By the time she’d made the twenty-minute drive to the Snowmass Village rodeo grounds, she was prepared to say an emphatic no to everything just for practice...with the possible exception of a large cup of very strong coffee.
* * *
A half hour later, with caffeine surging through her bloodstream, Audrey stepped gingerly from the shelter where a full-scale country breakfast was being served by volunteers from the Little Red Schoolhouse day care center. The rain had stopped, leaving the cool, damp air smelling crisp and pungent with the lingering scent of horses, though there wasn’t a single animal grazing in the sprawling meadow or roaming in the paddock. A sliver of bright blue sky sliced through the dark, low-hanging clouds, hinting that a spectacular dawn was about to break over the snowcapped mountains.
Pickup trucks and cars hauling trailers were pulling into the meadow, where the contestants were beginning to unload their equipment. Cursing the dampness, which was already seeping through her shoes, Audrey headed for the field in search of Blake Marshall.
She’d only met the man once and then very briefly. Yet the impression that remained fixed in her mind was of overwhelming masculinity, self-assurance that bordered on arrogance, and the startling blue eyes and curling dark hair of an Irish rogue. Even if she hadn’t seen dozens of newspaper and magazine clippings since then, she doubted she would have any trouble in spotting him. She’d need only to look for the largest circle of beautiful, adoring women dressed in the very latest color-coordinated sportswear, their flowing waves of sun-streaked hair pushed back by designer sunglasses.
As she worked her way toward the launch area, she was suddenly overcome with unexpected curiosity at the bustle of activity around her. She’d never imagined that this many people could be masochistic enough to rise before dawn. She paused as one of the contestants began to unload the cargo from a trailer.
Out came the gondola, which resembled an oversize wicker basket with an identifying number on the side. Then came a huge fan that reminded her of the kind that were once used to cool living rooms in a pre-air-conditioned era, followed by a dangerous-looking propane tank. Finally came a huge bundle of burgundy material. She eyed it skeptically. It didn’t look nearly sturdy enough to provide a means of transportation over the mountain range. In fact, it didn’t look like something that ought to get off the ground.
“Hey, you! You in the burgundy shirt.”
The husky, masculine voice came from about fifty feet away and had an imperious tone that immediately made her hackles rise. She whirled around to encounter the scowling features of Blake Marshall, hands on slender, denim-clad hips, a bright blue windbreaker stretched taut across broad shoulders. Fully prepared to offer some snappy retort, she found herself simply trying to catch her breath. He was far more for midable than she’d remembered and as sexy as the most lurid tabloids had portrayed him.
“You work for me, right?”
“Yes. I’m Audrey Nelson. I work—”
“Never mind all that,” he said impatiently. “Just get over here.”
Audrey wanted to believe that the man had an incredible memory for the faces of each and every one of his employees. In fact, for an absurd, fleeting instant, she wanted to believe he’d never forgotten their one brief encounter in Harvey’s office, but she suspected his recognition had more to do with her burgundy-colored “Marshall Arts” sweatshirt. They’d been given to members of the company softball team. The pun of its name hadn’t been the only thing wrong with that team. It had been neither strong, nor particularly adept. The mere fact that she was even on it had been a bad omen. She had reluctantly volunteered, after Harvey had told her that they were desperate—“really desperate”—for one more player to substitute in emergencies. He’d spent the first three games patiently trying to explain the rules. Fortunately she’d never had to go to bat.
“You’re late,” Blake announced as she strode slowly toward him, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline that had nothing at all to do with the coffee. She wasn’t wild about his attitude, but that smoldering look in his eyes was something else. “I wanted the crew here at six.”
There was something wrong with that sentence, but she was too sleepy to put her finger on it. “I was here at six. I stopped to get some coffee. Is there something in particular you’d like me to do for you, Mr. Marshall?” She was deliberately cheerful and cooperative. The man was her boss, after all. There was no point in antagonizing him. Harvey had warned her he took this balloon race nonsense seriously. Maybe the media had been bothering him and he was looking for someone to act as a buffer. She wasn’t sure she was alert enough to fend off flies, much less a pesky reporter, but she was willing to try.
“You can start by opening the envelope,” he said briskly. “John will help you, if you need him.” Then he turned his back on her and went back to doing whatever mysterious task he’d been doing before he spotted her.
“I beg your pardon.” Maybe this envelope of his contained important instructions, but she didn’t see one lying around. Nor did she have the vaguest idea who John was.
He glanced over his shoulder and regarded her quizzically. “You do know how to unroll it, don’t you?”
“Not exactly.” She still didn’t even know what it was, but saw no point in giving away too much about her ignorance. It was bad enough that she was having to delve through mental mush to come up with words that made sense.
Blake shot a disgusted gaze heavenward, then grabbed the balloon—so that’s what it was—and began demonstrating. “That’s all there is to it. Even a novice should be able to do it. Where the hell did you take your lessons?”
Audrey shot him a horrified look. “But that’s not what I’m here for.” What if the damn thing got all tangled up and crashed because of something she’d done? She’d be responsible for the death of the man Fortune had described as California’s brightest young entrepreneur, one of the men to watch in the coming decade. If the courts didn’t get her, Harvey surely would. “Wouldn’t you rather I go look for some of the media?”
