To Wear His Ring

by Diana Palmer

  Nettie’s eyes closed, and she swayed toward him, palms pressed flat against his chest. Chase slid his hands around her back, pulling her close. Abandoning any notion of holding back, he kissed her so there would be no mistake: He was asking to have her, body and soul.

  Like whispers of smoke, Nettie’s arms wound around his neck. She raised onto her toes, straining closer, returning his kiss with a gusto and sweetness that made him ache.

  Just as Chase decided it was time to get off this field and into a house, the relative privacy they had was shattered by the sound of hooves pounding the earth as a horse and rider bore down on them.

  Thankfully this time they heard Nick before they saw him, which gave Chase time to yank off his own shirt and toss it around Nettie. Acting almost reflexively, she managed to shove her arms through the sleeves, but was still fumbling with the buttons when Nick reined in.

  The three of them stood awkwardly, Chase naked now from the waist up and Nettie clothed in his shirt.

  Chase eyed the buttons she’d stuck in the wrong holes and felt a rush of pure affection. Mine, he thought again and this time a smile of happiness started in his chest and rose to his lips. It died when he looked at Nick’s sober face.

  “What?” Chase glared, communicating via expression that he would welcome another big-daddy lecture about as much as he welcomed a case of head lice. He reached for Nettie’s elbow in a show of protectiveness and support that was altogether deliberate.

  Nick, who had mastered the art of the inscrutable expression, merely nodded a greeting. “Sorry to interrupt. I saw Nettie’s car when I got home and thought you might have headed this way.”

  Nettie said nothing, but Chase noted the tiny frown between her brows and the distracted look in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was beginning to regret what had taken place, if she was embarrassed, or if it was simply the interruption that bothered her. In any case, he wanted to get rid of Nick and talk to her alone ASAP.

  He turned his attention back to Nick, but before he could speak, Nick held out a large flat envelope. “I picked this up while I was in town. Thought you should have it right away.”

  Chase easily identified the envelope. Express Mail. Without dismounting or riding closer, Nick forced Chase to step away from Nettie in order to accept the envelope, a symbolic move if ever Chase had seen one. Nick, too, understood what was in the envelope.

  Intending to snap the flat package out of Nick’s grasp, Chase was startled to witness his own hand shake. Inside that thick envelope was the answer to the question Am I a father? His lawyer had offered to intercept the results of the DNA tests and then phone, which now seemed like an excellent idea. Unfortunately Chase, being Chase, had wanted full control. He’d insisted the results be mailed directly.

  Cursing his shaking hand, he looked at Nettie, who was paying more attention now. His trembling increased.

  He grabbed the envelope with a tersely muttered, “Thanks.” Feeling like a jackass, standing there with his shirt off, holding an Express Mail envelope he had no intention of opening while Nick leaned on the pommel of his saddle and Nettie stared at him, waiting.

  As far as Chase could see, there were no really good options available. He did not want to open that envelope in front of Nettie. With his forehead and palms starting to sweat, he turned to her. “Maybe we’d…”

  He paused as she tilted her head in question. Wearing his shirt, her kissed lips full and red as summer cherries, she looked at him with absolute trust and interest in whatever he had to tell her.

  Chase felt sick to his stomach.

  All along he’d known what he wanted to find in that envelope: Proof that someone else had fathered Julia’s child.

  “We’d better get back to the house,” he said, his voice a pathetic croak.

  Nettie simply looked at him, beautiful and surprised and confused.

  Accurately estimating Chase’s predicament and the discomfort both his friends were feeling, Nick dismounted. “King’s been nursing a fetlock.” He gave the big horse a solid pat. “Think I’ll give him a break. Mind if I walk along with you?” He addressed Nettie, whose questioning eyes fastened on Chase. Cursing himself, wanting to kick his sorry butt for the first conscious act of cowardice he could remember, Chase shrugged and immediately looked away.

  With Nettie by his side, Nick headed toward the farmhouse. Carrying the envelope and a million colliding thoughts, Chase brought up the rear by himself.

  Chapter Nine

  “So what kind of kiss was it?”

