Mad About The Man (25 page)

"I said—"

"Yes,
of course I know who he is. He's some costume designer from Hollywood."

"Oh, boy."

"Do you want to enlarge on that?"

Char shrugged, drawing her thin shoulders up into
wild, graying black curls. "My father never taught me much, but he was pretty insistent that it's more important to know your adversaries well than your friends moderately well."

"I think I can decode that. You're telling me I
don't have Michael Copeland's number. And you're also telling me he's my adversary."

"Something like that."

"Well you're wrong on at least one count. The man
means nothing to me."

"Good. Every time he comes to Goldstrike he upsets Gaby."

Jacques swung around. "How?"

"I thought you didn't care about him."

"I don't. I asked how he upset Gaby."

She smiled, and wrinkles fanned into the brown skin of her face. "And you do care about her, don't
you?" She motioned him to remain silent. "Mi
chael's a big, talented kid. That's why he didn't want
children. He couldn't cope with the idea of not holding center stage at all times—with Gaby as well as with everyone else."

"He loved her?" Jacques disliked the way his stomach squeezed.

"As much as he could love anyone but himself. He did come to love Mae, too, but by then it was too late
for him and Gaby. Oh, he tried to get her back. She was too smart. If she wasn't such a mush heart, she wouldn't let him see Mae at all, but she thinks it's
important for the child to know her father. And, if the
truth were known, she thinks it's good for him to spend time with Mae."

"Children should know both their parents,"
Jacques said distractedly. "Do you know why he's here now?"

"Ostensibly to check progress on the hats for
Going to the Dogs."

He looked at her sharply. "You think there's another reason?"

"Yes. I think he's gotten wind of you through the grapevine—namely Mae. He's probably come to
check you out. If Gaby doesn't want him anymore, he doesn't want her to want anyone else."

"The man's sick."

"Not really," Char said. "Just the product of his environment. He's been adored for so long, he can't adjust to losing any part of his entourage. I doubt if he's even conscious of what he's doing."

"But he makes Gaby unhappy?"

"He unsettles her by trying to send her on a guilt trip for not letting him back into her life."

Jacques lifted his face to the sky. So, the creep
who'd left Gaby when she was pregnant had showed up because he was afraid she might finally be taking
someone else into the place he'd once occupied.

"What do you think I ought to do?" Not that he intended to do anything.

"It doesn't really matter what I think." Char smoothed her loose, orange cotton skirts. "I'd better
get back. But I did think you'd like to know she's
with him over at Sis's and, unless I don't know her
as well as I think I do, she's feeling pretty miserable."

16

L
aughter—and a rush of hot air—met Jacques as he walked into Sis's.

He slid quietly onto the nearest counter chair. Not that he need worry about intruding on the raucous company. The motley band crowded into the center of the diner hadn't noticed Jacques's arrival.

"It was a blast!" A man's strong voice rose above
the others as he stood talking to the group.
Hollywood
might as well have been written on his broad, gray silk-clad chest. His
fascinated audience listened in
tently.

"Hoffman walked out, of course," the man said,
pushing a hand into tousled blond hair. "But what
else is new? What a hell of a party, though. Hey—"
he pointed to Barney from the Hacienda "—have you
seen Julia's new do?"

Barney shook his head.

"Be grateful," the orator announced. "She should
have stuck with her old look, and I'm not the only
one who's told her so." The man's other hand rested
on
the back of Ga
by's neck. She sat, the only un
smiling member of the group, with her gaze firmly
_,
t
rained on her lap.

A light touch on Jacques's back made him look
over his shoulder—and into Char Brown's sharp eyes.
"Do I need to introduce anyone to you?"

Muscles in Jacques's jaw twitched. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I wonder why. What do you think of Michael?"

"Think
^?
" He drummed the counter. "Nothing, I guess, except that I hate the SOB." The vehemence in his words didn't put a crack in the black tension that mounted in his gut.

"Gaby was very young when they met. So was he.
The difference is, she grew up." Char spoke through
barely parted lips. "Oh-oh. You're on. She's seen
you."

The instant Jacques looked into Gaby's eyes, his
view was cut off by Sis who proceeded to pour coffee
all around. But the instant had been long enough for
him to see, first unhappiness, then embarrassment. He
understood both and hated that he was responsible for
the latter. If he'd used his damned head he would
never have told her he knew what she'd set out to do
on Saturday. Gaby accused him of using her, of mak
ing love to seal her humiliation.

You've enjoyed making a fool of me, haven't you?
she'd told him. And those had been her parting words
when she'd insisted he leave her house.

