by Janet Dailey
“No. I’ve rented a condo. I’ll be moving in tomorrow.”
He pushed the door open, then turned to give back the key. Suddenly she felt awkward and on edge again. The lines around his eyes fanned upward in a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to invite myself in.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth over her lips.
Part of her wanted more of a kiss than that, but the other part—the stronger part—said, “Good night, Jared.”
“Good night,” his voice echoed after her as she closed the door.
She turned the bolt, locking herself in, and slipped the safety chain into place. Moving away from the door, she gave her purse a toss onto the room’s overstuffed sofa. The bed was turned down, the crocheted coverlet folded at the foot. Tiredly she ran a hand through her hair, raking the sides back from her forehead.
The telephone rang, its jangle harsh in the room’s stillness. Delaney walked over to the bed and picked up the extension on the nightstand.
“Yes, hello?” she said, somewhat curtly.
“Out having a long leisurely dinner, were you?” It was Riley.
For a split second, Delaney froze, thinking that Riley had somehow found out she’d been with Jared. “Dinner?” she echoed a little stupidly, stalling for time and trying to brace herself for the questions that would come—questions she wasn’t prepared to answer yet. She wasn’t even sure that she knew the answers.
“Yes, dinner. You know—the meal that people eat in the evening,” Riley mocked.
“I know what dinner is, but I don’t know why you’re asking about it.”
“Come on, ’Laney,” he chided. “Dinner with Wyatt, the self-styled gourmand—he and Hummel made it in all right, didn’t they?”
It hit her that Riley had no idea she’d been with Jared. Her knees buckled in relief and she sank to the bed, thankful that she wouldn’t be subjected to grilling from Riley about the meeting. At least, not tonight.
“Yes, they’re here. Their flight was even on time. I left them at the condo.”
“Then you found us a place to stay. Good.”
“The phone company promised to have the telephone installed tomorrow. Other than that, we’re all set here. How are things on your end? Quiet, I hope.”
“Quiet and uneventful,” Riley confirmed. “They wrapped up the final scene with Lucas today, and the director has turned him loose. We’ll be arriving on schedule tomorrow.”
“We’ll be ready for you.”
“Good. I—just a sec,” he said as Delaney caught the sound of voices in the background. After a short pause, Riley came back on the line. “Somebody wants to talk to you.”
“Hello, Delaney.” It was Lucas Wayne. “Have you missed me?”
“One way or another, you’ve been on my mind.” The throbbing in her head had centered in the middle of her forehead. Delaney absently rubbed at it. “Riley said that you wrapped up filming today.”
“That’s right. I’ll be flying into Aspen tomorrow. Will you be at the airport when I arrive?”
“Myself and two other members of my security team.” She wanted off this subject. At the moment, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with his flirting—or his man-woman word games. “By the way, I met Toby when I was out to your house today.”
There was a pause that threatened to become long. “I know,” he said finally. “I spoke to him earlier. He mentioned meeting you. He also said you were nice to him. Thanks.”
“It was easy.”
“Not many people think so,” Lucas replied. “I’m glad you do, Delaney. Toby is one of the most gentle souls alive.” He continued without giving her time to respond. “Your sidekick wants to talk to you again. I’ll see you tomorrow—and I expect you to be waiting for me with open arms.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.” Delaney left it at that.
Lucas chuckled softly. “You’re still determined not to mix business with pleasure, aren’t you?”
“It makes for fewer distractions, Lucas. It’s better that way. In fact, it might save your life.”
There was another pause, not nearly as long as the last one. “If you said that to knock some sense into me, you succeeded. I’ll try to behave myself around you. More than that, I can’t promise.”
Riley came back on the line again. “Now I’m your sidekick, am I? When did I get relegated to that role?” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“I kinda like the ring of it—Riley Owens, sidekick.” Delaney smiled easily and naturally for the first time since she had arrived in Aspen.
“Keep it to yourself or I’ll never hear the end of it from the others.”
She laughed. “I promise.”
They spoke a few more minutes, then Delaney hung up, surprised at how much better she felt. She almost wished she had told Riley about seeing Jared.
He’d find out about it himself—probably sooner rather than later.
THIRTEEN
DELANEY’S WAKE-UP CALL came precisely at six-thirty. After a night of fitful sleep, she stumbled out of bed and moved leadenly to the bathroom. For nearly fifteen minutes she stood beneath the shower spray, letting the jets beat on her. Partially revived, she stepped out of the stall into the steam-filled bathroom and made a halfhearted attempt to dry herself, then wrapped a towel around her wet hair and tugged on her silk kimono.
She absently wished she had called room service before she showered. The thought of freshly brewed coffee sounded so good she could almost smell the aroma of it in the air.
A hand rapped at her door, followed by a voice announcing, “Room Service.”
Delaney frowned. Had she ordered it last night before going to bed? She finished knotting the sash around her waist on her way to the door. The peephole gave her a distorted view of a uniformed waiter with a breakfast cart—and Jared.
She fumbled with the lock and chain, then opened the door to stare in a combination of shock, question, and a guarded amount of pleasure.
