What He Didn't Say

by Carol Stephenson

  “You don’t follow it?”

  “Not until recently. I haven’t even attended a race yet.”

  “Richmond’s coming up next weekend. Would you like to go? I might be able to get you a pass to the garage and pit road.”

  As simple as that, his opportunity to study close at hand the inner dynamics of a race team fell into his lap. He could make up his mind about sponsoring Preston’s venture and see Emma-Lee again under casual circumstances. No ties, no expectations. Just the way he preferred.

  “I’d like that, but only if you’re going to be there.”

  She flashed a smile. “You’re in luck. Although the higher administrative types run the show at the race, my boss needs me there to help out.”

  “Then we have a deal.”

  When she shook his hand he was still holding hers, with reluctance he released her. She moved to stand by him at the railing and together they stood looking at the vista. Here and there lights dusted the valley, but below the abyss was dark and still as death.

  Darkness could hide a multitude of emotions and fears. Ever since his mother’s death, he’d been hell-bent at pushing at life’s limits, by racing, jumping or skiing. However, there was a fine line between the temporary oblivion an adrenaline rush brought and a death wish. Some days he didn’t know if he cared about the difference.

  “Why did you jump today?” he asked in a quiet tone. This was the answer he really sought from her.

  She stared down at the void. “Why does anyone jump? For the thrill of it.”

  “I don’t buy that. I know that you met the number of jumps as a parachutist in order to qualify to BASE jump, so obviously you’re an experienced jumper. But you could have stayed in your safe little office at Mooresville and sent me everything. Instead, you threw yourself into this fundraiser today. Why?”

  The night cast deep shadows across her face when she turned. “I know someone battling cancer. My best friend from college.”

  “You could have made a donation. Helped with the stands. Why take the risk?”

  “Because of the guilt that I’m alive and healthy,” she whispered.

  He’d been racing from that guilt trip ever since his mother died. Emma-Lee’s confirmation of what he felt every time he jumped ripped free his own response. “Exactly.”

  Suddenly needing to explore further the taste of her skin he’d gotten from kissing her palm earlier, he lowered his head.

  From the other side of the veranda, spotlights blazed, music blared and the Black Eyed Peas were singing “Boom Boom Pow.” Emma-Lee started. “What’s that?”

  Holt gave her a rueful smile. “That would be the portable vertical wind tunnel.”

  “Oh, wow!” She clapped her hands with excitement. “A wind tunnel that allows you to float in the air? Can we try it?”

  As people spilled onto the veranda, any hope he had of a kiss and maybe more evaporated. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Since I’m the one who rented it, you can be the first.”

  Note to self for next year’s event: arrange for the wind tunnel to run only during the day. A mere mortal man apparently couldn’t compete for a kiss in the shadows of the night against the thrill of flying, not when it came to a woman like Emma-Lee.

  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING Holt leaned against a column hewn from timber in the glass-enclosed lobby of the Cliffhanger Lodge. Even he would have to admit for once in his life he was dawdling. There were a lot of things he could be doing, from checking messages to reading reports; instead, he was simply waiting.

  Banners and signs about the charity event still decorated the lobby. Around him trickles of guests headed either into the restaurant for breakfast or stood in line to check out. Conversation still buzzed about the BASE jump and the partying afterward.

  “Man, did you see that trio who did the synchronized flips?… The wind tunnel rocked last night… I won a Rafael O’Bryan T-shirt.”

  Smiling, Holt shifted as he glanced at his watch. His assistant, Ted, was still in the restaurant, running the thank-you breakfast for the volunteers. One benefit of having his own jet, it would take off whenever he was ready to leave.

  And go where? Back to another empty hotel room?

  Well, wasn’t that a self-pitying thought?

  Irritated with himself, he straightened and moved away from the column. He was living the life he wanted, with no ties, able to pick up and go wherever his next venture took him. The restless mood plaguing him since he had left Emma-Lee last night was only a symptom of the letdown from the adrenaline rush after pulling off the fundraiser in his mother’s memory. Come tomorrow, he’d be wrapped up in meetings for his new computer venture.

  His phone rang, momentarily giving him a welcome respite from his strange mood, until he saw the caller identification.

  “Hello, Dad.” He moved away from a group of laughing women. Concern pricked him as he could count on one hand the number of times either he or Sam Forrester would actually call the other during the year—Thanksgiving, Christmas and each other’s birthdays. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why does anything have to be wrong, son?” Sam’s voice held a familiar note of perplexed exasperation. His father had often sounded that way in dealing with a son he didn’t understand and a reality he hadn’t wanted.

  “I’m calling because I saw you on the news last night.”

  Holt blinked. Since when had his father ever emerged from his academia cocoon long enough to watch television? Did he even own a set?

  Sam Forrester continued, “The reporter indicated the event drew in a large crowd.”

  “Yes, it went very well.” He walked to a point in the lobby where he could keep an eye on both the outside and the bank of elevators.

  “You named it in your mother’s honor.”

  If Sam had read one of the e-mails he had sent when he had first conceived of the event… Holt rolled his shoulders to ease the building tension. “That’s right.”

