Tall, Dark...And Framed?

by Cathleen Galitz

  Unlike Jack Wescott’s stone mansion, which was prominently displayed atop a hill overlooking Royal, his son’s ranch was more secluded and, Susan observed, far less ostentatious. A stately driveway wound its way through parklike acres of manicured lawns and mature trees. Redbrick privacy walls beckoned visitors to enjoy the world of the privileged, if only for a short time. Sebastian’s home itself was a country-style Georgian colonial, white with dark-green eaves, tiles and shutters. One could catch only a glimpse of the tennis courts, swimming pools and stables tucked neatly behind the spacious home. How a multimillion-dollar estate managed to exude an air of country coziness was enough to make Susan give silent praise to the architect who had designed it.

  Wiping her palms on the front of her demure navy suit, she waited for the butler to open the door. She was surprised when she was greeted by Sebastian himself, wearing a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt. The smile on his face did nothing to lessen the impact of his devastating good looks, which had haunted her ever since he’d stepped foot in her office earlier in the day.

  “Come on in,” Sebastian bid her with a familiarity she found somehow both engaging and unsettling.

  If only she could get her pulse rate up this easily at her weekly aerobic workouts! Feeling the need to steady herself, Susan stopped a moment to lean against the doorway and check her watch, vowing to give this heartbreaker no more than a couple of hours of her precious time before skedaddling back to the safety of her modest, decidedly middle-class apartment. As tempting as it might be to indulge in little-girl fantasies, she didn’t need to remind herself that she hadn’t been summoned to Prince Charming’s fancy ball. Nor did she intend to leave any glass slipper behind at the stroke of midnight. Undeniably, one thing marriage to Joe had taught her was to look for the tarnish on any supposed knight’s gleaming armor. That Sebastian was facing charges for a heinous crime should have been more than enough to take the shine off his armor, were it the brightest sterling silver.

  “I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” Sebastian said. “I just put steaks for two on the grill.”

  The heavenly smells wafting through the house brought back the inadequacy of Susan’s dinner to her with a swiftness that overpowered her senses. The peanut-butter sandwich she had washed down earlier with a glass of milk while poring over her law books had done little to satisfy her appetite.

  “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” she told him stiffly.

  It was difficult to sound convincing over the rumbling of her stomach.

  The sound caused Sebastian to quirk an eyebrow at her, but he gallantly refrained from making comment. Instead, he proceeded to lead her through the dining room at such a fast clip that Susan barely had time to appreciate the elegance of a room flanked by high-arched windows and vaulted ceilings. Grabbing an apron off the back of a white leather couch, Sebastian invited her to follow him through a set of open French doors onto the patio, where smoke was leaking around the edges of a barbecue grill. Slipping an oven mitt on one hand, he opened the lid and began attacking a couple of thick steaks with a pair of long-handled tongs.

  “Don’t worry. I have everything under control,” Sebastian hastened to assure her.

  Indeed, the man did give the appearance that nothing at all in his life was amiss. The scene had such a homey feel to it that Susan was tempted to kick off her high heels, dangle her tired feet over the side of an Olympic-size swimming pool and ask her client if he could spare a beer. As Sebastian struggled to get the steaks onto a platter and extinguish a flame that had gotten almost out of control during his absence, Susan felt a giggle gurgling up from somewhere inside her. As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was she had rather expected an envoy of well-trained servants to be waiting hand and foot on their playboy master. A man who, with a subtle gesture, would have his staff dimming the lights before vacating the premises to allow him to have his way with yet another defenseless maiden hoping to lay claim to a portion of his fortune.

  “What’s so funny?” Sebastian asked, shutting off the grill and making his way to her side.

  He set the heavy platter down on a round patio table and proceeded to adjust the sturdy yellow umbrella that shot out of its center like a sunflower. Susan was glad that its position blocked only the glare and not the view of a magnificent sunset. Beyond the lush grounds lay the Texas desert, equally breathtaking in its stark beauty. A profusion of bluebonnets, the state flower—named by pioneer women reminded of their own simple head coverings—draped the desert in bolts of bright homespun calico.

  “You,” she replied succinctly, giving him the first genuine smile she’d been able to locate all day long.

  What she would have given for the experience of coming home to find Joe wearing such domestic garb. To the best of her recollection, the closest her ex-husband had come to donning an apron was when he brushed against it hanging up in the pantry while searching for a bottle of cognac.

  “I have to admit I never imagined this meeting occurring with you in an apron.”

  Sebastian didn’t seem to take offense. “And just what did you think I’d be wearing?” he asked.

  Susan noticed how his friendly expression softened the angular cut of his jaw.

  “A smoking jacket, I suppose. An imported red-silk one that your manservant helped you into,” she replied with a blush that threatened to match the sunset in all its flaming glory.

  Feigning regret, he shook his head at her. “It’s not often that I’m mistaken for Bruce Wayne. I hope you’re not disappointed that Robin can’t make it tonight and that the Bat Cave is closed for repairs.”

  Susan couldn’t refrain from smiling at the witty remark.

