Be Mine (17 page)

“I meant that, Daniel. And I’m so proud of you. I’m just sorry you had to feel guilty, instead of being able to celebrate.”

The teenager clambered to his feet as if anxious to leave before Chad changed his mind. “I’ve got to call Angie to let her know everything’s okay.” He disappeared through the arch, leaving Chad alone in the comfortable den.

For the first time in two days, Chad felt a glimmer of optimism. His cousin’s suggestion gave him a direction, one that might re-establish him in Sabina’s eyes. The idea wasn’t a bad business move, either. The only drawback was the time he needed to get things in place.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Three weeks of sleeplessness had deteriorated Sabina’s driving skills. After discovering herself on the berm the third time in ten minutes, she realized she was nearly asleep at the wheel. A sign ahead advertised “Home Cooking,” and in spite of past experience with the hopeful words, she pulled into the gravel parking lot. At least the building looked clean.

She needed quick energy. “A hot fudge sundae and black coffee, please,” she told the waitress. Two other tables were occupied, one by a suited man filling in blanks on what looked like a call report, the other by two men wearing flannel shirts and billed hats.

The thumps of the coffee mug and footed glass dish on the counter drew her away from her inspection of the other customers. “Here you go,” the girl announced with enthusiasm. Free for a moment, the waitress crossed the room to join the two men. “What’s new, guys?”

“Not much, Tammy. Not much at all. I ain’t in jail, so something must be right. Still got my job, too.”

The other worker laughed heartily. “Just be glad you’re not workin’ for Calico. I hear some honcho from Spain’s buyin’ it.”

“I don’t hold with all these foreigners comin’ in. Some Japanese guy bought out Jimmie Gilbert last month. At least no one got fired, but that still ain’t good.” He removed his cap and settled it more squarely on his head.

“The foreign guys tip real good,” said the waitress.

Junior laughed again. “Sure. Then they take their profits home with ‘em. Can’t figure why Chad’s thinkin’ a’ sellin’. They done real good last year. ‘Sides, it ain’t really his.”

Sabina realized she was only twenty miles from Chad. She’d been at a site near the Pennsylvania border, and had lost track of her location. Hearing the familiar names gave her a pang. Poor Erica. Chad must have refused to give her a chance.

“No, but what he says pretty much goes. Sorry to hear it. Calico’s a sweet little outfit.” The waitress got a dreamy look on her face as she spoke.

“Think Chad’ll hang around here more if he sells, Tammy?”

The girl rose, laughing. “Don’t I wish! Sellin’ out won’t change that any.”

“I hear he had a set to with the state inspector some time back,” the first speaker interjected. “The fellas had to cancel their bets. Seems no one could figure out if the Tough Broad left because Chad sent her off or because they argued to a draw.”

Mention of the wagers sent Sabina toward the cash register remembering the old saying about eavesdroppers hearing nothing to their credit.

The conversation haunted her during the rest of the trip to her home office, where Nancy, the receptionist, teased her about coming in at closing time. “What’s the matter, don’t you have a home?”

“I’m just in no hurry to get there. Spring always makes me a little blue,” she said, realizing she’d spoken the truth.

“Come shopping with me tonight. Marshall Field’s is having a sale, which is enough to cheer up
anybody
. That lacy underwear you like is marked down. Something new and daring should lift your spirits.” Nancy winked broadly.

The receptionist was one of the few women friends Sabina had made in Columbus. They shared a love for swimming, and occasionally met at the health club to turn their weekly laps into races. “Sounds good. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” She crossed the room toward the cubicle which afforded her a minimum of privacy.

Nancy’s voice followed her. “News flash on one of your favorites, Sabina. McDonald called this morning to hustle the rest of the paperwork. He’s selling out as soon as he knows the bottom line on his fines.”

“Who’d buy
that
mess!” Sabina stopped dead in the middle of the large communal room.

Nancy fumbled through the files on her desk. “The guy you did last March. Here it is. Chad Peters.” She waved the folder triumphantly.

“But he’s selling Calico.”

“Maybe he’s moving.”

Sabina’s head whirled. Why was he doing this? She’d just spent three weeks trying to convince herself she hated him. The jobless men. That must be why.

