Heartbreaker (11 page)

“No, that's fine. I'll see you then.”

Kate hung up. She realized her hand was trembling. It was seldom that she interfered in her children's lives, but she sensed a darkness in Susan that frightened her. She hoped she'd done the right thing.

Sighing, she acknowledged it was difficult to tell with these modern young people. She wanted happiness for her youngest child above all else. Susan was in love with Michael, whether she admitted it or not. Kate wanted them to have a chance.

She thought of her own life. Perhaps if she'd been more willing to listen to Archy years ago, they might have been together today, but she'd been so hurt upon finding he'd had an affair and fathered a child with a Native American woman.

She'd never suspected, but then, she'd been so involved with their children. She'd had their son, then the girls had come along.

Life had been so rushed and busy with them and the charity projects she'd sponsored. There'd been no time to give to her marriage. Like the sun that faithfully came up each morning, she'd thought Archy would always be there.

 

Michael dressed, then drank a glass of orange juice as a bid to vitamins and good health while waiting for the toaster to pop up a couple of waffles.

He tried not to think of Susan while he ate, or later, while he loaded his golf clubs into the convertible and drove to the country club. On a success scale of one to ten, he'd give himself about a one.

At the club, he found Flynt and Tyler waiting. With them was Cara Carson, Flynt's sister and twin to Fiona, the other Carson daughter. Cara was an English teacher at the local high school, a quiet sort of person, unlike Fiona, who spent her days in pursuit of fun.

Cara was shorter than Susan and had dark hair, green eyes and a beauty mark above her lip on the left side. Her twin had the same beauty mark, but on the right side, making them mirror images of each other.

Referring to his rotation through pediatrics, Michael recalled that the timing of the split was critical in the development of identical twins. Around ten hours after conception, the split produced regular identical twins; between ten and thirteen hours, the twins were mirror images; after thirteen hours, the split was usually incomplete and the twins were joined.

“Cara is taking Spence's place this morning,” Flynt told him. “He's tied up with something.”

“Glad to have you along, Cara,” Michael said sincerely. He asked about her classes this year.

“I have two honors and two regular classes, plus some tutoring of special students. It's a nice mix. No troublemakers this year.”

Her smile was bright and her eyes sparkled. She was an excellent golfer, not spectacular but with a steady swing that hit the ball straight and true. He wondered why he couldn't have fallen for someone like her.

With an inward sardonic laugh, he reminded himself that an entanglement with another green-eyed vixen hadn't been in his plans for the foreseeable future, either, not until he nearly ran over the tall, willowy beauty who moved with the grace of a reed blowing in the wind.

“Did Spence say anything about the Bridges case?” Flynt asked Tyler.

“No, but Carmine Mercado died during the night. I wonder if Spence is checking records before Carmine's bank accounts are tied up in probate.”

“He won't find anything in them,” Michael said, thinking of the half million sitting in a briefcase near the dying man's bed. “The old man was too crafty for that.”

“What does the Mafia do?” Cara asked as they walked up to the next tee.

Tyler lined up his shot. “Launders money, I understand. Brings in goods from Mexico and sells
them without benefit of license, which makes it easier to forget to pay taxes on them, too. Supplies the illegal labor market.” He hit a straight shot down the fairway.

Michael thought of the Texas mob and wondered why, if everyone knew of their activities, the FBI couldn't catch them and put a stop to it. Maybe their hands were tied unless someone complained or offered information or helped them gather evidence. Maybe they needed an insider who could report on the illegal activities of the gang.

“I understand Frank Del Brio has already made his move to take over,” Tyler added as he stepped aside and Cara placed her ball on the tee.

“I wonder what Ricky thinks of that,” Flynt said, hitting after his sister.

“He won't like it,” Cara answered. “He always wanted to be the leader when you guys ran around together. But Luke was the real boss.”

“Hey, your big brother didn't take orders from anyone,” Flynt protested.

Cara grinned. “Okay, but Luke was the instigator of most of the episodes that got you boys into trouble.”

Tyler chuckled. “He's probably on some tropical island, causing trouble with a dozen female hearts, as we speak.”

Michael wished he could cause some serious trouble to one female heart. She'd certainly wreaked
havoc with his. Thinking of dinner that night, he wondered if he should head back to Houston and stay there.

 

Susan glanced at the three settings her mother was placing on the table. “I thought you said Justin wouldn't be here.”

