by Janet Dailey
He checked the phone to make sure it was working. When he got a dial tone, he called the production number. Nolan answered. “Nolan, it’s John. I’m at Kit’s. Call me back. I want to make sure the phone rings in.”
“Right away.”
He hung up and waited. The phone rang and he picked it up. It works.”
“No sign of Kit?” Nolan asked.
“The Jeep’s here, her clothes, her makeup. Nothing seems to be disturbed. Maybe she’s outside somewhere.” Kit lying somewhere hurt was the thought he kept to himself. “I’m going out and take a look around.”
“Maybe we should call the police.”
“Not yet.”
As he hung up again, John heard a vehicle pull into the yard. He crossed to the door, catching a glimpse of a high-riding black pickup that belonged to the neighboring rancher. He opened the door and stopped when he saw Kit on the passenger side, relief sighing through his every muscle. They tensed up again as she leaned over and kissed the driver. Not a quick, friendly peck, but a slow and reluctant-to-let-go, morning-after kiss that followed a very satisfactory night before. John had done enough love scenes-both on camera and off-to recognize the meaning of that one.
He backed up and let the door close, then turned into the room, fighting down the shock, the anger, the hurt. He heard the muted slam of the truck door and jerkily lit a cigarette, blowing out a quick, thin stream of smoke.
Kit walked in, saw him, hesitated, then smiled a little guardedly. “I’ll bet you’re looking for me.” She wore a ski suit and no makeup.
“I’ve been calling you since ten o’clock yesterday morning. Believe it or not, by midnight I started to get a little worried when there still wasn’t any answer. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me where the hell you’ve been,” he challenged in a tightly level voice.
“With Bannon.” She pulled her off ski jacket and tossed it on a chair. “His father died last night. A heart attack.”
“And you spent the night with him-doing your bit to comfort and console him. Is that right?” He coated his rawness with sarcasm.
She was slow to meet his eyes, but when she did, her gaze was level and direct. “Maybe I deserved that, John T., but it was still a cruel thing to say.”
He dropped his gaze and took a quick, deep drag on the cigarette. “You always have brought out the best, and worst, in me. It’s funny, isn’t it?” His twisted smile was anything but amused. “Paula told me I had competition, but I didn’t believe her. How could a cowboy compete with John Travis? The old ego showing, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He glanced at the ash building up on the tip of his cigarette, “What’s next, Kit? What are your plans with this Bannon?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We haven’t really talked about anything yet. And this isn’t the right time, not with his father and the funeral the day after tomorrow.” She knew she wouldn’t see much of Bannon these next two days, not alone anyway, not with Laura, the funeral arrangements to be made, and all the friends who would be calling and dropping by. “I know where I want it to lead, but-“She shrugged to indicate nothing had been settled.
“That’s plain enough.” John stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. “Since I’m here, I might as well tell you that one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you was to apologize for the other night. Not for the things I said. They were true. But for the way I said them-in anger. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, my own and others’. I took it out on you.”
“You need this movie. I don’t. I can afford to be idealistic about the script. You can’t.” She understood that now. “It’s really that simple.”
“You can’t afford to be idealistic either. You just haven’t discovered that yet.”
“Maybe. Either way, it’s forgotten.”
John eyed her for several seconds, then shook his head, amazed and amused. “Do you know what makes you, so unusual, Kit? You actually mean that.”
“Don’t tell Bannon. I don’t think he’d like it coming from you.” Her smile was back.
“A man with a jealous streak, eh? In that case, I’d better make a note to bar him from the set when we do our love scenes. I’m giving you fair warning right now that I intend to enjoy the hell out of them, and he might not like the number of takes we’re doing to get it right.”
Kit laughed and pointed to the door. “Go. I have a shower to take, calls to make, and work to do.”