“Good morning.” The waiter smiled politely.
“Did I order this?” she asked cautiously.
“I took the liberty,” Jared confessed without remorse.
Belatedly she became aware of the towel around her head, the lack of makeup, and the bareness of her feet. It didn’t matter that Jared had seen her like this in the past. That was then, this was now; and she wasn’t ready for this kind of casual intimacy with him.
But if that was the case, why had she opened the door? The answer was easy: Her heart and mind were sending conflicting messages, and her body seemed to be making its own decision on which one to obey.
Recognizing that the damage—if there was any—had been done, Delaney backed out of the doorway and moved against the wall, swinging the door wider to admit the waiter with the cart—and Jared.
“Where would you like this, Miss Wescott?” The waiter pushed the cart past her.
“Anywhere will be fine,” she said, her glance sliding from him to Jared. She almost resented how fresh and vigorous he looked—how awake and fully dressed. He removed his hat and stepped inside, running a ruffling hand through his hair.
“Do you mind if I join you for a cup of coffee?” he asked with disarming sincerity.
“Of course not.” Delaney was aware her answer wasn’t even close to a lie.
The waiter passed them on his way out the door. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Delaney walked into the room, leaving Jared to close the door behind the departing waiter. The cart sat in the center of the room, its leaves extended, place settings for two arranged on its white damask cloth and two of the room’s sitting chairs pulled up to it. Delaney turned the lid on the heavy porcelain coffee pot and proceeded to fill two cups.
“How did you know I’d be up?” she asked when Jared dropped his hat on the seat of the sofa and came over to the breakfast cart.
“I checked with the desk to see if you’d left a wakeup call.” He pulled out one of the chairs for her. “I knew that no matter how full your schedu
le might be today, you’d take time for coffee and something to eat. I remembered you liked French toast.” With a nod of his head, he indicated the covered plate on the cart. “I hope you still do.”
“Yes.” She sat down, noticing the glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice at her place setting. He had also remembered her preference for grapefruit juice over orange.
“Since the hay is still drying in the field, I thought I’d offer to help you move into the condo this morning.” He went around to the opposite chair and glanced at the numerous pieces of luggage in the room, then stopped when he saw a large Samsonite suitcase standing upright next to the wall, its olive-drab sides scarred with use. “Is that yours?” He threw her a puzzled look.
“No. They’re Riley’s.”
“Is he staying here?”
She saw Jared look sharply at the unmade bed as if trying to determine whether it had been slept in by one person or two. “You don’t really think Riley and I shared that bed last night?” she asked in a stunned voice.
Jared arched an eyebrow, his expression serious. “Is it so inconceivable?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.” She was trapped somewhere between laughter and indignation. “Granted, Riley and I work closely together—but not that closely. We’re friends, that’s all.”
“I know that’s the way it used to be. But it could have changed.”
“Well, it didn’t,” Delaney informed him, smiling at the very idea of it.
“Not by his choosing, I’d wager,” Jared inserted dryly.
“Why would you say a thing like that?” She frowned in amazement.
“I remember the way he used to look at you,” he replied. “It wasn’t business he had on his mind.”
“Riley? That’s ridiculous,” she declared with a trace of irritation.
“If you say so.” There was a slight shrug of one shoulder. “But you have to admit, it looks a little odd seeing his luggage in your room.”
“It’s really none of your business, but it so happens that Riley is flying in from New York today. His sister sent some clothes along with me for him.” In her near anger with Jared, she splashed more syrup on her toast than she wanted.
“Delaney, I’m not trying to start a fight with you. Merely making an observation. A slightly jealous one, if you must know the truth.”
A little mollified by his explanation, she responded with less tenseness. “You have no reason to be jealous of Riley.”
“Don’t I? He’s been with you nearly every day for the last six years. I haven’t.”
She remembered all the times she’d imagined Jared with his wife, the fury she’d felt—and, yes, the jealousy. She hadn’t known he was divorced—any more than Jared hadn’t known whether she’d turned to Riley for comfort.
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” She cut into her French toast.
“How long will you be in Aspen? Do you know yet?”
“Close to a month. At least, that’s the way it looks now,” she replied and forked a bite into her mouth.
“Who are you working for?”
“Lucas Wayne.”
Jared lifted his head sharply. “Is he in town?”
She shook her head, quickly chewing and swallowing another bite of the maple-drenched, vanilla-flavored toast. “He arrives today with Riley. I flew in ahead to get everything ready.” She laid down her fork and picked up her coffee cup. “I assume you read or heard about the attempt Rina Cole made on his life last week.”
“Yes.” A faint wryness pulled at one corner of his mouth. Other than that his expression was bland, almost too bland. That was all it took to remind Delaney of his prejudice toward celebrities. “Actually, I’m surprised someone hasn’t taken a shot at him before now—although I always thought it would be an outraged husband instead of a jilted lover.”
She took a sip of hot coffee and nearly burned her tongue. She blew lightly on the surface to cool it, thoughtfully studying him over the rim of the cup. “Do you know Lucas Wayne?”
