by Janet Dailey
“What do you want to bet that when they hauled him off in the ambulance, the only thing he wanted to know was whether they got the bad guys.”
“Yeah, that would be Quint,” Trey agreed with a smile in his voice. “He always wants to finish anything he starts. It makes him real mule-headed sometimes.”
“Where is he now?” She heard faint stirrings of movement coming from the bedroom.
“In a Detroit hospital.”
“Aunt Cat must be worried sick about him.”
“She and Logan took off about an hour ago to fly there. According to Logan, Quint and his partner had gone to a farmhouse, following a lead they had on some guy suspected of illegally selling firearms. I guess they no more than got out of the car when somebody in the house opened fire on them.”
“At least he’s going to be all right.” Laura chose to dwell on the positive aspect.
“Yeah.” But the flatness of his voice revealed the apparent lack of comfort he took in that.
Sebastian emerged from the bedroom, fully clothed. “Just a sec,” Laura said into the phone and promptly covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s my brother,” she said to Sebastian as he moved toward her.
“I suspected as much,” he murmured and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it to press a warm kiss on her lips. “See you in England,” he said and crossed to the door.
The life seemed to go out of the room when he went, leaving it feeling empty and alien—something Laura had never experienced before. Suddenly she was very, very glad Trey was on the other end of the phone.
“Sorry,” she said into it.
“I guess Tara was there,” Trey guessed. “I should have known she’d hang around to find out why I was calling.”
Laura chose not to correct him. “Phone calls in the middle of the night generally bring bad news. Where’s Mother?”
“She and Laredo went into town for supper. Did I tell you Harry’s is up for sale?” Harry’s was the sole eating and drinking establishment in the small town of Blue Moon, located some fifty miles from the headquarters of the Triple C Ranch.
“I can’t imagine anyone buying that old place.” Laura sank onto a nearby chair and curled her legs under her, oddly eager to hear a bit of local gossip; gossip she wouldn’t have cared a whit about an hour ago.
“Neither can I,” Trey agreed. “Ever since Dy-Corp shut down the coal mine, Blue Moon has practically become a ghost town.” They talked a while longer, with Trey filling her in on the latest happenings in and around the ranch. “When are you coming home, Laura?” he asked at last.
“Not for a while yet. We’re flying to England the end of this week.” Laura smiled, anticipating seeing Sebastian again and launched into an explanation of meeting Sebastian, his acquaintance with the earl of Crawford and subsequent invitation to visit the manor house.
Trey’s only reply to that was, “You will be home in time for the big horse sale the first of June, won’t you? Mom’s counting on you to help with it.”
“I’d forgotten all about it.” The sale marked only the second time horses bred on the ranch had been sold separately from the biennial livestock auction. Just like the livestock auction, the horse sale was as much a large-scale social event as it was an auction. And the lone bright spot in the usual monotony of ranch life, as far as Laura was concerned. “I’ll be home in time for that,” she promised.
After an exchange of good-byes, Trey hung up and rocked back in an oversized swivel chair behind the den’s massive desk, his thoughts still troubled by the news about Quint. His glance drifted idly to the wide sweep of horns mounted above the fireplace’s mantelpiece.
The sound of shuffling footsteps pulled his attention from the old stone fireplace and swung it toward the den’s open door into the hall as his grandfather, Chase Calder, paused outside it. Age had stooped his tall frame and turned his dark hair an iron gray. There was a sagging of the skin across his hard and angular features, the cracked and weathered texture of it resembling old saddle leather. At first glance, his grandfather looked every bit of his eighty-plus years, but there was a vitality burning in his dark eyes that couldn’t be ignored.
“I thought I heard you talking to your mother,” Chase stated as if in explanation for his presence.
“No, I just got off the phone with Laura.” Trey gripped the armrest and pushed out of the chair, driven by a restless feeling that demanded movement. “I called to let her know about Quint.”
“Is she coming home?”
“No. She’s flying to London at the end of the week.” Trey moved out from behind the desk and crossed to the door.
“London,” Chase repeated in disgust. “It’s high time she quit gallivanting all over Europe and came home. This is where she belongs.”
Trey stopped in front of him. In Chase’s younger days, the two men would have stood eye to eye. But Trey was a good inch taller than Chase now. Despite the stark age differences, the family resemblance was strong.
“No, Gramps, she doesn’t. I don’t know where Laura belongs, but it isn’t here.” Trey had never felt more certain of that than he did at that moment, and he couldn’t say why.
Chapter Four
Clouds drifted through the blue sky that arched over the sprawl of metropolitan London. A river bus plowed through the murky waters of the Thames past the famed Savoy Hotel. But Max Rutledge took no notice of the fine spring afternoon or the expansive views of the river his suite in the Savoy provided. He was too preoccupied by the latest batch of reports that had been forwarded to him.
Distracted as he was, he was slow to register the initial click of the door latch. Not until he heard the door close did he become aware of someone entering in the room. With a swing of his massive shoulder, he glanced toward the door, his gaze lighting on his tall son, dressed in sweats, a towel draped around his neck, and a lingering sheen of perspiration on his face that said, as much as his dress, that he had come straight from a vigorous workout at the hotel’s health club.