He moved to the door, then stopped, and sent her one of his crooked and potent smiles that could still tug. “Nobody has had a better parting line than Bogie,” he said and Kit knew immediately he was referring to Casablanca. “But he could afford to be magnanimous. He had Bacall.” He gave her a two-fingered salute in farewell and murmured, “Here’s looking at you, Kit.”
He walked out, leaving Kit shaking her head, convinced anew that John Travis would have been extremely easy to fall in love with. If not for Bannon, that is.
Her smile faded when she thought of him at Sondra’s now, going through the pain of telling his daughter about her grandfather. This wasn’t Hollywood; no one would have the lines written out for him. He’d be on his own, never sure if he was saying the right thing or the wrong.
Dull gray clouds hung like a pall over the mountains on the day of the funeral. The canopy over the gravesite flapped noisily in the cold and bitter wind blowing off the peaks. Bannon sat with the collar of his topcoat turned up against it and his black dress hat pulled low on his head.
When Laura huddled closer to him, he glanced down and saw the simple weariness in her blank expression. She was cold and tired, wanting only to go home. He put an arm around her and hugged her to his side, recognizing she was too young to need this long ritual of saying good-bye, this attempt to reassure the living that even in death life had meaning.
Bannon glanced at the bronze-handled casket draped with a blanket of red roses, the delicate petals already showing the bruising of the cold wind. His father would have been content with a pine box and a prayer. On a bleak day like this, he would have been savoring the wind’s keen edge, lifting his gaze to the far blue shadowing on the horizon and listening to the great silence of the mountains. And he would have been glad, too, to be lying next to his wife again.
His glance strayed from his father’s casket to the other gravestones in the family plot-his mother’s, Diana’s. Over in the next section, Clint Masters was buried, too; some he had known well, others only in passing. Yet all of them had left an empty place in his life, great or small. Now his father. And with him, so many parts of the past.
Kit slid her gloved hand under his, twining fingers. He tightened on it briefly, then tried again to pay attention to the minister with no more success than before, and unaware of Sondra’s cold eyes watching his every move, intercepting every glance he exchanged with Kit, observing every touch.
How could he treat her like this? She was all too hotly aware that it was obvious to everyone Kit occupied the favored spot at his side, not her. She knew they were gloating over the fact.
Briefly, Sondra glared at Kit. She had John Travis, but he wasn’t enough. She had to go after Bannon, too. The bitch was just like Diana, greedy and selfish, wanting everything for herself.
The clouds lingered for two days after the funeral. Finally, on the afternoon of the second, snowflakes began to float lazily down, adding that breath of whiteness to the gray air, and lifting spirits. Humming a Christmas carol, Kit ran lightly up the steps of the old Victorian house that Bannon used for his law practice. When she entered the parlor-turned-reception area, she noticed that the door to his private office was closed.
“Hi, Agnes,” she greeted the woman behind the desk. “Is Bannon busy? I was hoping I might be able to steal him away for a late lunch.”
“How about a rain check?” Bannon’s voice came from her right.
Turning, she found him shrugging into his parka. She didn’t even try to conceal her disappoin
tment. “You’re going somewhere.”
“The ranch. Sadie has a dental appointment this afternoon,” he explained. “Laura insists she’s too old for a babysitter. She probably is, but-I’m not comfortable leaving her home alone.”
“You probably never will be.” Even as she said that, Kit was thinking to herself that Laura was a problem she hadn’t faced yet, one she hadn’t wanted to face.
“What brings you to town?” He lifted a hand in farewell to his secretary, then took Kit by the arm and steered her back out the door.
“The heater quit working in the Jeep. The mechanic at the station said it was the thermostat. Unfortunately, it’ll be a couple of hours before he can work on it.”
“So you were going to use me to kill some time.”
“I thought it was a good idea.” She paused, fought off the nervous flutterings in her stomach, and made the plunge. “Do you mind if I go home with you? I can always pick up the Jeep tomorrow.”
“Why would I mind?” The look he gave her was slightly puzzled. “You know you can come to Stone Creek anytime. Or-you should know that.”