“Mainly by reputation.” He fingered the coffee spoon on the table, studying it and avoiding her eyes. “Although I’ve seen him once or twice in Aspen.”
“What’s his reputation?”
“That he’s skilled at providing an unentangled diversion for unhappy wives—or so I’ve heard.” He paused, his glance lifting to her. “What’s your opinion of him?”
“I’m not sure I’ve formed one yet,” she admitted candidly, then shrugged. “Fortunately, my concern is for his life, not his character—questionable or otherwise.”
“Be careful, Delaney, I’d hate to see you get used by him.”
“I don’t think that’s likely to happen,” she replied and dropped the subject. “So, this is haying season for you, is it?”
“Yes.” He went on to talk about the ranch, the kind of year he’d had, the amount of hay he would be baling, the number of cattle he planned to winter, and his experiments in cross-breeding to come up with leaner beef. Delaney finished her toast and poured more coffee for each of them, then asked about Kelly.
“I used to think she would write or call to let me know she was all right,” Jared said. “But I haven’t heard a word from her. The locket was the only trace of her anybody has been able to find. It’s as if she disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“I’m sorry, Jared.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“I haven’t stopped looking.”
“Of course not.” But the worst had to be not knowing whether he’d find her alive—or dead from an overdose.
“How’s your father?”
“Fine. He’s house-sitting for me.”
“Do you still have your place in the canyons?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve often wondered whether you sold it or not.”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” She set her cup down with a trace of finality in the gesture. “As much as I would like to linger over another cup, it’s time I got dressed.”
Fluidly, Jared came to his feet. “In that case, I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He scooped up his hat and started for the door.
“Jared.”
“Yes?” He turned, his hat in hand.
She hesitated, then said, “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Any time, Delaney. Any time.” He smiled and headed for the door, planting the hat squarely on his head.
Thirty minutes later the bellman loaded the suitcases onto the luggage cart while Delaney made a last check of the room to make sure nothing had been left, then followed him to the elevators. As promised, Jared was in the lobby waiting for her.
“I’ll load the bags in your car,” he volunteered. “You go ahead and check out.”
The clerk had her bill ready for her. It took Delaney only a few minutes to settle it, then she was outside, climbing into her rental car and driving away from the hotel. Her rearview mirror reflected the image of the black pickup truck behind her.
When they reached the condo apartments, Jared picked out the heaviest bags and carried them inside. “You can put the gray tweed luggage in that bedroom.” She pointed to a door, and continued into the living room to open the drapes and let in some light. “Leave Riley’s suitcases by the door.”
She immediately commandeered the dining table and turned it into an office desk, opening her briefcase and arranging stacks of forms, schedules, and expense reports on top of it, adding pencils, pens, and a calculator while leaving room for the telephone. She looked up to find Jared watching her, one shoulder propped against the wall, his hat pushed to the back of his head, and one booted foot hooked over the other.
“How do you plan to run your company when you’re going to be in Aspen for a month and your offices are in L.A.?”
“With fax machines, telephones, computer linkups, and Federal Express, plus a paragon to keep things running smoothly in L.A., it won’t be difficult.” She unlocked her weekend case and lifted out the facsimile machine she’d brought with her. “Unfor
tunately, it won’t be long before Wescott and Associates will be too big to allow me to work in the field anymore.”
“You enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him, detecting a certain grimness in his voice, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest it. “I have to admit, I’m not looking forward to giving it up and spending most of my time behind a desk. But who knows—I may find there’s just as much challenge in running two and three different teams.”
From the corridor outside the condo came the heavy, slogging tread of weary footsteps. Delaney thought it sounded like more than one set. She glanced at the door she hadn’t bothered to close. A second later, Vance Hummel and John Wyatt appeared in the outer hall, both dressed in jogging shorts and running shoes, sweat plastering their t-shirts to their backs and chests. The lanky, freckle-faced John Wyatt was the first to spot the open door.
“Hey, Delaney. You made it.” He swung into the apartment on legs that were obviously leaden, barely managing to avoid walking into Riley’s suitcases. “One question—how the hell did you manage to carry those in here?” Then he saw Jared and came to a surprised stop. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”
But he made no attempt to retreat and neither did Vance Hummel, who had followed him inside, both eyeing Jared with undisguised curiosity.
“Come in, guys, and meet Jared McCallister,” Delaney said, and introduced the two men, both formerly with the Los Angeles Police Department and both quitting for similar reasons: They’d gotten tired of the stress and the feeling they were on the losing side.
As usual, Wyatt was more lackadaisical in his greeting. “Glad to meet you, Jared. And I’m doubly glad you were here to carry those bags up. I couldn’t have lifted one.”
“No problem.”
Then Vance Hummel stuck out a muscled arm to shake hands. “Jared,” was his terse greeting.
John Wyatt came into the living room and flopped on the gold tweed sofa. “God, I’m bushed.”
“You two didn’t go out jogging this morning, did you? I told you last night to take it easy for a few days.”
“We thought we were. Hell, all we did was walk a mile, and I usually run about ten every day.”
