Fire Brand (27 page)

“Where's Aggie?” Bowie whispered.

“In the living room. Gaby has gone upstairs for a minute.”

Bowie motioned out the front door to Kingman and led the way to the living room.

Aggie was sitting on the sofa watching the news, her wan face barely interested in what was on the screen.

“Hello, Aggie,” Bowie said.

She glanced at him. “Hello. Where have you been?”

“Just flying around. Look what I found.”

He stood aside and let Ted Kingman walk into the living room.

Aggie didn't faint. She was good Arizona stock and not given to swoons, but she stood up with wobbly legs and a voice that sounded strained.

“Ned?” she croaked.

“Bowie says you've been getting your diploma in farm management,” Kingman said easily. “He invited me down to watch you milk cows.”

Aggie swallowed, her eyes soft and liquid with love as she studied his dark face hungrily. “I'd be delighted,” she faltered. She tried to smile. “How have you been?”

“Miserable, thanks,” Kingman replied. “How about you?”

“Just the same. And so alone.” Her voice broke.

Kingman's face was a study in restraint gone to the wind. “My God, how do you think it's been for me?” he ground out. “Come here!”

He held out his arms and Aggie ran into them. He half lifted her, searching her eyes for the space of a heartbeat, and then he was kissing her. The fierce possession in the embrace would have been obvious to a blind man. Aggie moaned, and Kingman muttered something under his breath before he caught her closer and bent again.

Bowie discreetly closed the door behind him and turned, to see Gaby coming down the staircase.

“Mr. Courtland?” she asked, nodding toward the closed door.

He grinned. “Mr. Kingman,” he corrected. He moved toward her.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly.” She slid down the staircase into his arms and kissed him warmly. “He didn't shoot you.”

“I thought he might, at first. Let's have coffee, and I'll tell you all about it.” He glanced at the study door as they passed it and grinned at the faint sound coming out of it. “My, my, and here I thought she was over the hill.”

Gaby blushed, still new to that kind of innuendo. She clung to his strong hand and followed him into the dining room.

‘Tía Elena and I have prepared a late lunch,” Montoya said when Bowie asked for coffee. “I will bring in the taco salads. What is happening?”

Bowie stared at him without answering.

“Tell me!” Montoya almost danced with impatience to know what was going on.

“Tell you what?” Bowie asked innocently.

“What are they doing?”

“Why not peek in the keyhole and find out?” Bowie grinned.

Montoya gave him a glare. “If you do not tell me, I will have Tía Elena starch your sheets.”

“All right, Mr. Kingman is as miserable as Aggie is,” the younger man said as he sat down beside Gaby. “He kissed her and she kissed him back, and I'll give you three guesses what they're doing right now.”

Montoya grinned. “I will fetch the salad.”

“Was it hard to convince him to come down here?” Gaby asked, her eyes soft on his face.

“It looked that way at first,” he replied. “But he's crazy about her. I don't think he really needed much incentive, especially after I told him she was suicidal,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.

“You didn't!” she gasped. “Aggie will shoot you herself!”

“Not right away,” he murmured with a dry glance in the general direction of the living room. “Besides, he was getting stubborn. I had to make him see how desperate the situation was.”

“And you were the one trying to run him off in the first place,” she reminded him.

He took her soft hand and raised it to his lips. “I didn't understand what they felt, at the time.” His black eyes began to glitter. “My God, I understand it now!” he said huskily.

Gaby's hand began to tremble where his held it. She was still getting used to having Bowie look at her like that, even if all the old fears were gone. There was only one last hurdle, and even that wasn't the terror it had been.

Before she could speak, there was the sound of a door opening, and two disheveled, breathless older people came into the dining room, hand in hand.

“We're starved,” Aggie said with a shy glance at Ted Kingman. “What's for lunch?”

“What do you care?” Bowie grinned. “You'd more than likely eat cardboard and not notice right now.”

