Lover in the Rough (24 page)

Reba heard the phone change hands. A woman’s voice spoke, her Australian accent clear. Unlike Chance, Glory had totally lost the vocal rhythms of her birthplace, using instead the sounds of her adopted land.

“Chance?” asked Glory. “It’s about bloody time I found you.”

“Not quite. I’m Reba.”

“Chance’s woman.” Satisfaction sounded in every syllable. “He won’t be far away then. He’s been a long time looking for you, Reba Farrall. Can I talk to him for a minute?”

“He’s out cutting red tape.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Glory. “Well, back to the hotel to wait for him, then.”

“Chance won’t be coming back to the hotel. I don’t even know when he’ll be coming here. Why don’t you let Tim drive you over to my house? We can wait together.”

“I’d like that.” Glory chuckled, a slightly rasping sound that reminded Reba of Chance. “I’m curious about you, Reba. A lot of sheilas went prospecting for Chance. Not one of them found anything but hard rock and heartache.”

“I’m quite ordinary,” said Reba dryly.

Glory laughed and turned the phone back over to Tim, who assured Reba that he’d bring Chance’s sister over right away. Reba hung up, showered, and dressed. She pulled on a black cashmere sweater, plucked a few long golden hairs off her soft wool slacks, and went into the kitchen to start coffee. She’d spent enough time in the throes of jet lag to know that Glory was going to be punchy after her long flight from Australia.

Besides, the weather had turned cold and cloudy again, a typical Los Angeles reversal—yesterday eighty degrees, today fifty-five. Hot coffee and cashmere felt good today, especially with a wind off the ocean rattling her windows.

She walked barefoot across the wine-colored rug, enjoying its resilience and warmth. The long, low couch was done in a subdued oriental pattern, heavy silk shot through with cream and wine and midnight blue. The colors were repeated and combined in huge pillows piled randomly about, pillows that invited lingering touches with their suede and cashmere and silk textures. Cream brocade wallpaper gleamed subtly, giving the room a feeling both of space and intimacy.

Beyond the floor-length windows, wind leaped and pounced, shaking grass and houses with equal ease. A western wind was rare in southern California, but when it came, it came with a vengeance. From her cliff-top house, Reba could see that the sea had been churned into burnished silver and exploding whitecaps from shore to horizon. There were no boats on the water. Today, the Pacific was not an ocean for small craft or dilettantes.

Reba sat and watched the wild sea until chimes rang, telling her that Glory had arrived. She went quickly to the front door and opened it. For a moment, she and Glory looked at each other with equal curiosity.

Chance’s sister was perhaps fifteen years older than Reba, no taller and nearly as slender. Her short hair was black, combed back from her tanned face. Grey was sprinkled in the midnight color, turning into shining wings of silver on the sides of her face. Her mouth was wide, shaped for smiling. Her eyes were pale green, but without her brother’s silver shading. Lines of laughter and sadness and strength radiated out from her eyes, giving her face a character that was both beautiful and calm.

Without thinking, Reba smiled and held out her arms, drawn to Glory as intuitively as she had been drawn to Chance. Glory’s expression changed to relief and pleasure and sheer happiness.

“Thank God,” said Glory, giving and receiving a hard hug. “I was afraid Chance had settled for a city sheila with no more idea of love than a handful of rock.”

“And I was afraid that Chance’s very special sister might be the kind who wouldn’t like any woman her brother liked.”

“ ‘Very special’?” said Glory, laughing and sinking into the comfortable couch Reba had led her to. “Honey, the only thing special about me are these damned white wings in my hair.”

“There must be more than that. As far as I can tell, you’re one of the few human beings on earth that Chance loves.”

“Did he tell you that?” said Glory, surprised.

“Not in so many words. It’s there, though, in his eyes and voice when he talks about you.”

Glory sighed. “Chance doesn’t use the word love. Ever.”

“I know.” Reba’s voice was quiet, constrained. Even knowing that she was going to be Chance’s wife hadn’t removed the hurt of not being told she was loved. “But he shows it in other ways,” she said firmly.

“It would go better on him and the world if he could talk about it,” said Glory, her eyes distant, sad. “That may never be, though.” Pale eyes focused on Reba. “Can you live with that?”

“I don’t have any choice. I love him.”