Chad’s purchase would, in the end, be not only charitable but extremely profitable. If the deal included all the mineral rights McDonald had contracted, future profits would more than cover the reclamation. Chad must have discovered she was justified in what she’d done. “So why haven’t I heard from him?” she asked herself.

 Sighing, she leaned back in her chair. Telling Chad she was falling in love with him was the biggest lie of her life . . . she’d fallen early in the game. She’d known before he tricked her into being snowbound. The rat! She’d give anything to know what he was really up to with the mining companies.

* * * *

Late that evening she let herself into her dark apartment, clutching the contents of her mailbox in her teeth. The results of her assault on Marshall Field’s spilled from her arms, and she had only two fingers free to turn the key.

The spill of light from the corner was a welcome sight. Ever since Chad had teased her about the lopsided shoe, she’d left the lamp on each morning to assure that a sign of life greeted her when she returned. The apartment seemed barren without his presence.

Only one item in her mail held any interest for her.

She eyed the tan envelope as if it might explode. Addressed in round, school-teacherish script, the return address and postmark were instantly recognizable. She knew Chad’s handwriting from his paperwork; this wasn’t from him. Her nerves skittered as she loosened the tape-sealed flap. Why would anyone send a over-sized envelope with a simple letter? A cream-colored cardboard rectangle and a folded circular fell to the floor as she slipped out the contents. She left them lie while she skipped to the signature on the single sheet. Erica.

 The news was good. Daniel had Chad’s blessings for art school; Chad was keeping Calico for Erica. Why did the workers in the restaurant today talk as if Calico had been sold? No mention was made of Chad buying out McDonald.

The next paragraph noted mournfully that Chad was thinner and extremely short-tempered. Aunt Clara worried about him, and she sent her love. “Thought you’d get a kick out of the enclosed. Chad promised to do this dumb thing last January, and now the time has come he’s been trying to find a way to back out, so I reminded him this would be a great way to meet rich chicks. We’ve decided he should get married, and he might as well grab someone with money. He’s a chauvinist, of course, and doesn’t know how to admit he’s wrong, but since he was such a pussycat about Daniel and me we’re hoping he’s mellowing.”

“Hah! I’ll believe that when I see proof,” Sabina commented as she put the letter aside and reached for the flyer.

Under the letterhead of a fund-raising group for Children’s Hospital was an announcement of the auction of “Dream Dates” with fifteen eligible area bachelors. Chad’s name was ninth on the list, which identified him as a financial/mining executive. “All proceeds tax deductible. Personal Checks, Mastercard and Visa accepted,” was centered at the bottom of the fancifully decorated sheet.

The thick cream card served as both an invitation and a ticket to the auction. The black engraving blurred before Sabina’s eyes. Her hands shook. Attempting to refocus her vision, she took a deep breath and exhaled to the count of ten in an effort to relax.

Flicking lights on as she went, Sabina ran to the kitchen to check her calendar. This coming Friday. She kicked off her shoes in front of the sink, recalling ever moment they’d spent together. She pictured his clear, golden brown eyes gazing at her tenderly, the endearing creases that dented his cheeks when he grinned.

As if in a trance, she returned to her living room, vividly remembering their argument. He had to have spoken with the twins soon after his return. The bullheaded fool must have discovered she was right within days of that encounter. Why had he taken so long to admit it? Why couldn’t he just come to her and say, “I was wrong and you were right?”

Sabina realized Chad must know about the invitation in her hand. He’d teased her about being out of touch with what went on in Columbus. Did he want her to come see him being offered on the block like a prize chicken at the county fair and hope she’d bid for him? He was so infernally proud. It must have galled him to discover she knew the twins’ real desires. And she couldn’t fault his loyalty to others in his industry, even though he had to be aware not everyone shared his ethics. Did he know how to apologize?

Would he care enough to try?

“Why should I go to these lengths to talk to him? That idiot knows where I live.” She threw the invitation on her desk, then picked it up and fingered the card thoughtfully.

Was she brave enough to attend?

