Cattleman's Choice (13 page)

She went back to Sweetwater late Sunday night, feeling drained and no more refreshed than before. It was going to be another long week.

It didn't help that Patty came into her office early Monday morning with a complaint about the property.

“The roof leaks,” she grumbled. “It poured rain here, and you told me that roof was sound. I had ten half-drowned cats before I thought to check.”

“I'm sorry, Mandelyn said formally. “The previous owner assured me he'd had a new roof put on recently. You know I'd never purposely misrepresent a property,” she added. “You're going to have trouble finding a roofer. Carson seems to have every workman in town out at his place.”

“It's coming along nicely, too,” Patty remarked. “He's had new furniture put in the house and carpeting…it's a showplace already. Once they get the new roof on, and the painting finished, it will make most houses in the valley look like outbuildings.”

“You'll like that, I'm sure,” Mandelyn murmured under her breath.

“I'll call Carson and see if he can loan me his roofer,” Patty said suddenly. “Why didn't I think of that myself?”

“Good idea,” Mandelyn said with a wan smile.

Patty started out the door and paused. “Uh, Jake spent a lot of time with you at the party,” she murmured. “Seen him since?”

“I've been out of town,” Mandelyn said noncommittally. “I haven't seen anybody.”

“Jake's been out of town, too,” Patty said, her smile disappearing. She opened the door and went out, slamming it behind her.

Angie glanced up from her typewriter with a curious stare. “You and Jake…?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mandelyn said. “I haven't been anywhere with Jake. She's just mad because Carson isn't running after her fast enough, I suppose. He isn't good enough for her….”

She went into her office and slammed the door, too. Angie shrugged and went back to work.

Mandelyn didn't hear from Carson at all. Wednesday, she went ahead and dressed to go to the ballet, feeling not at all happy about it. She'd rather have stayed home and bawled. It was how she felt. She wasn't even sure that Carson would show up at all. He was getting to be wildly unpredictable.

She chose a floor-length blue velvet gown with white accessories and put her hair up with a blue velvet ribbon. She kept remembering that blue velvet ribbon in Carson's car, and wished she could get it out of her mind. He must not have gotten it from her, after all.

At five-thirty, he still hadn't shown up, and she was on her way back to her bedroom to change her clothes when she heard a car pull up.

She felt as nervous as a girl on her first date. She was probably overdressed, but she'd wanted to look pretty for him. That was idiotic. But she couldn't help herself.

She opened the door, and found him in a tuxedo. That was one item they hadn't bought together, and she couldn't help but stare. He was so striking that she couldn't drag her eyes away. He had the perfect physique for a tuxedo, and the whiteness of the silk shirt he was wearing made his complexion darker, his hair blacker. His blue eyes were dark, too, as they looked down at her.

“You…look very nice,” she faltered.

“So do you,” he said, but his eyes were cold. Like his face. “We'd better go.”

She followed him outside, forgetting her wrap in the excitement. They were halfway to Phoenix before she remembered.

“My stole,” she exclaimed.

“You aren't likely to freeze to death,” he said curtly.

“I didn't say I was, Carson,” she replied.

He tugged at his tie. “I'll be glad when this is over,” he grumbled.

“It was your idea,” she said sweetly.

“I've had some pretty bad ideas lately.”

“Yes, I know.”

His eyes drifted slowly over her. “Was it necessary to wear a dress that was cut to the navel?” he asked harshly.

She wouldn't let him rattle her. “It was the only dressy thing I had.”

“Left over from the days when you dated the eligible banker and were in the thick of Charleston society, no doubt,” he said mockingly.

She closed her eyes and wouldn't answer him.

“No retort?” he chided.

“I won't argue with you, Carson,” she said. “I'm through fighting. I've got no stomach for it anymore.”

She felt that way, too, as if all the life had been drained out of her.

“You, through fighting?” he laughed coldly.

“People change.”

“Not enough. They never change enough to suit other people. I'm dressed up in this damned monkey suit going to a form of entertainment I don't understand or even like. And it isn't going to change what I am. I'm no fancy dude. I never will be. I've accepted that.”

“Will your fancy woman accept it?” she laughed unpleasantly. “Will she want you the way you are?”

“Maybe not,” he replied. “But that's how she'll take me.”

“So masterful!” she taunted. “How exciting for her!”

He turned his head slowly and the look in his eyes was hot and dangerous. “You'll push me too far one day.

She turned her gaze toward the city lights of Phoenix.

He pulled up near the auditorium and parked. There was a crowd, and she kept close to Carson, feeling a little nervous around all the strangers.

He glanced down at her, frowning. “Aren't you afraid to get that close to me?” he taunted.

“I'm less afraid of you than I am of them,” she confessed. “I don't like crowds.”

He stopped dead and looked down at her with narrow, searching eyes. “But you like culture, don't you, honey?”

The sarcasm in his voice was cutting. She looked back at him quietly. “I like men with deep voices singing love songs, too,” she said.

He seemed disconcerted for a minute. He turned away, guiding her into the throng with a puzzled frown.

Everything seemed to go wrong. Their tickets were for another night, and Carson was told so, politely but firmly.

“Wrong night, hell,” he told the small man at the door. Then he grinned and that meant trouble. “Listen, sonny, they were supposed to be for tonight. I'm here. And I'm staying.'

“Sir, please lower your voice,” the little man pleaded, looking nervously around him.

“Lower it? I plan on raising it quite a bit,” Carson returned. “You want trouble, you can have it. In spades.”

