by Janet Dailey
“I accept your offer.” Sondra extended a hand to shake on it.
He gripped it, returning the firm pressure of her fingers. “I have every confidence in your persuasive abilities, Sondra. We both know there are ways to convince someone it’s in their best interests to sell.”
“True.” But how? How could she convince Bannon? How could she reach him? There had to be a way. But what was it?
The same questions still raced through her mind two hours later when she drove into the ranch yard at Stone Creek. She stopped in front of the massive log ranch house, staring at its solidness and thinking bitterly of Bannon, his deep affinity for the land, his implacable will, his quiet strength and blind loyalty. Qualities she’d always admired in him. Qualities that were now her biggest obstacle.
She stepped out of the heated car into the crispening air, her glance running automatically to the rustic log porch, shadowed by the gathering dusk. The lowing of cattle and the soft whicker of a horse drifted from the outbuildings and pens, background noises to be ignored as she started for the steps, only to stop when she heard her name shouted.
Turning, she saw a small, lumpy figure in a boy’s heavy jacket and clumsy rubber boots standing in front of the barn. Laura. The corners of her mouth curved upward in the smallest of smiles. If Bannon had any vulnerable point, it was his daughter. With eyes darkly gleaming, Sondra raised her hand, returning Laura’s wave, and set off to meet her.
With the penned cattle fed, Bannon climbed the pole fence and vaulted lightly to the ground on the other side, feeling the stretch of muscles in his back, arms, and shoulders, the stretch that came from being used. He headed for the barn to see if Laura had finished graining the horses yet. Halfway there, be spotted her standing in the middle of the yard, talking to Sondra. He altered his course to join them.
“Did you get the horses fed?” He dragged off his heavy leather work gloves and rumpled the top of Laura’s hair in playful affection, then sent a smile at Sondra, acknowledging her presence.
“Yeah.” Laura ducked out from beneath his hand. “Aunt Sondra’s been telling me about all the decorations and music and games she’s going to have at her Halloween party next week. Her costume’s going to be really neat, too. She wanted to know what yours is. What kind of costume are you going to wear, Dad?”
“It’s a surprise.” He smiled, then lifted an amused glance to Sondra, catching the watchful stillness of her gaze on him before she tipped her head toward Laura.
“As soon as you find out what he’s wearing, you can tell me.”
“Okay.” Laura grinned with ready conspiracy, then sighed wistfully. “It’s going to be so much fun. I wish I was going. I’ll be glad when I’m finally grown up and I can go to parties.”
“You’ll grow up soon enough.” Bannon gave her a little push toward the house. “Go wash up and help Sadie get supper on the table.”
She swung around, hands on hips. “How come I get all the grown-up work and none of the grown-up fun? It’s not fair.”
“You’ll have fun at Buffy’s party.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Then stay home with your granddad.”
Laura whirled around, flinging her arm in the air. “Father,” she muttered in disgust and stalked off toward the house.
“Kids,” he murmured to Sondra, more amused by Laura’s protest than anything else.
But Sondra didn’t respond in kind; instead she gazed thoughtfully after Laura. “Remember how Diana loved parties and fun, bright lights and laughter. Laura’s starting to sound just like her.”
“All kids go through that,” he said, no longer amused as he struck out for the house, then shortened his brisk stride so Sondra could keep pace. “What brings you out this way?”
“Business, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?” He shot her a side-glance, curious at her choice of words.
“Yes.” Her eyes measured him briefly. “You aren’t going to like this.”
“What?”
“I have a client who wants me to find out if you’re willing to sell that ridge area that adjoins Silverwood.”
“I’m not.”
“You haven’t even heard his offer, Bannon,” she reproved mildly.
“It doesn’t matter. It isn’t for sale at any price.” His tone was flat and final.
“I told him you’d say that.”
“Good. Then we can consider the subject closed.”
Covertly she studied the sharp angles of his profile, so unyielding and hard. “I wish you’d think about the offer, Bannon.”
