Rivals (25 page)

“Yes.” She wished his face wasn't so blurred to her, but it was enough just to hear the soothing drawl of his voice and smell that mixture of saddle leather and tobacco that always clung to his clothes. “We have trouble Charlie. She did marry him.” She caught the sound of his half-smothered curse and smiled faintly before going on to explain about the call she'd just received from Ben Canon.

“What do you want me to do?”

When she felt his work-roughened fingers brush over her hand, Hattie caught at them briefly. “He's brought her back to Tulsa with him, Charlie. I knew he'd be arrogant. And that is his mistake.”

“Then you don't think it's too late.”

“It can't be.” She clung desperately to that. “But we'll have to be ready to act at a moment's notice. We don't have much time.”

“You can count on me, Miss Hattie.” He squeezed her hand tightly, emotion thickening his voice.

“I know I can.” She nodded, feeling the same tightness and the same vague regrets.

“We'll make it.”

“Of course we will,” she said more confidently, drawing strength from his belief in her…just as she always had in the past. She let go of his hand and lay back, listening to the burring spin of the telephone dial as he placed her call to Ben Canon.

“Hello, Ellery? It's Flame.” She sat crosswise on Chance's lap, idly and possessively fingering the short strands of his thick black hair.

“How was your weekend of sizzle in the sun? Or was it sizzle in the sack?” came Ellery Dorn's dry reply. “From the sound of your voice, I'd say you're still floating on cloud nine.”

She laughed at that, her glance straying to the plane's porthole windows and the puffy white clouds beyond them. “Actually I am—literally and figuratively.”

There was a pause, then a puzzled “Where are you?”

She partially covered the phone's mouthpiece with her hand and looked at Chance. “Where are we?”

“About thirty thousand feet over Dallas.” A faint smile edged the corners of his mouth as he continued to idly massage the curve of her hip bone.

When Flame relayed the answer to Ellery, he responded with a droll “I sincerely hope you're in an airplane.”

“I am, I am.” She laughed again, recognizing that she was so happy she could laugh at anything.

“If you're flying over Texas now, that means it will be another two and a half hours or more before you reach San Francisco.”

“That's what I'm calling you about, Ellery.” There was a part of her that was bursting to tell him the news—and another part that wanted to drag out the moment. “I won't be flying back to San Francisco—at least, not tonight.”

“Why not? Where are you going?”

“To Tulsa.” She couldn't keep it to herself any longer. “Chance and I got married.”

“What?”

She laughed at the surprise in his voice. “It's incredible, isn't it?” She ceased playing with Chance's hair and held up her left hand to gaze at the interlocking wedding band and five carat marquise-cut diamond ring set in platinum that now so beautifully adorned her ring finger.

“Incredible isn't the word for it,” Ellery replied. “Flame, are you sure you know what you're doing?”

She looked once more at Chance. The deep blue of his eyes mirrored all the love that she felt. “Very sure,” she murmured, swinging the mouthpiece of the receiver out of the way and leaning closer to kiss him, letting their lips cling together for several precious seconds.

“I hope so,” came Ellery's sotto voce reply.

But it was enough to bring Flame's attention back to the matter at hand. “Would you mind doing me a favor, Ellery? Talk to Tim in the morning and let him know I won't be in the office for a couple of days. Explain that I'm taking a short honeymoon. And let Debbie know, too, so she can cancel any appointments I have.”

“When can we expect you back?”

“Chance has to leave on a business trip—when did you say? Wednesday?” He nodded in confirmation. “I'll fly back then. Which means I'll be in the office on Thursday morning. Okay?”

“Your honeymoon is obviously going to be as short as your engagement,” Ellery observed. “Oh, one more thing, Flame—”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations and happiness, my dear.”

“Thank you, Ellery.”

“And tell Stuart I hope he knows what a lucky man he is.”

“I will. Talk to you Wednesday night.” She returned the phone to its console concealed in the cabinetry next to the couch, then faced Chance, linking her hands together behind his neck. “Ellery insisted that I remind you what a lucky man you are.”