“Stop that,” Aggie muttered uncomfortably. She and Ted sat down next to each other, casting shy, curious glances at each other. Gaby and Bowie, watching, found the byplay amusing.

Montoya brought in a platter of taco salads and a huge bowl of chili, grinning from ear to ear. “Good to see you again, Señor Courtland,” he greeted.

The older man shifted restlessly, his eyes going to Aggie. “Actually,” he began, “Courtland is my middle name.”

“Is it?” Aggie asked.

“My first name is Edward, but I usually go by Ted. And my parents are Kingmans from Texas.”

Aggie didn't even blink, but her face went slowly red while she stared at him. “The Kingmans from near San Antonio?” she asked.

Kingman nodded. “The very same.”

Aggie didn't move. She sat very still. “I've been mucking out stables,” she began. “And pitching hay, and milking cows, and shoveling feed, and carrying water...you said I'd have to work on the ranch.” Her black eyes began to burn. “You don't have a small ranch, you have a small empire!” she burst out, getting to her feet to glare down at him. “You thought I was after your money! You thought that I got lost deliberately...oh, my God!”

“Now, listen, Aggie,” Kingman began. “You don't understand.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “You came down here to see where I lived and meet my kinfolk and decide whether or not I was good enough for you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Well, thank you for coming back long enough to tell me the truth. And now you can go back to your quarter horses and your cattle and leave me alone! I don't want you!”

“That sure as hell wasn't the impression you gave me just now in the living room,” Kingman returned, his own eyes glittering.

“That's true,” Bowie told Gaby lazily. “I thought she was going to kiss him to death.”

“Shut up!” Aggie wailed.

“And she's all but stopped eating, and all she's been doing is mooning around here,” Bowie continued. “She sure doesn't act like a woman who doesn't want you,” he added to Kingman.

“Whose side are you on?!” Aggie demanded of her son.

“His,” Bowie nodded toward Kingman, whose eyebrows arched. “Well, Aggie, we men have to stick together.”

“You can just put him right back where you found him,” Aggie muttered, turning to leave the room. “A gold digger. He thought I was a gold digger!” she muttered on the way.

“Well, don't just sit there,” Bowie glared at Kingman. “Go after her!”

“I won't,” Kingman said shortly. “If that's the way she wants it, that's fine with me.”

“You can't come all this way and give up so quickly.”

“Sure I can,” Kingman replied. He got up, his face stiff with anger and sadness. “You heard her. Put me back where you found me.”

Bowie sighed angrily. “Some father you're turning out to be,” he muttered as he got up from the table. “Leaving me here alone to cope with a rabid mother.”

Kingman had to fight back a grin. “Never mind all that. I'm too old to be anybody's father.”

“I'd let you take me to ball games,” Bowie offered. “We could go to aerobatic shows, too.” He frowned thoughtfully. “And I've always wanted to learn how to rope. I never could get the hang of it.”

“For God's sake!” Kingman burst out.

Gaby had her face in her hands, trying not to giggle. Bowie just shrugged. “Okay. If that's the way you want it. Come on, I'll drive you to the airport.”

“Goodbye, Gaby,” Kingman said uncomfortably.

“Goodbye, Mr. Kingman,” she said, stifling laughter. “I hope this won't be the last goodbye.”

“This is how Aggie wants it,” he returned coldly.

“Aggie wants you to follow her and kiss her half to death and tell her that you don't think she's a gold digger,” Bowie told him. “But I guess that's a tall order for a man your age. I mean, Aggie's only fifty-six and she listens to Spanish music—very passionate Spanish music.” He glanced at the rigid face of the man beside him as they walked toward the front door. “I guess she'd be more woman than you could handle.”

“Damn it!” Kingman burst out. He whirled on his heel and went into the living room, where Aggie was sprawled, weeping, on the couch. “Now you listen to me, woman,” he said furiously, and slammed the door behind him, hard.

There were muffled angry voices and the sound of something hitting the floor, followed by a different muffled sound, and then silence. Bowie grinned and went back into the dining room.