“He won't. He's working on a case.” Kate paused, worry in her eyes. “I wonder if it's something to do with the Mafia. Carmine Mercado died during the night.”

“Unless Justin caught them red-handed rustling cattle or something, he wouldn't be investigating them. That's the FBI's job. Is Dad coming over?”

Kate shook her head.

At that moment, Susan heard a vehicle in the driveway. Looking out, she spied Michael's sports car. “Oh.”

“Is that Michael? I asked him over to thank him for bringing you home yesterday.”

“Mother, are you trying a little matchmaking?”

The older woman looked flustered for a second, then lifted her chin haughtily. “I learned long ago not to interfere in my children's love lives.”

“Good.” Susan marched to the door. “I'll let him in.”

She opened the cottage door and waited for the handsome surgeon. He wore dark slacks and a white shirt, the cuffs rolled back to reveal tanned arms. For
a second she wanted to rush down the sidewalk and into those arms.

“Good evening,” she called with false cheer. “How was the golf game?”

He frowned, then grinned. “I came in dead last. Flynt bragged all during lunch. I considered choking him, but there were too many people around, including his sister.”

“Fiona was with you?” Susan ignored the painful stab that went through her chest. Fiona Carson was a flighty, silly female without a serious thought in her head. She was also very attractive.

“No, Cara. She's a good player and a good sport.”

“High praise, indeed,” Susan murmured, her hackles rising even as she smiled. The weight that had taken up residence on her spirits shifted and settled even more heavily upon her.

She had no right to be jealous, none at all.

The tears that had surprised her yesterday surged to the surface. She desperately fought them back. What had happened to her discipline of late?

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said. “What have you done to your hair?”

“I had it cut and highlighted.” She lifted her chin and waited for him to chide her for going to the beauty salon.

He merely raised his eyebrows. “Very nice.”

Disarmed by the compliment, she tried to inject
an air of graciousness in her manner. After all, he was a guest and this was her mother's house. She was aware of her mother's anxious gaze several times during the meal.

“The garden is lovely,” Kate told them after they ate. “I think I'll serve coffee and dessert on the patio. You young people go on out.”

Susan stifled a groan. Outside, she led the way to an old-fashioned swing and several padded chairs on a flagstone patio. A trellis formed an alcove for the swing. Enclosing the alcove in a bower of sweet scent, honeysuckle climbed the cedar slats overhead.

The moon hung like a silver shield as the sky darkened into deep dusk. A few fireflies were visible in the field behind the house.

“Sit,” Michael said, taking her hand and urging her toward the swing.

She went reluctantly, not wanting to make a to-do about something unimportant. Sitting, she realized how tired she was. She'd walked, caught up the ranch books on the computer for her father, then prepared lunch since it was Esperanza's day off. Restless, she'd walked again that afternoon, down by the creek where she and Michael had kissed so passionately.

When they were seated side by side, Michael started the swing gliding back and forth. “Your mother will be pleased to see us like this,” he murmured, laughter in his tone.

She was aware of his heat next to her. She wanted to lean into it and let it warm her all the way through. She'd never felt so down, so filled with grief.

“I'm not an introspective person,” she said, then sighed. “I'm not usually unhappy. It isn't something I really think about.”

“But you are now?”

The depth of his voice soothed her, like honey melting on toast. “I don't know. There's no reason to be. I know you warned me about depression, and I'm not depressed.” She heard how insistent she sounded. “Maybe I am.”

“If you could have anything you wished, what would you want different in your life?”

She half turned so she could study his face in the last rays of twilight. “I'd want to dance again.”

He nodded. “What else?”

Pressing her hands together, she realized they were cold. She'd gotten used to cold hands and feet with her old heart, but since the operation, she'd not experienced it. She remembered how the air around them had heated up when they'd made love.

“You,” she whispered.

With a finger under her chin, he urged her head around until he could see into her eyes. “Do you think you're safe saying that now, while we're at your mother's house?”

His eyes blazed with passion, devouring her with
their mutual hunger. Fire rushed along her veins, and she was suddenly very warm.

She shook her head, moving away from him and his magic touch. “I don't know why I said that. Lately I seem to have lost control over my emo—my tongue. I never had that problem when I was performing.”

“Your dancer's discipline,” he said, understanding. “You'll be able to dance again.”

“Not as prima,” she denied. “Have you ever seen
Swan Lake?
It's the most demanding role in ballet.”

“I saw you in it. Every man in the audience was in love with you by the end.”

