“Eddie!” I said aloud.
Jack tilted his head. “Eddie?”
“My partner back in Seattle.” I fumbled in my tote bag for my cell phone. “I can’t take on a new client without letting him know. I should call B.J., too, and tell her where I am.”
“No cell service up here, not until Sam builds his tower,” said Jack. “That’s why he uses walkie-talkies.”
“Of course.” I put the useless phone away and scribbled another note. “Well, let’s keep going. Do you know where Tracy and the bridesmaids plan to dress?”
“Yeah, the master bedroom. Follow me.”
The master bedroom was directly above the great room and shared the same breathtaking view of the western skyline. I crossed the bedroom—sure enough, the bedspread was strewn with icky pink and purple roses—and looked out the picture window. The drapes were purple, too, tied back with pink cord, and they clashed horribly with the blue sky and green forest scenery.
But I was thinking of photography, not scenery, because the veranda was straight below the window. Along with the classic shots of the bride checking her makeup and arranging her veil, the photographer might want to catch some candids of the proud papa or the nervous groom pacing the veranda. Nice.
A well-worn path led down the slope beneath the veranda into a grove of aspens. The hot spring? I leaned to see, resting my forehead against the window. As I did, I recalled standing in the houseboat looking out at the rain, and then the warmth of Aaron’s arms around me.
The thought of him there in my Seattle home was comforting, and I suddenly felt much steadier. Of course I was attracted to Jack—what female wasn’t?—but I could handle that. And I could handle this wedding, too. Like the man said, that was then, this is now. I was a professional woman, not the infatuated girl I’d been back in the Muffy summer. I squared my shoulders and stepped away from the window.
And right into Jack. He had come up close behind me and now he moved even closer, sliding one swift hand around my waist and the other behind my head, to lift my face to his kiss. It was a warm, confident kiss, and I confess I melted into it. But only for a moment, I swear, and then I pulled away.
“What do you think you’re—”
“You can’t pretend you—”
“Well, well, well!”
At the sound of this third voice, Jack and I whipped our heads around to stare. Standing straddle-legged in the bedroom doorway, grinning a big white sharky grin, was Domaso Duarte.
Chapter Eleven
TESTOSTERONE HAS ITS ADVANTAGES. OF THE THREE OF US, I was the innocent party; Jack was guilty of making an uninvited pass, and Domaso had barged into a private encounter. So why was I the one turning scarlet and groping for words?
Jack and Domaso, meanwhile, went straight into bull elk mode, pawing the earth with their metaphorical hooves and tossing their invisible antlers.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Jack took an angry stride forward, his fists clenched, but Domaso stood his ground in the doorway and lifted his formidable chin.
“Hey, man, I work here. I’m looking for Sam.” His dark eyes slid over to me and then returned to Jack. “I don’t have to ask you what you’re doing.”
Thoughts and emotions tumbled through my mind, but words continued to fail me.
“Sam’s at the construction site,” said Jack. His teeth were clenched, too. “Couldn’t you see his car isn’t here?”
“Just checking.”
“Well, go check at the site.”
Domaso shrugged and retreated down the stairs, but it was a victorious retreat. Halfway down he called over his shoulder, “You two have fun!”
Jack waited for the front door to slam, then blew out a long breath. “I swear, that guy is always underfoot and he’s always smirking. What is it with him?”
“Never mind him,” I said, finding my voice at last. “You’re the one getting married in a few days.”
I’m not sure what I expected from Jack—guilt or defiance or even some attempt to pass the incident off as a joke. I didn’t expect the tone of genuine dismay in his voice.
“I know. I know!” He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the carpet with a puzzled frown. “I love Tracy, I really do. My days of catting around are over and that’s fine with me. I guess seeing you again got me thinking about that night, and acting like I used to.”
He didn’t say which night. We both knew he didn’t have to.
“That was a long time ago,” I began.
