Mad About The Man

by Stella Cameron

  She stared. "Threatened?"

  "By me."

  Her laugh made his spine tingle. "Men don't frighten me, Mr. Ledan."

  "I didn't mean physically."

  "Neither did I."

  Jacques walked behind her and stood, looking down at her neck. "You're hostile." Let her decide what to do next.

  "Am I?"

  "I think so. I came here to be pleasant. You're giving me the brush-off and I want to know why."

  "You're imagining things."

  "I don't think so." His height had many advantages, not the least of which was his vantage point on her now. Her neck was smooth and slender, a dramatic contrast to the heavy braid of black hair that fell to the middle of her back. And between the pale swell of her breasts lay deep and enticing cleavage. "I have no intention of doing anything that won't be a benefit to the people of this town… to you. Do you think you could help me make that understood?"

  "What exactly are you proposing that I make understood?"

  He bent a little to see the side of her face. "That I don't intend to take business away from them. You do know that? I certainly don't intend to undermine your business, Gaby." Not that he could imagine her having any business in Goldstrike.

  "I thought your business was candy, Mr. Ledan. Do you make hats, too?"

  He smiled. "Very amusing. I think you know what I mean."

  Gaby looked up at him and his breath stuck in his throat. She was beautiful—completely unexpectedly and absolutely gorgeous.

  "Could we get together, Gaby? Maybe for dinner at the house?"

  Her arched brows rose. "I doubt it."

  Only with difficulty did he stop himself from touching her. "Think about it and I'll get back to you. What I'd like to do is explain exactly what I have in mind for this town. It's evident from our first direct contacts that some people may have the wrong impression. You could help me change that."

  "I really don't think so."

  Didn't think so, or didn't want to think so? "What I've observed in the past few years—since I've spent more time at La Place—is the almost total absence of young people here. They're moving out, and who can blame them? There has to be something for them to do, something to get excited about. With an infusion of money into the area and opportunities for good-paying jobs, the younger generation will stop leaving, and some who have already left will come back."

  Gaby walked away. When she reached a desk on one side of the shop, she faced him. "Is that the carrot you intend to hang in front of us?"

  "Why—" He advanced, then stopped. This lady was sending mixed signals. Her words said she didn't trust him and didn't want anything to do with him— something he couldn't begin to figure out. Her body language spelled a very different message. She wasn't any more unaffected by their meeting than he was. "Revitalizing Goldstrike is my aim. I do plan to lure the younger generation back—or encourage them to stay, whichever is appropriate. And I intend to bring new people into the area. Isn't that already understood here?"

  "What's understood is that you have plans to open a resort hotel and buy up any suitable properties for shops."

  He nodded. "That's part of it."

  "And you're trying to design some sort of displays with leprechauns."

  "Roughly." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know everyone around here?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Are they worried about what may happen?" He'd never intended to do anything but help. All that would be necessary would be to gain the people's confidence.

  Gaby McGregor wasn't saying anything.

  "Rita said you were thinking over the idea of making caps for us."

  Still she didn't speak.

  "She told you we'd have to move to a bigger outfit when we need to produce in large numbers?"

  Gaby averted her face.

  "Look, it won't be the end of the world. When that happens I'm sure arrangements could be made for you to have the exclusive sales outlet for the caps here."

  She made a strangled noise.

  Damn. "Everything will work out for the best. Leave it to me."

  "Will you excuse me?" She turned her brilliant eyes on him once more.

  What could he say? "Of course. But I'm not giving up on that chat."

  "You should."

  In the soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, she was cast in gold tints. Slender, yet all woman, Gaby McGregor sent a clear message to Jacques, one admittedly received most strongly by his hormones, but not entirely so. She was sharp and sexy and he would want to find out just how sexy.

  He remembered what he'd been heading into town to do and suppressed a smile. "We're bound to be seeing each other frequently, anyway."

  "Why?" she asked baldly, planting her feet apart.

