Denim and Lace (9 page)

“I thought it might be a love letter,” he said insolently.

She flushed. Her chin tilted. First Gussie, now Cade. It didn't seem possible that she could have so much antagonism in her life all at once. “Well, it wasn't. It was to explain what I sold to raise the money. I didn't want you to lose Lariat.”

She meant the pearls, but he didn't know that. He was thinking about another rare commodity. His face hardened.

“You little fool!” he bit off. His hands caught her bare shoulders, gripping with such force that she was sure he'd bruised her as he pulled her out into the hall with him. The look in his eyes was frightening. Of all the things he'd expected, this was the last. The reason he'd come here today sat heavily on his chest. He was sick all over, thinking about Bess with some faceless man. Rage boiled up in him, choking him. He wanted to shake her senseless!

“Cade, what's the matter?” she gasped, shaken by the fury in his dark eyes as much as by the rage in his deep voice.

“What did you do for that money, Bess?” he demanded.

She jerked away from him, really frightened now. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “I just wanted you to have Lariat...” she said, then broke off, astonished at his actions.

He couldn't even answer her. His tongue felt tied in knots. He just looked at her, hating her. After a minute he took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly.

“I came to ask how you were doing,” he said finally. “But I can see that it was unnecessary. You've landed on your feet. Or, rather, on your back.”

His tone was bristling with contempt. “On my back?” she echoed blankly, her eyes searching his for answers she couldn't find. He looked so strange. “Cade, are you all right?” she asked gently. “What's wrong?”

“She's already sold you to some damned rich man!” he accused.

Now she understood—not only what he was accusing her of but what he was so angry about. He was jealous! Her eyes widened as she gazed at his dark face and she had to force her feet not to dance a jig in the hall.

She understood all too well the anger he was feeling. His suit, while nice, was off a rack in some department store. His boots were expensive, but old and badly scuffed. Even his leather belt with its rodeo champion buckle was worn. He looked like a man at the bottom of the social ladder trying to make his way up, and Bess was wearing a designer gown that was only one season old and practically new. The differences between them were visible ones, and it struck her as odd that she'd never realized how proud Cade was, nor how reluctant he might be to make a pass at a rich woman. So many unanswered puzzle pieces fell into place when she understood all at once why he'd kept his distance for so long.

Her heart sang. She reached behind her and gently closed the apartment door. “Mama didn't sell me to anyone, Cade,” she said quietly, her soft eyes smiling as they searched his furious ones.

“You're on your way to him now,” he added, indicating her dress. His eyes lingered on her bare shoulders helplessly, with sudden hunger in his eyes.

“I'm on my way to dinner with some old friends of Mother's,” she corrected. She touched his hand gently with hers, delighted at the way he tautened at the contact, at the unwilling curving of his hand into her touch. He looked down and saw the ring he'd given her, and all the hard lines went out of his face.

“You're still wearing it,” he said quietly.

“Of course I am. You gave it to me. You're very possessive,” she said, with gentle accusation, her heart racing as she felt the first stirrings of her femininity and realized its effect on him. He hadn't wanted her three years ago, but perhaps time had changed him because he was looking at her now with open hunger.

“I suppose I am.” He sighed heavily. “And blind as a damned bat. I don't know why I even assumed such a ridiculous thing. I know you're the last woman on earth who'd give herself to a total stranger for money.”

The admission made her feel like flying. She smiled with all her heart. “I could have told you that, but I'm glad you decided it for yourself. What are you doing in San Antonio?”

“Selling off cattle mostly, but I had to find out how you got your hands on that money.” He smiled ruefully. “You sold the pearls, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to.”

“Mama would have used them to buy a car. I decided that Lariat was a better investment,” she added, grinning. “Go ahead, throw them back in my face.”

His eyebrows rose. “In a way I did. I gave Donald back everything except for the fifty cents on the dollar I asked for and told him to send it to you with my blessing.”

She groaned. “Oh, no. Cade, you didn't!”

“I did it out of pride at the time,” he admitted. “But the fact is, you need the money more than I do.”

“Money is the last thing I need!” she cried. “Cade, if my mother gets her hands on anything, she'll spend it. I'm trying to make her see that we're going to have to work to support ourselves.”

“Lots of luck,” he said. “Gussie won't work. She'll get you a job instead.”

She glared at him. “You might give me a chance.”