“You devil,” Gaby accused, her olive eyes twinkling. “You did that deliberately.”

“Well, he's the best father prospect I've had since my own died,” he said reasonably. “Besides, he's on my side against the agricultural people.” He glared at Gaby. “Something I can't even say for my own wife.”

She touched his big hand. “Don't let's argue,” she said softly. “I've got a lot to tell you about that later. Okay?”

He sighed heavily and sat down beside her. “Okay,” he said with obvious reluctance. “Here, have some guacamole on that salad.”

It was a long time before Aggie and Mr. Kingman came out of the living room, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that they'd reached a truce. The engagement was back on again, and Aggie announced plans for a wedding the very next week. Bowie didn't bat an eyelash, although he did wink at Mr. Kingman.

Gaby had waited with bated breath in her own bedroom for Bowie to come to her. She'd been uncertain about going to his—being married was still new to her. She hadn't made him an invitation in so many words, but they'd been very comfortable with each other since the night before, when he'd had too much brandy. She'd rather expected that he might want to sleep with her again, even if she was still a little too uncomfortable for anything else.

But he didn't come. She lay awake with the lights on, hoping against hope that the cold wall between them had come down at last. Mr. Kingman had flown back to Wyoming to get a few things and to delegate some authority before he flew back to spend some time with a delighted Aggie before the wedding—which his sisters would attend as well. But after Bowie drove the older man to the airport, he didn't come straight home. Gaby and Aggie had been frantic, after the shot McHaney's son had taken at him already. They paced and mumbled until he finally showed up about nine o'clock in the evening.

He barely spoke to Gaby, directing his sparse conversation at Aggie instead. And when bedtime came, he excused himself and went into his study, where he closed the door firmly behind him.

Aggie had offered to talk, but Gaby was still shell-shocked by her sudden wedding and Bowie's odd behavior, so she had murmured something about being sleepy and escaped into her own bedroom.

Now she was hoping that Bowie would remember his married state and come to her, but it was midnight, and he didn't.

She heard footsteps finally and sat up in bed, arranging the covers just so, straightening the sheet, pushing her long hair back to make sure that every strand was in place. The gown was white—a very revealing one that she'd begged from Aggie while Bowie was gone. It was seductive and pretty, and it made her feel very feminine.

She held her breath as heavy footsteps came to her door and paused. But after a terse second, they continued lazily down the hall to Bowie's room. A door closed firmly.

Gaby could have screamed. For one minute, she thought about bursting into his room and demanding to know what he was up to, but her nerve failed her. She turned out her light and lay down. She couldn't think of anything she'd done—until she remembered the angry remark he'd made about her lack of loyalty in her dealings with Bio-Ag. He thought she was going to sell her share of Casa Río to them, and he was furious about it. She wasn't. She was on his side. But if he didn't trust her enough to know that she wouldn't ever sell him out without giving him a chance to protest, then he didn't know her at all.

She rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head. Men, she thought furiously, would just never understand the female mind. On the other hand, Bowie was a puzzle she didn't expect to fathom in the near future.

Down the hall, Bowie was lying awake himself, wondering why Gaby had gone to her own room. He'd been occupied all night trying to cool down his ardor. He loved Gaby and he wanted her, but she wasn't in any condition for what a few sweet kisses would inevitably lead to. He had to put her welfare first. So he'd stayed out late, removing himself from temptation, and then gone into his study for the same reason. He cared far too much for Gaby to put his pleasure before hers. And he guessed she'd realized that, since she'd gone to her own room. She probably knew he'd understand that she was asking him to wait. He smiled to himself. Sweet Gaby, so thoughtful. He closed his eyes with a contented sigh. It hadn't been a bad couple of days' work. He had a new daddy and a new wife, and now all he had to do was show Gaby how sweet lovemaking could be. He'd smoothed away her fears—God knew how, in his impatience—and she wasn't afraid of him anymore. Once she was better, he could show her how ungrounded those fears really were. He fell asleep on the thought.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H
ARVEY
WAS
ALREADY
at his desk, spreading out information, and Bob Chalmers was bending over it looking at what Harvey had found.