  “A smile does nice things for your face,” Seb commented. “You should think of wearing one more often.”

  “The same goes for you,” she replied, recalling the fierce creature who had marched into her office a few short hours ago and left her feeling breathless and a little frightened. On his own turf this man was far less intimidating.

  Susan was secretly pleased when Sebastian pulled out the chair for her and bid her to sit down. She appreciated the gesture. It was the kind of simple courtesy that, in her opinion, too many women took for granted.

  “Are you sure you aren’t the least bit hungry?” Sebastian asked.

  The telltale twinkle in those silver eyes could have been merely the reflection of light off the pool, but Susan didn’t think so. Drinking in the aroma of juicy T-bone steaks, she allowed her earlier resolve to dissipate amid the steam of two huge, aluminum-covered baked potatoes that Sebastian pulled off the grill and placed beside the platter of meat.

  “I suppose I could eat a bite or two—that is, if you wouldn’t mind cutting one of those steaks in two and saving the rest for later,” she suggested, hoping that her host would give her arm one final tiny twist.

  Sebastian hastened to assure her that she should simply eat as much as she wanted and that he would give whatever was left over to his dogs, Pal and Buddy. Since Miss Manners insisted that one shouldn’t speak with a mouthful of delicious food, Susan was saved from commenting on his dogs’ names, which seemed far too cute for such a macho man.

  Not liking to cook for herself alone, Susan often grabbed a bite at the local diner, a greasy spoon that proudly splashed its name across paper place mats: “The Royal Diner—Food Fit for a King!” Looking around at her present elegant surroundings, Susan doubted that Sebastian frequented the place.

  When he graciously offered to make her any kind of drink she wanted from the poolside bar, she primly declined anything more potent than a cola. It was, after all, one thing to succumb to hunger pangs and quite another to compromise her professionalism by clouding her judgment with alcohol. Furtively eyeing her client’s cold beer, she was relieved to find he wasn’t the type who favored drinks with difficult-to-pronounce names in hopes of impressing her. It pleased her to discover that her host wasn’t a snob like Joe, who sniffed corks and made a big de
al out of knowing the vintage of priceless wines. And, Susan was glad to see that, also unlike Joe, Seb had no problem stopping after one drink.

  How easy it had been to slip into the habit of calling this lion of a man by his pet name. Seb certainly suited him better than Sebastian, Susan thought. As she polished off the last bite of a steak she had earlier protested was far too big for her to consume alone, she wondered if Jack Wescott had deliberately chosen the imposing name “Sebastian” for his baby boy, planning to mold his son into a man who would someday take over an empire. Having grown up without the benefits of privilege herself, Susan found it difficult to imagine the woes of a poor little rich boy. Still, the thought that Seb might not have had a picture-perfect childhood bothered her more than it probably should have.

  Susan refused to allow such speculative thoughts to darken the luxurious pleasure of a perfect spring evening. As she drank in the fading rays of the setting sun, apprehension slipped from her slender shoulders as easily as her jacket had earlier. It had been far too long since she had last watched the sun bid the day a glorious adieu and paused to appreciate the beauty of the surrounding countryside. Midland was the closest city, and it was a good fifty miles away. The seclusion of this lush estate, surrounded as it was by desert and buffeted by almost unceasing winds, made it seem as if Royal itself was equally distant.

  “A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” Susan admitted, feeling as if she was dropping in on a mirage. With a satisfied sigh, she pushed herself away from the table and announced that the evening was growing cool and it was time to get down to business.

  Though Seb grimaced, he dutifully rose to his feet and began clearing the table. Susan followed his lead.

  “My housekeeper, Rosa, would have my hide if I left the dishes outside overnight,” he explained with a touch of chagrin.

  Happy to pitch in, Susan was impressed both with the clout Rosa wielded over her employer and with Seb’s willingness to do what she assumed most millionaires would find beneath their dignity. The easy banter that accompanied them into the kitchen seemed somehow incongruent in their surroundings. The latest in kitchen appliances sparkled beneath soft lighting, a testament to Rosa’s dedication. All that gleaming black-and-white modernism was saved from its usual cold feel by the very same lemony scent that Susan remembered in her own mother’s kitchen. One whiff carried her back to a simpler time when she and her five siblings were all crowded together in public housing that offered little in privacy, but much in the way of inspiration nurtured by their parents’ dreams of a better life for their children.

  Her background had a lot to do with shaping her dream of making life better for other children. Particularly those coping with lack of available and adequate housing, uncooperative slumlords, insufficient food and, God forbid, abusive parents. Folding her dish towel and setting it atop a spotless counter, Susan realized just how far down the road this man’s case was from her original goal. Defending millionaires was hardly championing the cause of the poor. In a system in which “justice” too often could be bought, she couldn’t help but wonder why someone with Seb’s resources would bother taking a chance on her skills as a lawyer.

  But reminding herself how desperately she needed to win this case to resuscitate her floundering dream, she refused to second-guess her host. Determined not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, she promised simply do her best and prove herself worthy of Seb’s trust.