"Mr. Ledan!"

Jacques's name, yelled in her ear by Caleb, jolted
Gaby all the way to her toes. She felt the entire com
pany's attention shift in the direction of the tall,
darkly silent man at the counter.

"Mike," Caleb continued in a bellow. "You gotta
meet Mr. Jacques Ledan. He's the one who's putting
little old Goldstrike on the map. Gonna see to it that our kids get to go to school here in town again and
that there's enough work to keep 'em here when
they're through. The two of you are bound to have a
heap in common—both of you bein' movers, like they
say."

Gaby felt Michael's fingers tighten on her neck. As
if she watched a scene without sound acted out on the other side of a glass wall, she saw him lean for
ward across heads, his right hand extended, and saw
Jacques rise smoothly from his chair and approach.

Nothing in common,
she wanted to shout. But they
wouldn't have heard on their side of the glass.
These
two men are different from the bone out.

Jacques wore all black as he had that first day in her showroom. And today, as then, flecks of black showed in his searingly blue eyes, eyes that looked
not at Michael, whose hand he shook, but at Gaby.

"The candy man himself," she heard Michael say
in his best, deliberately hearty voice. "Great to meet you, Jacques. Heard a whole lot about you. And I'm
excited about what you represent to these folks. Hell,
I'm amazed someone hasn't come along and seen
what there was to be made here long before this. Trust
a man who turns sugar into you-know-what to see gold in dirt."

Only Michael's grip on her neck stopped Gaby
from jumping up.

Jacques's flat gaze would have closed most men's
mouths permanently.

"Hey," Michael said, slapping his thigh. "Gold
from dirt in Goldstrike. They sure as hell never found
much of the real stuff when they were looking for it. Took a French taffy puller to do the job. Pretty good,
-huh, Jacques?"

The slow movement that caught Gaby's eye was
Jacques's hand, curling into a fist at his side. "We're
third-generation Californians," he said quietly.

"Hello, Michael," Char popped from behind
Jacques. "Why didn't you call and say you were
coming, you reprobate?"

"I knew I'd be welcome." Michael laughed. He
swept up an arm. "And I was right, wasn't I, folks?"

A chorus of assent followed.

"And you know you keep a bed made up for me,
Char, love." He blew her a kiss. "I'll be over later."

"Come and join us, Jacques. Pull up a chair. Sis!
Bring Jacques here a cup of coffee."

Jacques didn't move.

"It's nice to see you, Mr. Ledan," Sophie said po
litely from her seat, which was slightly removed from
the rest. "I've already explained about the library and
the senior center. Ever
yone is most appreciative, I as
sure you."

Gaby closed her eyes tightly and opened them
again. Sophie was deferring to Jacques, just as Caleb
already had

"Mighty nice," Sis said, in a remarkably clear
voice. She smiled at Jacques with frank friendliness.
"And my brothers say the teen center is goin' to
mean nothin' but good to me—with me supplyin' the
refreshments at the concession stand, that is."

Jacques appeared vaguely uncomfortable, but he
nodded at Sis and the others. "We'll make a great
team."

"I really am flattered that you want me to help
draft a proposal to the state about the school," Sophie
put in.

They were defecting. Gaby managed to shrug away
from Michael's hand. One by one, everyone in the
town was going over to Jacques's side because all
they could see was what they, personally, had to gain.
Even Sophie, who had been so adamantly opposed to
the whole project, had drawn back and dumped the
problem of the theme park in Gaby's lap as the ap
parent sole remaining adversary.

The door flew open to reveal Camilla Roberts.
"Hello, everybody," she said loudly, but managing
to retain the huskily sexy quality in her voice. "I'm
so
excited! Is it true?"

It was happening. Everything she'd feared. This
town was turning into a glitzy zoo. Gaby
tried to
gauge an inconspicuous escape.

"Hi, Jacques," Camilla said. "Why didn't you tell
me
the
Michael Copeland was in town?"

"When would I have done that?"

"Oh,
you.
Such a tease. I swear, if Rita hadn't
taken me in, I'd be having no fun at all on my va
cation."

"I thought you were just passing through town,"
Jacques commented without looking at Camilla.
"This is Michael Copeland. He's passing through,
too."

Gaby eyed him sharply, but saw no sign of anger—
or of any emotion at all.

"Michael Copeland," Camilla said breathily and
with great reverence. "If you knew how I've dreamed
of this moment. I'm Camilla Roberts."

