Rogue's Revenge (9 page)

“Okay, fine. One of us will have to go for help. The club can’t be more than a quarter mile ahead.”

“One of us!” He sat bolt upright to stare at her. “Well, not me! This is a…”

“I know, I know,” she muttered. “A new tux.”

She cracked the trunk, pulled the keys from the ignition, and started to get out into the pouring rain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed her arm.

“Going for help.” She shrugged away from him, then swung back to face him. “I have a poncho in the trunk. Lock the doors once I’m gone. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or your tux.”

****

She was trying to resuscitate Gino’s hairstyle in the ladies’ room at the country club an hour later when Candace Breckenridge joined her.

“I heard about your little adventure.” The older woman, in an elegant ankle-length white sheath, moved to the mirror beside her and patted her hair. “Apparently Paul wasn’t up to rescuing a lady in distress. Now if that sinfully sexy camp foreman of your grandfather’s had been with you, it would have been an entirely different story, wouldn’t it? He wasted no time rescuing me when I had that distressing little incident up at the Lodge on our last vacation. There’s a man who knows what to do…both during and after a crisis…especially after, if you know what I mean.” She dropped a false-eyelashed lid in a slow wink. “But then, I assume you discovered that fact while you were up there
alone
with him last week?” Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a smile that was more like a smirk.

“That’s really none of your business.” Allison swung and left the room with as much haughty dignity as she could muster in mud-stained evening shoes and torn pantyhose.

Why did I react like that? I should have calmly denied it. Instead, I left it wide open to speculation. Fool! Now she probably sees me as her competition.

As she returned to the table where Paul and her parents sat, annoyance and disgust colored her mood. It was all Heath Oakes’ fault. He was responsible for her irritability with Paul, her repulsion of his attention, her mishap with the car, and now her rude run-in with her mother’s friend who, together with her husband, were expected to be major contributors to her mother’s charities.

Retaking her seat, she saw Candace Breckenridge standing in front of her husband across the room, her face distorted with anger. From the way she was flailing her arms and gesturing toward the entrance, Allison deduced the woman was demanding to leave.

Robert Breckenridge made futile efforts to calm his wife. Finally he shrugged and took her arm. She slapped his hand away and strode from the room alone. Her husband hesitated; then, with a shake of his head, he followed her.

“Oh, dear!” Myra Armstrong had also witnessed the confrontation. “Robert and Candace must have had another fight. They’re leaving, and they haven’t made their contribution yet.”

Oh, God, not more guilt.
I didn’t mean to drive them away.
A sinking feeling rose in Allison’s stomach.
No, not my fault.
She revived.
Heath Oakes’ fault. The man taints everything he touches, and that includes Candace Breckenridge.

“I wish I could say I feel sorry for them.” Cameron Armstrong shook his head. “Hell of their own making, though.”

“Cam, watch your language.” His wife laid a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not herding cows on an Alberta ranch now.”

“Sorry, darlin’, but that pair…”

“What do you mean, hell of their own making?” Allison broke in.

“Now see what you’ve done.” Myra frowned at her husband. “There’s no need to go spreading stories.”

“Why shouldn’t Allison know the truth? Everyone else east of the Rockies seems to. And since Allison is almost half owner of the Lodge that’s one of their favorite vacation spots, she should be aware of their situation before she’s confronted with it.”

“Very well,” Myra sighed. “It’s such a sad, hopeless affair.”

“Sad? Hopeless?” Allison glanced from one parent to another, astonished. “But they’re wealthy, socially prominent…”

“Not always the stuff happiness is made of.” Dr. Armstrong made a move to tuck his napkin into the neckline of his evening shirt, but his wife’s hand stopped him.

“Cam, really. I thought by now you’d have developed decent table manners.”

“Just teasin’, darlin’.” His grin confirmed his words as he chucked her under the chin. “Checkin’ to see if you were on your toes.”

“Of course.” Allison caught the glint of humor in her mother’s eyes while the remainder of her expression fought to display exasperation.
Lord, how they love each other; what a wonderful time they have together.
She glanced over at Paul, who’d arrived bone dry in the tow truck sent to his rescue while she was in the washroom.
I wonder…

“You see, theirs was an arranged marriage of mutual convenience…or so it seemed.” Her father’s words drew her out of speculation. “When Candace’s father, Abe Maxler, became ill many years ago, he started looking around for someone to succeed him as CEO of his multi-faceted company. He knew Candace, his only child, had neither the intellect nor the inclination to do it. But he wanted the firm to remain in the family.