  Citing the need to go to the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen a few moments later carrying her briefcase. “Would it be all right to work in here?” Susan asked, setting it on the table. “Or would you rather we moved into the den?”

  “Here is fine,” Seb agreed amicably, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table himself.

  Susan noticed him looking at the battered leather case and briefly considered explaining that it had been a gift from her parents when she graduated from law school. More than just one of her colleagues had hinted that she should invest in a new briefcase, but this particular one held more than just papers. In it resided her parents’ pride and her own aspirations. Every nick and scratch in its surface represented her hard-fought battle for independence. Once she had actually used it as a shield when, in a childish temper tantrum, Joe had thrown his drink across the room at her, demanding she give up this foolishness and drop out of school altogether. As the man of the house, he was deeply insulted that his wife felt the need to contribute financially to their marriage.

  Vainly attempting to brush aside the memory, like someone fanning the air to rid it of the lingering smell of cigar smoke, Susan readjusted her professional face before addressing Sebastian again.

  “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

  Pleased that he offered no protest to the suggestion, Susan got down to business. Sunset had reluctantly given way to twilight, and pale purple light filtered in through the windows, reminding Susan of her broken promise to stay but a couple of hours, tops. Taking out a yellow legal pad, she began asking rapid-fire questions.

  Pausing a moment to jot down an important note, she told him, “I hope you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated, but I’ve got to warn you, this is nothing compared to what the prosecution will do if they ever get you on the stand.”

  “I expect you to call the shots as you see them, Counselor,” Seb assured her.

  Warmth flooded through Susan’s entire being at the comment. Impressed by the intelligence and charm to which she’d been subjected all evening, she found herself toying with the idea of extending their professional relationship to include a personal friendship. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company so much without worrying about whether he was coming on to her.

  Not that she would ever expect a man like Sebastian Wescott to consider her anything more than an amusing diversion. Susan didn’t doubt that he could have his pick of rich, sophisticated women at the snap of his fingers. But she didn’t much cotton to the idea of being the flavor of the month. She reminded herself that it was nothing more than circumstances that had brought them together.

  “Are you married?” she asked, starting out with a standard set of questions intended not only to give her necessary background information but also to ease clients into the inquiry process itself. “And do you have any children?”

  “No to both questions,” Seb replied with a trace of regret in his voice. “Someday if the right woman were to come along, I’d like to remedy that. Nothing could make me happier than to fill this house with the sound of children playing.”

  It wasn’t the response she expected. Susan wondered if Seb noticed that her pen remained poised over her note pad. She could no more make it obey than she could explain why it was suddenly so hard remembering how to breathe.

  “How about you?” Seb asked smoothly, switching the topic of conversation from him to her.

  Susan swallowed. A private person by nature, she was reticent about sharing personal information with a client. Particularly one accused of murder. Nonetheless, the question was harmless enough, and every good lawyer understood the need to establish rapport with the person he or she was hired to represent.

  “Not any more,” she answered succinctly, hoping to bring his inquiries to an end with no more explanation than the bare facts.

  “Any children?”

  “Thankfully no.”

  Though the words sounded harsh to her own ears, something in the way Seb’s eyes softened invitingly encouraged her to continue.

  “I’ve witnessed too many ugly custody battles to believe that children survive unscathed. I don’t think it’s fair to them.”

  “I don’t, either,” Seb replied.

  His gaze collided with hers, establishing a tacit understanding that surpassed logical explanation. Susan wondered if his conviction lay in the devastation of living in a broken home as a child himself—or in something far bigger than personal experience alone. She couldn’t help but wonder what secrets were hidden
in the depths of those arresting gray eyes.

  Clicking her pen, she reminded herself that she was not here on a social visit.

  “We might as well get down to business,” she said, dispensing of any pretense for further conversation outside the bounds of the case at hand. “Let’s start by establishing your alibi. Where were you the night of the murder and who would be willing to testify as to your whereabouts?”

  “Was your ex-husband fond of children?”

  “Only in marketing campaigns promoting any product he was peddling,” Susan replied, not missing a beat. “Where exactly did you say you were on the night in question?”

  Seb grinned at her, and she caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a child with chocolate smeared around his mouth and a cookie jar lid hidden behind his back.

  “I didn’t. Right now I’m far more interested in you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the company of such a fascinating woman. I want to know what makes you tick.”

  Caught off guard by his easy flattery, Susan feigned irritation.

  “If I indulge your curiosity, can we proceed with the specifics of your case?”

  Nodding, Seb smiled at her again. Susan wondered if she should brace herself against the edge of the table for fear of falling completely under his charm. Setting her pen down with a sigh, she propped her elbows on the table instead and cupped her chin in her hands.

  “Then by all means, fire away.”

  Despite her resolve to cut her answers short, she found herself compelled to respond in more than just the customary, perfunctory manner to the questions he asked. Perhaps it was just a way of paying tribute to his charisma. And to her own loneliness, Susan supposed on some level. It had been so long since anyone had shown any interest in her as a unique and fascinating individual that she was caught off guard by the attention lavished upon her.