“What have you got?” Gaby asked breathlessly as she joined them.

“Enough to cause a lot of trouble,” Harvey said quietly. “Take a peek.”

Gaby read over Bob's shoulder. The neatly typed notes documented Bio-Ag's two lawsuits—in Texas they accused Bio-Ag of causing groundwater contamination from careless use of dangerous pesticides resulting in dead cattle. Cotton West had also refused to spend the extra money for proper drains in the fields. Several landowners had sued because the eroded land had blown onto their fields and covered them in dust. There was another case pending in Texas, involving the deliberate laying by of fields to obtain government subsidies.

“Can you prove that?” Bob asked Harvey. “About the government subsidies?”

“You bet I can,” Harvey replied. “The lawsuits are a matter of public record. Although,” he added with a tiny grin, “they're public record in a town nobody ever heard of—”

“Your friend Johnny Blake called from Phoenix, too,” Bob told her. “He said that the mysterious Mr. Samuels has something of a reputation for making money at the expense of the land. He gave me some numbers to call and asked if he could have access to your information. Considering that I stole you from him, I thought it was the least we could do—after we run the story first, of course.” He chuckled wickedly.

Gaby sighed. Bowie had been right all along. His instincts had been good, and hers hadn't. Well, so much for her idealistic goals of providing new jobs for Lassiter's unemployed. This would take the small community out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Shall I phone Mr. Barry, Mr. Logan, and Mr. Samuels, tell them our intentions, and offer them the chance to say something in their own behalf?”

“Sure.” Bob grinned. “But do it quick. I want you and Harvey to get this thing together and in type before the end of the day. We're going to run a hell of a front page story Thursday.” He smiled ruefully at Gaby. “And I'll go right to my terminal and write a nice editorial praising your stepbrother...”

“My husband.” Gaby blushed as she extended her left hand, complete with wedding band. “We went down to Mexico Saturday.”

“What a story! And you didn't call me to take pics?” Bob accused.

“There was a wire service photographer there,” Gaby said, frowning a little. “He took plenty. I suppose they'll show up somewhere.” The thought of them showing up back in Kentucky worried her, and it showed in her face.

Harvey took one look at it and got up abruptly. “Why don't we go phone those Bio-Ag people?” he suggested. “Bob, I want to ask you about something. Oh—congratulations, Gaby,” he added with a warm smile.

Gaby went on to her office, grateful for the momentary reprieve. Odd that Harvey should realize how upset she was and intervene. She wondered just how much he'd found out about her past, and then dismissed it. He hadn't had time, and if Bowie couldn't find anything, then surely Harvey couldn't. Or could he?

She sat down at her desk, still worried. She hadn't thought about the past in several days, but now it stared her right in the face. What was she going to do, now that she and Bowie were married? If she'd had time to think, she'd probably have found a way to get out of it, but things had gone too quickly. Her mind had shut down, and by the time it was working again, the ring was on her finger.

She loved Bowie—that was the one inescapable fact. But if her past ever caught up with her, what would she do? She couldn't even tell Bowie the whole truth—she couldn't confess what had really happened that night in Kentucky, because it would involve him. And if he ever let it slip, and anyone else found out, the ensuing scandal could ruin the McCaydes. Worse, it would even involve Mr. Kingman and Aggie now, because the Kingman fortune would ensure that Ted got his share of notoriety, too.

She felt the blood draining out of her face. What in the world was she going to do?

“Better get busy,” Harvey murmured, peeking around the door. “We don't have a lot of time.”

“Oh. Sure thing.” She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

He seemed to know without asking what she was thanking him for. He only smiled. “No sweat.”

He left her to pick up the phone and start dialing.

Mr. Barry was shocked. Mr. Logan blustered and fumbled for words while Gaby read him part of what was going into print. But Mr. Samuels, when she reached him in Los Angeles, was supremely nonchalant.