“There’s nothing to think about.” The curtness was expected.
“There’s Laura.”
He stopped and came around, cutting a high shape against the violet eddies of twilight. “What does Laura have to do with this?”
“She’s growing up, Bannon. She’s already worrying about clothes and fixing her hair. That’s just the beginning. It won’t be long before she’ll want her own car to drive back and forth to school. There’ll be boys and prom dresses and college…Sondra paused deliberately. “All expensive, Bannon.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Maybe.” She read the telltale signs in his expression that warned of quiet anger behind the terseness-the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his eyes showed darkness below the straight black line of his brows. “But wouldn’t it be a lot better if you didn’t have to manage? If you already had the money tucked away? How much land would that ridge area encompass, Bannon? One hundred acres? Two hundred? What’s two hundred acres when you have four thousand? What good is it to you? You can’t graze cattle on it, and you don’t run sheep. What could be the harm in selling that one chunk?”
“One chunk. That’s the way the ranchers down-valley started, by selling their land off one chunk at a time. No thanks.”
Just for an instant, impatience broke through. “You could practically name your own price, Bannon. One million. Two. Think what you could do with that much money. And I don’t just mean for Laura. Look at the improvements you could make in the rest of the ranch-the new barns, better breeding stock. You could finally afford to fix up that drafty old house. Or better yet, tear it down and build a new one.”
“With a swimming pool and a tennis court?” His challenge was cool and hard.
Sondra realized she’d pushed too much. She waited a beat, then said quietly, “Laura would like that. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.” She went on, without giving him a chance to respond. “Think about the offer, Bannon. That’s all I’m saying. I know how much this land means to you. I admire that. But-be realistic. What will happen to the ranch when you’re gone? Do you think Laura will keep it? Do you think she’ll be able to afford to keep it? Isn’t it more likely she’ll sell it-just as Kit Masters is selling her father’s ranch?”
Her words had unsettled him. For now that was enough. With a soft “Good night,” she kissed him and left, eyes gleaming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Giant jack-o’-lanterns carved in gap-toothed grins and grotesque smiles line the driveway and sidewalks of the house on Red Mountain, sharing the paths with black cats peering out of shocks of cornstalks and scarecrows perch on bales of straw. Holographic ghosts haunted the lawn and shrub, materializing and dematerializing at preset intervals. Near the pool pavilion, glow-in-the-dark skeletons danced to the rhythm of the night wind while a five-piece band pounded out a calypso beat by torchlight and a blonde in a Cat-Woman suit arched low to make it under a limbo pole held by a vampire and a cowboy in wool chaps and a ten-gallon hat.
On the sundeck, ringed like the pool area with radiant heaters to ward off the cool temperatures, a motley group of witches and warlocks, caped crusaders and fairy princesses, buckskin-garbed Indians and Cleopatras gathered around a raised wooden barrel filled with water, a layer of shiny red apples floating on its surface. Kit bent low over the tub, her long blond hair swept atop her head in a pompadour style
. She ignored the advice hooted at her from all sides as she tried to sink her teeth into the slick skin of an elusive apple and wound up with a mouthful of water instead.
“It’s cold,” she protested on a laugh and wiped the icy droplets from her nose before trying again.
“No fair using your hands.” John looked on, garbed in the black suit, ruffled shirt, and brocade vest of a riverboat gambler, complete with a diamond stickpin in his silk cravat and a wide-brimmed, flat-crowned hat.
“Show them how it’s done, Kit.” Paula clapped in encouragement, gypsy bracelets jangling on her arms, large gold hoops swaying from her lobes.
Bannon watched from a distance, a thumb hooked through the belt loop of his well-worn Levi’s and a hip leaning against the deck rail. A gap in the crowd afforded him a clear view as Kit primly folded her hands behind a waist that looked wasp slim. Again she took an open-mouthed aim on an apple. Admiration and something more tugged at him as he watched her abandon herself to this child’s game of bobbing for apples-without seeming less of a woman.