Glory sighed and closed her eyes, leaning tiredly against the back of the couch. “I know he loves you. You’re the only woman he’s ever wanted to marry. He’s in such a bloody great rush to make you a Walker that he wouldn’t even wait a week no matter how I pleaded. So I moved heaven and earth and my husband, and here I am.” She yawned. “I’ve been up since I got Chance’s call thirty-four hours ago. I hope that he’s going to be one surprised gouger when he sees me here.” She smiled tiredly. “It’s my only wedding present to the brother I love.”

“It’s the only kind of present that matters,” said Reba. Her smile widened into laughter. “I can’t wait to see Chance surprised. He’s a hard man to sneak up on.”

Glory’s yawn ended in a chuckle. “Don’t hold your breath, honey. No one’s taken Chance by surprise since he was fourteen.”

“When Luck died?”

Glory’s eyes opened, green and speculative. “Did he tell you about that?”

“Some of it. He told me how much it hurt—still hurts—that Luck was killed before Chance could prevent it. I don’t know what fourteen-year-old could be expected to do.”

“Nobody expected anything, least of all what happened.” Glory looked closely at Reba. “What did Chance tell you about that day?”

“That he was too late. That Luck was dead. That he found the miner who had killed Luck.”

“And then?”

Reba shook her head. “He wouldn’t say any more. But I think,” she said, remembering the men in the mine and Chance’s swift, deadly skill, “I think that if Chance had been older, the other miner would be dead.”

“You’re half right,” said Glory, her eyes haunted. “Chance was only fourteen but he killed that miner just the same. Size never counted for much with Chance.”

“My God . . .” Reba’s voice died.

“If you’d seen what was left of Luck,” said Glory grimly, “you wouldn’t blame Chance. I stole a gun and went looking for that bloody miner myself. Chance found him first. The miner had a knife. It didn’t do any good, though. Chance took it away and killed him with his bare hands.” Glory shook her head. “Lord, it’s been a long time since I remembered that. I used to wonder why Chance went crazy over Luck’s death like that.”

“It was the time in the mine,” said Reba slowly, “when your father turned off all the lights and Chance screamed and Luck held him and cursed your father until he turned on the lights again.”

The older woman looked carefully at Reba. “When did that happen?”

“Just after your mother died. Chance always wanted to help Luck as much as he had been helped.”

“Chance never told me about that, even after Luck was dead.” A thoughtful expression crossed Glory’s face. “It explains a lot. Dad never had much use for Chance. Even as a child, Chance was independent. The only one he gave a damn about was Mum. Luck was different. He was Dad’s child, period. But Luck loved Chance, too. Bloody odd, watching those two together. Never saw two brothers closer, or with less in common. For all his charm, I never really liked Luck. Chance was different. Tough little beggar with a smile like sunrise.”

Glory yawned again, then apologized. “It’s not the company, honey, just the hour. Back home, I’d be asleep.”

“That’s all right,” said Reba. “Jet lag always hits me like a falling mountain. Do you want coffee or a nap?”

“Coffee,” said Glory promptly.

Reba went to the kitchen and returned with thick mugs of steaming coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“No thanks.” Glory smiled. “That much of me is still American.” She sipped the black brew and sighed. “Heaven, Reba, pure heaven. Pretty name you have. Is it short for something?”

“Rebecca.”

Glory looked over the rim of her mug. “Of Sunnybrook Farm?”

“Only in my mother’s fantasies,” said Reba. “The real me was a considerable disappointment.”

“Parents can be a bloody pain in the arse,” said Glory bluntly. “You’re not a Becky, either, are you?”

“Much to my ex-husband’s disappointment.”

Glory blinked, then laughed shortly. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you, honey?”

“I wonder if anyone has.”

Glory sighed and closed her eyes for so long that Reba thought she was asleep. “You’ll do, Reba Farrall. You’ll do just fine. And thank the Lord for it. If ever a man deserved a break, it’s Chance.”

Glory’s eyes opened, clear and green despite her obvious tiredness. She looked at Reba. “You know that you’re marrying a legend, don’t you?”

Reba looked startled. “Er, no.”

“Chance Walker, the man who knows where God buried all His treasures and where the devil keeps the hottest women. Chance has taken more money out of played-out and abandoned mines than most gougers see in fifty lifetimes. He’s hit a few genuine glory holes and a lot of decent strikes. So men stand in line to stake him and women line up right behind, hoping for a piece of his action. He takes what he wants from the women. As for the men”—she shrugged—“Chance has found fantastic wealth for other men on a day-rate basis and a small percentage of the take.”

