Fire Brand (4 page)

“I don't know him.”

“Neither do I. She says he's a cattleman from somewhere up north.” He glowered at the table. “More than likely, he's got a couple of calves in a lot out back and he's looking for a rich widow.”

“Aggie wouldn't get mixed up with a gold digger,” she began but she was wondering about it herself.

“Aggie's human, and she misses my father. She's ripe for a holiday affair.”

She stiffened. “Aggie isn't the type to have affairs, any more than I am.”

His head lifted and his black eyes scanned her face. He seemed to see right into her brain with that unblinking appraisal. It upset her and she moved her hand too quickly, almost overturning her water glass.

“Careful.” He righted the glass, his big, lean hand momentarily covering hers. Its warm strength sent an electric sensation up her arm. She lifted her eyes to his, curious and questioning, and he stared back at her with a faint scowl, as if the contact bothered him, too.

She didn't try to pull her hand away. She was nervous of Bowie, but she'd never had any physical distaste for him, as she did with other men. She liked the touch of his skin against hers very much, and every once in a while, she found herself staring at his mouth with frank curiosity. She wondered how it would feel to kiss him, and that shocked her. She'd been kissed, but it had been somehow mechanical. She'd never really wanted it with anyone except Bowie—not that he knew. She'd made very sure that he hadn't. He was the kind of man who took over people. She couldn't bear the thought of that, ever.

He drew his hand back slowly, aware of an annoying surge of pleasure at the feel of those slender fingers under his. Gaby was off limits, he had to remember that. Aggie would cut his hands off if he tried anything with her baby.

Aggie had never made any secret of her love for Gaby, nor had his father. They seemed to stop caring about him the day Gaby had moved into Casa Río, and he felt like a spare person in the family. Gaby had robbed him of his rightful place. He tried not to show that resentment, but he frequently felt it. It had been Gaby at his father's bedside when he died, because his father had called for Gaby before he had asked for his son. By the time he got to Copeland, it had been too late. He'd resented that, too. Aggie hadn't seemed to notice. She was affectionate, but she reserved her displays of emotion for Gaby. Not once in recent years had she offered to embrace her son.

Gaby was blissfully unaware of his anger, but she had her own secrets, he was sure of it. Her attitude had puzzled him for years. It was odd to find a fifteen-year-old alone in a barn, especially one with no apparent background. His parents had been too fond of her to make inquiries, but Bowie hadn't. He'd wanted to know all about her, but he had drawn a total blank. All his contacts and all his money hadn't managed to ferret out one piece of information about her that he didn't already have. He suspected that she had a past, but he had no idea what it was—or even where. She'd covered her tracks with excellent shrewdness, and that made him more suspicious about her.

“Why did you come to see me?” she asked to break the uneasy silence.

“You've got to help me do something about Aggie.”

Her eyebrows went up. “What did you have in mind?”

He paused as the waiter put a plate of steak medallions covered with Monterrey Jack cheese, onions, and peppers before him, and Gaby's taco salad was placed before her. Two cups of steaming coffee, with a small pot of cream, came next. The waiter smiled and left.

“Well?” she prompted, her eyes anticipating with delight the fresh slices of avocado and the sour cream topping her enormous taco salad in its crispy shell.

“I want you to take a vacation.”

She stared at him blankly. “A what?”

“A vacation. It's May. You didn't take one at Christmas. You could take it now.”

“I'm sure you're going to want me to spend it at Casa Río,” she murmured. She sighed. “Aggie and a man—my gosh.” She looked up, and now she was feeling some concern of her own. “He must be some fast worker if he's gotten her this involved this quickly.”

“I know. That's why I'm worried. If I didn't have this project under way in Calgary, I'd camp down there myself. You know Aggie never minds if we come to stay, or how long for.” He glowered at the tablecloth. “Why can't she stay home and start a business, or something constructive? Why hare off to the Caribbean and drag strange men home with her?”

Gaby almost grinned, but it was pretty serious. Aggie hadn't dated anybody, except for a friendly dinner now and again with couples from the construction firm, who thoughtfully provided single men for her inspection. That hadn't worked. Aggie was still a dish at fifty-six, and her short black hair was only flecked with silver. She had a nice figure. Gaby's eyes narrowed. Aggie had been alone a long time; perhaps being flattered and escorted had played on her loneliness. She thought about some faceless man playing her adopted mother for a fool and got madder by the minute.

