Made To Love Her (8 page)

As I wait for my caffeine fix, I try to keep my nerves in check. Still, I can’t get Peter Oslo out of my head. We’re missing a variable. Peter doesn’t know anything about Vince’s disappearance, yet the thug, Douglas Randall, warned him about Jack. I wonder how dangerous Jack is. Apparently, scary men run and hide from him. I also remember Vince telling me that Gabrielle, his former fiancée and Peter’s daughter, had a strange sort of incestuous relationship with her father.

Suddenly, a thought hits me. I leap out of my seat and run to Jack’s private room. I try to turn the knob, but the door is locked, so I knock.

“Would you like me to keep your latte warm?” the flight attendant asks.

I jump, startled. “Um, yes please.”

The door opens. There’s a stark contrast between the dim and the cabin.

I check over my shoulder to make sure the flight attendant is out of sight. She hasn’t made her way to the room where the food is prepared.

“Can I come in please?” I say, sounding eager.

Jack studies me shrewdly then finally steps back.

I close the door behind me. “Gabrielle. She’s the one behind Vince’s disappearance.”

Jack rubs his top lip contemplatively. “That’s very good, Mags. Follow me.”

I have pep in my step as I follow him back to the console. I feel as if I’ve finally proven my worth. Plus, the thought of Vince’s crazy ex-fiancée snatching him sits better with me than a bitter businessman kidnapping him. At least Vince has the edge. He’s smart enough to play Gabrielle for as long as he needs in order to escape her clutches. And I’m sure he knows I’m looking for him.

I grab my heart and take a breath of relief as Jack continues talking to the pilots of Peter Oslo’s aircraft. I close my eyes for a moment, hoping Vince feels me with him. A tingle ignites in my body, and I skip a breath.

“He’s alive.” I grip the back of a chair to control the emotion surging through me. “He’s definitely alive.”

Jack and I stare into each other’s eyes, and he nods. He may be placating me again, but I don’t care. I know I’m right.

I
’m watching
the women duke it out over the details. We’re inside an elaborate barn at Reinhardt Ranch. I guess this is where they’re going to hold the ceremony. Monroe can’t stop shaking her head as she examines the haystacks and the dry wooden benches flanking the aisle.

“Who the fuck picked this place to have a wedding? I know for sure Maggie didn’t.”

“You’re the one who said Maggie preferred the rustic look,” Maddie says.

Monroe shoots her a look that could take out an army. “No way…” She looks at Daisy. “We have three days to turn this shit around.”

“I’m not letting you do this. This is Vincent’s favorite place.”

“To fucking ride a horse! Not have a wedding!”

Maddie whips her face toward Anne. “Mom, say something.”

So far, Daisy has been winning these battles, but her lips are still parted in awe. Even I have to concede that this venue is a dump. Allie’s slated to get married next. I bet she would never say
I do
in this shit-shack.

I turn and catch Carter watching me, which makes me aware that I’m smirking. I wink at her, and she cracks a tiny smile.

“So what’s going on between you and Carter?” Allie says.

I jump. She’s right on my left shoulder. I didn’t even see her standing there.

“Didn’t you ask that already?”

“And you lied.”

“If you think I’m lying, then why do you keep asking?”

She’s about to answer that when my phone rings in my pocket. I raise a finger, secure my phone, and hurry out of the barn-house junkyard.

My shoulders slump in disappointment when I check out the name on the screen. I was hoping it was Jack calling to say Vince has been found.

“Hi, Zoe,” I say, answering my assistant’s call.

“I know you’re away this week, and I really, really,
really
didn’t want to call you, but I didn’t know what to do.”

I walk across the dusty ground on my way to the parking lot. “It’s okay. What’s going on?” I look down at my shoes. They’re covered in dirt. I try to stomp as much of it off as I can before I get into the car. Then I settle in behind the steering wheel. “What’s going on?”

“Just thought I’d let you know that we’re very close to not submitting our bid for the Atlantic Metropolitan Library Project. It’s supposed to be submitted by eight tomorrow morning.”

“It hasn’t been submitted yet?”

“No,” she says sharply.

I can sense how stressed she is.

“Why not?”

“Because of Grace.”

Sighing, I rub the inside corners of my eyes. Of course Grace is the reason for the delay. I gave her full operating control of Kennedy Creative Interior Designs, a subsidiary of RT Creative, but that hasn’t made her more of a team player. We have a running joke around the office about Grace’s hiring choices. We call it the three-week cliff. No one she’s hired has lasted for more than three weeks. In two months, she’s gone through six employees. I let it go on for far too long because I’ve been busy trying to make a name for RT Creative in architecture firms around the nation, but it’s about time to get Kennedy Creative Interior Designs in line.

Unfortunately, today is not the time. I offered Grace the opportunity to add an interior design plan to the proposal to make our bid look stronger and to help get the subsidiary higher off the ground.