“Well, you win a few, you lose a few,” he replied carelessly. “We do make an impact on the local economy, you know, and there would have been a goodly number of jobs.”

“There would have been a devastating amount of damage to the land,” Gaby replied, “and the aquifer.”

“Minor details,” he replied, “and they don't really concern us. We use the land and then, when we make our money, we find more. That's big business, Miss Cane. We feel it's up to the local citizens to decide between progress and the ecology. We're in the business of making a profit.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Gaby said quietly. “But don't you really care about the damage you do?”

“Of course we care,” he said. “But we can't afford to care too much—not in this day and time. Some of the things big corporations do to protect the land—installing expensive drains, laser leveling the land, adding chemicals to prevent salinization—take more money than we can afford to spend.”

“Of course they're expensive,” she returned, “but they guarantee that the land can be used over and over again. One of your major plantings is cotton, and nothing exhausts the land more quickly and more permanently.”

“True,” he agreed. “But it's a good cash crop, and it's more economical to grow than some others.” He sighed. “You're good at your job, Miss Cane. Lassiter would have suited us very well. But, then, there are richer areas with better water, and we'll find them. Good day.”

With those ominous words ringing in her ears, she put the receiver down belatedly.

“The thing is, he's right, in his way,” she told Harvey later. “You can't afford too much sentiment in business. But Bowie's right, too—you can't replace history and the ecology once they're gone.” She put her head in her hands. “Oh, I hate being a reporter. Life was so much easier when I could only see one side of an issue.”

“I know what you mean,” Harvey said. “But at least we're objective. I know a lot of reporters who aren't. They deliberately slant news to suit their own viewpoints. Some papers do it, too—hatchet jobs, yellow journalism.” He shook his head. “No wonder the media's been attacked so often in recent years. Honor used to be such an integral part of it. Now it's reporters after Pulitzers, and to hell with how they get them.”

She was scrolling her copy as he talked. “I don't feel right about having my byline on this with you,” she said. “You did all the work.”

“I did not,” he returned. “You came in with all the questions about effluent and drains and groundwater tables. I had to learn about those things before I could even ask the right questions.” His broad face went a little red. “It embarrassed me that I didn't know already—that I took Bio-Ag's word as gospel. No good reporter takes anything at face value. You laid the groundwork for the story—I just helped follow it up.”

She smiled at him. “Harvey, I didn't have the sources you have, and I lacked a lot of experience that you had. I think we're about even on embarrassment. But it's great to be working with you.”

He cleared his throat. “I like working with you, too.” He went redder. “By the way, I've given up trying to dig up your past. We all have skeletons. Yours are safe from me.”

“Thanks, Harvey,” she said huskily. He only nodded, and left. She wondered if he'd learned much. Hopefully he hadn't.

The day passed all too quickly, but Gaby and Harvey had finished their joint project by quitting time. They stayed late going over it for errors, so that it was almost dark by the time Gaby finally got to Casa Río.

Bowie was waiting on the front porch, pacing. Her heart lifted at his thunderous expression.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, his black eyes flashing at her. “It's almost dark. I know you're Bio-Ag's biggest fan, but there are people around here who don't. I don't want anybody shooting at you.”

She looked up at him. She almost told him what she and Harvey had done, but the mockery in his voice stung her pride. She pushed back her hair. “Nobody will,” she assured him. “Is Mr. Kingman back?”

“Not until tomorrow,” he said curtly. “Don't change the subject. You've got no business riding around in the desert at night.”

“It isn't night, and I've been shot at before.”

He ground his teeth together. “Don't remind me.” He threw up his hands. “I thought if you worked on a small paper, you'd be out of danger.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I wasn't the one who stirred up this hornet's nest in the first place,” she reminded him.

“No, you're all for progress, aren't you?” he asked with a steady glare. “To hell with the ecology and the land itself, let's have plenty of jobs!”