“I'll go see Johnny Blake first thing in the morning,” Gaby murmured. “I'll ask Aggie if I can stay a couple of weeks.” She looked up. “What if she says no?”

“When has she ever said no?” he asked testily, his black eyes questioning hers. “I don't know how we can stop her, but we can certainly slow her down if she's serious. In the meantime, we'll find out what we can about her beau.”

“He could be on the level...” she murmured thoughtfully, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt for Aggie's sake. If Aggie was really smitten, this could prove to be a nightmare for everyone concerned. Trying to dissuade a determined woman was difficult at best, and Aggie had a temper that would match even Bowie's when she was aroused.

“He could be anything or anyone,” Bowie countered. “Con men prey on women her age. It's nothing against her,” he added when Gaby opened her mouth to protest the insinuation. “You have to admit that this is unusual behavior for her. She's been loyal to my father's memory for a long time.”

That was true. Gaby's mind conjured up a picture of big, blustering Copeland McCayde, Aggie's exact opposite in every way. He'd been rather domineering and not very affectionate, but Aggie seemed to have loved him dearly.

“People aren't responsible when they're in love,” Bowie said.

She studied him. “Are you speaking from experience?”

He lifted his eyes to hers, catching her startled expression. “What do you think?” he asked levelly. When she turned her head, he added, “You can surely see how a woman could get in over her head—especially a lonely woman with no social life to speak of.”

The way he was looking at her made her uneasy. “We are talking about Aggie, aren't we?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course.” But he smiled in a way she'd never seen him smile. Her heart jumped. “I imagine just having you around will be more than enough of a deterrent,” he said easily. He lifted his fork. “Eat that before it gets cold.”

She glowered at him. The taco salad was delicious, warm and spicy in its nest of shredded lettuce and cheese with the cool tomato garnish, and just enough. By the time she reached the layer of refried beans at the bottom, it was all she could do to eat half of them.

“No appetite?” he remarked dryly, polishing off the last of his steak and most of the bread.

“I'm not half your size,” she replied. “If I ate what you did, I'd have to be carried out of here on a fork lift.”

“I'm not that heavy,” he said.

“I didn't say you were heavy. You're big.” Her eyes slid shyly over his broad shoulders and chest. “I'll bet most of your men don't argue with you.”

“One or two try occasionally,” he mused.

“And become little greasy spots on the pavement,” she concluded.

He laughed deeply, his black eyes losing some of their cold glitter. “Construction people are pretty tough, as a rule,” he reminded her. “They'll only work for a man they respect. Pretty words don't put up buildings.”

“You've put up your share. I remember when I was still in my teens that you used to go out on the construction gangs with the men when you got behind on a contract.”

“I'd die sitting behind a desk all the time,” he agreed. “I like the outdoors.”

It showed. He was brawny and rock-hard, and his tan didn't stop at his neck. Gaby had seen him without a shirt more than once, and knew that that dark tan went right to his belt, and probably below it. She flushed, remembering the rough texture of his skin, the feathering of hair down his broad chest and flat stomach. What a time to have total recall, she thought frantically.

He saw that hunted expression on her face and wondered idly what had caused it. She was something of a curiosity in his life. He didn't know exactly how he felt about her, but she was definitely a disturbing influence.

“Well?” he asked curtly.

She jumped, gasping.

“For God's sake,” he said harshly. “What's the matter with you?”

She flinched at his tone. She couldn't bear a loud voice, and of course, he was used to construction gangs and slinging out orders right and left. “It's the shooting,” she lied. “I'm still shaky.”

That calmed him down magically. “Proof that you need some time off,” he said, because it reinforced his demand.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “I'll try to keep the lovebirds in line.”

“Good. How about dessert?”

The beast, she thought, observing him. He'd gotten his own way, as usual, and he was feeling smug. She hated that arrogance in his face, but she'd never seen anyone relieve him of it.

“I don't like sweets,” she said.

“Pity. I do.” And to prove it, he ordered the biggest strawberry shortcake she'd ever seen and proceeded to demolish it to the last crumb.

He drove her back to her apartment. It wasn't until he'd walked her to her door that she remembered Mary's engagement party.

“I forgot about Mary's party!” she blurted out.

“Who's Mary?” He frowned.

“A girl I'm friendly with at work. She's just gotten engaged. There's a party, and I'm supposed to be there.”

“Do you want to go?”

She sighed. “Not really, but I should. I'll...”

“Come on, then. It's early. You can still go.”

She hesitated. “With you?” she asked, her voice softer than she realized.

