What the Heart Wants (16 page)

On the other hand, he didn't want to lose her.

He leaned back in bed and closed his eyes. This one he'd have to play by ear.

Ray Espinoza was Jase's first appointment of the day. After they ran the Shallows down and back, he followed Ray to the Lynnwood area to look over the new section that Espinoza and Son was opening up.

“I ran into Rafe McAllister, and he said he's working on house plans for you.”

“Yeah. We're buildin' for the high-end trade here, dude,” Ray explained. “More upper-middle than the first section of Lynnwood. Media rooms, three-car garages, larger lots, optional pools—all the trappin's. Thinkin' of putting in a country club and an eighteen-hole golf course. People in Bosque Bend are makin' money now, and they wanna move up. We got a lot of wealthy retirees comin' to town too. Overflow from Sun City down in Georgetown.”

Jase pulled the brim of his Stetson lower against the morning sun. “How are you gonna get this off the ground, man? Who's financing you?”

“First National has faith in us.”

“First National? But I thought—”

Ray laughed. “You thought they wouldn't loan to anybody named Espinoza, right?”

“No offense, man, but that's the way it was when I lived here.” He shook his head. “Gotta admit, they wouldn't have loaned to Growler Red's son either, and now they're almost watering at the mouth to hand over the cash.”

Ray looked out over his kingdom. “Dad and I built the first section of Lynnwood with private financin', and it sold so well the bank couldn't turn us down. Besides, we got an attorney who knows our rights better'n we do.”

Jase nodded, understanding perfectly. “And success is sweet, especially when you're sticking it to The Man, right?”

The two men looked at each other, grinned, thumped fists, and knocked elbows.

Laurel woke up late and took her time getting dressed, pairing a lime green tee with yesterday's shorts. The world hadn't exploded yet, so she thought she'd risk baring her legs again. Maybe she'd even get herself a couple more pairs of shorts, which would certainly be a lot cheaper than turning up the air-conditioning.

She posed in the standing mirror, twisting from one side to the other to study herself. Her legs looked okay—slender but not skinny, and her ankles were narrow. Her knees were nice too, their bones well-defined, with no extra flesh alongside. She hoped Jase had noticed.

A rush of heat suffused her. Last night he'd noticed everything.

She pulled up the sheet and topped it with a light summer spread. Why did she even bother? It seemed a futile, given the amount of time they spent rumpling the covers.

Going downstairs, she made herself some coffee and read the latest
Retriever
. Sawyer was on a new campaign, this time to have Bosque Bend High School resurrected as a museum housing memorabilia from the town's past, going as far back as the Huaco Indians. Laurel didn't hold out much hope for this particular project succeeding, but, on the other hand, she hadn't thought the Shallows would ever be turned into a riverside park either—and the
Retriever
had been the first to propose the idea.

Art had also written a long diatribe on the indolence of Bosque Bend youth, one of his favorite topics.

Where did the drive come from to publish what was basically a personal-opinion tabloid? Everyone knew advertising was tight and that Sawyer operated on a shoestring budget, but, for as long as she could remember, the
Retriever
had appeared on the doorsteps of Bosque Bend every Wednesday and Saturday. Arthur Sawyer could be cranky, but he was also an idealist, and Bosque Bend needed his voice. Besides, he'd been kind when Daddy fell into disgrace, not mentioning a word about it in print. He hadn't run obituaries for Mama or Daddy either, which would have riled up the populace all over again.

She finished the paper and laid it aside for Jase when he returned from his meeting with Ray Espinoza.

Taking another sip of her coffee, she leaned back against the counter. Would this be the day when her idyll came to an end? She was becoming more and more fatalistic. If Ray said something to Jase about Daddy, there was nothing she could do about it. The truth was bound to come out sooner or later.

The phone rang. Her Realtor? She put down her cup and raced to the den.

“Ms. Harlow? This is Kel. Do you have time for me this morning?”

“Oh—I stood you up yesterday, didn't I?” How rude of her. She'd dashed out of the house and spent the best part of the morning in Piggly Wiggly, trying to put together a decent meal for Jase.