“He saw only one solution. Marry Candace off to an excellent businessman and make him CEO, with the clause that if he ever left Candace he’d face instant dismissal. If Candace left him, she’d be disinherited.”

“That’s medieval!” Allison couldn’t believe what her father was telling her. “I thought that type of thing disappeared centuries ago. No wonder Candace is so…” She stopped, discarded “promiscuous,” and opted for “discontent.”

“Hang on, hon,” Paul admonished. “It’s not a crime to marry well. In fact, business these days demands a good appearance on all fronts, personal as well as professional.”

“There’s nothing wrong with marrying well, of course.” Myra, always the peacemaker, stepped in as Allison opened her mouth to respond. “But love and happiness must always take precedence. Otherwise, discontent sets in and…”

“And when a woman who’s been unfulfilled emotionally as well as physically in her marriage reaches Candace’s age, that discontent can manifest itself in some pretty bizarre behavior.” Cameron Armstrong made a display of trying to find the correct fork for the lobster. “Believe me, I saw the problem more times than I care to recall when I was a GP.”

“Cam…” Myra reached to hand him the proper utensil, but he caught her slender hand and drew it, palm up, to his lips in a slow, sensuous gesture.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll behave,” he murmured. “Sorry if this old cowboy got out of hand. Forgive me?”

“Always,” she breathed, and the light in her mother’s eyes told Allison Myra Armstrong definitely wasn’t one of those women to whom her father referred.

She was glad her parents weren’t like Candace and her husband. The Breckenridges were a deeply troubled couple, and Heath Oakes wasn’t making it any easier for them. That womanizing barbarian was a major factor in their problems as well as her own. But not for long. She turned to Paul and smiled.

“Let’s dance,” she said.

It’s a waltz
.
Take advantage of it, Paul
.
Hold me close, whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Blast that woods-hero clone out of my mind once and for all.

“Your wish is my command.” Paul stood and swept her a mock bow. “Excuse us, Cam, Myra.”

He drew her into his arms. “Now, this is more like it,” he breathed, moving her about the dance floor in time to the music. “Nothing like a little slow dancing to soothe the savage beast. Or was that savage breast? I never was very good at romantic literature.”

“Breast.” Allison nestled against him and tried not to let the scent of his three-hundred-dollars-a-tiny-bottle aftershave rankle her. Some day she would have to find a subtle way to tell him she detested it.

“Paul?” She smiled at him, hoping he’d take the hint, hoping he’d recognize that she was searching for romance.

“Ummmm? Hey, hon, isn’t that Harrison Graves over there? He’s CEO of that new brewery…big bucks. I wonder if he’s interested in investing. Follow my lead. I’ll dance us over there. Maybe I can bump you into him…get his attention. Look pretty. Smile. This could be a big one.”

****

“Damn!”

Allison looked down at the slack left front tire of her car and breathed the curse.

“Allison, please.” Her mother, standing beside her in the club parking lot, cautioned, “Remember where you are.” She glanced around at guests leaving the facility. “Remember you’re a lady.”

“Sorry, Mom. It’s so damned—darned—exasperating. I thought roadside assistance would have checked for damage before they left it.”

“Not a big deal.” Her father put an arm around her shoulders. “You can ride home with us. Your mother said you plan to stay the night and discuss lodge business in the morning.”

“Good idea.” Her father’s plan had more than one advantage. “We can drop Paul at his apartment.” She ignored the head-shaking grimace he was favoring her with behind her parents’ backs. “I’m sure he’s tired. He’s been trying to sew up a big business deal with Harrison Graves most of the night.”

“Al…” He began the protest, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips and a sly smile.

“I’m taking a few days off to settle Gramps’ will, but I won’t have to spend my nights with lawyers. We’ll have time—lots of time—alone together.”

“Well, okay. Promise?”

“I said we will, okay?” Something inside her snapped at his prodding. “Don’t push.”