He stopped and looked down at her, aware of a faint shift in their turbulent relationship. “Yes,” he said quietly. “With me.”

Her breath had stopped somewhere south of her windpipe. She felt the ground going out from under her. She didn't understand what was happening, and it was a little scary.

Bowie seemed to know that, because he smiled, relieving some of the tension.

“Will she mind if you bring an escort?” he asked.

“Oh, no, of course not. She's wanted to meet you.” She hesitated. “If you don't have anything else to do?” she probed delicately.

He shook his head. “I came to see you.”

She felt ridiculously pleased. She smiled shyly, unaware of the effect that smile had on her companion. “All right, then. She lives six blocks away, near the interstate ramp.”

“Then let's go.”

He took her arm slowly, watching to see how she reacted. When she didn't try to pull away, he let his hand slide down until it touched hers, and then his fingers caught hers and linked into them.

She felt her breath catch. It was new and exciting to hold hands with him, although she tried not to read anything into it. Bowie was just being kind, she told herself.

He drew her along with him. He liked that soft, slender hand in his. It made him feel twice as tall as he already was to hold it, but he didn't really understand why. He and Gaby had never been friends. They were more like remote acquaintances, with Aggie their only common ground. But the more he saw of Gaby, the more she intrigued him.

“You're sure you don't mind?” she asked, as he put her in the car again.

He glanced at her quietly. After a minute he cranked the engine. “No. I don't mind.”

But he didn't say another word all the way to Mary's house, and Gaby herself fell uncharacteristically silent. Just being near Bowie was suddenly dangerously exciting. She didn't know why, and that was as disturbing as the new emotions that were curling around her like sensuous, seeking hands.

CHAPTER THREE

M
ARY
LIVED
WITH
her fiancé, Ted, in a very nice suburb of Phoenix. The lights were blazing in the windows and music was drifting down to the street, where Bowie magically found a parking space, without even looking. Considering the number of cars, it looked as if Ted and Mary had invited every single person they knew in the world.

“They live together already?” Bowie asked, frowning as he looked down at her when he helped her out of the passenger side.

“Just because you and I were raised with eighty-year-old attitudes doesn't mean the rest of the world was,” she said with a rueful smile. “They're engaged, and although it's been a bit rocky, they've been together for a whole year. It's a new world, Bowie.”

He looked down at her. “When I care enough to live with a woman, I'll care enough to give her my name first.”

She stared into his black eyes, trying to imagine Bowie in love with a woman. He seemed completely self-contained on the surface—a man's man with everything going for him, to whom a woman would be only an amusement. But Aggie said that he read love poems sometimes in the silence of his own room, and that he liked Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto—a romantic piece if ever there was one. He was fascinating in his complexity—a modern man with a very old-fashioned outlook on life. Aggie had raised him that way, just as Gaby's father had raised her in the church, even though he'd dragged her from pillar to post until that tragic night they'd parted.

“What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

“That you're not like any man I've ever known,” she blurted out.

“Should I be flattered?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said honestly, her voice soft and quiet in the stillness, broken only by faint strains of music.

He found himself smiling at the admission. In all the years he'd known Gaby, she'd always backed away from anything personal. This had to be something of a milestone. Perhaps she was lonely, and the loneliness was breaking through that shell of reserve she wore. He knew the very color of loneliness. It drove him sometimes. He'd been by himself for a long time, but there had always been the need for another voice in the darkness—a hand to reach out to when the world came too close. Gaby stirred that need in him, but he hesitated to let her get close. There was something vaguely mysterious about her. It attracted him, even as it made him wary.

Without replying, he turned and guided her along the driveway with him, pretending a nonchalance he didn't feel. He smoked his cigarette quietly. “Looks like a Florida setting, doesn't it?” he mused, nodding toward the grove of palm trees.

She leaped at the normalcy. The tension between them was growing. “Yes. Someone told me once that there were no palm trees around here a hundred years ago. They aren't native to Arizona—they're supposedly imports.”

“Do tell?” He smiled down at her. “How about the rattlesnakes?”

“They're natives,” she said dryly.

He chuckled, easing her between two parked cars, so close that her breasts brushed against his chest just briefly in a contact that made him distinctly aware of her.

The smile faded as he held her there, looking down into her puzzled eyes with an equal curiosity. His body throbbed to the beat of the music inside the house while his eyes held hers in a new, different kind of look. Without really understanding why, he moved deliberately closer for just a second, pressing her back against the car behind her, and he felt her breath catch as his body touched hers in a contact neither of them had ever sought before.

