Instead, she felt a warm glow of admiration.
As she stared at the exquisite layout, Kenneth stepped from behind the tree, leaning one hip negligently against the trunk. "Morning, Counselor."
She caught her breath and tried to regroup. "No Egg McMuffins, Gerrard?"
His husky voice poured over her, as rich as the setting he'd created. "I wouldn't want to spoil you."
Her gaze drifted to a cart holding silver chafing dishes and an equally impressive silver coffee service. "I don't know. You could always go into catering after you lose this case."
"Still cocky, Counselor?"
"Not enough to presume that someone wants to eat breakfast in a park at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning."
She'd forgotten he could move so fast. In a few quick strides, he stood next to her, the heat from his body reaching out to touch her. Determined not to let him see how he affected her, Barbara stood her ground, lifting her chin to meet his gaze.
But he surprised her again. "More of a coffee and doughnut person, Barbara?"
"That's not—"
He stood deceptively close and she realized his words were designed to throw her off track. And he'd succeeded. Laughing shakily, she stepped away.
"Change your mind about breakfast?" he asked, moving closer, once again closing the distance between them.
"No… That is, as long as you've gone to all this trouble…"
"No trouble, Barbara." His eyes sought her gaze and held it. "Trouble implies hesitation. And I never hesitate."
Turning back toward the cart, needing to put space between them, Barbara blindly opened the lids of the serving dishes, pretending an exaggerated interest. In a few moments, she regained her calm, feeling her breathing slow its rapid gallop through her chest. "What have you got in here?"
A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. "Haven't lost that healthy appetite, Counselor?"
"As you pointed out, I'm not a nibbler."
He picked up a plate and handed it to her. "Prove it."
"I haven't had the benefit of climbing a mountain this morning," she pointed out as she lifted the lid on the first dish. To her delight, blintzes filled the first dish. When she took a generous portion, he handed her a dish of fresh blueberries along with a generous dollop of sour cream. "You didn't forget anything, did you?"
His eyes darkened for a moment. "I have a remarkable memory … for details."
She tucked that bit of information away as she sat down on the blanket. It would be wise not to forget it.
Many a legal case had been lost because of thoughtless inattention to detail. She didn't plan to step into that pitfall. Instead of answering, she took a bite of the tender blintze.
"This is delicious."
"I'll tell the chef you approve."
She glanced toward the outcrop of trees surrounding them. "Is he hiding out here somewhere?"
"That would hardly lend itself to the atmosphere, Barbara."
Her appreciation for the remarkable food diminished. Just what was he planning? He handed her a cup of fragrant, steaming coffee and she accepted it gratefully.
"Maybe a shot of caffeine will transport me back to reality," she commented after a sip.
"This isn't your idea of reality?"
"If you're asking if I breakfast by candlelight in the park often, I'd have to say no."
"Look what you've missed." Uncovering a small dish, be displayed succulent strawberries and raspberries dipped in thick, dark European chocolate.
Somehow she suspected it wasn't the fine meal he referred to. But she didn't want to acknowledge that. "Okay. You've succeeded in ferreting out my worst secret. Too bad you don't have a podium. And I should be standing up. But here goes anyway. My name is Barbara Callister and yes, I am a chocoholic."
"Surely that's not your worst vice?" he questioned with an exaggerated hint of disappointment.
"No, it's not. I'm known for cutting up my opposition on a daily basis."
"At least that's something I can deal with," he countered.
"We'll see, Gerrard. We'll see."
"Spoken with threat and promise." He picked up one of the giant strawberries. "I like that."
"Maybe you should be worried instead."
"Worried." He drew the word out as though testing its flavor. "No. I can think of better things to do with my time. Much better."
Barbara could, too. Like finding out what game he played. Instead she watched as he placed one of the strawberries on her plate. "Thank you."
"I could feed it to you," he offered. "But then I'm short of bamboo fans and a harem of serving girls."
"Something you'd probably enjoy far too much," she retorted, before dipping to taste the chocolate-covered fruit. The flavors exploded in her mouth and she sighed in appreciation. "These things should be illegal."
"It's the champagne," he explained. "The chef tells me he dips the fruit in bubbly first, then the chocolate coating."
It felt decadently wicked to be eating such a confection beneath the backdrop of the towering Wasatch Mountains and the green fluttering leaves of the weeping willow tree. The meal was as out of place here as this sudden burst of fun in her life.
She placed her cup back in the saucer and lowered her plate to the blanket. "Thanks for the great breakfast. But it's time to get back to reality. I've been a good sport and I'm ready to get my briefcase back."
"Remember the Orient Express," he replied, getting to his feet.
"Remember the what?"
He slanted an inscrutable glance, one that mixed well with his cocky grin. "Not the Alamo, Texas girl." With that he handed her an overflowing platter of sticky buns.
