Separate Cabins (12 page)

His remark was offered in jest, but Rachel wasn’t amused. “So it would seem,” she said curtly, reacting to the threading tension that was turning her nerves raw. His sudden appearance had thrown her off balance.

“Would you like to see the inside of the cathedral?” Gard inquired, smoothly ignoring her shortness and acting as if there hadn’t been any cool constraint between them.

“No.” She swung away from the church steps and began to walk along the narrow sidewalk in the direction of the shopping district.

“I rented a car for the day.” He fell in step with her, letting his gaze slide over her profile.

“Good for you.” Rachel continued to look straight ahead. She felt slightly short of breath and knew it wasn’t caused by the leisurely pace of her steps.

“I thought we could drive around and see the sights.” There was a heavy run of amusement in his voice.

She tossed a glance in his direction that didn’t quite meet his sidelong study of her. Some of her poise was returning, taking the abrasive edge out of her voice. But it didn’t lessen her resentment at the way Gard was taking it for granted that she would want to spend the day with him—just as yesterday when he had taken it for granted that because he had expressed a desire to make love to her, she should have been wildly impressed.

“I thought you just said there weren’t any sights to see in Puerto Vallarta,” she reminded him coolly.

“I said there weren’t any major cultural attractions,” Gard corrected her. “But there’s plenty of scenery. I thought we could drive around town, maybe stop to see some friends of mine—they have a place in Gringo Gulch where a lot of Americans
have vacation homes—then drive out in the country.”

“It’s a shame you went to so much trouble planning out the day’s activities for
us
without consulting me,” Rachel informed him with honeyed sweetness. “I could have told you that I’d already made plans and you wouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“Oh?” His glance was mildly interested, a touch of skepticism in his look. “What kind of plans have you made?”

Rachel had to think quickly, because her plans were haphazard at best. “I planned to do some shopping this morning. There’re several good sportswear lines that are made here, and I want to pick up some small gifts for friends back home.”

“And the afternoon?” Gard prompted.

The beach bag she carried made that answer rather obvious. “I’m going to the beach.”

“Any particular beach?”

“No.” Her gaze remained fixed to the front, but she wasn’t seeing much. All her senses were tuned to the man strolling casually at her side.

“I know a quiet, out-of-the-way spot. We’ll go there this afternoon after you’ve finished your shopping.”

“Look.” Rachel stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to confront him. Gard was slower to halt, then came halfway around to partially face her. His handsomely hewn features showed a mild, questioning surprise at this sudden stop. “I’m not going with you this afternoon.”

“Why?” He seemed untroubled by her announcement.

There was frustration in knowing that she didn’t have an adequate reason. Even more damnably frustrating was the knowledge that she wouldn’t mind being persuaded to alter her plans. She became all the more determined to resist such temptation.

“Because I’ve made other plans.” Rachel chose a terse non-answer and began to walk again.

“Then I’ll go along with you.” With a diffident shrug of his shoulders, Gard fell in with her plans.

She flicked him an impatient glance. “Are you in the habit of inviting yourself when you’re not asked?”

“On occasion,” he admitted with a hint of a complacent smile.

More shops were beginning to unlock their doors to open for business. Out of sheer perversity Rachel attempted to bore him by wandering in and out of every store, not caring whether it was a silversmith or a boutique, whether it sold copper and brassware or colorful Mexican pottery.

Yet she never detected any trace of impatience as he lounged inside a store’s entrance while she browsed through its merchandise. She did make a few small purchases: a hand-crafted lace mantilla for her secretary, a hand-embroidered blouse for Mrs. Pollock next door, and two ceramic figurines of Joseph with Mary riding a donkey for Fan’s collection of Christmas decorations. Gard offered to carry them for her, but she stubbornly tucked them inside her beach bag.

In the next boutique she entered, Rachel found a two-piece beach cover-up patterned in exactly the same shade of lavender as her swimsuit. The sales clerk showed her the many ways the wraparound skirt could be worn, either long with its midriff-short blouse or tied sarong fashion. After haggling good-naturedly over the price for better than half an hour, Rachel bought the outfit.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Gard observed dryly as he followed her out of the store.