As usual, Max wasted no time with preliminaries. “I thought you told me that Calder girl was staying at Claridges.”
Boone Rutgledge hesitated a split second. “That’s what she indicated to me before we left Rome.” He caught up a corner of the towel and mopped his cheek and jaw with it.
“Well, she’s not. She called an hour ago to say that they’re at the Lanesborough on Hyde Park Corner.
“Obviously, there was a change of plans,” Boone stated with unconcern and crossed to a phone.
“What are you doing now?” Max demanded.
“I’m just calling to confirm that I’ll pick her up at eight this evening.” He picked up the receiver.
“Don’t bother. She’s not there.” Max pivoted his wheelchair around to face him. “She said she was going downstairs for tea.”
Boone set the phone back on its cradle. “In that case, I’ll shower and call her later.”
Max snorted in disgust. “You’re always letting grass grow under your feet. What’s wrong with going over there and joining her for tea? It’s not like you’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon working. You never do a damned thing unless I tell you. Just once I wish you’d take some initiative yourself.”
Boone glared at him for a long, stiff second, then pivoted on his heel and crossed to one of the suite’s adjoining bedrooms, the one that he had claimed as his own.
Thick traffic swirled around the busy Hyde Park corner, but little of its noise invaded the Lanesborough’s Library Bar, where afternoon tea was being served. Laura paid little attention to the hushed conversations taking place around her as she took a sip of the Earl Grey tea in her Royal Worcester cup.
“Did you speak to Sebastian?” Tara deftly added a dollop of clotted cream to her scone.
“No, I had to leave messages for both Sebastian and Boone.” Laura returned her cup to its saucer and used the serving tongs to remove a petit four from its tray. “I let the desk know that we
’d be in here if either of them called.”
“Good.” Tara nodded in approval and took a delicate bite of her scone and chewed it thoughtfully. “As I recall, Crawford Hall is somewhere in the Cotswolds. I shouldn’t think it would be much more than a two-hour drive from London. I wonder if there’s a suitable inn nearby where we could spend the night. It would be too much to hope that we might actually be invited to stay at the manor.”
Where they might stay was of little interest to Laura. “I’m looking forward to seeing that portrait of Lady Elaine.” But not nearly as much as she was anticipating Sebastian’s company.
“I’m half-tempted to hire a genealogist to track down any documentation that may exist on both Lady Elaine and Madelaine Calder just to see if we can prove our suspicions,” Tara remarked idly.
“I don’t know what it would accomplish,” Laura said with a shrugging lift of her shoulders.
“You haven’t lived with the question as long as I have, or you would understand how satisfying it can be to at last have the definitive answer.” Tara lifted her cup and carried it to her lips. “How’s Quint doing? Did you speak to your mother?”
Laura nodded that she had. “He came through the surgery on his leg with flying colors. Logan flew back home, but Aunt Cat is staying until Quint’s released from the hospital. Mom said that other than having a pin in his leg he’ll be as good as new in a few weeks.”
“That’s good to hear. I know how worried Cat must have been about him.”
A man entered the Library Bar, coming within range of her peripheral vision. When he paused beneath the Empire-style chandelier, its light reflected off the deep copper lights in his hair. The hue was much too familiar for Laura to ignore. With a turn of her head, she saw Sebastian making a scan of the room’s patrons, and her pulse quickened.
Before she could lift a hand to draw his attention, he spotted the two of them seated by a window. With an easy masculine grace, he crossed to their table.
“I see you two ladies are enjoying one of our quaint British customs,” he said in greeting.
“When in Rome,” Laura quipped, her thoughts racing back to the night they had spent together, the memory fresh and stimulating.
“Indeed.” His glance said that he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“We were just talking about you,” Tara declared.
“All good, I hope.”
“Naturally.” Tara smiled in reassurance. “You will join us for some tea, won’t you?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said and signaled to one of the staff, who quickly added a chair to the table, followed by a third place setting. Hitching up his trousers, he took a seat. “Your flight from Rome was uneventful, I trust.”
“It was.” Doing the honors, Tara poured tea into a cup for him.
“So . . .” Laura settled back in her chair, letting her gaze run over his smoothly hewn features, their aristocratic lines so at odds with the smattering of freckles on his fair skin. “Were you able to wangle an invitation for us to see the portrait?”
“Better than that,” He paused to stir a spoonful of sugar into his tea, “I come with an invitation to stay the night at Crawford Hall.”
“That’s amazing,” Tara murmured, then explained, “Laura and I were just discussing whether we should make the drive back to London or find lodging in the area. Obviously that is no longer an issue. We accept the earl’s gracious offer of hospitality with pleasure.”
“Will you be spending the night as well?” Laura asked with more than a little interest.
“I will,” he confirmed.
“Wonderful,” Laura murmured, her interest in this excursion to the English countryside growing with each passing moment. It definitely promised something more diverting than an inspection of Lady Elaine’s portrait.
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this, Mr. Dunshill,” Tara inserted.
“Sebastian, please,” he insisted.
“Sebastian,” she repeated in easy familiarity. “Is there anything special in the way of dress we should bring with us?”