“Doesn’t matter how long ago. I behaved pretty badly, didn’t I?” He lifted his eyes to me, those topaz eyes. “I’m sorry, Carnegie. I should have at least talked to you afterward and made sure you were OK.”
“I was OK. Eventually. But now—”
“Now I’m out of line.”
“Absolutely.” I felt like a hypocrite saying it, but it had to be said. Later on we could laugh off any gossip that Domaso might start, but right now I needed this settled, for my own peace of mind. “I’m sure you didn’t... I mean, I’m sure it was just a momentary impulse....”
“An impulse?” The killer smile had reappeared. He joined me by the window again, keeping his distance and narrowing his eyes against the afternoon sun. “I guess you could call it that, just an impulse to kiss a pretty woman. And we can call it momentary if you want.”
“That’s what I want,” I said firmly, and strode to the door. “And the moment’s over, all right? Let’s finish our tour. How about showing me the meadow?”
What I really wanted, of course, was to jump Jack’s bones right then and there. But I also wanted my self-respect, and the ability to look my latest bride in the eye before I sent her down the aisle.
I felt a bit wistful on the way downstairs, but as we left the inn for the sunshine outside, my heart grew lighter with every step. And the meadow was a mess, which helped ease us back into the prosaic task at hand. Nothing like piles of deer scat to alter the mood.
Not that it wasn’t a lovely spot, a grassy acre or so with three tall ponderosa pines in the center where the ceremony would take place. The cinnamon-colored trunks were as broad as church columns, their green tops as lofty as a steeple. But the narrow skirt of open space surrounding them, which must have been lush and almost level back in May, now lay lumpy and parched.
“Could have sworn this grass used to be green,” said Jack, nudging a dried-out clump of weeds with his toe. “I don’t remember all these holes, either, or the rocks.”
“There’s a landscaping team lined up,” I assured him. “And if we need to, we’ll bring in rolls of carpeting. It never fails, the women know it’s an outdoor ceremony and they still wear stiletto heels.”
“Especially Tracy’s girlfriends from the show.” He chuckled. “I don’t understand how some of them manage to walk. They sure look good, though.”
“It’s nice that you’re getting to know her friends,” I said primly, wondering if he hit on them, too.
“Hell, I was dating one of her friends, that’s how I got to know her.”
“Here in Idaho?” I was confused.
“No, down in Sonoma. I own a little property there that I’m working as a vineyard. Lots of L.A. people come for wine tours in the Napa Valley. I got involved with this one actress, and then she brought some of her friends for a weekend. I was just blown away when I realized that the star on her program was that gawky teenager from way back in Ketchum.”
I bet the actress was blown away when Tracy stole you from her, I thought. But all I said was “You own a vineyard?”
“Just a small place. Bought it years ago, so I’m just now getting a decent harvest. Carpeting, huh?”
This was more like it. We paced out the space, laughing and chatting, while I scribbled notes about questions to ask my vendors in the morning. If the laughter was a little forced, so what? By Saturday night Jack would be a married man, and by Monday I’d be back in Seattle, getting down to business.
T
hen Jack inquired how B.J. was doing after our raucous night at the Pio, and I recalled my unfinished business for her.
“She’s fine,” I told him. “And she’s especially happy that Matt is getting home in time to come to the wedding with her.”
Jack nodded in satisfaction, knowing that I had delivered his friendly warning. B.J. wouldn’t be asking any more awkward questions about Brian Thiel. I would, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Pari Taichert seemed especially distressed about the accident,” I said. “Were she and Brian particular friends?”
“Not that I heard about,” he said, shrugging. “I think I would have heard, too. The Tyke’s a good buddy. She’s going to stand up for me, you know. You got a problem with that?”
“Of course not! The best man, or woman, should always be someone especially close to the groom. I think she’s the perfect choice.”
We were on our way back to the house by then. I looked around for Sam, but he hadn’t returned. Just as well; in my reaction to Domaso’s sudden appearance, I hadn’t really checked out the house properly.
