by Francis Ray
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Mama would have my hide, and I couldn’t blame her.”
Sabra didn’t like whatever it was she was feeling, and she had no intention of allowing it to continue. She balked. Unless he wanted to drag her, he had to stop as well. “The directions, please?”
His dark eyes narrowed and he studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “What is it about me that you don’t like?”
The question was so far from the truth and so unexpectedly blunt that she was momentarily stunned.
“You can tell me. I assure you my ego isn’t that fragile,” he said, waiting for her answer.
She didn’t doubt him for a second. One thing Pierce Grayson didn’t lack was self-assurance. He was also perceptive enough to know when she was feeding him a line. “You want something from me you’re not going to get, and when you don’t, things could get complicated. I like your mother. We’re going to be working together for four weeks. I don’t want anything to jeopardize that.”
His dark eyes studied her for so long she grew nervous. Men never made her nervous.
“I want to get to know you better.”
Up went her brows again. “I’m sure you do.”
He flashed the easy smile that probably had disarmed legions of females before her. “Haven’t had many male friends, huh?”
Sabra gave him another truth. “No.”
“Your fault or theirs?” he asked.
She would not be baited. “Won’t you be late for your breakfast? You’re probably meeting someone.”
“I am. But she won’t mind you eating with us.”
Sabra felt a strange something she didn’t want to examine too closely. “I would. Three is one too many.”
He smiled and took her arm. “Not when the third party is my sister and your realtor.”
She could have hit him. He’d done that on purpose. It didn’t dawn on her until later that with another man she might have laughed.
“The restaurant serves an omelet that will make you sigh with pleasure,” Pierce said, continuing down the street with Isabella on the other side of him. “You won’t find better breakfast pastries anywhere in the city.”
She started to say she wasn’t hungry, but her stomach chose that inopportune moment to rumble. She enjoyed good food and thankfully had the metabolism to keep the pounds off. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Believe me, you won’t. Besides, I have some information to give you.”
Her brow lifted. “I assure you, after traveling to cities around the country and in Europe, I speak four languages and can find my way around a city.”
Pierce grinned boyishly at her. “But can you find where Isabella can go with you? You don’t want to be left at home all the time, do you, Isabella?”
Isabella barked and looked up at Pierce as if he had a hoagie. Pierce had certainly won Isabella’s affection, not an easy task. She generally wasn’t that fond of men. Sabra’s agent was still watchful.
“I have a list in my pocket.”
Sabra’s assistant usually took care of that detail, but she had put Joy on a more pressing matter. “Why would you do that?”
Pierce glanced down at Isabella walking by his side. “If Isabella isn’t happy, then you aren’t going to be, and if you aren’t happy, my mother isn’t going to be.”
“So you did this for your mother?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking.” Pierce turned into the entrance of a hotel. Lush tropical plants flanked either side of them. He greeted the valet and doorman by name, as they did him.
Men had tried to get to her before through Isabella, but this was the first time one had gone to the trouble of finding places Sabra and Isabella could go and be comfortable.
“Santa Fe is a pet-friendly town, actually. But the restaurants will be limited.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t want him to be nice or she might waver in her resolve to steer clear of him. Her time was limited here. Every spare minute had to be spent searching for the man her father had business dealings with.
Pierce escorted her through the hotel lobby, again speaking to the passing employees. Sabra didn’t miss the longing looks of the two women behind the front desk that followed them out the door leading to the open patio dining. Clay pots of colorful flowers abounded. A kiva fireplace was in the corner. “You must eat here a lot,” she said.
“My brother Brandon’s wife, Faith, is the executive manager of the family-owned hotel. Brandon is a great cook and owns a restaurant, but they don’t serve breakfast,” Pierce explained as he stopped in front of a wooden podium. An older gentleman with gray hair and a ramrod-straight back in a dark business suit greeted them with a smile.
“Good morning, Pierce, miss.” The man picked up two menus. “Sierra is already here. I’ll show you to your table.”