“What do I need with the media? They’ll be crawling all over the place once the race is over. Now, let’s haul it, woman. We haven’t got all morning. We have to get the balloon launched and out of the way, so the next group can get into the area.”
Audrey looked at the dark burgundy bundle, then glanced around at the other workers. A grizzled old man shot her an encouraging, sympathetic smile. Audrey gave him a wobbly grin and shrugged her shoulders. If Blake Marshall wanted to entrust his life to the hands of an amateur, who was she to argue? Surely she could manage a simple task like unrolling this stupid thing.
The old man moved to her side and introduced himself as John Harley. “Don’t mind Blake, missy. He’s always a little jumpy before he takes off. Just follow his directions and you’ll do just fine. He’s one of the best around at this.” He winked at her. “But if he gets too pushy, tell him off. Won’t hurt him none to be put in his place, especially by a pretty young gal like you.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” It was advice she ought to hang on to. Blake Marshall had a definite arrogant streak that needed taming. Then again, she had no business being the one to try it. “Could you give me some clue about handling this thing?”
“I’d be happy to, missy.”
As Audrey set to work, fumbling over the routine task, Blake’s black eyebrows knit together in a puzzled frown. It wasn’t like his partner to send him an inexperienced crew member, not for a race as important as this one. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the name Cal had given him? Had it been Audrey? The woman had said she worked for him and she was wearing one of the company shirts, so she must be the one. Though he’d caught the tiniest glimmer of fear in her eyes when he’d assigned her the task of opening the envelope, while he went over the propane tanks and gondola.
As he completed his checks, he studied her. She was working gamely at the assigned task, and he noticed that John Harley had gone to her assistance and seemed
to be giving her one of his special pep talks. No wonder. She had a helpless, if determined, look about her that appealed to something deep inside him that he’d thought had died long ago. Its sudden reawakening might have convinced him to get to know her better, if he’d met her on any other day.
Not this morning, though. Now he had to focus all his attention on getting the balloon into the air so he could judge the wind direction and speed at several altitudes. The first day’s competition was a distance race to Glenwood Springs and he wanted to win it. From the moment he had started ballooning seriously, he’d wanted to be the best. He was closing in on his goal now, but to reach it he needed a support team as skilled and intuitive as he was. This Audrey had better know what she was doing or he’d have Cal’s hide.
He shrugged and dismissed his concern as he began the task of hooking the balloon to the gondola, then turning on the fan’s generator to begin the slow inflation process. As cold air filled the huge balloon, it unfurled to reveal a graceful trail of grapes winding across the wide expanse as it might along an arbor. Grapes of Wrath was written in white, three-foot-high script around the base of the balloon. He had spent nearly twenty thousand dollars for the design and construction, and it still sent a thrill of pleasure through him when it was displayed in all its colorful majesty.
He glanced over and saw the woman was staring at the huge balloon with a spark of excitement in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d first joined him. With a jolt, it occurred to him that it was the expression of someone who’d never seen a balloon up close before. Dear God, surely that couldn’t be.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“It’s incredible,” she said with a satisfying note of awe. He told himself it was the admiration of another enthusiast for a beautifully designed, well-constructed balloon and, though he was still troubled, he dismissed his doubts again.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face quite so easily, though.
Wide-eyed, she was glancing around the meadow at the splash of vibrant colors that would soon fill the sky. For the first time, Blake noted the startling violet shade of her eyes, the fringe of thick dark lashes and the gamine face with its pert nose and surprisingly full, sensual lips. They were ripe lips that tempted and lured. He immediately experienced an unexpected and disturbing tightening in his loins. With a sheer effort of will, he determinedly turned his attention to the rest of his ground crew.
“Are we all set?”
“It looks good, boss,” John Harley said. “I’ve been scouting around a little, too, and there ain’t no reason I can see why you won’t walk away with this one.”
“It’s not walking I’ll be doing,” Blake reminded the older man, who’d taught him everything he knew about balloon competition. “We’ve got to make this baby soar if I’m going to beat Larry Hammond. According to the weather service there should be some terrific air currents. All I have to do is find ’em and then hang on for the ride.”
“I wish I weren’t too damn old or I’d be up there with you. This old ticker of mine can’t take the altitude anymore. Some days I miss it worse ’n not having a woman around.”
Audrey listened to the two men talking and caught some of their enthusiasm. For the first time since she’d risen at such an ungodly hour, she felt terrific, even invigorated. It had a lot to do with the day, which had fulfilled its early-morning promise by whisking the last of the clouds away beyond the mountain range. The sun was burning off the morning chill and the azure sky was a postcard-perfect backdrop for the bright yellows, reds, greens and blues that were billowing to the height of tall buildings as they filled with cool air. Her exhilaration also had just a little to do with the man who’d been working side by side with her and John Harley. Blake’s instructions had been crisp and precise, but after his initial sternness he’d flashed her a few unexpected and thoroughly devastating smiles that had made her pulse skip erratically.