He touched her cheek with a long, lean forefinger. “Yes. I might. You look lovely. Very expensive.”

The feel of his finger made her knees weak. “You don't look bad yourself,” she whispered huskily.

“Who is he, this man she's pushing you toward?” he persisted. His forefinger moved to her mouth and began to trace its exquisite bow shape very lightly.

“His name is Ryker,” she said. “He owns a company of some sort. Cade, you're driving me crazy!” she protested, almost gasping at the sensations he was causing with his lazy touch against her mouth.

“What do you think it's doing to me?” he asked roughly. His eyes held hers until she felt the impact right to her toes. “The scent of you drowns me in gardenia blossoms, and that's what your mouth looks like to me right now, pink gardenia, petal soft. I want it, Bess,” he breathed, letting his eyes fall to her mouth. “I want it so much I can hardly stand here and breathe without it.”

She wanted it just as much. “I want it, too, Cade,” she whispered. She did. The thought of his kisses had kept her alive for years. Every day the longing grew worse. She moved a whisper closer to him, her face uplifted, her pulse throbbing at the flash of hunger in his dark eyes.

His lean hands slid to her shoulders and traced them, savoring the softness of her bare skin, the warmth under his hands. Her body would be like that, he thought in anguish. Her breasts would be even softer, and he could make their tips hard and flushed if he touched them...

“My God, I'd give blood to touch you under that dress,” he whispered huskily. “I'd like to back you against the wall and crush you under me and kiss you until you moan out loud. But as sure as hell, Gussie's got radar and she'd come hotfoot to break it up.”

Bess knew it was the truth, but she almost moaned out loud when he let go of her arms and moved away, leaving her trembling and weak.

“Besides all that, Bess,” he added heavily, “kissing is addictive. That's why I didn't start anything before you left Coleman Springs.”

He'd said something of the kind once before, but it was just as painful now as it had been then. She only knew that she'd die to kiss him, just once! “You might try it now, just to see,” she whispered, her eyes on his hard mouth. “If it's addictive, I mean.”

He smiled ruefully. “I might stick a handful of matches in my pockets and walk through a brushfire, too. No way, honey. Go to your dinner party. I've got to get back to Lariat.”

“I might decide to try kissing Mr. Ryker,” she said threateningly, flirting with him for the first time in memory.

He read the mischief in her dancing eyes and actually smiled. “No, you won't.”

“Why won't I?” she challenged.

He moved toward her, bending so that his warm breath touched her lips when he spoke. “Because you want me too much,” he whispered. “You couldn't let another man touch you if you tried. I should have remembered that when I got hot under the collar about that money.”

She stared into his dark eyes and couldn't deny it. She couldn't even breathe for the fever his nearness aroused in her. “Oh, Cade,” she moaned under her breath. “I ache so...!”

“That goes both ways,” he said curtly. He moved away from her with a harsh laugh. “I've got to get out of here. I'll be in touch.”

“But the money...”

“Damn the money,” he said easily. His dark eyes searched her face hungrily. “And to answer your earlier question, yes, I'm possessive—about the things and people I consider my own. Have a good time tonight, but don't let the proposed boyfriend touch you. I want to be the first.” His eyes fell to her bodice, and she stopped breathing.

Her heart ran wild. But before she could get the words out, he'd turned and walked away without a backward glance, as if he'd forgotten that she existed. She stood watching him light a cigarette as he stepped into the elevator and it closed behind him.

Bess went back into the apartment in a daze. If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never understand Cade Hollister.

“Well, what did he want?” Gussie demanded as she came back into the living room.

“To tell me that he gave the money back to Donald.”

Gussie brightened. “You mean we have money?”

“We did,” Bess said, feeling suddenly capable of anything. “I'm going to tell Donald to buy back Great-aunt Dorie's pearls with what's left, and we'll put them away as a legacy.”

“We can have a car!” Gussie argued.

“No, we can't,” Bess said firmly and waited for the explosion. Incredibly Gussie didn't say another word. “We'll do very well without a lot of things we thought we needed, you'll see. Shouldn't you get your wrap? The chauffeur will be here any minute.”

Gussie started to argue and then thought about Jordan Ryker and her plans to match him up with Bess. She couldn't really afford to antagonize Bess just yet, and obviously Cade Hollister hadn't made any headway, because Bess looked untouched and unruffled. She nodded and forced a smile.

“I'll do that,” she told Bess.

