Sugar Daddy (31 page)

“Because she fell in love with a poor guy?” I demanded in outrage.

“It wasn’t right,” Churchill admitted. “But times were hard.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Diana came to me the night she ran off to get married. Your father waited out in the car while she came in and said goodbye and gave back the ring. I wouldn’t take it. I told her to trade it for a wedding present. And I begged her to come to me if she ever needed anything.”

I understood what those words must have cost him, a man of such enormous pride.

“And by the time my father died,” I said, “you’d already married Ava.”

“That’s right.”

I was quiet then, sifting through memories. Poor Mama, struggling to make it on her own. No family to go to, no one to help. But those mysterious disappearances, when she would be gone for a day and then there would be food in the refrigerator and the bill collectors stopped calling…

“She came to you,” I said. “Even though you were married. She visited you and you gave her money. You helped her for years.”

Churchill didn’t need to say anything. I saw the truth in his eyes.

I squared my shoulders and forced myself to ask the big question. “Is Carrington yours?”

Color mounted in his weathered face, and he gave me an offended glare. “You think I wouldn’t take responsibility for my own child? Let her be raised in a damn trailer park? No, there’s no chance she’s mine. Diana and I never had that kind of relationship.”

“Come off it, Churchill. I’m not an idiot.”

“Your mother and I never slept together. You think I’d do that to Ava?”

“Sorry, but I don’t buy it. Not if she was getting money from you.”

“Honey, I don’t give a fuck-all if you believe me or not,” he said evenly. “Not saying I wasn’t tempted. But I was physically faithful to Ava. I owed her at least that much. You want me to take a paternity test, I’ll do it.”

That convinced me. “Okay. I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m just…it’s hard to accept that my mother went to you for money all those years. She always made such a big deal about never taking handouts from people and how I needed to be self-reliant when I grew up. That makes her a big fat hypocrite.”

“It makes her a parent who wanted the best for her child. She did the best she could. I wanted to do a lot more for her, but she wouldn’t let me.” Churchill sighed, suddenly looking weary. “I didn’t see her at all the year before she died.”

“She was wrapped up with a guy she was dating,” I said. “A real scumbag.”

“Louis Sadlek.”

“She told you about him?”

Churchill shook his head. “Read the accident report.”

I stared at him, studied him, considering his fondness for grand gestures. “You watched the funeral from a black limo,” I said. “I always wondered who it was. And the yellow roses…you’ve been sending them all these years, haven’t you?”

He was quiet as I continued to put the pieces together. “I got a deal on her casket,” I said slowly. “That was you. You paid for it. You got the funeral director to go along with it.”

“It was the last thing I could do for Diana,” he said. “That, and keep an eye on her daughters.”

“Keep an eye on us how?” I asked suspiciously.

Churchill kept his mouth shut. But I knew him too well. Part of my job was helping to organize the rivers of information that flowed to Churchill. He kept tabs on businesses, political issues, people…he was always getting reports of one kind or another in deceptively innocuous tan envelopes. “You weren’t spying on me, were you?” I asked, thinking,
Sweet Jesus, these Travis men are making me paranoid.

He shrugged a little. “I wouldn’t call it that. I just checked in on you now and then.”

“I know you, Churchill. You don’t just ‘check in’ on people. You’re a meddler. You…” I sucked in a quick breath. “That scholarship I got from the beauty school…you did that too, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to help you.”

I shot up from the sofa. “I didn’t want any help! I could have done it on my own. Damn you, Churchill! First you were Mama’s sugar daddy and then you were mine, except I didn’t even have a choice about it. Do you know how stupid that makes me feel?”

His eyes narrowed. “What I did for you doesn’t take away a thing from what you accomplished. Not a single thing.”

“You should have left me alone. I swear, Churchill, you’re going to take back every cent you spent on me, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Fair enough. I’ll take the scholarship money out of your salary. But not the money for the casket. I did that for her, not for you. Sit down, we’re not done talking. I got more to say.”

“Great.” I sat. My mind was buzzing. “Does Gage know?”

Churchill nodded. “He followed me one day when I drove to meet Diana for lunch at the St. Regis.”

“You met her at a hotel and you
never
—” I stopped at the scowl he gave me. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

“Gage saw us having lunch,” Churchill continued, “and he confronted me later. He was mad as hell even after I swore I hadn’t cheated on Ava. But he agreed to keep it secret. He didn’t want Ava to be hurt.”

My mind went back to the day I had moved to River Oaks.

“Gage recognized my mother from the picture in my room upstairs,” I said.

“Yes. We had words about it.”

“I’ll bet you did.” I gazed into the fire. “Why’d you start coming to the salon?”

“I wanted to know you. I was proud as hell of you for keeping Carrington and raising her on your own, and working your tail off. I already loved you and Carrington because you were all that was left of Diana. But after I met you, I loved you for yourselves.”

I could barely see him through the glitter in my eyes. “I love you too, you high-handed interfering old jackass.”

Churchill held out his arm, gesturing for me to come closer. And I did. I leaned against him, into the comforting fatherly smell of aftershave and leather and starched cotton.