“Good morning, Phillip. Thanks, but we’ll find it.”
The man smiled graciously. “I’ll send Ben right over.”
“Good, I’m starved.” Taking the menu, Pierce continued on the tile floor. “If Brandon had to fall, at least we got some side benefits out of it.”
“Fall?” Sabra said.
“Family joke.” Pierce stopped at a black wrought-iron table where a beautiful woman sat, her gaze searching. Sabra realized she had been so intent on Pierce that she hadn’t noticed the woman until now. The family resemblance was striking.
“Sabra Raineau, Sierra Grayson.”
The women nodded and shook hands. Sabra realized she was being sized up and couldn’t imagine why. Ruth Grayson might have taken Sabra at face value, but Sierra Grayson wasn’t as easily swayed.
Pierce pulled out Sabra’s chair next to Sierra and mouthed, Be nice, to his sister. Sierra merely picked up her orange juice and sipped. Her message was clear; she’d do as she pleased. A waiter appeared to take their orders, then withdrew quickly.
“I hear I have you to thank for my place. It’s perfect and well stocked,” Sabra said. “Isabella thanks you as well. There were even her favorite doggie biscuits.”
“Pleasing our clients is the reason we exist,” Sierra said. “Mama is very excited about you being here.”
Sabra heard what wasn’t said. Sierra’s mother might be pleased, but Sierra wasn’t so sure. “So am I,” Sabra confessed, then thanked the waiter as he poured her coffee. She’d learned long ago that she wasn’t going to be everyone’s best buddy, but if possible, she wanted her and Sierra to at least be cordial. “She’s giving me a chance to fulfill a dream.”
“To write, star, and direct is very ambitious,” Sierra said, sipping her juice.
Pierce wished he had sat next to Sierra so he could have nudged her to lighten up, but, on second thought, perhaps it was good that he hadn’t. Sierra reacted adversely when told what to do. “From what I heard yesterday, Sabra doesn’t have any worries.”
“Oh.” Sierra smiled as Ben served her, then Pierce and Sabra. “This looks wonderful as usual. If I keep this up, I might have to seriously consider exercising.”
“If you’re going to flop, flop big, but failure is not an option,” Sabra said, looking directly at Sierra over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Meaning?” Sierra asked as the waiter served their table.
Sabra folded her fingers. “Make no mistake, I want Silken Lies to click on all cylinders, and I feel strongly that it will, but fate and audiences can be fickle. But whatever happens, I’ll learn from the experience and keep going.”
“Strong words,” Sierra said mildly, picking up her saltshaker.
“That I have every intention of backing up,” Sabra said, not giving in an inch.
“How’s the omelet, Sabra?” Pierce asked.
“Fine,” she said, keeping her gaze on Sierra. “Failure is just a stepping-stone to success.”
“And you would know this how?” Sierra asked
“By working my behind off, taking any part possible, for six years until I was an overnight success. By eating cold spa
ghetti and peanut butter.” When pushed, Sabra pushed back. “I have a feeling you know what I’m talking about.”
Sierra smiled. “I sold one house the first two months after I got my real estate license.”
“That certainly didn’t stop you from buying four pairs of designer shoes and the bags to match,” Pierce said, trying to lighten the conversation.
Sierra’s face grew serious. “I knew I would make it. The next month I sold five houses, each costing more than a quarter-million dollars, and I never looked back.”
“Your closet can attest to that,” Pierce said.
“What’s success if you can’t do some of the things you want? Right, Sabra?” Sierra eyed the black ostrich Chanel bag hanging on the back of the black wrought-iron chair. “Vintage?”
“Yes. I bought it to cheer me up when I was turned down for a part. For the next two months I lived off noodles and peanut butter sandwiches because it was all I could afford.” Sabra laughed at the memory. “But when I went to a casting call, I was looking good.”
“That was a senseless waste of money,” Pierce said. Both women looked at him as if he’d just blasphemed. “Waste not, want not.”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “That’s the point; she didn’t waste the money. The bag is now a symbol that she can succeed no matter what.”