Bess watched her go and then lifted her right hand to her lips and gently kissed the small silver ring Cade had given her. She could hardly believe what she'd heard him say, but now she had something to live for, something to fight for. Gussie wasn't going to find her quite as easy to manipulate from now on. Cade considered her his own. Perhaps her new state of poverty had made him decide that she was fair game now, or perhaps it was only that he wanted her after all. Either way she had a chance with him for the first time and she wasn't going to waste it.

She was going to be the independent, strong woman she knew she could be. She was already on the road to that independence, and she was awhirl with new feelings, new sensations. Cade was vulnerable, just a little, and that made her feel as if anything was possible. She could have danced on a cloud. Now all she had to do was escape the noose of her mother's suffocating attention and make Gussie understand that the past was dead. Then she could get a job, work hard, and prove to herself and Cade that she was capable of being the woman he needed. She could learn to cook and be independent. She might even learn to ride a horse as expertly as his mother, so that she could help out during roundup. She laughed at the thought, but it wasn't nearly as impossible now as it would have been when she was still Miss Samson of Spanish House. Oh, the wonder of being ordinary! If it hadn't been for her father's tragic death, she wouldn't have minded losing everything. For the first time she felt a sense of purpose, and a sense of self-worth. She could be a person instead of her mother's afterthought. That was a goal worth fighting for.

CHAPTER SEVEN

G
USSIE
CAME
BACK
with her coat over her arm, smiling at Bess. “You look delightful, dear. Jordan will be impressed.”

“No matchmaking,” Bess said firmly.

Gussie wavered. Bess was more assertive than she'd ever been, and Gussie didn't quite know how to take this new attitude. She proceeded cautiously. “I'm not trying to do that,” she said. “It's just that I don't want you getting involved with Cade. It isn't only a question of different backgrounds, Bess. It goes much deeper than that. Haven't you noticed how hard he is, how domineering?” she asked with concern. “Darling, he'd break your spirit in no time. You'd end up just like poor Elise, and God knows, Coleman put her through one wringer after another their whole married life. I want more than that for you.”

Bess was touched. Not that it affected her feelings for Cade, but it did at least make her mother's position a little clearer.

“I appreciate what you're saying, Mama,” Bess said quietly. “And I understand it. But love doesn't just turn off.”

“Love!” Gussie scoffed. “At your age it's just sexual attraction. Cade's no better—he wants you and that's all. A blind woman could see it.”

Bess wanted to deny it, but she couldn't find the words. Yes, Cade did want her, she knew it now, even if she hadn't before. But Gussie was stepping cruelly on her dreams.

“I'm twenty-three,” she told Gussie. “And I'm sorry that I'm not falling in line as usual, but from now on, I'm going to make my own decisions and live my own life.” She was rigid as she said it, but she didn't let her mother see how unconfident she really was. She bluffed.

It worked, too. Gussie sighed. “You'll end up dominated and pregnant and poor...”

“If I do, that will be my business,” Bess said proudly. “It's time I made a few mistakes. I've never had the chance until now. And if you don't stop trying to live my life for me, I'll leave.”

Gussie gaped. She simply didn't believe her ears. “You can't mean that! Why, you've always depended on me.”

“That's true,” Bess replied, amazed at the calm way she was able to stand up to Gussie, when she'd never managed it before. “But I'm not a child any longer. You've got to stop treating me like one. I meant what I said, Mama,” Bess added, standing her ground, even if she was secretly shaking in her high heels. It was hard saying no to Gussie. “I won't be used. Not by you nor by any of your ‘rich young men.'”

“Well, darling, I didn't mean for you to prostitute yourself...”

“I'll go to dinner tonight because I promised. But there won't be any more arranged dates. I'm going to get a job, and so are you, Mother,” she said, ignoring Gussie's flustered outburst. “If you live with me, you're going to have to pull your share of the load. I won't be your slave.”

“I've just lost my husband, and now my only child is going to make a...a beast of burden of me!” she wailed, bursting into tears.

Bess was beginning to see through the tears. She smiled gently. “Mother, you'll look puffy at the Rykers' if you don't stop crying.”

The tears dried up at once. Gussie fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so,” she sighed. “Well, we'll talk about it tomorrow.” The doorbell rang in time to save her. “There's the chauffeur.”

“We can talk, but it won't change anything,” Bess said. She went to get her coat, a nice cashmere one that was two seasons old but still elegant. Its black wool highlighted her soft dark blond hair.