Glory looked shrewdly at Reba. “Don’t take me wrong. My brother is neither a fool nor a pauper. He’s just a gouger through and through. Hooked on the treasure hunt. What you haven’t found is like an itch that can’t be scratched, driving you crazy.” She shook her head. “Prospecting gets in your blood worse than malaria.”

“That’s what Chance said. You can survive malaria, though. In the right climate you can even control it.”

Glory laughed warmly. “I’m going to enjoy having you for a sister, Reba. You’ve got what it takes to make a man like Chance come back for more. The ways of the Lord are indeed strange. Who would have thought that a played-out tourmaline mine would lead Chance to the one woman he could love?”

Smiling crookedly, Reba said, “So he told you about my mine?”

“He didn’t have to tell me,” snorted Glory. “Your aunt was so mad when Sylvie lost her half of the China Queen playing poker with Chance that everyone in the Outback heard her yelling. And if they didn’t hear your aunt, they sure as bloody hell heard your cousin. Sylvie screamed like a bandsaw when she offered to earn back the mine in Chance’s bed and he turned her down flat.” Glory smiled thinly. “After Chance grew up he became very particular about his women. And Sylvie, well, that sheila just never was particular about her men.”

Reba barely heard. She set her mug very carefully on the table, desperately trying to conceal her reaction to Glory’s words.

Chance had known about the China Queen before he met Reba
. The ramifications of that simple fact went through her like a shockwave, destroying her.

Glory yawned despite the coffee she had drunk. “Lord, I’m bushed. Getting too old for batting about the landscape like a crazy ’roo. Would you be upset if I just called a hack and went back to the hotel to sleep until Chance comes back?”

“You can sleep here,” said Reba with automatic politeness, her thoughts still spinning around the terrible truth that Glory had so casually revealed: Chance hadn’t wanted Reba for herself after all, but for the China Queen.

“Thanks, but all my gear is at the hotel,” said Glory, muffling another yawn.

“I’ll drive you over.”

“You look like you could use a nap yourself,” said Glory, “if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Yes,” said Reba tonelessly. “I’ve been a little short of sleep lately. Excuse me. I’ll call a cab for you.”

Later, Reba couldn’t remember what she and Glory had said until the cab finally came. For a long time after Reba shut the front door behind Chance’s sister, Reba stood in the middle of the living room, looking out over the wild silver-green ocean, trying not to think at all. Then she realized that she had to think, and think more carefully than she ever had before in her life.

Chance owned one-half of the China Queen. She had told Chance that she would never sell her half of the Queen. The only way Chance could get the other half was to marry her.

Therefore, he would do just that.

Even as Reba told herself that a worthless, abandoned tourmaline mine wasn’t worth marrying for, she remembered what Glory had said. Chance was an expert on played-out mines. A legend. He’d spent a lifetime finding money for other people. It was his turn now.

What was it Chance had said?
No sacrifice is too great if a big strike is the reward
. Besides, marriage was only a temporary thing, after all. Her husband had taught her that.

Part of Reba screamed silently that it couldn’t be like that; Chance couldn’t be that dishonest. The other part remembered how savage Chance had been whenever she had brought up the subject of the China Queen. Like a man with an uneasy conscience? Like a lying, cold-blooded bastard, perhaps?

Think carefully. Had Chance ever told her a lie? Had he ever said he didn’t know who she was in Death Valley, or that he’d never met her cousin, or that he’d never heard of the China Queen? No. He’d never said any of those things. He’d simply let her believe them. Not lies, precisely.

And a hell of a long way from the truth.

There must be an explanation. There must be something that would convince her that she hadn’t been a bottomless fool to fall in love with a man so ruthless and self-assured that he needed nothing from her but half of a deadly mine. There must be something that would convince her that she was worth loving whether or not she owned a goddamned hole in the ground called the China Queen.

“Chance . . . !”

Reba didn’t realize she had called his name until the anguished sound came back to her in the empty room. She shuddered and forced herself to breathe deeply despite the knives scraping over her nerves. Falling apart now would be useless. There must be an explanation. She couldn’t have been that kind of fool. She was worthy of a man’s love.