She glanced at the wall clock. “Um, how about now? I should be free for a while yet.”

“Thanks. I'll be right over.”

He was wearing a faded UCLA tee with his jeans today.

How in the world had this sweetheart ended up in Hollywood? Sure, he was tall, probably over six feet, but he didn't
look
tall, maybe because she had gotten used to Jase's six five. Or maybe because of his soft voice and sweet smile. If she'd had a brother, she would have wanted him to be just like Kel.

He smiled a greeting, wiped his feet on the doormat, and stepped over the threshold. “I really appreciate you letting me see Kinkaid House. I'm trying to get a feel for Garner's Crossing and Benjamin Franklin Chapman.”

They walked down the hall to the drawing room. “You're a set designer?”

He paused and gave her another one of his soft smiles. “Didn't Pendleton tell you? I'm an actor. I'll be playing Benjamin.”

“Erasmus? But he…” She'd read Swaim's book too, and how could she tell this nice young man that he was the wrong type to play her great-grandfather? Erasmus was not just a rascal, but a strong-willed opportunist, even a bit of a villain.

Kel looked around the room slowly, as if soaking in the antique atmosphere, then turned to her, still smiling.

“Pen said there was some bad feeling in town about the book, but I promise you I'll try to portray Benjamin—
Erasmus
—in a positive light. He was quite multifaceted, from what I've read, and I'll try to show all sides of him.”

“I'm sure you will.”
Including the quadroon mistress and the brothel down near the railroad tracks?

He studied the dark rectangles on the wall. “You've removed several paintings recently.”

“Yes, I'll probably relocate to South Texas, so I've put them in storage while I sell the house.” Actually, she'd sold them last year to pay for the cost of Mama's interment.

“Do you have any family pictures?”

“They're in the den. I'll show you.” She led him across the hall and, probably trying to make up for yesterday, gave him an extensive guided tour of the old tintypes and photographs set around on the bookshelves.

“So these are Benjamin's wives,” he said, picking up their framed photos. “Annabel and Caroline.”

“Adeline and Ida Mae,” Laurel corrected.

Kel nodded. “I wonder which one he liked best?”

Laurel edged away from him.

As if sensing her discomfort, Kel replaced the photos in the bookcase and gave her a guileless look and another of his sweet smiles. “May I see the kitchen with the round oak table?”

“Yes, of—of course.” She led him quickly through the kitchen, then to the dining room, where he gazed at her portrait and smiled.

As they moved back into the hall, he looked at his watch. “I'd better go now. I expect your boyfriend will be back for lunch soon.”

Heat rushed to her face. “How did you know?”

“Pendleton. He's got a telescope in that upstairs room and keeps track of the comings and goings in the neighborhood. Did you know that Dolph Overton Jr. visits Phyllis Pfluger first thing in the morning after her husband leaves for the office?”

Laurel returned to the kitchen and poured the remains of her cold coffee into the sink.

So now she'd met a movie actor. She didn't know his last name, though, and his first name didn't ring any bells. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she didn't keep up with show folks.

Jase entered just as she turned on the water to rinse out her mug.

He didn't seem as beat as yesterday, but it was obvious the hundred-degree weather had taken its toll. His face was grimy, and there were damp rings under his arms of his short-sleeved knit shirt.

“Hiya, hon. Cold water in the fridge?”

“Do we live south of the Mason-Dixon Line?” She took the plastic container from the refrigerator and poured him a paper cup of water.

“
Mmmmm
.” His eyes closed as the cool liquid ran down his throat. “Nectar of the gods.”

“More like product of Town Lake.” She shoved the
Retriever
across the counter toward him. “You might be interested in this. Sawyer is calling for the old high school to be turned into a history museum.”

“Yeah, I heard about it from Rafe McAllister.” He picked up the paper and carried it to the table. “I haven't read a
Retriever
in years.”