She feigned a sauciness. “I thought it was polite to ask since I’m bumming a ride to get there.”
“Polite, is it?” He released a low, throaty chuckle and hugged an arm around her shoulders, walking her to his truck.
Snow fell in light, halfhearted swirls during the ride to Stone Creek. After the first few miles they lapsed into silence. Kit found herself staring at the road, conscious of the miles falling away, each one bringing her closer to the ranch.
“I’m afraid,” she murmured.
Lost in thought, Bannon didn’t catch her words. “What did you say, Kit?”
“Nothing,” she said with a faint shake of her head.
When they reached the ranch house, Bannon held the door open for her. Kit hesitated a split second, then walked in ahead of him, mentally bracing herself. Laura was curled up in a living-room chair, reading a book and absently tugging at a lock of dark hair. She looked up, letting the lock fall back with the rest when she saw her father and Kit.
“Hello, Laura,” Kit said in a calm, quiet voice.
“Hello.”
“Has Sadie left?” Bannon glanced toward the kitchen.
“About ten minutes ago,” she replied, then turned cool eyes on Kit. “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”
The tone, the look, the texture. Bannon was sharply reminded of the cold politeness Laura had shown Kit on another occasion, virtually the only time they’d been together without other people around. She was again giving Kit the same chilly shoulder. He wanted to shake her and order her to stop treating Kit like that. Laura was too young for some things, but she was too old to be told how to think or what to feel. He had no choice but to stand by helplessly.
“No thanks. I don’t think I care for any.” Kit wandered over to the sofa and sat down. She glanced at her hands, then looked up, straight at Laura. “That’s a pretty blouse you’re wearing. I had a dress once that was almost the same color of blue. I remember it was my favorite. I wore it to a lot of parties.”
Laura looked her over. “Were you my age?”
“No, I was older.” The corners of her mouth softened a little. “When I was your age, I used to go to my room, shut the door, and pretend I was at a party. I’d put on some music and dance with myself.”
“You did?” Laura sat up a little straighter. “I do that sometimes, too. How long did you have to wait before your parents let you go to parties?” She shot a quick look at Bannon, reddening slightly as if she’d forgotten he was there.
“I thought it was forever,” Kit recalled with a laugh. “It seemed that long, but it really wasn’t.”
Laura shoved her book onto the table and folded her legs under her to sit cross-legged as she leaned toward Kit, a look of quickened interest on her face, that cool reserve gone. “The first party you went to-what was it like?”
It was going to be all right. Bannon was stunned by the sudden, immense relief he felt. Before Kit could answer, he said, “While you two have your girl-talk, I’m going to check on that sick cow.”
“Okay, Dad.” Laura barely glanced at him, her attention shifting immediately back to Kit. “What was it like?”
As he walked out the door, Bannon heard Kit say, “Your father took me. I wore that blue dress I told you about and…..”
He was still smiling when he reached the barn. The cow, as expected, was doing fine. He saddled the buckskin and rode out to make a check of the herd.
Riding through the white of the snow on the ground and in the air, he started thinking about Diana. In his mind, again seeing her dark, dramatic face, the laughter that had turned to anger and resentment, hating him and hating herself for the mistake of their marriage, and dying without a kind word for him on her lips.
He thought of all those Sundays he’d stood at her grave, always silently wishing that one time he would see her in his mind smiling at him in understanding, knowing that he had tried to make her happy. He had tried.
On the heels of thought, he recalled that two days ago, when he had buried his father, he’d recognized a vital part of his past was gone. Diana was gone, too.
Bannon reined the buckskin in and sat there a minute with the snow all around him, remembering Diana as he wanted to remember her-not when she had died, but when he had first met her-her lips smiling and her eyes sparkling with laughter and promise.
That was the image he carried in his mind when he cantered on to check the herd, the image of her death finally leaving him.
When he returned to the house an hour later, the living room was empty. Laura’s book was on the table, but there was no sign of either Laura or Kit. Frowning, Bannon hung up his hat and coat, and called out a faintly worried “Hello? Where is everybody?”