Her perfume drifted up into his nostrils. He could feel the faint tension in her posture, the drawing back as her hands came up to her waist in an almost defensive position. He wondered idly if the nervousness was caused by fear or attraction. His eyes fell to her soft mouth and he was surprised to find it trembling.

Gaby had never allowed herself this close to Bowie before, and now she understood why. His size was intimidating, but there was something more—something deep and still and frightening. He made her tremble. It was the second time in her life that she'd felt the sting of pleasure that came from a man's warm, strong proximity. She wanted to run away and toward him at the same time, and her confusing feelings puzzled her.

For long, static seconds, neither of them moved. It took the sudden opening of the back door to break the spell.

Embarrassed, Gaby went ahead of him to be hugged and kissed by Mary, while Ted looked on with something less than joy in his expression at the guests. Mary worked in the composing room of the newspaper, while Ted was assistant sales manager. She'd known them both ever since she'd gone to work at the paper.

“This is Bowie,” she introduced the tall, handsome man beside her, hoping she didn't look as disoriented as she felt.

Mary's Ted wasn't bad-looking, but there was only one Bowie. Mary stared up at him with undisguised fascination, barely aware that he shook her hand and said all the polite things.

“My goodness,” Mary exclaimed, and then caught herself and laughed. “It's so nice to meet you, Mr. McCayde. Gaby talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?” Bowie looked at a beet-red Gaby with undisguised amusement that hid the remnants of an explosive tension.

“She threatens the other reporters with you,” Ted said with faint sarcasm, grinning wickedly at Gaby.

“I do not!” Gaby exclaimed.

“Liar.” Ted laughed. “She waves you like a flag when anybody comes too close. She's the original ‘Miss Don't Touch' at the office.”

Bowie's eyebrow went up in an expressive arch, not only at the implication, but at Ted's frankly insulting way of putting it. His black eyes kindled as he stared at Ted.

“Stop embarrassing my friend,” Mary said with a nervous laugh, nudging Ted. “Come on in and have some champagne and canapés,” she added, taking Gaby away. “You'll have to overlook Ted. He's been sampling too much punch,” she added, with a cool smile in her fiancé's direction.

“That's what impending marriage does to a man,” Ted replied with just a little too much venom, despite his forced smile. “Why women think all the trimmings are necessary is beyond me. She's got a house and a man and a good job, but she has to have a wedding ring.”

Mary flushed and got Gaby out onto the balcony. “He doesn't want to go through with it,” she confessed miserably. “He says that marriage is just a social statement. But my parents don't feel that way, and neither do his.” Mary fiddled with the soft ruffle at her bodice. “Plus, I'm pregnant,” she whispered.

“Mary!” Gaby said. “Congratulations...!”

“Ted says he doesn't want the responsibility of a wife and child. But it will just kill my parents if the baby's born out of wedlock,” she groaned, lifting her eyes to Gaby's shocked ones.

“Ted will get used to the idea,” Gaby said gently. “And everything will work out just fine.”

Mary laughed coolly. “Will it?” she said. “He's started talking about that new girl with long hair who's working with the Sports Editor.” She looked resolute. “If he wants out, he can go and move in with her. My parents said that if I didn't go through with the wedding, I could come home, and I think I will.” Her face tautened. “I'm going to let him go. I know that's what he really wants.”

“If it's what you really want, too,” Gaby replied.

“When you love someone, isn't that the same thing?” Mary asked with a tired smile. She pressed Gaby's arm. “Come and have some champagne. And don't worry about me,” she added when she saw the concern on the other woman's face. “I'm not going to do anything stupid.”

Gaby took a glass of champagne punch, but she didn't touch it. She wandered around, talking halfheartedly to the other guests while her eyes searched for Bowie. She found him, finally, by the picture window, looking bored. Which was odd, because he'd been cornered by one of the prettiest women who worked at the office—Magda Lorne, the Society Editor.

Magda was small and dark and beautiful. Gaby secretly envied her that petite beauty and her success with men. Although there'd never been any friction between them, the sight of her long, red fingernails crawling on Bowie's sleeves made something explosive stir in Gaby.

She moved toward the two of them, surprised by the expression on Bowie's tanned face when he looked at her. She was afraid her irritation was showing, and she wasn't sure she liked that faint pleasure in his smile.

“I wondered where you'd gone,” he murmured as she joined them.