Gussie stared at her daughter without comprehending the change in her. It had to have something to do with Cade, she supposed, and her eyes glittered. Well, she'd keep that situation from developing. She wasn't about to have that man in her life or Bess's.

Unaware of her mother's thoughts, Bess was deep in her own and living in a fool's paradise. At least she knew Cade wanted her: she could build on that. But first she had to stop letting Gussie push her around like a pawn in a chess game. She had to start acting like an adult instead of Mama's little girl. She'd already made a start now, and it wasn't quite as hard as she'd imagined. She felt new already.

She went to the Rykers', and she found that she liked them. Anna Ryker was taller than Bess or Gussie and very dark, a charming woman with a noble Spanish heritage who was welcoming and outgoing. Her son Jordan was less enthusiastic. He was tall, like Cade, but husky, a big man with large dark eyes and a chiseled, wide mouth. He didn't smile when they were introduced, and he looked formidable. He had thick black hair, neatly combed, and thickly lashed black eyes. He was polite but very withdrawn and cool. He had to be in his late thirties, Bess thought, studying him. He didn't smile very much, and she had a feeling that business was very much the hallmark of his life. When he didn't ignore her, he made icy remarks about his lack of leisure time and how difficult he could be at work.

After the meal Gussie subtly arranged to have Anna show her some paintings, deliberately leaving Bess alone with Jordan.

He leaned back in a dark red leather chair, smoking a thin cigar, his black eyes wary and faintly curious as he studied her.

“It's all right, you know,” she sighed, sitting on the edge of her chair to study him with a weary smile. “I never attack men.”

His dark eyebrows shot up, and something like a twinkle danced in his black eyes. “Do I look nervous?” he asked dryly.

She laughed softly. “I wasn't sure.” Her eyes lowered to the carpet. “I didn't want to come, but Mother insisted.”

“You're something of a surprise,” he said through a wisp of smoke. “I thought this evening was one of my mother's ongoing attempts to marry me off, so I haven't been on my best behavior.” His lips twitched. “I had the idea that if I talked business and did my classic ax-murderer impression, you might turn tail and run.”

“Oh, not at all,” she said. “We homicidal maniacs really should stick together—it's safer that way.”

He laughed, and she caught a flash of white teeth in his dark face. “Why does your mother want to throw you at eligible men?”

“She doesn't like the eligible man I want,” she said simply. “He isn't a rich man, and he doesn't like her.” Her eyes went to her hands in her lap. “He won't let me get close to him at the moment. But I'll never love anyone else.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, and sounded as if he meant it. “It seems we share similar problems. Except that the lady of my choice is engaged to another man.” His broad shoulders rose and fell. “Not her fault exactly.” He smiled bitterly. “I was never able to show my feelings. When I finally realized that she had no idea how I felt, it was too late.” He took another draw from the cigar. “She never knew.”

“If she isn't married, there's still time,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “I'm a bad marriage risk. I like my job too much, and I tend to spend too much time at it. I'd run a wife crazy in a month. If she loved me, it would be even worse.” He leaned back. “No, I'm satisfied to die a bachelor. I have a horse I'm pretty fond of...”

She laughed gently. “Mr. Ryker, you're being wasted on the horse.”

“Thank you, Miss Samson, for your vote of confidence. If I ever need a character reference, you'll be the first on my list.”

“Darling, do come and look at these paintings,” Gussie called from the hall. “There's a van Gogh here!”

“Yes, Mother.” She got up, glancing wryly at Jordan, who rose with her. “She loves art. We had quite a collection until we lost everything.”

His eyes studied her quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh, I'm not,” she said. “I think I had all my priorities mixed up. I rather like the idea of starting over and earning my own living.” She smiled. “I think I may even like revolutions,” she added with a pointed glance in her mother's direction.

“Allow me to support the cause.” He rolled the cigar in his hand. “We own, among other concerns, an advertising agency, and I understand that you studied journalism in college.”

She gasped. “Where did you find that out?”

“Oh, I had the usual incredibly fast background check done on your family early this morning,” he said with a rakish smile. “By noon I knew that you were penniless, and I had a good idea why your mother was arranging to visit.”

She went flaming red, but he took her hand and smiled.

“That was unforgivable,” he said softly, “and I didn't mean it the way you're taking it. You remember very well how it is in our circles. I'm not a snob, but I'm no fool either. You said you want to earn your living, and I've got a job you can do. No strings. Try it for a month and if you don't like it, go with my blessing.”