“Oh, yeah?” she shot back with her hands on her hips. “You're a builder! How many trees have you cut down? How many birds and squirrels are homeless because of you?!”

“You have to cut down an occasional tree...!”

“Could you two please keep your voices down?” Aggie grimaced, leaning out the front door. “Montoya and Tía Elena are threatening to go on strike.”

“That'll be the day,” Bowie muttered.

“There was a Buddy Holly song by that name,” Gaby said brightly. “Supposedly taken from John Wayne's favorite expression in the movie,
The Searchers
.”

Bowie glared at her. “I don't need any historical tidbits, thank you.”

“Besides, darling, he doesn't remotely resemble John Wayne,” Aggie returned. “I met him once, you know, when he was filming in Old Tucson. He was quite a gentleman, and a frequent visitor to Tucson.”

“You never told me,” Gaby beamed.

“I didn't think of it. Bowie, I never did get a chance to thank you for going after Ted,” she added, smiling up at her tall, irritable son.

“It was that, or watch you moon around here until you faded away,” he said lazily. “As it turned out, he was just as miserable as you were, but his pride was keeping him in Jackson.”

Aggie stared at him. “Then, how did you get him here?”

“Oh, I told him I'd let him take me to ball games.” He shrugged. “I think that was what did it.”

Aggie laughed delightedly. “You didn't!”

“And I offered to let him teach me how to rope. You did know that he was world champion calf roper two years running?”

“No,” Aggie returned, wide-eyed. “Was he, really? I don't keep up with the rodeo circuit, although most people know of the Kingmans.”

“He was best all around two years running, too,” Gaby offered.

“But I thought you disliked him,” the older woman murmured, searching Bowie's hard face.

“I disliked the idea of him,” he corrected gently. “Then it dawned on me from something he said that you aren't dead from the neck down just because you're past the hopscotch stage. I guess you can fall in love at any age.”

Aggie smiled gently. “Yes, you can. I never expected to—not like this.” She sighed. “But he's all I want.”

“That works both ways. His sisters said he was driving them crazy. They were glad to see him leave, I think.” He chuckled.

“What are they like?” Aggie asked hesitantly.

“Just like him, but they smile more,” he replied. “You'll like them. I did.”

Aggie relaxed visibly. “I was afraid of more infighting. Not that I'd have minded enough to give him up a second time. I'm just not that strong.”

“When's the wedding?” he asked.

“Soon.” She eyed Bowie and Gaby. “Why not make it a double ceremony? We're having it in the Baptist church, with Reverend Jackson doing the honors. I don't really like Mexican weddings.”

“Neither do I,” Bowie said, surprisingly. His black eyes went to Gaby. “I want something a lot more permanent.”

She couldn't look away from that quiet, possessive gaze. It made her ripple with feeling. “Oh, so do I,” she whispered.

“Then, we'll have the blood tests, and get another license, and do it properly,” Bowie said, without removing his eyes from hers. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said huskily.

They went inside and had a companionable supper, but Bowie's black eyes were saying things that Gaby's body responded to in an alarming way. She had high hopes for the night ahead. But right after he finished eating, there was a phone call which required him to be locked up in the study for the rest of the night.

Gaby said a gentle good night to Aggie finally, after they'd spent the evening discussing clothes and future plans, and decided to have a relaxing shower.

She was enjoying the warm water on her tired shoulders when she heard a faint noise and then felt two big, warm hands on her waist, pulling her sharply back against a hard, bare, and definitely masculine body.

She gasped. “Bowie!”

“You know what a fanatic I am about water conservation, Gaby,” he murmured at her ear with laughter in his deep voice. “How's this for saving water?”

She vibrated like a guitar string as his lean hands worked their way up her body. They were soapy, and the sensation of the silky substance on her bare skin was very arousing. She leaned back, letting him take her weight, while he rubbed soap gently over her taut breasts and down to her thighs, his hands magic, touching her in remembered ways, making her moan softly with the riotous sensations her body had enjoyed once before.