Trying to balance the platter without covering herself in sticky frosting, she didn't see him escape. When she looked up, he had disappeared. Baffled, she rose and searched behind the tree, expecting to see his satisfied smile. Instead she watched as a van pulled up and a small crew descended on the picnic area.
While the efficient group of men began to quickly disassemble the breakfast, a brisk-looking man who seemed dwarfed by his chef's hat and handlebar mustache approached her. "Was the breakfast to your satisfaction, Miss Callister?"
Feeling much like Alice in Wonderland, Barbara nodded cautiously. "And you are…?"
"Chef Timbori. I hope we'll have the pleasure of serving you again."
Barbara cleared her throat. "Do you do this sort of thing all the time?" At the look of puz
zlement on the man's face, she explained. "Serve gourmet breakfasts in parks at the crack of dawn?"
Chef Timbori's face creased into a smile that eclipsed his brown button eyes. "For certain clients, nothing is extreme."
It didn't take much deduction to figure out that Kenneth Gerrard fit in that special category.
Chef Timbori held out an envelope.
Thanking him, she accepted it and slipped out the note. "See you at the next stop."
"What's he talking about?" she wondered aloud.
The chef shrugged. "I'm not certain, but my men will have this cleared out in a few minutes."
Barbara thought rapidly. Remember the Orient Express. Follow the clues. He'd left some sort of clue in the breakfast display. And if she didn't find it, she couldn't retrieve her briefcase. "Wait!" she shrieked.
Startled, the chef turned and stared for a moment. "Pardon?"
"You can't take away the food and dishes yet!"
"You're still eating, Miss Callister?"
"No. I've got to go through every piece of that cart, though."
Baffled, he stared at her as though he wondered if she'd imbibed far more champagne than rested on the strawberries.
She used her most persuasive smile. "I know this doesn't make sense, but I'm looking for a clue and it's got to be in the breakfast cart or dishes. So I'm afraid I'll have to go through everything until I find it."
Chef Timbori looked as though he might be beginning to regret accepting this early-morning assignment.
And thirty minutes later, Barbara was ready to agree with him.
Every dish was uncovered, dug through, then finally emptied. Strewn around the park like the results of a miniature nuclear fallout, linen battled with china and silver serving pieces in the clearing.
And she wasn't any closer to finding the next clue. Exasperated, she sat back on the grass and met the chef's disgusted glare. Dredging up a smile, she started to offer an apology when the bright color of the balloons waving in the light breeze caught her eye. Of course!
Without explanation, she jumped up and ran toward the tree, leaving behind an even more befuddled Chef Timbori. Searching the ribbons and the sides of the balloons, she didn't see a note. Then it hit her! Pulling a nail file from her purse, she attacked the first bright red balloon, then the pink… In a few minutes she was surrounded by scraps of brightly colored, demolished latex … and a note telling her where to meet Kenneth next.
Exhilarated, she showed the note to the chef who waved away her offers to help clean up the mess. She sensed he wanted to be rid of her, afraid that if she stayed she'd go amuck and burst through the remaining blintzes, as well.
Humming with success, she realized she'd fallen into Kenneth Gerrard's wacky plans quite neatly. Yet…for some reason she wasn't angry.
She wasn't compromising her principles, she argued back at her conscience. She was simply cooperating so that she could retrieve her briefcase. It was a challenge, one she guessed still lay ahead … along with an even bigger one.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Staring upward at the red-and-yellow-striped hot-air balloon that hovered above the expectant crowd, Barbara reconsidered her decision. First, she'd been crazy to think this wild-goose chase was fun. Second, how important was it to get her briefcase? And third, what court in the land would convict her for dismembering Kenneth Gerrard?
Then he waved to her, standing in the basket of the balloon. Tall and tanned, it was easy to spot him. It was also easy to see that he stood alone in the hot-air balloon, an unreadable expression covering his face. Other balloons filled the air, looking as though a child had released a colorful handful of festooned toys to decorate the sky.
It was a festival atmosphere, one highlighted by the perfection of the cloudless blue sky that surrounded the snowcapped mountains. Children shrieked with pleasure while they ran through the wild grass as parents watched them indulgently.
Kenneth, on the other hand was highly alert as he watched her. Barbara could sense that in the stance of his body, the unblinking scrutiny of his eyes. Then he held up a single yellow rose.
And she felt that goofy, unwanted sentimental streak taking over. What was happening to her? A moment of regret over Billy and now she was a prisoner to its effects. But she couldn't deny that regret had caused more than its share of sleepless nights. Was this unexpected chance to recapture some of the adventure of her youth another moment she would live to regret if she didn't seize it?
Her feet moved slowly at first as she wove her way toward the balloon. Then Kenneth vaulted over the side of the basket, presenting her with the rose and then helping her inside.
"This is crazy," she whispered, aware of the pilot who'd climbed inside after them.