  "Oh, because I've decided I need to have an office in town during the heavy planning phase. It's always best to be in the middle of things where business is concerned." Not that he'd ever been in the middle of the business he'd headed, up till now. Ledan' s clicked along very nicely with little more than his presence at board meetings and his signature on a never-ending heap of dotted lines. "Yes, I'll be in Goldstrike a good deal of the time in the months to come."

  "I'm always very busy," Gaby said. "I don't get around town much."

  Jacques made a decision, one of the few he'd ever made in quite such a hurry. "If I'm not mistaken, you won't have to get around to see me." He pulled out the list he'd been carrying in his shirt pocket and pretended to study it. "I'm… You're not going to believe this, but unless you're planning to move your business—"

  "I'm not."

  "Good." He approached the door. "You do rent this space from a Mr. Shaw?"

  "Yes." Her face was tight.

  "This really is a coincidence. I made enquiries about empty spaces that might be available in Goldstrike. But maybe you already knew that?"

  She nodded.

  "Yes, of course you did. We discovered this building had unoccupied space upstairs. Bart was saying he thought it would convert into a great suite of offices. I've decided I agree with him, so you'll be seeing a lot of me." He smiled his most charming smile. "I hope you'll be as happy about that as I am."

  3

  Sunday mornings wouldn't be the same without breakfast at Sis's. Gaby propped her elbows on the brown Formica-topped table, cradled her thick, yellow coffee mug in both hands and pretended not to see Mae hide most of her egg beneath a piece of toast.

  The rush had thinned. In addition to Gaby and Mae, a group of farmers hunched in a back booth were the only remaining patrons. Warm maple syrup, crispy bacon and fresh-brewed coffee were the scents of the moment.

  "What d'you feel like doing today?" Gaby asked, already anticipating the response.

  "Gonna help Sis. She says I can put the apples in the pies." Mae's current ambition was to run a diner "just like Sis's," which the girl considered to be the hub of everything exciting that happened in Goldstrike.

  "Maybe you should ask if it's all right with me, Mae."

  "You always say it's all right."

  Gaby looked down at Mae's shiny black ponytail and the soft curve of her seven-year-old cheek. Life was mostly very wonderful. "I guess I do." She gave the ponytail a gentle tug. "Don't get in the way. And call me when Sis is tired of you."

  The door opened to admit Sophie Byler, elderly but spry and still exuding the all-seeing alertness of a small-town schoolteacher—which was exactly what she'd been before she retired.

  "Morning, Sis." Sophie nodded curtly at the tall, stately owner of the diner and headed for Gaby's booth. "Char tells me you had a few visitors yesterday." She slid in to sit opposite Gaby and Mae.

  "It's as bad as you said it was, Sophie," Gaby said. "Probably worse. Did Char give you the scoop about mining exhibits and leprechauns?"

  Sophie shuddered. "We aren't taking it lying down. We aren't taking it at all. We've got some history to preserve here. Maybe it's not significant to the rest of the world, but it is to us… an
d to our children."

  The school had closed a couple of years after Sophie, already in her late sixties then, had decided to spend her days pleasing only herself—which meant she became the self-appointed guardian of Goldstrike's affairs. And since then the children had been bussed many miles for their education. Sophie had never stopped talking to the town's youngsters about their heritage, or trying to find a way to have them stay closer to home for their studies.

  "Ledan made a point of how the younger generation moves on as soon as they can," Gaby said morosely. "Great revelation—they need jobs and incentive and we don't have a whole lot of either around here."

  Sophie, her white hair wound into its customary severe knot at her nape, rested a gnarled hand on Gaby's forearm. "We aren't beaten. Six years ago you brought something special to this town. What we should be looking for are more ways to get people like you interested, people who won't want to change things. You liked the place enough to decide to run a business here that most folks would have taken to a big city. And it works just fine, doesn't it?"

  Gaby nodded. "There's no denying we need much more than I'm doing if there's going to be a permanent fix."

  "Don't tell me you're giving up on us, too, girl."

  "I'm not giving up. Just trying to be realistic. Ledan's got what it takes to be very persuasive." And totally unforgettable. She tamped down that thought. "He already talked—or had one of his people talk the Bartletts into selling."