  “Amanda would have been proud of you, Holt.”

  And what about you, Dad? He wanted to ask but knew it was pointless. After all, no matter how many times he had brought home straight A’s on his report card or scholastic awards, Sam had always reacted as if such accomplishments were expected. The word praise wasn’t in his vocabulary.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an elevator opening. Emma-Lee, carrying her bag, exited with several others. A man said something to her and she laughed, the warm, silky sound rippling along his nerve endings.

  She was leaving. Suddenly, Holt realized that he had to spend more time with her. Today. He didn’t want to wait until next weekend. He needed to come up with a plan and quick. He knew her car was here, so he couldn’t offer Emma-Lee a lift home. However…

  As an idea formed, his mouth kicked up at the corner. The jet would go wherever he needed it to.

  “Dad, I’m sorry, but I have to go. Something’s come up.”

  “But—” There was a second of silence. “Sure, son. I know you’re a busy man.”

  Rather than hitting the disconnect button, Holt hesitated. His father sounded weary. “Dad, you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll speak with you later.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll e-mail you when I get back to Atlanta.”

  “Bye, Holt.”

  The moment his father had hung up, Holt was texting his assistant. He prayed Ted wouldn’t pick this inopportune moment to emerge from the restaurant. Instructions delivered, Holt clipped the phone to his belt and moved on a diagonal to intercept Emma-Lee. As he rounded the last group of people separating them, she saw him and a smile lit up her face.

  There. Holt experienced the same kick of anticipation he had whenever he jumped from a plane or raced a bike or had a breakthrough on a computer program. This was what he had been waiting for all morning.

  Never before had a woman been the source of such an acute rush.

  That realization alone should have given him pause, but Holt never backed
down from a challenge. He closed the last few feet as Emma-Lee pulled a ringing cell phone from her purse.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HOLT WAS HERE.

  An awareness so intense that it bordered on pain jolted Emma-Lee’s nerve endings. He moved toward her with easy masculine grace. Today his hazel eyes took on the cast of the dark gold shirt he wore along with jeans hugging his lean form and a bomber jacket.

  Those serious eyes held her own almost against her will as he drew closer.

  Phone. It was ringing in the tone that signaled her mother was calling. She wrenched her gaze away, set down her bag and answered the cell.

  “Hi, Mom. Happy Sunday.”

  “Hi, honey. Are you all right? I know you were doing that insane jump yesterday. When you didn’t call, your father was practically frantic with worry.”

  Oops. While she had called her friend Sandy last night to regale her with details of the day and the fascinating man she had met, she had forgotten to call her parents. Guilt pricked her. That was so unlike her not to call. She knew her parents were concerned about her riskier leisure activities.

  In the background on Shirley Dalton’s end of the line, her father’s muffled voice protested. “Oh, hush, Buddy,” her mother ordered. “You, too, were worried about her.”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I just forgot to call you. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing broken? No cuts or bruises?”

  Emma-Lee laughed. “I’m fine. Not even a scratch.” She wouldn’t mention the near miss with the river boulders. “I’m one hundred percent intact.”

  Glancing at Holt, she stilled. His gaze lazily drifted down the length of her and back up again. A shiver raced through her when he gave her a wicked smile along with a thumbs-up. She glared at him before turning away so she could concentrate.

  “Look, Mom. I’m checking out. I’ll call you and Dad tonight and give you all the details.”

  “All right, dear. Drive safe. Stop a few times to stretch your legs. You’re too much like your father. Once you get in a car, all you want to do is drive until you reach your destination. It’s not good for you.”

  Emma-Lee rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. Bye.” She hung up and turned back to Holt.

  As she pocketed the phone, she gave him an apologetic smile. “My folks were worried. You know how parents like to fuss.”

  He gave her a strange, questioning look. “If you say so.”

  Over his shoulder she saw a banner hanging over the entrance: The Amanda Forrester Jump for Cancer. Horror rushed through her as she realized the connection.

  All she had seen when Holt’s donation query came in to Double S was that his event was for cancer. Not the actual name. With visions of bridge jumping when she had checked in and images of the intriguing man himself dancing in her head afterward, she had been oblivious to any sign.

  “Ohmigod.” She lifted her hands and covered her face. “Amanda Forrester, the woman this event is for. Is she your mother?”

  “Was.” A cool, shuttered expression appeared in his eyes. “She’s dead.”

  “Oh, Holt. I’m so sorry.” She reached and rested her hand on his forearm. Beneath her fingers the tendons were as taut as steel. She could feel the tension humming through him.

  He slid his hands into his jean pockets, so she was forced to let go. “That’s okay. She died from cancer a long time ago.”

  “How old were you when you lost her?”

  “Twelve.”

  She couldn’t imagine losing a parent at that age—or any age for that matter. Her parents were her rock and foundation.

  “How awful for you and your father!” Emma-Lee hesitated. “Your father is…”

  “Still alive, yes.” He nodded. “We muddled through mother’s death, but I had always wanted to do something in her memory.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “And you pulled it off. This was a truly memorable weekend, Holt, for all of us who got to participate. An honor, in fact. Thank you.”