“My mother could never let go of Daddy,” I said absently. “And you could never let go of her.” I sat back and looked at him. “I’ve always thought it was about finding the right person. But it’s about choosing the right person, isn’t it?…Making a real choice and giving your whole heart to it.”

“Easier said than done.”

Not for me. Not anymore. “I need to see Gage,” I said. “Of all times for him to be gone, this has got to be the worst.”

“Sugar.” Churchill wore the beginnings of a frown. “Did Gage happen to mention why he was going on this last-minute trip?”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “He told me he was going to Dallas and then to Research Triangle. But no, he didn’t say why.”

“He wouldn’t want me to tell you,” Churchill said. “But I think you need to know. There have been some last-minute problems on the Medina deal.”

“Oh, no,” I said in concern, knowing how important it was to Gage’s company. “What happened?”

“Security leak in the negotiations process. No one was supposed to know the deal was going on—in fact, everyone at the table had signed a nondisclosure agreement. But somehow your friend Hardy Cates found out what was in the works. He took the information to Medina’s biggest supplier, Victory Petroleum, who is now putting pressure on Medina to kill the whole deal.”

All the air seemed to leave my lungs at once. I couldn’t believe it. “My God, it was me,” I said numbly. “I mentioned the negotiations to Hardy. I didn’t know it was top secret. I had no idea he’d do something like this. I’ve got to call Gage and tell him what I did, that I didn’t mean to—”

“He’s already figured it out, sugar.”

“Gage knows I’m the leak? But—” I broke off, turning cold with panic. Gage must have known last night. And yet he hadn’t said anything. I felt nauseous. I buried my face in my hands, my voice filtering through the cage of my stiff fingers. “What can I do? How can I make this right?”

“Gage is taking care of damage control,” Churchill said. “He’s cooling things down at Medina this morning, and later today he’ll pull his team at Research Triangle together to deal with the issues that were raised about the biofuel. Don’t worry, sugar. It’ll all work out.”

“I need to do something. I…Churchill, will you help me?”

“Always,” he said without hesitation. “You name it.”

The sensible thing would have been to wait for Gage to come back to Texas. But in light of the fact that he’d tolerated more than a few blows to his pride and an even bigger blow to an important business deal, all for my sake, I knew it was no time to be sensible. As Churchill says, sometimes grand gestures are called for.

I made one stop on the way to the airport, at Hardy’s downtown office. It was located on Fannin in a towering aluminum and glass building with two halves that locked together like two giant puzzle pieces. The receptionist was a predictably attractive blond woman with a smoky voice and great legs. She showed me in to Hardy’s office as soon as I arrived.

He was dressed in a dark Brooks Brothers suit and a vivid blue tie the exact shade of his eyes. He looked confident, sharp, a man who was going places.

I told Hardy about my conversation with Churchill, and what I’d learned about his part in trying to ruin the Medina deal. “I don’t understand how you could have done such a thing,” I said. “I would never have expected it from you.”

He looked unrepentant. “It’s just business, honey. Sometimes you have to get a little dirt on your hands.”

Some dirt doesn’t wash off,
I thought of saying. But I knew he would have to find that out for himself someday. “You used me to hurt him. You figured it would break us up, and on top of that, it would put Victory Petroleum in the position of owing you a favor. You’d do just about anything to succeed, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll do what has to be done,” he said, his face smooth. “I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize for wanting to get ahead.”

My anger drained away, and I stared at him compassionately. “You don’t have to apologize, Hardy. I understand. I remember all those things we needed and wanted and could never have. It’s just…it’s not going to work for you and me.”

His voice was very soft. “You think I can’t love you, Liberty?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. “I think you loved me once. But even then it wasn’t enough. Do you want to know something?…Gage didn’t tell me about what you’d done, even though he had the perfect opportunity. Because he wasn’t going to let you drive a wedge between us. He forgave me without being asked, without even letting me know I’d betrayed him. That’s love, Hardy.”

“Ah, honey…” Hardy took my hand, lifted it, and kissed the inside of my wrist, at the tiny whisk of blue veins beneath the skin. “One lost deal doesn’t mean shit to him. He’s had it all since the day he was born. If he’d been in my shoes, he’d have done the same thing.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.” I pulled away from him. “Gage wouldn’t use me for any price.”

“Everyone has a price.”

Our gazes met. It seemed an entire conversation took place in that one glance. Each of us saw what we needed to know.

“I have to say goodbye now, Hardy.”

He stared at me with bitter understanding. We both knew there was no room in this for friendship. Nothing left but childhood history.

“Hell.” Hardy caught my face in his hands, kissing my forehead, my closed eyelids, stopping just short of my mouth. And then I was wrapped in one of those hard, secure hugs I remembered so well. Still holding me, Hardy whispered in my ear. “Be happy, honey. No one deserves it more. But don’t forget…I’m keeping one little piece of your heart for myself. And if you ever want it back…you know where to find it.”

Having never been airborne before, I white-knuckled it all the way to Raleigh Durham. I sat in first class next to a very nice guy in a business suit, who talked me through the takeoff and landing, and ordered me a whiskey sour during the flight. As we deboarded, he asked if he could have my number, and I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m taken.”