  Sophie turned down her mouth, sending ripples of wrinkles across her thin, pink skin. "Abe Bartlett's spineless. Forget him. Put your mind to how we can get more people like you to move out here."

  "Easier said than—Mae, sit still."

  "I just wanna go look out the window."

  The pattern was predictable. Mae had a fascination with what the locals called The Table; a table in the window, covered with an orange vinyl cloth and set for three diners. Three chairs were tipped up at those place settings.

  "You can look out of the window from here," Gaby said. "You know what happened the last time you sat at The Table."

  Mae wiggled but said nothing.

  "Sis didn't speak to you for a week, and she wouldn't let you help for another week after that."

  The Table was kept exclusively for Sis's three silent brothers, and it was understood that no one else ever sat there. It was said to have the best view in the place. That was true: a view of the corner gas station with a tiny sliver of distant mountain—if you pressed your nose to the glass.

  Sophie took a fork and moved aside Mae's slice of toast, revealing the congealed remnants of a sunny-side up fried egg. "Concentrate on finishing the good food your mother's paying for," she said severely. "You'll never do well in school if you don't eat properly. And you're too thin."

  Mae sighed and waited until Sophie looked at Gaby again before performing the egg's burial once more.

  "The committee against Ledan is coming along nicely," Sophie said. "Artie and Freda are on board. And Barney—though sometimes I wish that gaudy hacienda of his would just disappear. Caleb at the gas station—and his wife, of course. And every one of them is taking a section of the town and visiting people personally. I'm planning a meeting for two weeks from tonight in the Women's Auxiliary Hall."

  "This is going to be a tough fight." Gaby looked up as Sis approached with fresh coffee. Sis was almost as silent as her brothers and refilled Gaby's mug without a word. She set down a second mug for Sophie and retreated. "Ledan's opening an office above my place."

  "What!"

  "Mommy says it isn't nice to say what," Mae said pompously. "You're supposed to say excuse me, or I beg your pardon."

  Sophie ignored her. "Ledan's going to use that empty space up there? Isn't it just an old storage area?"

  "He says it's going to be renovated." She lifted her loose hair from her neck. "Imagine the noise and mess that's going to mean."

  "What's he like?"

  Gaby met the other woman's light eyes, and her mind immediately slid away, back to yesterday and the moment when Jacques Ledan had faced her in the shop. Today, as then, her legs felt weak and achy. Just what she needed, a sexy rush over a man who didn't know she was alive other than as a maker of baseball caps! "It'll be a cold day in hell," she muttered.

  "I beg your pardon?" Sophie's eyes widened.

  Gaby flapped a hand. "Talking to myself. He told me how he wants to use all the little people in Gold- strike. Give them jobs to make them feel included. My job was supposed to be making baseball caps with dumb logos on the front."

  Now Sophie really stared. "Doesn't he know what you do?" she whispered, almost reverently.

  Gaby grimaced. "Oh, sure. I make hats. Why wouldn't I be delighted to make hundreds of caps with GFTG in Goldstrike on the front… in my little factory."

  Before Sophie could do more than start to respond, the door opened once more and a woman's strident voice announced, "Will you look at this. You didn't tell me it was like this, Bart. Jacques, did he tell you?"

  "No. But I've driven by many times."

  Gaby ducked her head and scooted lower in the seat. The last thing she wanted was another eye-to-eye confrontation with Jacques Ledan, not until she'd decided what her next move would be.

  "Is it them?" Sophie croaked.

  "Mmm."

  "What's the matter, Mom?"

  Gaby aimed a warning frown at Mae, who had taken her burial one stage further and was squishing down the toast with the back of her fork. The child wrinkled her nose and kept quiet.

  "Ma'am." Rita said loudly. "Excuse me, ma'am."

  Sis grunted.

  "Is the floor dry over here now?"

  "Weren't wet," Sis said and continued wiping the counter.

  Clattering followed and Gaby dared a peek toward the window. Rita was pulling the chairs away from The Table. "Let's sit here. More light. I want to show you some of the figures the accountants gave me."

  The three sat around The Table.