“Extremely lucky,” he agreed smoothly.

“So am I.” Silently she studied his face, admiring its bronze angles, so strong and clean from the slanting cut of his jaw to the unbroken line of his nose. She noticed the look in his eyes, that look that spoke of a pride of possession. She smiled, feeling it, too. They belonged to each other now, and how very wonderful that was. Idly she smoothed a strand of hair from his wide brow. “How long before we reach Tulsa?”

With an effort he dragged his gaze from her face and looked out the window. “That looks like the Red River below us, which means we're crossing into Oklahoma. We'll probably be landing in another twenty minutes or so.”

“So soon,” she murmured in mock disappointment.

“Yes.” There was more than a trace of regret in his voice as his glance slid to her lips. Then he breathed in deeply. “We probably should move back to the main cabin. You'll have a better view from there of your new home when we fly in.”

“That's a shame when I'm so comfortable sitting here,” she declared softly and brushed her lips across the ridge of his cheek, breathing in the earthy fragrance of his cologne.

“We aren't there, yet,” he reminded her as he turned his head, seeking and finding her lips.

Ten minutes later they were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. It was the pilot, Mick Donovan, notifying Chance that he was about to begin his descent into Tulsa. With some reluctance, Flame traded her comfortable seat on Chance's lap for one of the richly upholstered chairs in the main cabin.

With her seatbelt securely fastened, Flame leaned forward, angling her body to look out the window at the wide open landscape of rolling hills below. The long slanting rays of the setting sun set fire to its autumn hues, intensifying the shades of its golds, rusts, and reds and giving a richness to the land.

Somewhere out there, she remembered, Hattie Morgan lived. She'd have to give her a call while she was here—assuming, of course, that she'd have the time to spare on this short trip.

Then Chance's arm curled around her waist and all thought of Hattie fled as he leaned forward to look out the window with her. “There's my city,” he said. “Daring and dynamic Tulsa.”

Etched against the fiery backdrop of the sunset's red sky, she saw the gleaming towers of the city itself, rising out of the surrounding hills and seemingly throwing them off with a mighty shrug of its shoulders. She stared at the tall sleek buildings, their proud stance reminding her somehow of Chance.

“Well, what do you think?”

She felt the brush of his chin against her hair, and hesitated briefly, wondering how she could tell him that her first impression of Tulsa was of something powerful and aggressive—something lean, tumultous, and restless—the very things she sensed in him sometimes.

But the feeling was too elusive to put into words. She chose a safe middle ground instead. “I like it already. It's vigorous and alive.”

“That black building to the right is the Stuart Tower, where my company's headquartered.” He pointed it out to her just before the plane banked away to make its approach to the airport. Chance kept his arm around her as they both sat back in their seats. “In the morning, you can come into the office with me. I want you to meet Sam and Molly.”

“I'd like that, darling.” From the few things he'd said about them, she had gotten the feeling that these two people were the closest thing he had to a family. “I just hope they like me.”

“They will. Although I probably should warn you that Molly may come off like a mother-in-law.”

“Ah, a potential ogre—any suggestions?”

“Just tell her how wonderful you think I am and you'll have her eating out of your hand.” He grinned, certain that Molly would love her as much as he did and refusing to consider the friction that would arise if she didn't.

And Flame laughed. “You mean you aren't eating out of my hand?”

“If you think I am, that's all that counts.”

She sensed the shift in his mood to something more serious, more intimate. “What about Sam? How do I get him to eat out of my hand?”

“Ask him about cars. The man's crazy about anything with four wheels and a motor—a little like I am about you.” He kissed her, and Flame wasn't aware of the jet's wheels touching down.