"I know. But when was the last time you let yourself be completely crazy? Forgotten what a responsible person and attorney you are?"
Fifteen years ago. The night she'd said no to Billy.
"But—"
"Train's already leaving the station." He glanced at the ropes that supported the basket. "Or in this case, the balloon. No protests until the next stop. And the station's a long way off."
Then the balloon started rising. Barbara couldn't prevent a gasp of excitement as they soared higher, leaving the now miniature-looking crowd behind. The air was sweet, still perfumed with dew and the rich smell of firs that lined the timberline of the mountains.
It seemed natural for her to relax into Kenneth's casual hold as one of his arms looped around her waist while he pointed out the panorama unfolding beneath them. A sweep of wildflowers burst into dynamic color as the balloon crested the foothills to coast above a meadow. They dipped as though taking a whiff of their fragrance, then gained altitude.
"You've been busy, Gerrard. First the breakfast, now this. Did you give up sleeping?"
"It doesn't seem worthwhile alone."
That horse seemed to be galloping through her chest again and Barbara's heart was knocking against her ribs as though in overdrive. What was it about this man that a few simple words from him unnerved her?
Not giving her time to think that through, he leaned toward her, placing his hands on the basket rim, trapping her between his arms. This time his kiss was gentle, not demanding. It was as though he sensed the confusion raging inside her. Despite his crazy impulsiveness, Kenneth seemed to possess a timeless wisdom, one that guided him surely while she seemed adrift, captured in the spell he continued to weave.
Even though he kept his hold casual, she sensed a certain possessiveness in his touch. But as she wondered about it, Kenneth directed her attention to the ground below. Several deer grazed peacefully, undisturbed by the balloon's appearance. Then one buck lifted his head, alerted by the pilot's use of the burner, and the herd took flight. Gracefully they loped across the abundant grasses.
"I haven't been in a hot-air balloon since I've lived here," she confessed. "I didn't know what I was missing."
Something warm smoldered in Kenneth's eyes. "We'll have to make sure you don't miss anything else."
Grateful for the pilot who occupied the basket with them, Barbara didn't answer, instead staring determinedly at the matchless scenery. She heard a low chuckle and guessed that Kenneth had read her thoughts again. Lifting the single, perfect rose blossom, she inhaled its fragrance, and blocked out every sensible thought remaining.
* * *
Once on the ground again, Barbara glanced back at the balloon with a touch of nostalgia. It had been a magical highlight after the extraordinary breakfast. She turned to tell Kenneth exactly that. But as she pivoted to where he'd stood, she found he'd disappeared.
"Kenneth?" she called out softly, thinking they must have been separated in the crowd. But he seemed to have absolutely vanished within seconds.
Surely he wouldn't pull the same trick twice.
But a few minutes later, not finding him, she realized he had. Searching her memory for clues from Murder on the Orien
t Express, she came up blank. It had been too long since she'd read the mystery novel. But Kenneth had mentioned stations and stops. What in the immediate vicinity could duplicate a train station?
Glancing back at the balloon, Barbara stared at the small sign that hung over the side of the basket. It read Trolley Airlifts.
Of course! Trolley Square near downtown Salt Lake. While it wasn't a train station, the trolley cars parked outside the square resembled train cars. Hoping she was right, Barbara sprinted to her car.
Barbara plunged into the traffic heading away from the balloon area, captured by the thrill of the chase. And inexplicably that had somehow become more important than recovering her briefcase.
She wondered what Kenneth had planned next. After the whirlwind day, it was hard to picture anything to top what he'd already planned. Yet she fully expected him to surprise her. She admired that in him, his ability to astonish her with quick flips of an adroit mind.
It had been an eternity since she'd been involved with someone who made her race to catch up with his thoughts … as Billy had once done. Her relationship with Billy had been a cyclone of emotion, excitement, fun and the unexpected. Perhaps that was why she had been so taken with Kenneth's methods. If this was her blasted biological clock making her respond to him, she was going to turn off the alarm.
Still she accelerated, keeping the car briskly moving toward the next destination. Train stop, she corrected herself as she turned in the parking lot.
It didn't take her long to park, but then she wandered around to the different entrances, trying to guess where Kenneth might be. Once inside, she wondered what sort of spectacular splash he had planned next.
Then she saw him, his jean-clad silhouette watchfully waiting. She felt her heart thump as it beat faster just at the sight of him. Instead of rushing toward him, she hesitated. His stance seemed like a challenge, as though he were daring her to take those steps to reach him.
Her pace slowed as her blood raced. Even though he stood still, she felt as though a panther stalked her, waiting, anticipating. The day's adventures paled next to this moment. He seemed intense, almost reckoning. And it occurred to her that she was seeing another facet of him, a deeper, more urgent Kenneth, one that was well hidden behind easy grins and fun-seeking adventures.
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN Page 7