  "I saw those two parties you mentioned and they're agreeable," Bart Stanly said. "All we need is the old guy… Damned if I remember his name The one to the north. That'll give us all the space we need to start with."

  "I don't want any hitches now," Jacques Ledan said, his voice deeper than Stanly's and with that quality Gaby had noticed yesterday: soft, yet clear and with a hint of gravel that singed her nerves.

  "They're sitting at The Table, Mommy," Mae said. "Sis is getting real mad. Look."

  Sis being real mad meant her plump face turned red and she stood like a statue with her arms crossed.

  "Mommy," Mae hissed. "If she stays mad I won't get to help make pies!"

  Sophie, clearly unable to resist any longer, craned to see the trio in the window. Returning her attention to Gaby, she asked, "Is that really them?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "And Ledan's the dark one." She sniffed. "French. You can see that."

  "His grandfather was French," Gaby said, keeping her voice low although Rita and Bart were too busy vying for Ledan's attention to be aware of anyone else. "Take it from me. This one's all-American entrepreneur."

  "Been investigating?" Sophie asked. Her mouth had thinned to a pale line.

  "I had a friend in Los Angeles make some enquiries. The Ledans started making candy in a small way in France. Then the grandfather came to the States and began building the business here. The son built a whole lot more. Four years ago he retired to the south of France, leaving his son, the original Ledan's grandson—Jacques—to run things. They're big in Europe as well as the States."

  "So what does he want with us?" Sophie asked, hardly moving her lips.

  "Who knows?" Gaby responded. "Either he's bored or he's greedy. Probably some of both."

  "Mom, Sis looks funny."

  "I'll see to it," Sophie said, getting up. She inarched to the counter, picked up menus and took them to Ledan and the dynamic duo. "Are you sure you want to sit here?" she asked. "Sun gets hot through the window."


  Gaby looked down into her cup and waited. "We're fine," Rita said. "I'll have decaffeinated. Regular for you two, right?"

  A chorus of masculine grunts followed.

  Gaby suppressed a grin. The arrogant ignorance of these people was amusing—almost.

  Sophie passed the booth, brows raised almost to her hairline, walked behind the counter and picked up two coffee carafes. Sis continued to stand like a large, irritable statue. Gaby could see her lips moving but couldn't hear a word she might be saying.

  "You sure you wouldn't like a different table?" Sophie asked and Gaby heard coffee splashing into mugs. "It's a whole lot more private in a booth."

  "We like this table," Rita said. "How long have you lived here?"

  "Seventy-five years," Sophie said promptly.

  "My," Rita said, her voice patronizingly sweet. "And still waiting tables. That's really wonderful."

  God help Jacques Ledan. Gaby bent her face and rested her brow on a fist to hide her grin. Sophie Byler wasn't an enemy she'd like to have, and she had a hunch Mr. Ledan wasn't going to enjoy it, either.

  The squish, squish of rubber-soled shoes preceded the arrival of Sis who did what Gaby had never known her to do before—she sat down in the booth. Her face had passed through red and arrived at purple.

  Gaby reached for the woman's crossed arms and squeezed a broad wrist. "Don't be upset," she whispered. "They're strangers."

  "Chairs was tipped," Sis mumbled. "Chairs is always tipped."

  Sophie had appropriated the order pad and was standing at Bart Stanly's elbow, pencil poised. "Oatmeal's great," she said. "Though there's some would say it's an acquired taste if you don't like it real thin. Chicken gizzard and pig's heart fry goes down well with a mess of lima beans and bread fried in bacon grease to wipe it up with. Fill you up, let me tell you. Won't need no dinner."

  Sis's mouth fell open.

  Mae giggled.

  "Won't want dinner, or any other meal for a while," Gaby said under her breath. Sophie was nothing if not inventive.

  "We'll stick with the coffee," Bart said.

  Gaby glanced up… directly into those blue eyes she was never going to forget. Ledan became still—still in the way that had made the air seem breathless the previous afternoon. He smiled, and Gaby's lips parted before she looked away. The man spelled danger of the worst kind, the kind that attacked the body and maybe the heart and then moved in for the kill.