“Life is fairly informal at Crawford Hall. Although if you have some riding clothes, you might want to bring them along,” he replied. “A morning canter across our English hills can be an excellent way to start the day. I expect they will seem quite tame to you, considering that you were raised on the wild western plains.” He addressed the latter remark to Laura.
“It’s also a reason why civilized scenery might be a bit more appealing to me,” she replied.
“There’s certainly a plentitude of civilized scenery in the vicinity of Crawford Hall.” Sebastian sipped his tea. “Have you ever ridden English style before?”
“I have,” Laura confirmed. “In fact, I prefer it—much to my family’s horror.”
“Is that ever the truth,” Tara declared. “Do you remember the time you tried to put one of the ranch horses over a homemade jump, Laura? You couldn’t have been much more than fourteen or fifteen. Your grandfather almost had apoplexy. He and your mother were positively furious with me when I went out and bought you a show jumper, then hired a riding instructor.”
“Actually I don’t think my mother minded all that much. I think she was just relieved that I hadn’t decided to climb on the back of a Brahma bull the way Trey did at a local rodeo.” Turning her attention to Sebastian, she said, “Over the years, my brother and I have managed to contribute more than a few gray hairs to our mother’s head. We each have a bit of the daredevil in us.”
“Really,” Sebastian murmured, eyes dancing. “I never would have guessed that about you.”
“The truth is out, then.” A knowing smile curved her mouth as she brimmed with the certainty that he was remembering when she had ventured nude into the Trevi Fountain.
With all her attention wrapped up in Sebastian, Laura never noticed the tall dark-haired man approaching their table until he stopped by her chair. “I was told at the desk I could find you in here.”
She looked up with a start, her glance quickly taking in the man’s familiar features, full of rough and raw masculinity. “Boone,” she said in surprise that quickly gave way to pleasure. “Your father must have given you my message.”
“He did.” He flashed her a broad smile. “Rather than call you back, I decided to come over myself and find out if you can be ready about eight for our big night on the town.” Without waiting to be asked, he pulled up a vacant chair and sat down at the table.
“Eight o’clock will be perfect,” Laura replied.
As the tardy waiter hurried over to their table, Tara inquired, “Would you like some tea, Boone?”
“No, thanks.” He dismissed the waiter with a curt shake of his head. “The only tea I drink is the kind we serve in Texas—sweet and on ice.” His glance drifted to Sebastian, as if only then taking notice of his presence.
“You remember Sebastian Dunshill, don’t you, Boone?” Tara said, supplying the name on the off chance he had forgotten it. “We met at the contessa’s party in Rome.”
“I remember,” he said and acknowledged him with a brief nod that was neither friendly nor unfriendly.
“Sebastian just brought us an invitation to spend the weekend at Crawford Hall,” Laura explained.
“Are you going?” Boone asked and continued without waiting for her answer. “I was going to suggest we fly up to Newmarket and take in a horse race.”
“I wish I’d known.” Laura gave him a look of regret, tempered with a smile. “But Tara and I can hardly pass up the chance to have a firsthand look at the portrait of Lady Crawford that hangs in the hall. She has been the subject of much speculation in our family for too many years.”
Boone lounged back in the chair, hooking an arm over the corner of its backrest. “This is the first time I’ve ever been turned down in favor of a painting.” But his broad Texas smile didn’t reveal any signs of rejection. “Now you’ve got me curious about it. It must be something special.”
“We think it will be,” Tara replied. “Which is why we are so anxious to see it.”
“When are you leaving?” Boone divided his glance between Laura and Tara. On the surface, the tone of his question seemed to be one of idle curiosity, but his attention to their answer was a bit too sharp.
“Actually”—it was Sebastian who spoke up first—“they are expected for dinner tomorrow evening. I was about to suggest making a leisurely afternoon drive of it. I thought I could pick you up around two,” he said to Laura, “stop for tea along the way, and still arrive in ample time for dinner.”
“I have a better idea.” Boone’s broad smile never wavered as he pinned his gaze on Sebastian, the subtle challenge in it obvious to everyone. “I’ll take them instead. It’ll give me a chance to get a peek at this painting myself.”
Laura watched Sebastian, intensely curious to see how he would handle this gauntlet Boone had thrown down.
“There’s no need for that,” Sebastian began in smooth dismissal, “as I’ll be making the drive myself tomorrow—”
“But I have a Daimler limousine at my disposal,” Boone interrupted. “I think you’ll agree it would be much more comfortable for the ladies to ride in it than in an ordinary car.”
During the briefest of pauses, Sebastian studied his adversary with a sizing glance, then smiled lazily. “Since you seem so determined to make the drive, why don’t I arrange for you to spend the weekend at Crawford Hall as well.”
The invitation was the last thing Laura had expected from Sebastian. Most women in her shoes would have found the prospect of having both men under the same roof to be an awkward situation. Laura regarded it as a challenge. And she thrived on challenges.
“I’d love to spend the weekend in the country with Laura if you’re sure our host wouldn’t object,” Boone replied.
“His philosophy tends to be ‘the more, the merrier’ or something like that,” Sebastian stated with a droll smile.