  Nettie dug a paint scraper into the side of the house with both hands while she clamped a cordless phone between her shoulder and chin. Phoning her sister Lilah for a little commiseration and some solid dating advice had seemed like a good idea twenty minutes ago. Did people actually describe kisses out loud? Help. Dating was going to be the end of her.

  Evidently hesitant, she asked, “What do you mean, ‘what kind’?”

  Lilah shifted the receiver of her own phone as she slapped a bottle of nail polish several times against her palm. “Soft?” she prompted. “Wet, dry? Long or short? I need details.”

  A yellow paint chip went flying. “Lilah, I don’t know! I wasn’t taking notes.”

  “You don’t want to kiss and tell, you mean.” Nettie heard the grin in the other woman’s voice. “I still can’t believe my little sister got up close and personal with a bona fide celebrity.”

  “I’m not your little sister. I’m a grown woman.”

  “You’ll always be my little sister, silly,” Lilah agreed easily. “Besides, when it comes to flirtation, darling, you really are a youngster. If I’m Methuselah, you’re practically neonatal.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “We have to embrace our strengths. So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You kiss like there’s no tomorrow, then Nick rides up with the mystery mail. End of date?”

  “End of date, end of story unless you help me. When we got back to the farmhouse, Chase was so ruffled he couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  Lilah hmmed on the other end of the line. “How did he excuse himself?”

  “He said he had business to take care of.”

  “Maybe he’s a workaholic. Although the pictures I’ve seen of him suggest he plays as hard as he works.”

  Already Nettie was experiencing that swallowed-a-cannonball sensation in the pit of her stomach. “What kind of pictures?”

  “He was splashed all over the pages of Premiere magazine during the Cannes Film Festival last year. Charlize Theron couldn’t keep her hands off him.”

  “Charlize Theron. The actress who looks like a twenty-year-old blond Elizabeth Taylor?”

  “Only better. Yep.”

  Nettie glanced down. She’d changed into jeans, a thin red sweater that was starting to pill and red Keds. The epitome of Kalamoose haute couture. “Was Charlize wearing deck shoes?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing. Cannes is in France, right?”

  “Yes.” Lilah sounded wistful. “On the beach. Wall-to-wall superstars. Parties all night long. Fabulous entertainment. Heaven.” In the backround a refrigerator door opened and closed. “How long can you keep egg salad?”

  “A few days, max.”

  “Rats.”

  Nettie rested her forehead on a paint-scraped shingle. “Do you have to cross bodies of water by air or ship to get to Cannes?” she muttered sickly.

  “Of course.” Lilah laughed, then sobered. “Oh, Net, are you worried about having to travel with him? Are those anxiety tapes helping at all? They say they can help you overcome any phobia, even flying.”

  “I’m not worried about having to travel with him,” Nettie sighed. “Our relationship isn’t going to last that long.”

  “Yes, it will. Any man would be crazy not to hang on to you.”

  “Your sisterly devotion is duly noted, but I mean we’ve already agreed on a two-week fling. And before you rake him over the verbal coals,” Net
tie said as Lilah inhaled loudly, preparing to do exactly that, “I’m not interested in anything permanent. Or even remotely stable.” There was silence and then another inhalation, which Nettie again cut off at the pass. “I mean it. I know what I want.”

  “Okay. What?”

  This time Nettie paused, but briefly. “More. More of the feeling I get when he kisses me.”

  “That good?”

  “Yes.” Relief wooshed through her, relief and glorious freedom. Oh, it felt wonderful to say it out loud. “I want this for myself, Lilah. For two weeks I want to live without a past or a future. I want to forget everything but how good I feel when I’m with him. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Lilah responded quietly. “Yes, I do. Is that what he wants, too?”

  “I think so.” With a fingernail, Nettie picked at the chipping paint.

  “Or, I thought so. He turned off so quickly today, now I’m not sure. Maybe I’m a terrible kisser.” The prospect was so depressing, she lowered her head and groaned.

  “Don’t be silly,” Lilah rebuked. “You are not.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever met anyone my age with less experience, sexually speaking?”

  “That’s part of your charm.”