Mandelyn closed her eyes. This was getting to be a pattern. Why did she let herself in for this kind of embarrassment?

“Please go in, sir. I'm sure the mixup is our fault,” the small man said loudly and with a forced smile.

Carson nodded at him and smiled coldly. “I'm sure it is. Come on, Mandy.”

He guided her into the auditorium and seated her on the aisle beside him. He stuck out his long legs and stared down at the program. He scowled.

“Swan Lake?”
he asked, staring at the photos in the printed program. He glanced at Mandelyn. “You mean we came all this way to watch some woman dressed up like a damned bird parading across the stage?”

Oh, God, she prayed, give him laryngitis!

Around them were sharp, angry murmurs. Mandelyn touched his hand. “Carson, ballet is an art form. It's dancing. You know that.”

“Dancing, okay. But parading around in a bird suit, and her a grown woman?”

She tapped him on the arm with her program.

“Swatting flies?” he asked.

She hid her face behind her program, slid down in the seat, and prayed for a power failure. There were too many lights. Everyone could see that the loud man was with her.

He continued to make loud comments until the lights went down. Mandelyn almost sagged with relief in the darkness. But she should have known better. The minute the orchestra began to play and the lead ballerina finally appeared, he sat up straight and leaned forward.

“When does the ballet start?” he demanded.

“It just did!” she hissed.

“All she's doing is running around the stage!” he protested.

“Shut up, could you!” the man behind Carson said curtly.

Carson turned around and glared through the darkness. “I paid for my ticket, just like you did. So shut up yourself. Or step outside.”

The man was twice Carson's age, and rather chubby. He cleared his throat, trying to look belligerent. But he held his peace.

Carson glanced down at Mandelyn. “Something in your shoe?” he asked. “Why are you hiding?”

“I'm not hiding,” she choked, red-faced as she sat back up.

He was staring at the stage. Out came a muscular male dancer, and Carson gaped and caught his breath and burst out laughing.

“Oh, do be quiet,” she squeaked.

“Hell, look at that,” he roared. “He looks like he's wearing long johns. And what the hell is that between his legs…?”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her hands in her face.

“Better not bother Him, lady,” the man behind her suggested. “If He hears what that man's saying, He'll strike him dead.”

Mandelyn was only hoping for hoarseness, but it didn't happen. Carson kept laughing, and she couldn't stand it another minute. Everyone near them was talking; they had disrupted the entire performance. She climbed over Carson and ran for the front door. She made her way through the lobby and into the women's rest room. She stayed there for a long time, crimson to the roots of her hair. How could he? He knew better than to behave like that. He'd done it deliberately, and she knew it. He'd been trying to embarrass her, to humiliate her in front of what he thought was her own set. And that hurt most of all. That he'd done it to wound her.

Carson was waiting for her, his head down, glaring at his dress shoes when she came back out of the rest room. He heard her step and looked up.

His eyes were dark blue. Quiet. Searching. He took his hands out of his pockets and moved toward her.

“You've had your fun,” she said with dignity. “Or revenge. Or whatever you like to call it. Now that you've ruined my evening, please take me home.'

His jaw tightened. “Miss Bush of Charleston, to the back teeth,” he said mockingly. “Dignity first.”

“I have very little dignity left, thank you,” she replied. “And I'm through trying to civilize you. I know a hopeless case when I see one.”

His eyes flashed. “Giving up?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a cool smile. “And I wish your woman joy of you, Carson. Maybe if she can put a bridle on you, she can tell people you're a horse and don't know any better manners.”

The expression that crossed his face was indescribable. He turned on his heel and led the way out the door. She followed him stiffly, standing aside to let him unlock her side of the car.

It was a long, harrowing ride home. He turned on the radio and let it play to fill the silence. When they pulled up in front of her house, she was too drained to even notice what was playing. He'd told her in actions just how much contempt he felt for her.

“Mandelyn,” he said.

She didn't even look at him. “Goodbye, Carson.”

“I'd like to talk to you,” he said through his teeth. “Explain something.”

“What could you possibly say that would be of interest to me? You and I have absolutely nothing in common,” she said with cool hauteur and a look that spoke volumes. “Do invite me to the wedding. I'll see if I can find something homespun to wear. And I'll even send you a wedding gift. How would you like a set of matching knives for your table? After all, you have to have something to eat your peas with, don't you? Just the thing for a savage like you!”

She got out of the car, slammed the door and marched up the steps. It took her the rest of the night to try to forget the look on Carson's face when she'd said that to him. And she cried herself to sleep for her own cruelty. She hadn't meant it. She'd only wanted to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. He'd as much as told her that her world was shoddy and superficial. It had been the killing blow. Because she understood all at once why it hurt so much. She was in love with Carson. And she'd just lost him forever.

Chapter Eight

M
andelyn couldn't even go to work the next day, she was so sick about what had happened the night before. She shouldn't have behaved so badly, even though Carson had provoked her. She shouldn't have hurt him like that.

“I've got a migraine,” she told Angie. She knew she sounded unwell from crying all night. “If anyone needs me, tell them I'll be back tomorrow, okay?”

Angie hesitated. “Uh, Patty came by as soon as I opened up.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She asked if I knew that Carson was in jail.”

Mandelyn gripped the receiver hard.

“What?”

“She said he went on a bender last night and dared Jake to call you. Danny had to lock him up. They said he set new records for broken glass, and to top it all off, he ran his Thunderbird into Jim Handel's new swimming pool.”