“I was talking to Mary. Hello, Magda,” she said politely.

“Hello. I was just getting to know your stepbrother,” she sighed, her dark eyes flirting with Bowie's.

“Bowie isn't my stepbrother,” Gaby said politely, surprised at the anger that remark produced in her. “We aren't related.”

“Really, dear?” Magda asked. “I didn't realize. I'm sure you said something about having a big brother...”

“There's Art,” Gaby said, nodding toward the reporter Magda was currently dangling from her string. “He's looking this way.”

“Oh, brother,” Magda muttered. Then she forced a smile and glanced up at Bowie. “Perhaps I'll see you again. I'd love a ride home...”

“I came with Gaby,” Bowie said, his eyes saying more than he did. “I'll leave with her.”

He never dressed up his words, Gaby mused, watching Magda blush at the bluntness of the remark. She stammered something and beat a path over to Art, who beamed at the sight of her.

“Does she make a habit of that?” Bowie asked as he lit a cigarette.

“Of what?”

“Trying to steal men away from their escorts.”

“She's very popular...” she began.

“Popular, the devil,” he said with a narrow, half-amused gaze. “She's a born flirt with acquisitive eyes and an ego that probably has to be fed ten times a day. She's the type who runs a mile at the first suggestion of intimacy.”

Her eyes studied his face inquisitively. “Magda?” She was surprised because she'd always thought of the other woman as being something of a femme fatale.

“Magda.” He blew out a thin cloud of smoke. “It's an act, can't you see? A facade to hide her lack of confidence.”

“Remind me never to try and hide anything from you,” she said with a laugh that hid nervousness. He saw deep.

“And this engagement won't make it to the altar.” He lifted his cigarette to his mouth again, took a draw, and put it out while Gaby studied him with wide eyes. “He's cutting at her already. Why? Is she pregnant?”

She gasped.

“I thought so,” he mused. “And he feels trapped and wants out. That's what I mean about marriage, Gaby. People who are sure of what they feel for each other don't need a trial run.”

“How do you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Read people like that.”

He shrugged. “I don't know. It seems to come naturally.” He glanced down at her. “Except with you. Do you know, Gaby, I've never been able to read you. I'd hate like hell to play poker with you. You've got that kind of face.”

“Oh, I'm an open book,” she said offhandedly.

“No.” He glanced around half irritably. “Have you been here long enough? It's been over half an hour since we got here.”

He hated parties and dressing up, she knew, and especially when most of the women present were trying to seduce him with their eyes. He had to be the only person in the room who didn't know how devastatingly handsome he was.

“Yes, I've been here long enough,” she agreed. “And I'm rather tired.” It was all catching up with her—the shooting, the news about Aggie's new man friend, the truth of Mary and Ted's relationship. She'd never been so depressed.

They excused themselves, wished Ted and Mary happiness with forced smiles, and left.

Bowie parked the car in front of Gaby's apartment complex and cut the engine. He leaned back in the seat, his hand loosening his tie and unbuttoning his jacket. His head went back with a hard sigh.

“I've got to get up in the morning and fly to Canada. Damn it, I hate these trips out of the country,” he said unexpectedly. “I'm getting too old to enjoy them anymore.”

“You aren't old,” she protested.

“Thirty-six next birthday.” His head turned and his black eyes sought hers in the glaring light from the streetlamps overhead. “Twelve years older than you, cupcake.”

She laughed at the description. “I'm not a cupcake.”

“That's better. You've been gloomy all night.”

“The man they shot was just a boy,” she replied. She leaned back, too, her eyes quiet as they looked through the windshield at the city lights and deserted street. “He had a big family and grew up in the kind of god-awful poverty you read about and wish somebody could do something about. He killed a man and died for twenty stupid dollars, Bowie.”

He stretched, drawing the fabric of his white shirt taut across the firm muscles of his broad chest and flat stomach. “People have died for less. It was his turn.”

“That's unfeeling,” she accused.

“Is it?” One big arm slid behind her bucket seat and he studied her thoughtfully. “He tried to hold up a store. That was stupid. There are poor people all over the world who live honest lives and made the best of what they have. A man with a gun isn't going to accomplish a damned thing except his own destruction. That's basic.”

“It's still terrible,” she said.

“Why don't you find something else to do with your life?” he asked. “You're too soft to be a reporter.”

“What would you suggest I do?” she asked.

“You could come home to Casa Río and help me fight the combine that's trying to move in next door to us,” he suggested.