“Including you?” She smiled, her troubled spirits suddenly soothed.

“Especially me.”

He laid an arm on the swing behind her, enclosing her in the safety of his embrace. His lips were fixed in a half smile, as if he watched her dance on the stage of memory.

“I miss it—the practice, the anticipation before the curtain goes up, the excitement when the music starts and you're carried onto the stage by the notes. You feel as if you can fly.”

She realized she'd lifted her arms in the graceful beat of the swan and let them fall back into her lap, once more swamped by the nostalgia, or whatever it was that plagued her.

“You can do it again if that's what you really
want,” he promised. “You have only to believe in yourself.”

“I've tried. The stamina is gone.” She glared at him when he laughed.

“Impatient little swan,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her cheek. “You'll have to work up to it, but you can get there again.”

For a moment, she believed him.

Her mother came outside, carrying a tray. Michael rose to help her with it. “Have you bought tickets yet for the Harvest Moon Ball?” she asked him. “It's next Saturday. The proceeds go to improvements in the city park.”

He looked at Susan. “I'll take two.”

“Wonderful,” Kate said. “I happen to have them right here.”

“Will you be my date?” he asked Susan.

Kate looked from one to the other, her eyes alight.

“I'm not supposed to be in crowds,” Susan reminded him.

“I'll make the other men keep their distance.”

Looking at his determined face and her mother's happy one, Susan sighed and gave in. “I'd be delighted.”

“There,” Kate told her. “That didn't hurt a bit, did it?”

Michael chuckled as she cast her mother a reproachful glance. Then, unable to help it, she smiled, too.

M
ichael yawned as he pulled into the garage at his house. He noticed a light in the kitchen and figured he'd left it on.

He didn't expect the Mafia men to be visiting. The news on the car radio had announced Carmine Mercado's funeral was scheduled for Tuesday. He didn't plan to attend. That was where he drew the line with his patients.

Entering the house warily, he heard music and relaxed. “Hello?” he called.

“Uncle Michael,” his niece yelled from the kitchen.

She appeared, all arms and legs and mane of straight black hair swinging down to her waist, and threw herself into his arms, sobbing.

He patted her back and held her until the weeping fit subsided. “A fight with the parents?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. Rafe and I've broken up. He was with someone else. Marilyn Karr.”

Janis and Rafe had been steadies since tenth grade in high school, but the relationship had been rife with
problems since she'd gone off to college. He vaguely recalled that the other girl was his niece's archenemy and had wanted Rafe from the very first.

“He wanted me to move in with him, but Mom and Dad said no. Now he's found someone else.”

Michael refrained from saying this sounded like a good thing to him. “Perhaps you misunderstood the situation.”

She pulled away and stalked about the living room. “Ha! I found them in bed Sunday morning. She'd spent the night with him. I'll never forgive him.”

“It does look bad,” he agreed. “A man who can't be trusted is no kind of man.”

“Exactly.” She plopped down on the sofa. “I can't stand school anymore. I thought I'd stay with you while I figure out where to go from here.” She cast him an anxious plea from her light-blue eyes that contrasted sharply with her hair and deep tan. Her Asian heritage, from her mother, was evident in the almond shape of her eyes.

“As long as you let your parents know where you are, it's okay with me. Have you called them?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Do it now, then we'll talk.”

An idea had come to him. If Janis was still interested in ballet, maybe Susan could advise her. He poured a glass of tea while Janis spoke to her father, then she handed the phone to him. Michael talked to
Jim and Mona, assuring them he didn't mind taking Janis in while things calmed down.

“I'd like her to keep away from Rafe,” Jim said. “Could she stay in Houston with you for a while?”

“I don't see why not. I'd be delighted for her to stay at the condo. Until we get her transferred, I'll put her to work catching up on the filing in my office.”

“Good. She needs to be kept busy.”

Michael grimaced at the stern tone but said nothing. He didn't mention the ballet or Susan. This wasn't the right time. Besides which, his idea might come to nothing. After he hung up, he studied his niece.

“Well?” she demanded.

“You can stay.”

She squealed and gave him a bear hug. “I'll be so quiet, you won't know I'm in the place,” she promised.

“Good. You can start by turning off that music. If you have to listen to it, do so in your room.”

“No problem.” She turned off the TV music channel. “Would you like to listen to the late news?”

“No, thanks. I'm beat. See you in the morning.” But it was a long time before he fell asleep. His mind seethed with plans that might or might not work.