“In here,” Kit answered from the kitchen. He found her alone, a recipe book lying open on the table. She greeted him with a careless smile, a quick kiss, and a freshly poured cup of coffee. “I thought you might need this to thaw out.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip from it, too aware that Kit was very adept at hiding her feelings to accept her breezy manner at face value. “Where’s Laura?”
“Upstairs, looking for her Paula Abdul tape,” Kit replied, then paused, her eyes beaming. “She wants me to listen to it while we make some homemade fudge. We decided it was the perfect afternoon to do it.”
“It does sound good.” Bannon breathed easier again.
Kit picked up the recipe book and held it close to her for a moment. “I think she likes me, Bannon.”
“I never doubted that she would.”
But Kit had doubted-not Laura, but herself. Today, she’d found that she could like Laura despite her strong resemblance to Diana. For so long, she’d been bothered by that, worried that she might always resent Laura, that she might always feel awkward and uncomfortable around her. But that wasn’t going to be the case. The relief she felt was almost palpable. But she didn’t tell Bannon that; it was something she preferred that he didn’t know.
Then she realized he was staring at her a little strangely. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he lied and focused on his coffee. There was something. Looking at Kit, remembering the way he had hurt her, he had instantly thought of Sondra.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sondra’s hand remained on the telephone even after she’d hung up. She sat motionless on the edge of her bed, the black satin sleep mask loosely gripped in her hand, the heavy drapes closed against the brightness of the morning light.
Wide awake, the last remnants of sleep gone, Sondra replayed the conversation she’d just had with Bannon. He was coming over; he wanted to see her, but he hadn’t said why. What did it mean? His voice, it had sounded warm, so very sincere.
Remembering that, Sondra smiled and caressed the phone. Bannon wanted to see her. Everything was going to be all right. She’d been upset over Kit Masters for nothing.
Grief over his father’s death had blinded him, but only temporarily. He was coming back to her where he had always belonged. Her lips curved in sublime satisfaction.
There was a light rap on her bedroom door. Hearing it, Sondra pushed off the bed, suddenly conscious of all she needed to do before Bannon arrived. She barely glanced at Emily Boggs when she walked in.
“Your morning coffee and juice, mum.”
“I don’t have time to bother with that now.” Sondra waved off the tray the woman carried. “Set it down somewhere, then strip the bed and put on clean sheets, the Egyptian cotton ones.” She crossed to the black marble bathroom. “When you finish that, go do your shopping.”
“But-I did the shopping yesterday, mum,” Emily reminded her.
“Then take the rest of the day off,” Sondra flashed. “I don’t care what you do. Just go.”
The bathroom door swung shut behind her, leaving Emily Boggs standing there in startled confusion. An instant later she understood. The phone call, the fancy cotton sheets-Bannon was coming.
A few minutes past nine o’clock, the front-door chimes announced Bannon’s arrival. Sondra paused in the living room and pressed a hand against the sudden flutterings in her stomach, then smoothed it over the black silk of her kimono. She wore her hair down, the way Bannon liked it, and only a hint of makeup on her face.
Aglow with anticipation, she crossed to the door and opened it wide. “Good morning,” she said in a throaty voice.
“Morning.” His glance skipped over her, not lingering the way she’d wanted it to, as he stepped in and swept off his hat, running ruffling fingers through his dark hair. “Sorry I’m late. I had to drop Laura off at Buffy’s and I forgot how heavy the traffic can be on winter weekends.”
“It’s a mess, isn’t it?” she commiserated and pushed the door shut. “Let me take that.” She reached for his hat, moving closer and tilting her head back, expecting his kiss.
Instead he handed over his hat and proceeded to shrug out of his coat. Sondra drew back, uncertainty flickering through her and giving rise to that old suspicion. Then he gave her his coat and she saw the bareness of his ring hand.