  Surprise flickered across his face. “I should thank you for all the help you gave me.” He glanced at her suitcase. “Are you checking out?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I need to get going. I want to visit with a friend in Charlotte before I head home.”

  “Really, Charlotte?” Holt narrowed his eyes. “Can I be this lucky? Ted left with the car to take care of an urgent matter this morning, and I need to get to Charlotte to meet with a programmer. I was waiting down here while they located another rental car for me. I wonder if I could…”

  Her sympathy propelled by manners caused her to respond without thinking. “Of course, I’m happy to give you a lift.”

  “Perfect.” He reached out and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Let’s get you checked out.” He turned toward the reception desk but not before she caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

  Any lingering trace of compassion vanished. What had she gotten herself into? Several hours of driving with a man she still didn’t know well?

  Oh, boy. Another thing not to mention to her parents tonight. However…

  Emma-Lee pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of Holt as he approached a clerk and e-mailed it to Sandy along with a note of what time she would be arriving as a precaution.

  When Holt glanced back, she dropped the phone into her purse and hurried forward. She noted the clerk’s name tag as she slid her key card across the counter. “Good morning, Trevor. I’m all set.” Within short order she completed the check-out process.

  Holt gestured toward the door. “I need to pick up my bag from the bell captain and we can be on our way.”

  She nodded and threaded her way through the growing crowd checking out. After only a few moments’ delay Holt had his duffel bag and they went outside. She inhaled a deep breath of the crisp spring air. Only a few wisps of clouds drifted across the blue sky. What a glorious day for driving. She led the way to the parking lot.

  “You didn’t valet?” Holt asked as he walked beside her.

  “Not when I can avoid it. A good car deserves respect that many kids don’t have.” She halted by the vintage, fire-engine-red Mustang and ran a loving hand over the fender. “This is Baby. The first car I bought with my own money.”

  Holt cocked an eyebrow. “You named your car?”

  “Of course.” She popped the trunk and he placed their bags inside. After she closed the lid, she turned. Holt stood with his hand out.

  “What?”

  “Can I drive?”

  In mock horror she clutched them close to her chest. “Oh, no. I don’t know you well enough to allow that familiarity.”

  He grinned and leaned against the car. He didn’t budge when she glared at him. “So who’s allowed to drive Baby?”

  She strode past him and opened the driver’s door. “My parents, my sisters and my best friend.” She wanted to feel the wind in her hair, so she rolled the window down. When it was time to retire Baby…not that that would be for a long time, she patted the dashboard in reassurance…her next car would be a convertible.

  Holt caught the door handle and shut it for her. He rounded the front and got in the passenger side. After buckling his belt, he studied her. “What about boyfriends? Any of them ever drive her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” Holt adjusted the seat, settled back and actually closed his eyes.

  Men. She placed her phone beside her, started the engine, smiled with pleasure at the smooth purr of the engine, and eased out of the space. She carefully drove along the narrow graveled road from the hotel and only relaxed when she pulled onto the paved highway.

  Quickly the miles peeled away as they rode in silence. Occasionally, she stole a look at Holt. Although he appeared to be dozing, she was acutely aware of his presence in the cramped space. Despite the open windows, the warm musk of his scent toyed with her nose.

  “So who’s this friend you’re going to see in Charlotte?” When she glanced over, his head was turned and he was watching her intently.
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  She cleared her throat. “My best friend, Sandy. She’s the one I jumped for yesterday.”

  “She has cancer?”

  “Yes. The first time she was diagnosed was when we were in college. She kept up with her classes despite the chemotherapy. We thought she had beaten it, but she recently had a relapse.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Sorry didn’t begin to cover Emma-Lee’s reaction when Sandy had told her the heartbreaking news. She balled her right hand in her lap. “She’ll beat it again, she’s strong.”

  Holt reached out and squeezed her hand. “They’ve come a long way with the research, Emma-Lee.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “I know.”

  The phone beside her erupted in a song heavy with bass and drum. She smiled. “Speak of the devil.” She reached for it, but Holt grabbed the phone first.

  “Hey!”

  “You’re driving,” he chided, opening the phone. Her face turned warm as he stared at his photo on the screen. Slowly his mouth curved with satisfaction.

  “Don’t let your ego get the wrong idea,” she snapped.

  “I sent Sandy your photo in case something happened to me.”

  EMMA-LEE’S BALD statement landed a solid punch to Holt’s solar plexus. He sucked in a deep breath as he battled the strange sting of hurt and struggled to assimilate the thought that she could be afraid of him. Her phone fell silent.

  When he thought he could speak calmly, he said in a quiet voice, “Emma-Lee, I thought we had hit it off and were getting to know each other. Why did you let me ride with you if you’re worried about me?”

  A deep pink flush crept over her face and when she glanced at him, remorse welled in the deep blue pools of her eyes. “Oh, Holt. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  The phone erupted again in the same throbbing song. “Why don’t you pull over. I have a feeling your friend is going to keep calling until you answer.”

  She nodded, signaled and carefully drove onto the side of the highway. Holt answered the phone, “Sandy? This is Holt Forrester.”