  “Part of the novelty, you mean. Novelty wears off. Suppose I kiss like a fish?”

  “Will you stop it! And if Chase Reynolds is interested in you because you’re a novelty to him, then he can go to—”

  “He’s a novelty to me, too, Lilah,” Nettie interrupted with rigorous honesty.

  “If you think you’re in this for sex and nothing else, you’re lying to yourself, Net. I know you better than that.”

  “Not this time. I told you.”

  “Yeah, ‘Seize the day,’ Carpe Diem. I understand the principle. I live in Hollywood. We seize the second out here. But that’s not who you are. And I don’t care what you say,” she insisted when Nettie tried to rebut. “Your heart is in everything you do. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Concern traversed the miles. Nettie walked the tightrope between gratitude and frustration. “Think about who you are talking to for a minute. ‘Try not to get hurt’ is my mantra. I feel like a turtle with its head hermetically sealed in the shell.” The strength and confidence of a decision firmly made infused her body. She stood straight, spoke straight. “I’m going to do this, Lilah, so don’t go all ‘Sara’ on me. I need advice! What would you do if you were in the middle of a great date with your fantasy man and he suddenly decided he had some pressing e-mail he had to take care of?”

  “I’d put on my highest heels, my shortest dress and a lot of very red lipstick. Then I’d find him and make him forget he even had a computer.”

  “Wow.” Nettie took a moment to admire the spirit of her sister’s approach. “But my highest shoes are a pair of Dr. Scholls and my shortest dress ends an inch above my knees.”

  “That’s bad. In your case, I’d try to find out what was in that envelope or at least where it came from. See if that’s what dimmed the man’s lights. Then I’d do some serious shopping. I mean, really—Dr. Scholls?”

  If she’d had a pen, Nettie would have taken notes. “How can I investigate the envelope? The postal service gets so prickly about dispensing that kind of information.”

  “Pry it out of Nick. He must know or he wouldn’t have made a special trip to give it to Chase.”

  “Right!” Nettie frowned. “How do I do that?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lilah sounded more like Lilah now—blithe, carefree. “You can wrap Nick around your little finger if you give it half a shot. There’s always a way to get what you want, baby doll, remember that. Sara drives him nuts and he thinks I’m decadent, but he’s always had loads of respect for you.”

  Nettie smiled. “Now I’m going to ruin it by asking him to snitch on his friend?”

  “You’re in the market for a new image.”

  “True. Thanks.” Nettie heard Lilah open and close a cupboard door.

  “Can peanut butter go bad?” she asked.

  “Does it smell like old axle grease?”

  There was the sound of a lid being unscrewed. “Rats!” The peanut butter jar rebounded against the inside of a trash can. “I’m starving. All I’ve had today was ginger tea and a stale tortilla.”

  “Lilah, don’t you ever have any food in the house that won’t cause botulism?”

  “I’m an actress. I’m not supposed to have food in my apartment, only Slim Fast. I’m gonna go now. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, fine. Thanks for the advice. And for listening.”

  “No problem, but Net…?”

  “Yeah?”

  Lilah hesitated. “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, right? Who you are is damned fine. I admire you. Everyone admires you.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I won’t. Go eat.” Lilah hung up and Nettie let the phone and the paint scraper drop to her side.

  Admired. She was admired. A Pyrrhic victory if there was no fun or relaxation or lust in her life. Lust for her life.

  Checking her watch, Nettie realized it was only a quarter past one. Plenty of time to mix a batch of brownies—Nick’s favorite—and a pitcher of frosty lemonade. Then she’d phone him and ask if he could please take a look at the kitchen faucet, which was going to start leaking as soon as she loosened the elbow joint. It was sneaky, it was manipulative—not one bit admirable—and it might work. If she could weasel enough information about Chase from Nick, it was possible that she could make sense of why her fling had begun to flop. Then, if she knew Chase’s withdrawal was nothing personal, she could embark on an exhaustive application of all her seductive skills. Which, given what she knew, wouldn’t take long.

  Acting before she could talk herself out of the vague plan she had only barely talked herself into, Nettie raised the phone, punched the Talk button and phoned Nick.