“Exactly.” Sabra lifted her glass of juice. “To success in spite of the odds.”
The women raised their glasses and toasted. Baffled, Pierce looked from his sister to Sabra. Money lost was seldom recouped. Sure, he enjoyed the good life as well as anyone, but he didn’t believe in senseless spending.
“You have beautiful hair,” Sabra said. “Mine won’t stay straight no matter what I do to it.”
Sierra smiled. “I was just thinking that it would be nice if mine would keep a curl like yours.”
“Can you recommend a stylist?”
Sierra sat back in her chair. “I could, but I’d have to . . .”
“Kill me,” Sabra finished.
Pierce’s gaze ping-ponged between the two laughing women. Something had changed between them, and he wasn’t sure what or why. If a man ever discovered how the minds of women worked and was willing to share the knowledge, he’d make millions—make that billions.
“Paul is fantastic.” Sierra opened her brown croc handbag and pulled out a pad and gold pen. “He’s fabulous. I can give you his number.”
“Thank you. Since you’re sharing, I guess I can tell you about a place in SoHo I found that specializes in vintage bags. She always lets me have first look.”
Sierra’s eyes got a gleam in them. “Thanks.”
Pierce looked from his sister to Sabra. They were going to be friends after all.
“What do you plan to do when you’re not rehearsing?” Sierra handed Sabra the slip of paper with the information she’d requested.
“Don’t answer, Sabra,” Pierce warned with a shake of his dark head. “She’ll use you as a reference to influence her real estate clients.”
“She is a satisfied client, but I was going to tell her all the best places to shop and show her around while she’s here.”
Nothing could have pleased Sabra more. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll probably be busy on the next script.”
“What’s this one about?” Pierce asked, and polished off his omelet.
“A love story. I haven’t decided if it will end happily or not,” she confessed.
“Stick around, and you’ll get plenty of material. Starting now,” Sierra told her.
Pierce shook his head when he spotted the couple coming toward them, holding hands. “I wonder if that silly grin on our brother’s face will ever go away?”
“Going by that same expression on Luke’s and Morgan’s faces, I think we’re in for the duration,” Sierra said, then frowned at him. “Don’t you even think about it.”
“Believe me, I’m not,” he said; then he stood to give Brandon a one-armed hug. “I still can’t believe you can get up by eight thirty and smile about it.”
Brandon slung a long arm around his wife and smiled down at her. “There are some things worth getting up for.”
Faith stared up at her husband with complete love and devotion. “There certainly are.”
“See what I mean?” Sierra whispered in an aside to Sabra, but she was smiling. Out loud she said, “Faith, you did what I thought was impossible.”
Faith palmed Brandon’s handsome face. Her voice soft, she admitted, “You and me both.”
Brandon covered her hands with his, then gently brushed his lips against hers. “I love you.”
“Brandon,” Faith whispered his name on a sigh.
“Cut it out, you two,” Pierce said with a chuckle. “We have company.”
It took Brandon and Faith a long moment before they broke eye contact and turned to Sabra. Pierce and Sierra shared a look they had come to know well as brother after brother fell in love. They were happy for their brothers, but neither wanted to be next.
“Ms. Raineau, welcome to Casa de Serinidad, the House of Serenity,” Faith greeted them, extending her hand. “Faith Grayson, and this is my husband, Brandon.”
“Good morning, and welcome,” Brandon said, his arm still around his wife’s waist.
Sabra’s eyebrow lifted in surprise. She was seldom recognized by the general public and, in fact, preferred it that way. “Thank you, and good morning. The food here is wonderful.”
Brandon seated Faith, then sat beside her, his arm on the back of her chair. “Almost as good as that at the Red Cactus,” Brandon said just as a mustachioed man passed.
The wiry man in a chef’s coat and hat stopped, turned, then lifted his chin. “The things I must put up with.”