Scarlet silk rippled in his side vision, the splash of brilliant color drawing his glance. Sondra stood in front of the glass doors to the living room, a pillar of red flame in her long cheongsam gown, her platinum hair pulled back in a sleek coil at the nape, her attention focused on the apple barrel.
A cheer went up. Bannon looked back as Kit straightened, water dripping from her chin and a red apple clamped firmly between her teeth. She plucked the apple from her mouth and held it triumphantly aloft, wiping the water from her chin with her other hand.
“Who’s next?” she challenged.
A banker in a Robin Hood suit stepped forward to more applause, doffing his peaked hat in a gallant flourish as Kit spun over to John’s side and finished taking the bite out of her apple.
“Mmmm, it’s delicious,” she said between crunches and swiped at the juice that tried to dribble from the corner of her mouth. “Have a bite,” she urged, offering it up to him.
“What is this? Eve tempting Adam with the apple of knowledge?” He drew back in mock wariness.
“I didn’t taste any knowledge, only cold, crisp and juicy,” she replied, her eyes alight with humor. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”
His gaze went to the shiny moistness of her lips. “Maybe I will after all.”
He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer as he tipped his head and kissed her, tasting all the apple sweetness on her mouth, lips, and tongue to the whistles and boots of approval from the on-looking guests.
But not Bannon. Sondra saw the leap of muscle along his jaw a second before he wheeled away and walked into the house, his mouth pressed in a narrow line, his spurs making an angry jangle with each stride. Her glance went back to Kit and John Travis as Kit pushed him back, breaking the contact, a high color in her cheeks. Whether from the cool air, embarrassment, or pleasure, Sondra couldn’t tell. Nor did she care.
Bannon’s reaction was another matter. She hadn’t liked it. She hadn’t liked it at all. She followed him into the living room strung with gossamer-fine cobwebs and lit by an array of candelabras. In a shadowed corner, a pseudo-seance was being held, visited by a ribald spirit, judging by the hoots of laughter coming from the participants. Sondra paid scant attention to it or to the costumed guests who spoke to her as she continued straight to the sunken bar where Bannon had posted himself.
He didn’t hear her come up until she spoke, the sound of her voice drawing him half around. “That little scene upset you. You don’t hide it well, Bannon.”
He pushed the pilsner glass back to the bartender and picked up the bottle of Coors, not answering.
“It’s common knowledge they’ve been having an affair. Surely you heard that-or did you choose not to believe it?” she guessed, her eyes narrowing as he took a swig of beer. “John Travis always romances his leading ladies, Bannon. How do you think they get to be his leading ladies?”
His hand tightened around the bottle’s slick sides, his gaze fixed on it. “Sondra,” he began in a grating voice.
“You don’t like the implications of that, do you?” she said, suddenly impatient. “Do you think men are the only ones who make bargains and compromises to get to the top? Women aren’t any different. She spent nine years in Hollywood, working in soaps and bad horror movies. John Travis gave her a chance to do something more and she took it.” She paused an instant. “You live too much in the past, Bannon. It’s gone. Let it go.”
Her voice choking in anger on the last, she swung away and walked off before she said Diana’s name. She brushed past the Joker and headed blindly toward the dining room and its lavish buffet, but her way was blocked by a harlequin chatting with a rhinestone-studded cowgirl and a pirate.
As Sondra walked around a tall pedestal table bearing a giant jack-o-lantern, she inadvertently triggered a motion sensor. A sudden, wild cackle filled the room as a witch on a broom swooped from its box mounted high in the room’s cathedral ceiling.
Sondra jumped at the sound of the insanely shrill laughter, straight into a gossamer curtain of draping webs. She batted at it wildly, then curled her fingers into it and yanked it from its hangings. She stood there for an instant, breathing hard, her head pounding, the edges of her vision blurring as she looked at the silken cloth in her hand.