I hoped I was right.

I’d planned to take a cab to my next stop, a small public airport about seven miles away, but a limo driver was waiting for me in baggage claim. He held up a sign with the handwritten letters
JONES
. I approached him tentatively. “Are you by chance looking for Liberty Jones?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That would be me.”

I guessed Churchill had arranged for the ride, either out of thoughtfulness, or the fear that I couldn’t have managed to get a cab by myself. Travis men are nothing if not overprotective.

The driver helped me with my suitcase, a Hartmann tweed Gretchen had loaned me and helped pack. It was stuffed with light wool pants and a skirt, some white shirts, my silk scarf, and two cashmere sweaters she swore she had no use for. Optimistically I had also packed an evening dress and heels. There was a brand-new passport in my purse, along with Gage’s, which his secretary had provided.

It was nearly dusk by the time I was dropped off at the small airport, which had two runways, a snack bar, and nothing remotely resembling a control tower. I noticed how different the air smelled in North Carolina, salty and soft and green.

There were seven aircraft on the ground, two small and five mid-sized, one of them the Travises’ Gulfstream. Next to a yacht, the most blatant exhibition of extreme wealth is a private jet. The superrich have planes with showers, private bedrooms, and wood-paneled workstations, along with fancy stuff like gold-plated cup holders.

But the Travises, mindful of maintenance costs, had been conservative by Texan standards. That’s sort of a joke if you’ve ever seen their Gulfstream, a luxury long-range aircraft fitted with fiddleback mahogany and soft wool carpeting. Also leather swivel seats, a plasma TV, and a curtained-off divan that folds out into a queen-sized bed.

I boarded the plane and met the pilot and copilot. While they sat in the cockpit, I had a soda and waited nervously for Gage. I practiced a speech, a hundred versions, searching for the right words to make Gage understand how I felt.

I heard someone boarding the plane, and my pulse went crazy and the speech flew right out of my head.

Gage didn’t see me at first. He looked grim and tired, dropping a shiny black briefcase into the nearest seat, rubbing the back of his neck as if it were sore.

“Hey,” I said softly.

His head turned, and his face went blank as he saw me. “Liberty. What are you doing here?”

I felt an overwhelming rush of love for him, more love than I could contain, rising off me like heat. God, he was beautiful. I groped for words. “I…I decided on Paris.”

A long silence passed. “Paris.”

“Yes, you know you asked me if I…well, I called the pilot yesterday. I told him I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

“He’s worked everything out so we can leave straight from here. Right now. If you want.” I offered him a hopeful smile. “I’ve got your passport.”

Gage removed his jacket, taking his time about it. I was reassured by the way he seemed to fumble a little as he laid the garment over a seat back. “So now you’re ready to go somewhere with me.”

My voice was thick with emotion. “I’m ready to go anywhere with you.”

He looked at me with brilliant gray eyes, and I caught my breath as a slow smile curved his lips. Loosening his tie, he began to approach me.

“Wait,” I choked out. “I have to tell you something.”

Gage stopped. “Yes?”

“Churchill told me about the Medina deal. It was my fault—I’m the one who tipped Hardy off about it. I had no idea that he would…I’m sorry.” My voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

Gage reached me in two strides. “It’s all right. No, damn it, don’t start crying.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you—”

“I know you wouldn’t. Hush. Hush.” He hauled me close, wiping at my tears with his fingers.

“I was so stupid, I didn’t realize—why didn’t you say anything to me about it?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. I knew it wasn’t your fault. I should have made certain you understood it was confidential.”

I was stunned by his belief in me. “How could you be so sure I didn’t do it on purpose?”

He cradled my face in his hands and smiled into my streaming eyes. “Because I know you, Liberty Jones. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear—”

“Shut up,” Gage said tenderly, and kissed me with a blistering heat that made my knees buckle. I wrapped my arms around his neck, forgetting the reason for tears, forgetting everything but him. He kissed me over and over, deeper, until we both staggered in the aisle, and he was forced to brace a hand on one of the seats to keep us from falling over. And the plane wasn’t even moving. His breath rushed fast and hot against my cheek as he drew back enough to whisper, “What about the other guy?”

My eyes half closed as I felt the heel of his hand brush the side of my breast. “He’s the past,” I managed to say. “You’re the future.”

“Damn right I am.” Another deeply uncivilized kiss, full of fire and tenderness, promising more than I could begin to take in. All I could think was that a lifetime with this man wouldn’t be nearly enough. He pulled away with an unsteady laugh and said, “There’s no getting away from me now, Liberty. This is it.”

I know,
I would have said, but before I could answer he was kissing me again, and he didn’t stop for quite a while.

“I love you.” I don’t remember who said it first, only that we both ended up saying it quite a lot during the seven-hour-and-twenty-five-minute flight across the Atlantic. And it turned out Gage had some interesting ideas about how to pass the time at fifty thousand feet.

Let’s just say flying is a lot more tolerable when you’ve got distractions.