She was astonished at his speed. “But I've never had a job—”

“You can start in the morning. You'll like the others. They're young and bright and energetic, and they won't think you're my mistress.” He grinned. “In fact, I imagine most of them think I'm too somber to approach a woman.”

She looked up at him warmly. “I think you're a very nice man,” she said.

“Don't insult me.” He propelled her into the hall. “Mother, I've just hired a new employee,” he told Anna. “Meet our newest advertising whiz.”

Gussie beamed, and seeing that smile, Bess could be forgiven for wondering if she'd gotten her mother's motives wrong. Had Gussie only wanted to help her find work? Or had there been a deeper, darker intent?

The next morning she reported to the Ryker Advertising Agency with her heart in her throat. She was wearing her best beige suit with a pink top, and her hair was pulled into a neat French plait at her nape. She hoped she looked businesslike but not too ritzy and standoffish. She was so nervous that she knew she was going to faint if anyone looked hard at her.

The receptionist was on the phone when she arrived. She had a card in her purse that Jordan had given her, with the name of an executive on it.

“Yes, may I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“I've come to see about a job,” she began. “I was told to ask for Mrs. Terrell?”

“Certainly.” The receptionist smiled and buzzed someone. Bess looked around the office, not wanting to eavesdrop. It was a beautiful place, full of huge potted plants with modern furniture and lots of light and sculpture. It had a welcoming personality.

“Miss Samson?”

She turned to find a tall, dark-haired woman smiling at her. The woman was wearing a vivid burgundy dress. “I'm Julie Terrell,” she said, introducing herself, “and I guess you could call me the head honcho. Won't you come in?”

“It's very nice to meet you,” Bess said uneasily as she followed Julie into a lavish office with a big drafting board and chair, computers, graphics charts, and a library that rivaled the one her family had prided itself on.

“Sit down.” She indicated a comfortable upholstered chair for Bess as she seated herself behind the desk and leaned back, kicking her shoes off. “Wow, do my feet hurt! I've spent two days working up a presentation for a new client and I finished it at two this morning. I work on my feet,” she added sheepishly. “They're the most abused part of my body. Now, let's hear about your qualifications.”

“I don't have very many,” Bess moaned. “I have a journalism degree, but I've never used it...”

“Can you draw?”

“Why, yes,” Bess said, surprised.

Julie handed her a sketch pad. “Draw something.”

“What?”

“Anything you like.”

Bess did a quick sketch of a rose and added a diamond ring around the stem just for fun and handed it to Julie.

“Very nice.” She grinned. “Not just a rose, but a diamond, as well. Yes, you've got a creative mind. Can you do layouts? Mechanicals?”

“Yes, I minored in art,” she began, “but I thought writing—”

“Creating is what advertising is all about,” Julie told her. “And your forte, very obviously, is art. Take your hair down, please.”

Bess thought that this was surely the strangest interview she'd ever had in her life. “I beg your—”

“Take your hair down. We have an account coming up that's going to feature a harried secretary, and when we can save money by using staff instead of models, we use staff. Yes, your hair is perfect, just what I pictured, so we'll use you! There's a bonus for that,” she added with a laugh. “Welcome to Ryker Advertising, and don't say a word if Nell accuses you of getting here through Jordan's bed. She's been crazy about the big boss for years, but it gets her nowhere. He doesn't look at women.”

That was what Julie thought, but Bess didn't say a word. Apparently she didn't know that Jordan had recommended her for this job. “What's he like?” she asked.

Julie misunderstood and gave her a physical description. “Big,” Julie said. “His mother is Spanish, but his father was Dutch. Interesting combination, and he's a complex man. I only know him from meetings. His mother sent you down, didn't she? She seems to be a lovely person. We all like her.”

“Yes—” Bess began.

“Well, come on and I'll find you a spot.” Julie, in bare stocking feet, wandered along the hall with Bess behind her.

There wasn't a large staff, and Bess had the impression that the agency was still in its early stages and was still a struggling concern. That made her like it even more, because it gave her the opportunity to grow with it. And since Julie was the boss, it meant that Jordan Ryker didn't have a chauvinistic bone in his body. He obviously hired by qualifications alone, because the office boasted three women and four men of whom one was black, one Mexican-American, and the other two white and middle-aged.