 

The first person Susan saw when she walked onto the café patio at the country club Monday was Mi
chael. She started guiltily and had to forcefully suppress an inclination to run before he saw her.

Too late. His narrowed blue-eyed gaze followed her across the granite flagstones to her friend's table.

Not only was she in a public place, but she wasn't wearing a mask. However, she had requested a table on the patio on the theory that the open air would be better for her than being confined inside. She lifted her chin and smiled coolly at him.

He gave her a casual nod and grinned, then he turned back to the beautiful woman with him.

Something hot and primitive hit Susan in the solar plexus. For a second, she wanted to go over and hit him.

On a second perusal, though, she realized the woman with him was young and, judging from her black hair, blue eyes and tawny skin, might be kin to him. There was definitely a resemblance.

“Susan, you're here. You look great. How do you feel?” Darla, a friend from first grade, asked.

“Fine. How's the family?”

Darla, voted the most likely to succeed in their class, had married right out of high school. She and her husband owned a construction and paving business. They had two kids.

“Growing like weeds. I brought pictures.” She dug them out of an oversize purse.

Susan enjoyed the stories about her friend's seven-
year-old son and five-year-old daughter as they chatted without pause during the meal. An hour and a half later, Darla looked at the time and leaped to her feet. “Got to run. It's time to pick up Kailyn at kindergarten. It was wonderful seeing you. Call when you have time.”

Susan watched her friend rush for the parking lot. Darla's life seemed so full and rich in ways that counted. Husband, kids, successful business. Some people had it all.

Watching three golfers finish the eighteenth hole, she felt the emptiness in her own life. Since Michael seemed to think there was no reason she couldn't go back to the stage, she'd started a very restrained practice program that morning. It made her feel better to be doing something constructive, to have a
plan
for her life.

She wondered if it would be enough. What more could she possibly want? Nothing came to mind.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced around. Michael and his lunch companion were approaching. Her spine stiffened.

“Hi, mind if we intrude?” he asked. “I wanted you to meet someone.”

“Please, join me,” she invited, her eyes on the young woman, who had the most perfect features she'd ever seen.

“Janis, this is Susan Wainwright,” he said, holding a chair for the young woman. “Susan, this is my
niece. Janis is visiting from Hawaii. She's going to stay with me for a while.”

Before Susan had time to sort through the implications of his remarks, his niece's eyes opened wide. “Not
the
Susan Wainwright?” she said incredulously. “The prima with the Houston Ballet?”

“Well, I was once upon a time,” Susan said lightly. “I'm more or less retired at present.” She flicked a glance at Michael, who had taken the chair to her right. “Until your uncle says it's okay, I can't go back.”

The girl cast a puzzled look at Michael.

“Susan had heart replacement surgery last month,” he explained. “She's recovering nicely.”

“Oh, good.”

Susan felt a bit uncomfortable being the center of such evident hero worship. She wasn't sure what to say.

Michael spoke up. “Janis is interested in ballet. How does one go about auditioning for the Houston company?”

“No, no,” Janis protested, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I'm not good enough.”

“How do you know?” Susan asked. “Have you tried?”

Janis lowered her head. “I didn't get into Julliard two years ago.”

“It's a tough school. Have you been practicing since?”

“Yes, and taking lessons while going to the university. My parents insist I get a teaching certificate so I can support myself.”

“They have a point,” Susan agreed. “The arts are very competitive. Even if you're good enough, it may not be sufficient. Being in the right place at the right time may be impossible.”

“If she danced for you, would you be willing to evaluate her?” Michael asked.

Put on the spot, Susan nodded slowly.

“No!” Janis said, obviously aghast at the idea. “I couldn't impose like that. But thank you anyway. I saw a video of you in
The Nutcracker.
My ballet teacher showed it to the class last Christmas.” She sighed. “I would love to dance in that setting. It was wonderful. How did you ever do that leap from the balcony into the Nutcracker's arms?”

Before Susan quite knew how it happened, she was deep into details of the various ballets she'd performed. Janis's interest was unwavering as she asked endless questions about movements, costumes and settings.

Michael's eyes shifted from one to the other as he silently listened. At times, he watched duffers on the last hole, a slight smile on his lips. Susan wondered what he was thinking.

She suspected some kind of conspiracy, but ruled that out. Janis was too transparent to take part. However, Michael wasn't above taking advantage of any
situation that arose. When Janis excused herself and left them, Susan turned to him. “Is this your way of introducing the idea of teaching to me?”