I’m still rubbing my eyes as I try to think. “Have you received the proposal from the architectural team?”

“Yes.” I can tell by Zoe’s tone that she’s relieved I asked that question.

All of a sudden, there’s a knock on the passenger-side window, and I quickly look over to see Anne waving.

I wave her inside the car. “Then submit it,” I say to Zoe.

She sighs with relief. “Thank you.”

Anne gets into the passenger seat, and I cradle my phone closer to my face. “No, thank you for staying on top of this. I’ll see you on Monday, Zoe.”

“You’re welcome, and sure, see you on Monday,” she says.

We hang up.

“What’s really going on with Vince?” Anne asks before I can open my mouth to speak.

“Nothing.”

“Robert….” She tilts her head to study me shrewdly.

“He’s really okay, Anne. I promise you.”

“Then why are you scratching the tip of your nose?”

Shit. I clutch the steering wheel with both hands. “Because it itches.”

Anne wiggles a finger. “You’re lying to me,” she sings.

I stare right into her green eyes. Looking at her is almost like watching Vince. Vince looks more like his mother than Simon, his father, who more than likely will not show up for the ceremony. Simon’s estranged from Anne because he left her for another woman. His daughters stopped talking to him because of it. But Vince hadn’t cut ties with his father. He has a meal or a drink with Simon every now and then. Sometimes I join them. He’s a good guy, whose only crime was falling in love with another woman. Regardless, lying to the people I care about used to be easier.

“Vince
is
in New York,” I say.

Anne rubs an eyelid like she’s frustrated. “Is he hurt?”

“No,” I say as if I really believe it. The truth is I don’t know, but I hope not.

She shakes her head as she gazes straight out the window. “I just don’t know.”

I watch her, wishing I could tell her the truth—but I can’t. She would call the police and tell everyone Vince was kidnapped by treacherous killers, then his story would be headlining the evening news tonight at eight. “I know how all this sounds, but this situation is one of those rare deals.”

“Well…” She sighs resignedly. “He did have to fly back to New York on Friday to handle some work issue. I didn’t understand it then, either. I tried to make him see that this wedding is really important.”

“Right,” I say, figuring I should let her continue driving down the road she’s going.

“It’s just…” Her frown intensifies.

“Listen, Anne, I’m sure Vince will call you as soon as he can.”

“Has he contacted you?”

I shake my head. “Net yet. But, you know, when Vince is in the middle of the fire, he gets single-minded.”

“Yes, that is true. He’s always been that way, even when he was a little boy. He’d spend hours building those model building sets.”

I snicker. “I remember that.”

We’re silent, and I’m hoping like hell Anne’s ready to end this conversation.

“Okay… I better get back in there before the girls tear each other into pieces.”

“Right,” I say with a nervous laugh.

Anne searches my expression again, and I try to look as innocent as a first-semester Catholic schoolgirl. Finally, she opens the door and gets out. I watch her until she scurries back into the barn.

I lay my seat back, rest my head, and close my eyes until they’re done. I’ve had enough of bickering women for the day. I don’t get to rest long—soon Daisy and Monroe are back in the car, talking about leaving early the next morning to find another venue for the wedding. Monroe tells me that I don’t have to worry about tagging along—she’s going to drive one of the cars at the house. I don’t protest. I’m over this wedding business. I would rather sit around and twiddle my thumbs as I wait for Jack to find Vince.

I struggle to stay alert as I drive to the Belcaro Park neighborhood, which is about twenty minutes from Anne’s house. However, I wake right up as soon as we pull into the driveway of Jack’s residence, which looks like a redbrick Victorian castle. The guy has exquisite architectural taste, that’s for sure.

I drive slowly up the driveway, which cuts through the emerald lawn. “Nice house,” I say, noticing how thick and green the trees are.

Daisy smiles. “Belmont’s mother and father used to live here. He’s done a lot of work on it in the past two years.”

“Right,” I say, remembering the Lords did live in this neighborhood. It’s strange to remember that Charlie and Jack are also from Denver, and we all attended the same high school. I used to see Jack a lot on campus, and he always looked busy. Vince and I used to joke about him acting more like a teacher than a student. He even parked his Beamer in the faculty parking lot, and the principal let him do it. I tried that once, and my F-150 got towed. Though I’d always felt like asking why Jack got special treatment, I didn’t. Hell, I probably believed he deserved it.

I stop in front of the door and help Daisy and Monroe with their luggage. Once inside, I’m struck by the smell of new furniture and new construction. The interior is designed like a contemporary English country home with grand but clean armoires and large sofas, chairs, and tables, and modern chandeliers hang from high ceilings. I take Daisy’s luggage to her bedroom, which is an enormous but comfortable space. She hands me a garage door opener and directs me to the garage at the back of the house. Before I store my car for the evening, I carry my things to one of the second-floor guest rooms at the south end of the house, far away from the room Monroe’s sleeping in.