Bargaining over the price was an accepted practice in most of Mexico, especially when a particular item wasn’t marked with a price, so Rachel was a little puzzled why he was commenting on her negotiation for a lower price.

“It’s business,” she countered.

“I agree,” he conceded. “But you practiced it like you were an old hand at negotiating for a better price.”

“I suppose I am.” She smiled absently, because she was often involved in negotiating better prices for bulk-order purchases of furniture or related goods for her company. “It’s part of my work.”

“I didn’t realize you worked.” Gard looked at her with frowning interest.

Rachel laughed shortly. “You surely didn’t think my only occupation was that of a widow?”

“I suppose I did.” He shrugged and continued to study her. “I didn’t really give it much thought. What do you do?”

“I own a small chain of retail furniture stores.” Her chin lifted slightly in a faint show of pride.

“If they’re managed properly, they can be a
sound investment.” The comment was idly made. “Who have you hired to handle the management of them for you?”

“No one.” Rachel challenged him with her glance. “I manage them myself.”

“I see.” His expression became closed, withdrawing any reaction to her announcement. That, in itself, was an indication of his skepticism toward her ability to do the job well.

“I suppose you think a woman can’t run a business,” she murmured, fuming silently.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to!” she flared.

“You took me by surprise, Rachel.” Gard attempted to placate her flash of temper with calm reasoning. “Over the years I’ve met a few successful female executives. You just don’t look the type.”

“And what is the type?” Hot ice crystallized in her voice as she threw him a scathing look. “Ambitious and cold and wearing jackets with padded shoulders?” She didn’t wait for him to answer as her lips came thinly together in disgust. “That is the most sexist idea I’ve ever heard!”

“That isn’t what I meant at all, but the point is well taken,” he conceded with a bemused light in his dusty brown eyes. “I deserved that for generalizing.”

She was too angry to care that Gard admitted he’d been wrong. She turned on him. “Why don’t you go back to the ship ... or go drive around in your rented car? Go do whatever it is that you want to do and leave me alone! I’m tired of you following me!”

“I was wrong and I apologize,” Gard repeated with a smooth and deliberately engaging smile. “Let’s find a restaurant and have some lunch.”

“You simply don’t listen, do you?” she declared in taut anger and looked rawly around the immediate vicinity.

A uniformed police officer was standing on the corner only a few yards away. Rachel acted on impulse, without pausing to think through the idea. In a running walk she swept past Gard and hurried toward the policeman.

“Officer?” she called to attract his attention.

He turned, his alert, dark eyes immediately going to her. He was of medium height with a stocky, muscular build. His broad features had a no-nonsense look, reinforced by a full black mustache. He walked to meet Rachel as she approached him, his gaze darting behind her to Gard.

“Officer, this man is annoying me.” Rachel turned her accusing glance on Gard as he leisurely came up to stand behind her.

His expression continued to exhibit patience, but there was a hard glint in his eyes, too, at her new tactic. When she looked back at the policeman, Rachel wasn’t sure he had understood her.

“This man has been following me.” She gestured toward Gard. “I want him to stop it and leave me alone.”

“The
señor
makes trouble for you?” the officer repeated in a thick accent to be certain he had understood.

“Yes,” Rachel nodded, then added for further clarification,
“Sί.”

The policeman turned a cold and narrowed look on Gard while Rachel watched with cool satisfaction. He started to address Gard, but Gard broke in, speaking in an unhesitating Spanish. The policeman’s expression underwent a rapid change, going from a stern to a faintly amused look.

“What did you say to him?” Rachel demanded from Gard.

“I merely explained that we’d had a small argument.” The hard challenge continued to show behind his smiling look. “I was tired of shopping and wanted some lunch. And you—my wife—insisted on going through more stores first.”