He wasn't the least bit nonplussed by the blunt question. “I thought it was a possibility. Is it working?”

She shrugged. “Your niece is a true lover of the form. I'd like to see her dance.”

“You'll have to convince her.”

She nodded as a tingle of excitement buzzed through her. The company needed new blood. It would be nice to discover a fresh talent for them. Pausing, she studied Michael for a long moment.

“What?” he asked.

“I like her, but I don't like the idea of being manipulated. Is this part of your therapy for patients?”

He shrugged, his expression harsh. “Sometimes I'd like to pound some sense into you.”

She stood. “I'll call Janis. Will you be here or in Houston?”

“Here the rest of the week, back in Houston Monday morning.”

Nodding, she left the café and drove back to the ranch. Going to her room, she repeated her short routine of ballet movements and exercises designed to keep her muscles flexible while she recovered.

Afterward, resting, she supposed it was only human to feel envious of a younger, healthier rival, but she didn't like the feeling. However, she was enthu
siastic about helping Janis. Watching the girl's graceful movements, she'd spotted talent. It just needed to be developed more fully.

 

Susan watched Janis with a critical eye. “Lift,” she said. “Higher. You're a little sloppy. Always lift the leg a bit higher before you put it down, as if it's so effortless, you could do much more.”

Janis nodded. She blotted sweat from her forehead on the sleeve of her red leotard and lifted her leg again, held it for the next two beats, lifted it a couple more inches, then dropped it gracefully to the floor.

Susan didn't like the red leotard. Her own teacher at Juillard had insisted on black for practice. Always.

Funny how habits became ingrained, and how it ruffled one's sense of propriety for them to be disturbed.

The two had been working together for three days. Janis had a mind of her own about interpreting the ballet. There was a sense of creativity about her that was refreshing. Susan again experienced the thrill of discovery.

“Okay, that's enough,” she said. “Here's your uncle.”

“Already?” Janis looked at her watch, obviously amazed at how swiftly the afternoon had flown.

Susan was pleased. It was another sign of a dedicated dancer. “Use my shower, if you like, before you change. I'll keep him entertained.”

“Michael,” Janis said suddenly, giving Susan a keen look. “His name is Michael.”

“Uh, yes.” Susan started for the door.

“You don't call him by name unless you have to. Why is that? Don't you like him?”

“Well, of course. Your unc—Michael is a very nice person.” She put a slight emphasis on the name to show it didn't bother her to use it.

Unbidden, an image came to her. The two of them in his bed, her murmuring his name over and over…

She pressed her lips together as her breath came fast and her heart stampeded.

Laughing, Janis headed for the bathroom.

Susan went to the front porch to greet Michael. She'd seen him every day that week, once when he delivered Janis to the ranch for their practice sessions and again when he picked her up. Although he stayed but a moment each time, his presence lingered long after he had driven off to meet his friends at the golf links.

Her sister, Rose, knew quite a bit about Michael due to his friendship with the Carson family. Susan had picked up odd pieces of information. He was one of the best golfers of their group. He preferred iced tea as his regular drink, raspberry flavored being his favorite. He was considered easygoing and affable.

Apparently no one thought he was arrogant but her.

But then, maybe he didn't try to interfere in his friends' lives, only hers. And maybe Janis's, but only in a very positive manner.

“How's it going?” he asked.

A white cowboy hat shaded his eyes. He was dressed in navy shorts, a white polo shirt and tennis shoes. It wasn't fair that he could look so incredibly handsome day after day. Her breath hung in her throat so that she had to clear it before she could speak.

“Fine. I want to arrange an audition for Janis with the ballet director and choreographer.”

His face became serious. “Really?”

“Really. She's wonderful, a bit headstrong, but creative and dedicated. I think she can make it.”

The smile returned. “Headstrong. Now who else do I know like that?” He pretended to think about it.

Susan poked him in the ribs. “Very funny.”

When he caught her hand and gave a tug, she teetered forward. He wrapped her in his arms. “Thanks for taking her on. I thought she was good the last time I saw her dance, but I'm no judge. Mmm, you smell good.”

Putting her hands on his chest, instead of pushing away, she lingered in his embrace. She glanced up into his eyes and was hooked. Neither looked away.

“Could I get another ticket for the ball Saturday night? I don't want to leave Janis home by herself.”