Now he hopped over the edge of the gondola and began checking the equipment for a second time, sending a stream of fire upward to heat the air in the balloon, which tugged against the tethers holding it to the ground. His concentration was intense, his finely chiseled mouth was set in a line of determination.
Audrey had never met a man who seemed to thrive so on what she considered such a frivolous challenge. She’d met ambitious men, who viewed success as the ultimate achievement with money as the only measurement. She’d met womanizers who thrilled only to the chase and left behind a wake of broken-hearted lovers. She supposed she’d even met a few men who took their games—tennis, golf, even poker—seriously. But there was a fierce, single-minded edge to Blake Marshall’s drive to win that was a bit frightening in its intensity.
It also piqued her curiosity. What made such a man tick? Why wasn’t he satisfied with the professional acclaim, the growing wealth, the well-publicized social whirl?
“Are you all set?” he was asking her now, his voice still rough with an early-morning huskiness that strummed across her nerves.
“Yes. I think I have everything I need.”
“Okay, then, why don’t you hop in?”
Audrey’s delicately arched brows shot up and her mouth dropped open.
“Hop in?” she repeated blankly.
Blake acted as though he hadn’t heard the note of horror in her voice or noticed that her complexion was turning an interesting shade of green. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
Before she could voice a violent protest, one exceptionally strong arm snagged her around her waist and the other caught her behind the knees. She felt herself being effortlessly lifted high in the air, then set back on her feet in the confined space of the gondola. She grabbed the sides and started to hoist herself right back out again, but Blake’s hand was firmly attached to her belt.
“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”
With the strength of sheer terror, she jerked free, whirled around and faced Blake Marshall, her eyes flashing with the sparks of a finely cut amethyst. This time she found the words and the emphasis that had been missing in her conversation with Harvey, the authoritative, indignant tone that might have saved her from getting into this preposterous situation in the first place.
“Let me out of here, you idiot! I am not going up in this thing!”
“It’s too late to back out now, love. When I hire a crew, I expect them to stay until the job’s done,” he said. “I want you along for this ride.” As if that settled the matter, his attention once more focused entirely on the equipment.
With Blake’s attention diverted, Audrey scrambled back toward the side. “I am not one of your crew and it is not too late,” she said, trying desperately to swing one leg up over the edge of the basket...gondola...whatever.
If only she’d been half-awake, she would have seen this coming. From the minute he’d put her to work, she would have realized he’d mistaken her for someone else. Well, she’d just have to get out of here and find that someone else for him. Either that or he could fire her. She didn’t much care, as long as she stayed on the ground where God had meant her to be.
With a dawning sense of absolute horror, she realized it was too late. The ground was receding rapidly and she felt the gentle, almost indiscernible sway of the basket as it drifted skyward. She looked from the shrinking landscape below to the flames shooting puffs of hot air above her head, then glanced out toward the mountains looming before her in the distance.
“Oh, my God,” she sighed softly, clamping her eyes shut and sinking down into a sitting position. She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and buried her face on her knees. “I will never, ever, not in a million years forgive Harvey for this.”
Two
Subconsciously, Audrey’s solemn vow registered in Blake’s head, and suddenly he really looked at her for the first time. She was huddled in the bottom of the gondola and clinging to her purse with the desperate, white-knuckled grip of a woman trying to prevent a mugging.
An unexpected and untimely shaft of sympathy pierced his heart and he muttered a disgusted oath under his breath. Judging from the way she was swallowing and from her ashen complexion, she was probably trying to quell the beginnings of a well-earned anxiety attack.
Why the devil hadn’t he listened to his instincts? From the moment he’d met her, he’d sensed that Audrey Nelson didn’t know a blasted thing about ballooning. Hell, she’d told him as much.
But then he’d been lured by something in the depths of those violet eyes of hers and some part of him—no doubt his self-indulgent libido—had wanted her along for the ride almost as much as he’d wanted to win the race. Blake was used to taking risks. He thrived on them, in fact. Hauling Audrey Nelson into the gondola over her protests had been a risk, but one he’d been so certain would pay off.
His well-honed self-confidence had convinced him it just might be possible to have both a victory and the companionship of the woman with the delightfully fiery temper, valiant determination and, most intriguing of all, an almost childlike sense of wonder. With some arrogantly masculine, possessive urge, he’d wanted to initiate her into the glories of ballooning and he’d simply made up his mind to do it. That same decisiveness had made him a success at business, but today it just might have gotten out of hand. If only he hadn’t felt such an unexpected and overwhelming need to hear that tart tongue of hers whispering his name, he might have stopped to think twice about what he was doing.
What an insensitive fool he’d been!
For one thing, he hadn’t counted on her sheer terror. For all of Audrey’s rather vocal protests, he’d expected eventual delight and he was still getting unfeigned panic. Obviously more than inexperience was at play here. He had to find some way to distract her, to calm her down before she fainted. He’d have enough trouble guiding the balloon without having her passed out at his feet or delivering well-aimed blows to his shins, which was what he suspected she wanted to do.
Can't Say No Page 2