She darted a quick look around, but no one had seen. No one had noticed. Their heads were all tipped up to watch the flying witch complete her circle of the room and return to her box high in the darkly shadowed ceiling. She wadded the webbing into a ball and tucked it in a marble planter, then paused and glanced back at the sunken bar. Bannon wasn’t there.
He couldn’t have left-not this early. All her muscles tightened, a rage rushing through her again. Then she caught a glimpse of his back, the familiar set of his square shoulders beneath the short denim jacket, as he wandered onto the darkened empty dock off the far end of the living room. Immediately she forced the tension from her muscles and continued to the dining room to check on the caterers.
Laughing, Kit led the way back into the expansive living room, transformed by the multitude of flickering candle flaws into a cavernous room of eerie, dancing shadows, an effect that not even the overstuffed sofas and sumptuous furnishings could negate. As her glance swept over it, she declared, “Hollywood couldn’t have done this better.”
“She must have used a professional set designer.” Chip pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and peered curiously around him. “I wonder who she got?”
“Enjoy, Chip. Don’t scrutinize,” Paula admonished in a despairing tone.
“He can’t help it,” Kit informed her. “It’s that mad-genius costume asserting itself.”
“The ‘mad’ part might be right,” John murmured near her ear, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
Her over-the-shoulder smile faded when she saw John wasn’t joking. The pull of his mouth was much too grim. It softened when he noticed her glance, but it came too late to make light of his remark.
When the pressure of his hand firmed on her back, signaling her to continue forward, Kit complied and tried to ignore the troubling implications of his comment, telling herself it meant nothing more than the usual clash of temperaments on a film project.
Away from the congestion around the doors to the sundeck, Kit paused. “What next?” she asked the others. “Dancing by the pool?”
“Look at this.” Chip bent close to an open sarcophagus, propped in the corner, its mummy inside. “An electric eye of some kind.” He pointed to a small black object mounted on the wall near it, then waved a hand in front of it, breaking the field. Ghostly emanations came from the sarcophagus as the mummy’s eyes popped open and a hand lifted. “Isn’t that something?”
“It’s something, all right,” Paula murmured. “This party has almost as many tricks as treats.”
“Sondra’s parties are always highly imaginative,” John remarked as he ducked to avoid snagging a
trailing cobweb on his hat.
“Do you realize that my vacation in Aspen began with a party, and now it’s ending with one?” Paula said on a marveling note.
“You’re leaving?” John glanced at her in surprise.
“Yes, I’m flying back to L.A. the day after tomorrow.” She adjusted the gold bangles around her wrist. “It’s a few days earlier than I planned, but my agent called. He’s arranged for me to meet with the producers on Days. They’re changing their story-line and introducing a host of new characters. They want me to be one of them. Right now they’re talking the right number of digits. Plus I’ll have some input on my character.”
“Another villainess, of course,” John guessed dryly.
“What else?” She lifted a shoulder, the scooped neckline of her peasant blouse slipping to expose much of its creamy whiteness.
“Paula has a talent for playing bad, good.” Kit grinned.
“That I can believe.” But his glance was on Kit, his eyes warm and bold, a blatantly sexual look. “So you’re going to be staying alone at the ranch. That gives me some very stimulating ideas.”
“Liar,” she said, as always finding it easy to tease him. “You’ve had those ideas from the beginning.”
“So I have,” he admitted, his hand rubbing over her back in an idle caress.
“Speaking of ideas, treats, and what’s next,” Paula spoke up. “Let’s see what goodies await us at the buffet table.”
“Sounds good to me,” Chip said, finally breaking off his inspection of the animated mummy.
Kit shook her head. “I think I’ll pass. I’m still full from dinner.”
“And the apple,” John reminded her.
“That too.”
“How about a drink?” he asked when Paula and Chip set off for the dining area.
“Please. Make it something nonalcoholic,” Kit requested.
“Not champagne?” He raised an eyebrow.
“It isn’t a champagne night.” At some point the evening had gone flat; Kit wasn’t sure when. “Halloween is mulled wine or hot chocolate with a splash of peppermint schnapps.”