Brandon chuckled despite Faith’s stern look. “Forgive my husband. He and my executive chef have a running feud on whose cuisine is the best.”
“I already know,” Brandon said, kissing Faith on the cheek. “Come over to the restaurant and you can be the judge.”
“I don’t imagine you allow dogs?” Sabra asked, her dark eyes twinkling.
Brandon frowned.
“Isabella,” Pierce said. The dog came to her feet and placed her muzzle on the edge of the table.
Brandon whistled. Isabella barked.
“She doesn’t like me leaving her,” Sabra explained.
“Will takeout do?” Brandon asked with a laugh, and they all joined in.
“I suppose it will have to,” Sabra conceded. “But I definitely plan to come back here for breakfast.”
“Please do,” Faith said. “Since you didn’t check in with us, where did you decide to stay?”
“The condo,” Sabra said, realizing now why Faith had recognized her.
“Sabra and Pierce are neighbors,” Sierra said. “She’s subleasing my condo.”
All eyes converged on Pierce, then on her. Sabra, who had performed before packed houses here and abroad, before heads of state, twisted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Well, well,” Brandon said. Faith elbowed him.
“I feel as if everyone has a script but me.” Sabra folded her hands on the table. “Would anyone care to enlighten me?”
“Nothing you would be interested in,” Pierce said easily.
“Well, I have to go.” Sierra came to her feet. “Wish me luck; I’m showing the Castle estate to Mitchell Shuler.”
“I don’t suppose there could be two Mitchell Shulers?” Sabra said, a frown on her face.
“You mean the power-hungry, self-important, and can’t-keep-his-hands-to-himself owner of Shuler Electronics in San Francisco?” Sierra asked.
“The same.” Sabra’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t showing him a property by yourself, are you?”
“That’s one thing they didn’t have to teach me in my real estate classes.”
“Your brothers beat them to it?” Sabra guessed.
“You got it.” Sierra looked at both brothers. “And if I see any of them at my office o
r at the Castle estate, I am not going to be pleased.”
“Of course you won’t. They know you can take care of yourself,” Faith said quickly.
“If he puts one finger where it shouldn’t be—” Pierce didn’t finish, the deadly intent in his voice saying it all.
“He’ll be singing high soprano for a month, plus explaining to our friend Dakota, the chief of police, when I press charges.” Sierra picked up her attaché case. “We all know you have to work with people you don’t approve of. See you later.”
“Maybe I should—” Brandon began as Sierra walked away.
“You want her to think you don’t trust her to take care of herself?” Faith interrupted her husband.
“I know this is none of my concern, but Shuler outweighs her by seventy pounds,” Sabra said.
“She’s smarter.” Pierce looked at Sabra. “Did he get out of line with you?”
Sabra blinked, surprised to hear the same menacing tone in Pierce’s voice. “No. With a friend of mine.”
“Then he might leave Santa Fe in one piece after all. You ready to walk back?”
Sabra came automatically to her feet. Pierce might have that easy smile, but he could be dangerous in more ways than one. Perhaps if she kept remembering that, she’d stop thinking about how his touch made her tingle, how inexplicably drawn she was to him. Maybe she’d forget the warmth she didn’t want to feel when she realized that he wanted to protect her even though they’d just met.
SABRA WAS ON THE PHONE TO HER ASSISTANT IN New York as soon as she reached her condo. The two-hour time difference meant Joy was up and, Sabra hoped, had the information she needed. She paced in front of the bank of windows in the living room. Any other day she might have taken time to admire the snowcapped mountains in the distance, but not today.
“Good morning,” came Joy’s efficient voice. Sabra could picture her personal assistant with her half-glasses perched on her nose, her short auburn hair spiked, dressed all in black because then she never had to think about what to wear.
“Good morning, Joy. Do you have anything for me yet?”
“Not yet, Sabra,” Joy said. “I’m trying to cross-reference businesses of today with those eight years ago. I also think we have to take into consideration that the man you’re looking for might not be in the yellow pages.”