Her mouth opened on a breath of anger, but she didn’t waste it on Gard. Instead she swung to the officer. “That isn’t true,” she denied. “I am not his wife. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

An obviously puzzled officer looked once more to Gard.
“Señor?”

There was another explanation in Spanish that Rachel couldn’t understand, but it was followed by Gard reaching into his pocket and producing identification. The edge was taken off her anger with the dawning realization of how she was being trapped.

“Would you care to show him your passport or driver’s license, Mrs. MacKinley?” Gard taunted softly.

“Señora,
your papers?” the officer requested.

Dully she removed her passport from the zippered compartment in-her purse and showed it to him. A grimly resigned look showed her acceptance of defeat for the way Gard had outmaneuvered her.
With the difficulties of the language barrier, she couldn’t hope to convincingly explain that even though their surnames were the same, they weren’t related.

When the policeman returned the passport, he observed her subdued expression. It was plain that he considered this a domestic matter, not requiring his intervention. He made some comment to Gard and grinned before touching a hand to his hat in a salute and moving to the side.

“What did he say?” Rachel demanded.

Before she could tighten her hold on the beach bag, filled to the top now with her morning’s purchases, Gard was taking it from her and gripping her arm just above the elbow to propel her down the sidewalk. Rachel resisted, but with no success.

“He was recommending a restaurant where we could have lunch,” he replied tautly, ignoring her attempts to pull free of his grasp.

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered.

“I seem to have lost my appetite, too.” His fingers tightened, digging into her flesh as he steered her around a corner.

The line of his jaw was rigid, hard flesh stretched tautly across it. Her own mouth was clamped firmly shut, refusing to make angry feminine pleas to be released. She stopped actively struggling against his grip and instead held herself stiff, not yielding to his physical force.

Halfway down the narrow cross street he pulled her to a stop beside a parked car and opened the door. “Get in,” he ordered.

Rachel flashed him another angry glance, but he didn’t let go of her arm until she was sitting in the passenger seat. Then he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. She toyed with the idea of jumping out of the car, but it sounded childish even to her. Her beach bag was tossed into the back seat as Gard slid behind the wheel and inserted the key into the ignition switch.

Holding her tight-lipped silence, she said nothing as he turned into the busy traffic on the Malecon, the main thoroughfare in Puerto Vallarta, which curved along the waterfront of Banderas Bay. At the bridge over the Cuale River the traffic became heavier as cabs, trucks, burros, and bicycles all vied to cross.

The river was also the local laundromat. Rachel had a glimpse of natives washing their clothes and their children in the river below when Gard took his turn crossing the bridge. Under other circumstances she would have been fascinated by this bit of local atmosphere, but as it was, she saw it and forgot it.

Her sense of direction had always been excellent. Without being told, she knew they were going in the exactly opposite direction of the pier where the ship was tied. It was on the north side of town and they were traveling south. The road began to climb and twist up the mountainside that butted the sea, past houses and sparkling white condominiums clinging to precarious perches on the steep bluffs. When the resorts and residences began to thin out, Gard still didn’t slow down.

Rachel couldn’t stand the oppressive silence any longer. “Am I being abducted?”

“You might call it that,” was Gard’s clipped answer.

Not once since he’d climbed behind the wheel had his gaze strayed from the road. His profile seemed to be chiseled out of teak, carved in unrelenting lines. She looked at the sure grip of his hands on the steering wheel. Her arm felt bruised from the steely force of his fingers, but she refused to mention the lingering soreness.

As they rounded the mountain the road began a downward curve to a sheltered bay with a large sandy beach and a scattering of buildings and resorts. Recalling his earlier invitation to spend the afternoon in some quiet beach area, Rachel wondered if this was it.

“Is that where we’re going?” The tension stayed in her voice, giving it an edge.

“No.” His gaze flashed over the bay and returned to the road, the uncompromising set of his features never changing. “That’s where they filmed the movie
The Night of the Iguana.”
His voice was flat and hard.

“You can let me off there,” Rachel stated and stared straight ahead. “I should be able to hire a taxi to take me back to town.”