18

S
am
leaned against the corner of Molly's desk, one hip resting on top of it. He took another deep drag on his cigarette and glanced anxiously at the doors to the private elevator, then swung his gaze to Molly, watching as she fussed over the fresh floral arrangement on the credenza behind her desk. She stepped back to survey the result, then nodded in mute satisfaction even though Sam couldn't see that she'd changed the placement of a single flower. Turning, she ran the same critically inspecting eye over the room. When he saw it fall on the serving tray with its precise arrangement of china cups and saucers, the requisite creamer and sugar, lacking only fresh coffee to be poured in its decorative urn, his nerves snapped.

“So help me, Molly, if you touch those cups on that tray one more time—”

“I wasn't even thinking of that,” she denied, flashing him an impatient look. “I was wondering if I should have had the bakery send up some Danish pastries. Watch your ash. It's going to drop on the floor.”

“God forbid,” he muttered, cupping one hand under the cigarette as he swung it to the ceramic ashtray on her desk, then pulled it back to tap the buildup of ash into the gleaming bottom. “You'd probably call maintenance and have them bring up a vacuum cleaner.”

“I would not.” Immediately she picked up the ashtray and emptied it into the wastebasket under her desk, then snatched a tissue from the box she kept on the credenza and wiped the last speck of ash from the ceramic tray. “Molly, will you stop this fussing?” He stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray the instant she set it down. A bundle of nerves himself, Sam impatiently pushed away from her desk.

“I just want to make the right impression,” she retorted, grabbing the ashtray again.

“Where are they anyway?” He pushed back the cuff of his jacket to check his watch. “Chance said they'd be here by ten-thirty. It's past that now.”

“You didn't expect them to be on time, did you?” Molly chided. “After all, they are newlyweds.” Then she sighed, her eyes crinkling at the corners, matching the curve of her lips. “I can hardly wait to meet her.”

Sam shook his head in disagreement and rubbed at the tension cording the back of his neck. “I'm afraid I can't say the same.”

Molly looked at him with some surprise. “Why not?”

“Because…” Sam hesitated, but he'd held it inside too long. It had to come out. “—I have bad feelings about this marriage,” he said, turning to face Molly as he brought his hand down, fisting it in helpless frustration. “Dammit, I don't understand why he married her—why he didn't talk over his plans with me first?”

“He loves her.” As far as Molly was concerned, no other explanation was necessary.

“But don't you see, Molly, that's the point. That is one time I don't think Chance thought things through too clearly.”

She shook her head, unwilling to listen to his criticism. “He knows what he's doing.”

“Does he?” Sam challenged. “Let's forget the fact that he didn't have her sign any prenuptial agreement, and concentrate instead on what's going to happen when she finds out about Hattie and the ranch. Do you know that he hasn't told her anything about Hattie? And when I talked to him after they got back last night, he informed me he wasn't going to tell her.”

“Why should he?”

“Because sooner or later, she's going to find out. And if he keeps it a secret from her, think how it's going to look.”

“When the time comes, Chance will handle it. He always does,” she stated with supreme confidence. “You worry too much, Sam.”

“Maybe.” But the boyish features continued to wear a troubled look as he combed the lock of hair from his forehead, unaware that it fell back. “I don't know, Molly. I just can't help thinking this is all my fault. Chance relied on me to know what Hattie was up to and I let him down. If only I'd paid more attention to those meetings she was having with Canon, but I thought she was trying to find some legal loophole to avoid willing the land to Chance. I'd already checked that out eight ways to Sunday and knew it couldn't be done. But I never dreamed she was tracking down another heir. It never even occurred to me there might be one. If I had known—if I'd had her followed that day she went to Canon's office, I'd have known about her trip to San Francisco—who she saw—everything. And Chance would have known—going in—that Flame was Margaret Rose. It's for sure we wouldn't have all these complications we're faced with now.”

“You are such a pessimist, Sam.” Molly clicked her tongue at him. “You see Chance's marriage as a complication, but I see it as the perfect solution.” The elevator light flashed on, indicating it was in use. “Here they come.” Molly hurriedly sat down in her chair and grabbed up a pen and notepad, then patted the sides of her peppered gray hair. “Quick. Look busy,” she admonished Sam.