Over the next two days the question nagged at her. She changed her mind dozens of times, until she reached such a state of confusion that Friday morning she poured juice into the instant coffee she’d spooned into her cup.

“I wonder how much a weekend with him will cost?” she murmured, trying to ignore the little voice that answered,
It would be worth everything you own.
“Whatever he has planned, he better be ready to talk . . . even if I have to handcuff him to his steering wheel.”

* * * *

The hotel lobby was crowded with expensively dressed women heading toward the ballroom. Wry remarks were punctuated by laughter as small groups of women crowded through the door and headed immediately for the cash bar.

Positive even a sniff of the cork from a wine bottle would complete her disintegration, Sabina bypassed a drink, opting for a tall glass of seltzer water. She needed her wits if she wanted to see this thing through.

She noticed she was one of the few women in attendance without a crowd of friends. Obviously some of the ticket holders looked on the evening as prime entertainment. How on earth had Chad gotten himself into this thing? From the remarks she heard, a few of the women, at least those around her, were as outspoken as any of the rough miners she’d met, which was saying a lot.

“Lead me to the bidding. I can’t wait to take a sample home with me,” a luscious redhead announced to her friends as they crowded past Sabina.

Choosing a table in the back of the room seemed safest. The bachelors were apparently going to walk out a short runway attached to the small stage at the opposite end. She couldn’t take a chance on Chad spotting her, in case she chickened out.

The tables were close to each other, and when the bidding started she was grateful for the darkness at the edges of the room. Never again would she accuse men of being aggressive. Whistles and cheers came frequently from a table toward the front.

The flamboyant redhead triumphantly claimed the engineer who was eighth on the program. Sabina’s temperature rose. Her cheeks felt flushed. The dates offered ranged from a visit to Atlantic casinos to a flight to Hilton Head for golf and swimming. What would Chad offer . . . a trip down the leaf slide?

“And now we come to item number nine on your program, mining executive and bank president Chad Peters. Chad hopes there is someone out there who will share his love of music enough to bid a healthy amount for charity. In return, he and his purchaser will fly to Chicago to wine and dine in high style before attending a performance of
The Marriage of Figaro
by the Chicago Lyric Opera Company.” The master of ceremonies continued to tout Chad’s accomplishments, but his words were lost on Sabina.

Chad was offering her dream trip! She’d been set up. The slimy low-life was dangling her own bait in front of her!

When the red mist in front of her eyes cleared, Sabina started to laugh. Was this the only way he could bring himself to apologize? If he would go this far in public, he really did care. Didn’t he? But still, that was
her
special treat!

“You’ll pay for this,” she murmured, determined to see him squirm. “I’m your only way out.” The man owed her another apology.

The flowery introduction came to an end, and Chad stepped through the curtains, drawing an appreciative murmur and a chorus of wolf whistles from the crowd, which had become increasingly uninhibited. At the sight of him, heat spread through Sabina as if her blood had warmed. She definitely hadn’t imagined his effect on her. Even across the ballroom, all her senses were in place and functioning overtime.

 So far, the men had worn conventional tuxedos or business suits. Chad had taken formal dress a step further. His black tuxedo jacket lay across his shoulders as only a custom-tailored coat could. The tucked shirt was so white it looked like an ad for laundry detergent, the contrast with the tartan bow tie and cummerbund accentuating its pristine state.

Below the formal gear he wore the tightest, most faded jeans Sabina had ever seen. They fit like a second skin, prompting moaning sounds from someone to her left. Heavy steel-toed boots were laced to mid-calf, accentuating his rugged masculinity, and a yellow hard hat was tilted low on his forehead at an arrogant angle, nearly covering his eyes. A come-hither grin creased his lips.

The auctioneer cut smoothly into the hubbub. “Do I hear a bid?”

Sabina held her breath as a heavyset blond started the bidding at $500, but the amount climbed fast and furiously, in fifty and one hundred dollar increments, while Sabina watched Chad’s expression. The devilish grin never faltered, but she saw the slight movement of his head each time a new voice entered the auction. He seemed to be listening intently to each bidder, as if searching for a familiar voice. She sat silent, sipping her seltzer. He could squirm a little longer.