  “How are the brownies?”

  “Just the way I like them.” Nettie hovered near the kitchen sink she had deliberately sabotaged so Nick would come over to fix it. He leaned against the counter, a fat fudge brownie in one hand, tall, cold drink in the other.

  “And the lemonade?”

  He winked his approval. “Icy cold.”

  “Good.” Baring her teeth she offered a facsimile of a smile. Why wouldn’t Nick sit down? He was making her nervous, standing there as if his sole intention was to eat his brownie quickly and then go. Nettie felt pressed to acquire her information now, before he left. How did investigative reporters stand the pressure?

  She’d thought of and discarded a dozen different ways to ask Nick about Chase. She wanted to appear casual, sure of herself. Nick, she sensed, was being deliberately obtuse. He hadn’t even mentioned finding her in his field wearing Chase’s mis-buttoned shirt. She’d known Nick long enough to know he was thinking a lot more than he was saying.

  Draining his glass, Nick set it on the yellow-tiled counter. “Thanks. Let me know if you have any more trouble with that sink. I’m around if you need me.”

  He started toward the door and Nettie watched her chance to pry walking right out of the kitchen with him.

  “Wait! I do need you! I need to, uh…”

  Nick turned. Nettie wondered what she could run off and break in the bathroom while he waited here, then quickly snapped herself back to sanity. Be direct.

  Nick’s brow rose. “Something you want?”

  “Yes.” She stiffened her spine and met Nick’s gaze full-on. “What was in that envelope you brought Chase?”

  Whoa! Nettie felt as surprised as Nick looked. He recovered fairly quickly to plaster a bland smile on his face. “How would I know?”

  “You knew it was important.” In for a penny, in for a pound. She waved a hand. “Oh, look, Nick, I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t care. We were getting along very well before you rode up. Then you handed him that envelope and he couldn’t leave fast enough. I want to be sure it was the contents of the envelope and not me
that turned him off.”

  Nettie took a deep breath. Whoa with a bullet! Folding her arms, she dared Nick to deny her the information she sought.

  His poker face faltered as he wrestled with and finally reached a decision. Re-entering the kitchen, he set the covered pan of brownies on the table and pulled out a chair. “Let’s sit down.”

  Finally! Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Nettie moved eagerly to the table. Nick took the chair opposite her. His obvious discomfort as he searched for a way to begin aroused her guilt, but not enough to call a halt.

  “I can’t tell you what was in the envelope. Not definitely. In part that’s because Chase hasn’t told me and partly because it’s his information to keep or to share. I can tell you a few things, though. Things I think you should know.”

  Nick’s gravity gave Nettie the impression they were both going to need something stiffer than lemonade.

  “Do you know who Chase’s parents are?” he asked.

  Surprised, Nettie shrugged. “His father is a newscaster, isn’t he?”

  Nick shook his head. “Not ‘a newscaster.’ Lloyd Williams is the Walter Cronkite of cable. He owns most of his station.”

  “Chase’s last name is Reynolds.”

  “It’s his mother’s maiden name. Lana Reynolds, the heiress to Reynolds Worldwide Shipping and the Sojourners Cruise Line.”

  Nettie had never heard of Lana Reynolds, but she’d seen zillions of ads for the cruise line. “Oh, Good Lord.” She gulped. “I can’t date him. It was bad enough when I thought he was just your everyday average celebrity.”

  That elicited a brief smile from Nick. “Not quite. Chase was raised with the proverbial silver spoon. Lloyd groomed him from the cradle to take over the anchor desk. And Chase made it easy to believe it would happen. He has the looks, the voice, and the intelligence. Everything he needs to make Lloyd’s dream come true.”

  “Isn’t that what Chase wants, too?”

  Nick emitted a gruff snort that passed for a laugh. “Not by a long shot.” He shifted in his seat as if he found it uncomfortable. This was, Nettie realized, the segment of the conversation about which Nick felt guilty. “You can’t understand Chase without understanding his background. His mother and father divorced when he was young, still in grammar school, I think. His mother hit the society trail, which left Chase to be raised by a series of housekeepers.”