Back inside, I took a look in the bathrooms—you’d be surprised at how many weddings run out of toilet paper— and at the closets and other storage space. Then in the great room I surveyed the various surfaces where flower arrangements and candlesticks could go.
Candlelight is flattering in more ways than one. There’s the soft quality of the light itself, but also the fact that a dim environment makes your pupils dilate. And dilated pupils send an unconscious signal to the human brain, a signal of emotional warmth, attentiveness, and even sexual arousal. Hence the romance of dining by candlelight.
I love knowing this stuff.
“It’s interesting—” I began, about to relate my bit of candle trivia to Jack. Then I caught myself. This was hardly the time to talk about romance.
“What’s interesting?”
He was standing by the empty fireplace, and a photo on the broad mantelpiece behind him helped me to improvise. It showed Sam and Cissy at a construction site, presumably for the inn, her tiny hands joined to his big ones on a shovel with a big bow on its handle.
“Um, it’s interesting to think about earlier generations’ wedding ceremonies. I’d love to see a picture of Tracy’s parents as bride and groom. Or your parents. Are they coming, by the way?”
He shook his head. “Long gone. The jumpers, that’s my family. There’s a picture of Sam and Cissy’s wedding in that album over there, though. I saw it when they were looking for the groundbreaking picture to frame.”
We sat on a couch with the album before us. Jack turned back the oversized pages, turning back the years, until he came to a set of wavy-edged snapshots. I recognized Sam’s jug ears and gangly frame at once, even with the 1970’s side-burns, but could that sleek little long-haired blonde in the shirtwaist dress really be Cissy?
Jack noticed my surprise. “Kind of different, wasn’t she? I guess it was a quickie wedding, just a justice-of-the-peace sort of thing, on account of Sam’s divorce.”
“From Danny’s mother?”
“Yeah. Sam doesn’t like to talk about his first marriage. Danny, either. He was just a kid at the time, and it hit him hard, everyone talking about this gorgeous little gold digger who got hold of Sam Kane. Danny’s kind of a melancholy guy. Maybe that’s why.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I’ll keep off the subject. What about aunts and uncles? Any special family members that Tracy wants to acknowledge in the toasts?”
I could have waited to ask Tracy herself, or dug out the information from Shara’s notes, but we had to talk about something while we waited for Sam. And besides, I liked the sound of Jack’s voice, and I didn’t want to get off the couch. So sue me.
“Not really,” he was saying. “Cissy doesn’t seem to have any family, and Sam’s only brother died before Tracy was born. Big hero in the Korean war.”
“Killed in action?”
He shook his head again. “Suicide. Drowned himself in the lake where he used to go fishing. They didn’t call it post-traumatic stress syndrome back then, but I guess that’s what it was.”
“What a shame. Did Danny know his uncle?”
“Oh, more than that. He adored him. Wait, there must be a picture...”
There were several pictures, of a sweet, small-featured boy and a tall, broad-shouldered young man who looked a little like Sam and a lot like a vintage movie star.
In one picture, Roy Kane held a pair of fishing poles while little Danny hoisted a string of trout. In another, uncle and nephew were bundled in scarves and mittens, their cheeks rosy and their dark clothes starred with white blotches from a vigorous snowball fight. The affection on their faces made them seem like father and son.
“Tracy remembers Danny talking about this wonderful uncle that she’d never met,” said Jack. “How Roy would tell him stories about Korea, and let him play with his dog tags. Real hero worship. Then the suicide and the divorce happened right around the same time.”
“He must have been devastated.”
“I guess so. I heard all this from Tracy, you understand. Danny never talks about it himself.” Jack tipped his wrist to check his watch. “Sam might be a while yet. Probably still reaming out that foreman. Want to go look at the hot spring?”
“Good idea,” I said, coming back to the workaday present. “Not to borrow trouble, but there’s always a liability issue when you serve alcohol near open water.”
I was right about the flagstone path that I’d seen from the bedroom. Jack led me along it, past clusters of pine trees and stretches of heavy brush. As we crossed a little meadow, thick with tall grasses and spangled with bachelor’s buttons, he paused and scowled.