Laurel sat down across from him. “Rafe McAllister? How do you know Rafe? He was homeschooled and didn't attend Bosque Bend High until just before it was closed down. The only time I met him was when he and his brother needed an accompanist for a talent show they were putting together for a Fourth of July celebration.”

“He designed my house while he was working for his uncle's architectural firm in Dallas. I'd lost track of him until I ran into him in town this morning, but he's running the C Bar M now.”

She nodded. “I've heard that the inheritance always goes to the oldest son.”

He thumbed through the paper as he finished his water. “Hey, there's a story on Ray and his father in here.”

“Art's been running profiles of important people around town lately. The Espinozas are a big deal.”

Jase gave a short, grunting laugh. “Must be really chapping some local hides. Ray was almost as far down the social totem pole as I was back in high school. Espinoza Construction used to be penny ante.” He looked up at her in question. “What happened? It couldn't all have been an equal opportunity push. There must have been big money involved somewhere, some kind of financial backer.”

“In a way,” she said, trying to sound like she found the topic boring. She'd long suspected that her father's cash settlement had been the breakthrough for the Espinozas. Ironically, Daddy would have been pleased that the money had been put to good use.

Jase finished the paper and disposed of it in the step-on trash can. “What are we having for lunch?”

“I haven't even thought about it. Probably frozen pizza.” Even Rachael Ray must take a vacation every now and then.

At midafternoon, Jase turned off his mobile to get a little respite. All hell had broken loose earlier in the day. The sale of one of his North Texas holdings had fallen through, San Antonio was going berserk, and half of Bosque Bend wanted to show him their back forty acres.

Needing a change of scenery, he wandered into the front room and looked around. As if drawn by a magnet, he walked to the door of Reverend Ed's study. To his surprise, the knob wouldn't turn, but on second thought, it made sense that Laurel might want to keep the room sealed off, like a holy temple.

Placing his hand against the door for a moment, he let the vibes of comfort roll. Reverend Ed's study had been his refuge, where he could talk about everything that was bothering him—everything but Marguerite, of course. He'd like to visit the little room again, just once, to look around and remember the kind, wise man whose counseling had influenced his life so profoundly.

Laurel popped her head into the front room. “There you are. I'm going upstairs to get my laundry, and I wondered if you need anything washed.” She balanced a latticed plastic basket on her hip.

“No, I'm cool right now. Would it be okay with you if I looked into your father's study, for old times' sake?”

Her head jerked and she stared at him blankly, as if she hadn't heard what he'd said, then curved her lips into a faint smile. “No prob. I'll take care of that as soon as I put my clothes in the washer.”

Several minutes later, she returned with a large, old-fashioned key and joined him at the study door.

“I'm glad those two cheesy Greek guys are gone,” he commented. “I'd never seen sculptures like that in person before.” That
naked
, at least, but he wasn't going to say that. His artistic tastes had become more sophisticated in the past sixteen years, but he had yet to furnish his house with life-sized nude statues.

Laurel looked away and shifted her shoulders carelessly. “I never thought much about them. They were original with the house. My great-grandfather bought them on a trip to England and had them shipped over.” She moved her foot in a vain attempt to smooth out the depression in the carpet where one of the youths' pedestals had stood for more than a century. “I think they were leftovers from the Elgin Marbles craze in the early 1800s.”

Odd how Mama was so prudish about women wearing shorts, but didn't seem to notice the naked statues in her own drawing room. Maybe because they were cold, dead stone, and she'd grown up with them.

Truth to tell, they'd always seemed just part of the scenery to her too, until she was ten and had walked in on her father running his hand lovingly down the smooth flank of one of the fig-leafed youths. “They're so classic and graceful,” he'd explained to her. “I can't resist touching them.” From then on, the statues embarrassed her.

Willing her hand not to tremble, she turned the key in the lock, then pushed open the door and stood aside for Jase to enter. This would be the first time she had been in Daddy's office in almost two years. Two years, in which she'd tried to forget it was even there. It represented so much of him—the good and the bad. Her ears felt hot and her knees weakened. She leaned against the wall for support.