“Geez, Al. You’ve really got a bad case of the crankies or something. Whatever it is, I hope you get rid of it soon.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she muttered, thinking of Heath. That night she dreamed of a tall, dark, handsome savage in a loincloth.

The next morning she got up early, dressed in her riding habit, and hurried downstairs to find her father finishing his breakfast of coffee, juice, and cereal.

“Your mother and Jack are still sleeping,” he greeted her, with one of his wide, cowboy grins. “She worked that room real hard last night. I see you’re going riding. How’s that mare of yours? I’ve got to get out there one day soon to see the fine filly she gave birth to…when was it…couple of months ago?”

“Mother and baby are both doing spectacular, thanks for asking.” Allison poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table to smile across at her father. “And, yes, you do have to make time to visit Pride and her baby, little Joy. Dad, honestly, she’s so cute, with her little whisk of a tail and that lightning blaze down her face…”

“The love of animals lives on in the Armstrong-Adams dynasty.” He favored her with one of his crooked grins that Allison thought made him look roguishly delightful. “Someday soon I’m going to take a week off and the three of us are going on one heck of a trail ride—tents, camp stove, the works.”

“I’m going to hold you to it.” She finished her coffee and stood. “Got to go. I want to be back in time to have a long chat with Mom before lunch.”

“Hold on just a minute, young lady.” Cameron Armstrong stood to tower over her. “No one leaves this house without a good breakfast in their belly.” He strode to the cupboard and brought a bowl, glass, and spoon to the table. “Cereal and juice before you hit the trail, my girl.”

Fifteen minutes later, Allison climbed into her mother’s sports car and took the half-hour drive to the stables where she kept her chestnut hunter. She’d ride Heath Oakes’ image right out of her mind, she determined as she swung into the flat English saddle and trotted the long-legged thoroughbred into the arena under the critical eye of Jake Morgan, her instructor.

The lesson didn’t go well. She couldn’t settle her mind to bring herself into harmony with the mare. She took her over the series of jumps poorly, and she knew it. A second round was no better. Nor was a third.

“Ease up on the reins, Allison. Relax and she’ll go easier. She’s sensing your tension.”

“I’ve been riding since before I could walk, Jake. I think I know what I’m doing.” For the first time in the seven years he’d been her riding instructor, Allison snapped at the tall, gray-haired man. She whirled Pride about and headed back at a jump too fast. The mare struggled to rise over the bars but, off stride and over speed, hit the fragile barrier and sent it scattering.

“Drat!” Allison reined the blowing chestnut to a halt near the fence and adjusted her helmet.

“Not her fault.” Jake Morgan came into the ring and took the animal by the bridle. “Time to call it quits, Allison.”

“Okay, okay.” She swung her leg over the mare’s rump, kicked her left foot free of the stirrups, and slid to the ground. She paused to brush a fleck of dust from her navy blazer and adjusted her snowy stock. “The fact that the stables are under renovation is throwing her off. All that hammering, and so many strangers around.”

“Well…” Jake rubbed the horse’s nose and avoided meeting his student’s gaze.

“What?” Allison looked sharply at her middle-aged coach. “Spit it out, Jake. If you think I’m a lousy rider, just tell me.”

“You’re definitely not a lousy rider, honey.” His lean, weathered face mirrored all the uneasiness he was feeling. “You’re a very good rider, with a heart of gold and the courage of a lion. English style just isn’t your cup of tea, so to speak. I’d suggest you segue into western pleasure and ride like your Dad.”

“Western pleasure! You’ve got to be kidding. You mean with a quarter horse and a stock saddle and jeans and a Stetson and…”

“Don’t be so quick to turn up your nose, missy. Your dad was a cowboy before he went to medical school and became a fancy doctor. Or have you forgotten his Alberta roots?” Jake released the girth and pulled the saddle and pad from the horse’s back.

“No, I haven’t.” She looked down at her polished riding boots and remembered how proud she’d always been of her father’s rise from son of a struggling rancher to one of Canada’s best neurosurgeons.

“Well, then.” Jake slid Pride’s bridle over her ears and replaced it with a halter and lunge line. “Give this mare to your mother—she’s retiring her old Princess this summer—and let me find you a good quarter horse.”