“Dammit, Sam told me he’d get all this cut back.”
“But why? It’s so pretty.”
“Fire,” said Jack. “Everybody wants to build up high where there’s a view, but that puts you uphill of the fuel supply, and fire moves faster uphill. I’ll talk to him about it. Come on, we’re close.”
The hot spring wasn’t at all what I expected. Knowing Sam’s taste for the grand effect, I had pictured a cement construction built around the water source, and maybe even a small bathhouse. Instead we came to a series of natural pools and cascades, stair-stepped down the slope among the boulders and trees. The slender, white-barked aspens made a shivering green roof above us, and cast kaleidoscopic shade over the smooth stone faces and the milky, faintly bubbling water.
“This is charming!”
“Sam’s going to dam it later on,” said Jack. “He’s got plans for a poolside bar and everything. Completely illegal, interfering with a natural watercourse up here, but he’ll probably get away with it.”
“That’s too bad. It’s so nice just as it is.”
I perched on a boulder and slipped off my sandals to dip my toes in the largest pool. It was roughly oval, not too deep, and big enough to hold three or four partygoers, or maybe six intimate friends. Very intimate.
The water was barely hotter than the air this afternoon, but by nightfall it would feel delicious. Jack leaned against an aspen trunk, watching me. He leaned very well, and the dappled sunlight glinted on his hair. If Domaso hadn’t interrupted us... No. Absolutely not.
Just to drive the point home, I stood up and made myself ask, “So where’s the honeymoon cottage?”
“Farther down this path. To get there by car, you curve around past the garage for about a quarter mile, but on foot it’s only a hundred yards or so from here. Want to see it?”
His expression was bland, but I caught a sly glint in his eyes. “Come on, it will just take a minute. It’s a pretty little place.”
Suddenly, and finally, the light dawned. Jack’s apology might have been sincere, but it was also a ploy. He was playing me like a trout, paying out a little more line, subtly reeling it in again, until he had me where he wanted me—like, in a bed. Three days before his wedding! Caution: Jack the K
nack at Work.
“Thanks,” I said coldly, “but I think I hear Sam coming back.”
“Suit yourself,” he said innocently, and led the way back up the path.
The sun struck hard after the shade of the trees. We ascended in silence, keeping our thoughts to ourselves, until the father of the bride called down to us from the veranda railing.
“You two been soaking?”
“Too hot,” Jack called back up. “Are you minus a foreman?”
But the foreman, as we learned on the drive down the mountain, would keep his job for the time being. We also learned about the exact stage of construction each new unit had reached, the vagaries of the county’s permitting process, and the general dunderheadedness of any and all petty officials who came between Sam Kane and his vision of empire.
Jack said very little as Sam ranted on, and I said even less, my headache having returned with a vengeance as we bounced down the gravel road. It was a relief when we turned onto the Sun Valley Road at last, and a real temptation when Sam offered to drive me all the way to B.J.’s house. I was yearning for a cool shower, an early supper, and a long, long sleep. But duty called.
“Just drop me at the lodge, please,” I told him. “I want to read through the vendor contracts and look over the setup for the rehearsal dinner and the skating party.”
“You’re the boss, Red, but I’ll be around for a little if you change your mind. You can sleep in that suite if you want, you know. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, I might just do that after Matt gets back.” Though B.J. may want me around as a bu fer. “Thanks for the tour, Jack.”
Sam waited behind the wheel for the valet, but Jack walked me up to the lodge entrance.
“No hard feelings?” he murmured.
“Of course not,” I lied. “See you later.”
Once inside the lobby I made a beeline for the stairs, thinking hard about Jack and Tracy. Should I warn her about what he was up to? Surely she knew his reputation. For that matter, she surely knew him better than I did, so maybe I should mind my own business. But I always feel responsible for my brides—
Death Takes a Honeymoon Page 10