After I fall on the bed a few times to test the mattress, which is like sleeping on a piece of heaven, I zip back to my car and drive to the garage. I park next to a burgundy Range Rover. A BMW Roadster is parked on the other side of the SUV. I’m surprised those are all the cars Jack owns. He has one for the snow and one for warm days like today, but I can tell neither has been driven in a while.

I reenter the house through a door in the garage. I mosey down a brick hallway and past an empty kennel until I reach an opened door. As soon as I walk in, I’m struck by the smell of wine that’s being cooked with food and tasty spices. I pass the kitchen, where a woman in a chef’s coat and hat is at the stove; smoke is rising from a pan as she stirs the ingredients inside it.

I pop my head into the kitchen. “Excuse me.”

The chef turns around. She’s in her forties and pretty attractive. “Yes, sir?”

I fight the urge to flirt. “Um, what time is dinner?”

She checks her watch. “It’ll be late tonight, per Daisy’s request, but I just sent servers up to your rooms with cheese and cracker plates for snacks. Dinner’s at seven.”

I want to clap my hands and shout, “Hot damn!” I can afford to live like Jack Lord, but I probably never will. Still, since I’m here, I intend to take full advantage of the fruits of his labor.

I thank the cook and return to my room. I put on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt. I’m not sure if Carter’s lodging here or not. I guess I’ll find out at some point.

Next, I look for the cheese platter. It’s sitting on the desk near the window beside my messenger bag. There’s even a glass each of white and red wine. I sniff, impressed. Jack sure knows how to hire the right people.

Thinking of Jack, I call him to get an update on the hunt for Vince. The call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message, asking him to call as soon as he can. I go back to the desk to get my red wine and pull my computer out of my bag. The scene in the backyard catches my attention. The sun is dropping behind a line of tall and thick poplar trees that surround a private lake with a walking bridge across it. The entire backyard resembles a lavish English garden, but the bulbous trees, trimmed shrubs, and colorful flowers are climate appropriate. Right in the middle of the paradise is a fluffy lawn surrounding a circular courtyard with an in-ground fire pit in the center.

Since the sun is going down it’s a tad bit cooler out, probably about sixty-two or -three degrees. Daisy and Monroe are sitting around a blaze, in white wood chaise chairs, snacking on cheese, cold cuts, crackers, and fruit. Monroe is drinking wine, and Daisy has a glass of water in her hand. For one second, I consider staying inside, but the company of two attractive women is far better than sitting here, checking email and calling Grace to chew her out for missing the deadline.

I slide into my slip-ons, skip down the steps, and turn down a series of hallways until I come across the door to the backyard. On the ground, the backyard is far more impressive than the view from my window. It’s expansive—about four acres.

“Some backyard,” I say, walking up to the two women.

They both turn to look at me.

“I thought you had enough estrogen for the day,” Monroe says, smirking.

“I can take a little more.” I stand beside the empty chaise next to Daisy. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” Daisy says, rubbing her belly.

I sit. “Actually, this will be a great place to have a wedding.”

Monroe grunts while shaking her hands excitedly. “That’s exactly what I just said.”

Daisy stops rubbing her belly. “I don’t know.” She looks out over the lay of the land. “Maggie came to live here for a while, and she didn’t like at all. I imagine having her wedding in Denver is difficult in itself.”

Monroe rolls her eyes as she sighs wearily. She flips on her side so that the front of her body faces Daisy. “Listen, you’re a sweet lady—thoughtful and all—but nobody on this planet knows Maggie the way I do. Listen to me; she would love to have her wedding here.” She rests her back on the chair again and gets comfortable. “It’s Jack’s house, and she loves her some Jack.”

I hold back a chuckle. In addition to being attractive, Monroe is quite witty.

Daisy sighs. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I am right.” Monroe takes a sip of wine.

I raise my hand. “Hey, if you need a third aye, then you got mine.”

Monroe looks around Daisy and at me. “See… you’re not so much of a scoundrel as Maggie made you out to be.”

I blink hard. I feel as if she just smacked me in the face with a ton of bricks.

“You can’t say that, Monroe,” Daisy says, chastising her.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. That was a compliment.”

Daisy is still reading my expression. She’s the kind of person who sees everything, a lot like her husband.

I hold up a hand. “It was no problem.”

Monroe’s mouth falls open. “Oh shit, did I offend you?”

I twist my mouth. “No…”

“Yes, I did! I’m trying to be more sensitive and shit. Vince’s sisters make it hard, but you, Tango, you give me no reason to shoot off my mouth and say whatever the fuck I want.”

Daisy and I are speechless. The best thing for us at the moment is to just let the subject of me being a “scoundrel” fade.