"It's great to meet you, Camilla," Michael said.
He drew up another chair—on the other side of him
from Gaby—and motioned Camilla into it. "Sit right
here and tell me about yourself."

Gaby's head jerked up so sharply, her neck
cracked. After all these years nothing about Michael
had changed. A beautiful, fawning woman still made
him react like a grateful dog in the mating season.

"I can't believe it." Camilla slid to sit beside Mi
chael who promptly found a new neck upon which to
lavish attention. "I can't. I've wanted to meet you for
just ages. For
ever.
I'm a makeup artist, you know. Ask Jacques."

Michael wasn't asking anyone anything. "I'd have known that without being told. You look wonderful,
baby. Who're you working for these days?"

"Well." Camilla, in a thigh-high, gold satin shirt-
dress with buttonholes that were evidently too small
to use, crossed one long, bare, tanned leg over the
other and fixed her big, brown eyes on Michael. "Ac
tually I'm between engagements. I was considering an offer from Jacques to oversee things at his little
spa, but my real love
is—naturellement—
the
mov
ies!" She squealed.

"God, this is something," Michael said, dropping
into a crouch beside Camilla. "I knew I'd heard your
name. Camilla Robertson,
the
makeup artist."

"Roberts. You've
heard
of me?"

"You bet I have, baby." Michael's eyes were in great position to figure out how much bigger Camilla's buttonholes needed to be. "And I'm into a big
deal right now. A
big
deal.
Going to the Dogs.
You've heard of it?"

Another squeal rent the air.

"Right. Well, of course, I get mucho input in your
chosen area, sweetie. Leave it to me. I'll work some
thing out—if you'd like that."

"Oh, I like. I like very much."

Michael draped an arm around Camilla's shoulders.
"Consider it done." He tore his gaze from the region
of Camilla's buttonholes and inclined his head to
Gaby. "Gaby's doing the hats—to my specs, of
course. Isn't that right, love?"

Gaby seethed. "The movie's going to be wonderful. An extravaganza." True, Michael was a genius at what he did, but where hats were concerned he'd always deferred to her.

"Did you know Gaby's my wife?" Michael continued. "Ex-wife, that is. We're one of those lucky couples who came through a divorce as the best of friends. Isn't that right, love?"

She'd dearly love to slap him. "We manage."

"Which brings me to another point," Michael said,
bouncing to his feet and jabbing a finger in Jacques's direction. "I understand my ex has a new man-of-the
-
moment. I'd have thought she'd make sure I was the first to know about a thing like that, wouldn't you, Camilla?"

Camilla, wisely, said nothing.

"Is it true that you've got the hots for my little Gaby, Jacques?"

Gaby looked at the floor and felt her face turn dull,
throbbing red. "Michael," she whispered. "Please don't."

He wrapped his arms around her. "You know I'm a joker, love. I don't want anything but the best for
you. That's why it's my duty to make sure what's
what where you're concerned."

"And where Mae's concerned, too?"

A second passed before he laughed. "Of course. That doesn't have to be said."

"None of this has to be said."

"Jacques," Michael boomed. "Isn't this
some
woman I used to be married to!"

"She certainly is," Jacques agreed.

"God!" Michael slapped a hand to his brow. "I
just had a fantastic idea…
one of many I have every
day. Didn't I hear you were planning a movie theater
here?"

"Eventually."

"Well, hell. Why not
use
everything that comes easily to hand? Why not a live theater, too?"

Jacques raised one brow. "I suppose—"

"Of course! Production would be no sweat. I could
send appropriate material your way—and even let you
use part of my team for costumes and sets from time
to time. But, best of all, we could put our heads together and find ways to showcase Gaby's stuff." He grinned at her. "Don't thank me, love. What are old friends for? Right, Jacques?"

"I always try to separate business and pleasure my
self."

She heard Jacques's voice through the pulse thundering in her ears.

"By the way," Michael said. "It's time
I
asked the big question."

Jacques hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "Which is?"

"Why, what exactly are your intentions toward my
ex-wife, of course? After all, I do have an interest in
these matters."

"Intentions?" Jacques laughed, and Gaby felt her blood pressure rise. "Who said I had any?"

The distance to the door was too long. Gaby's legs moved as if through deep water until her hand closed
on the handle.

"Wait for me." Jacques held her elbow. "We've got things to talk about
.
"

Gaby looked at his fingers on her arm, then at his face. "Tell me, Jacques Ledan, do you know what they call men like you?"

She saw his pupils dilate, his mouth open slightly.
"I see you do. Unfortunately, you give all the other
spineless bastards a bad name."