Fires of Paradise (10 page)

Chapter 13

Leon Claxton stood on the outside platform between two railroad cars as the locomotive slowly chugged into Paradise, blowing its horn.

He was arriving as scheduled one week before Derek Bragg's surprise party. Had he not wanted to spend most of his two-week holiday with Lucy, the rest given over to the journey, he would have traveled with his parents next week in the luxury of the private Claxton car. But he did want to be with Lucy, and his parents would not arrive until the day before the party, like most of the other out-of-town guests.

Leon was smiling with anticipation. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders, and he cut a dashing figure in his dark, expensive suit. He was blond and blue-eyed, and most women found him very handsome. His face was oval, his features perfect and patrician—he had inherited his mother's superb looks. Lucy had once told him that he was the "epitome of elegance." He had liked that. He had liked that a lot.

Lucy. His heart quickened. He could see the train station ahead as they approached. It had been too long since he had last seen her. He had been very annoyed and had not bothered to hide his feelings when she decided to go to Paradise ahead of her family with the chaperone. It was hard to believe, even now, that she would prefer this cow town to his company.

    However, the love and loyalty she felt for her family was commendable, and it was one of the reasons she would make a perfect wife for him. The others were her beauty and sensuality, not to mention his own lust, but Leon was clearheaded enough not to make too much of that. There were other beautiful, enticing women in the world, equal to Lucy in every way. Except one. None of them were Braggs.

Right now Leon might be stuck in the grimy job of Roosevelt's assistant police commissioner in New York, but it would not continue for long. The job had been his own choice. He had decided to leave the foreign service and his post in Madrid, begging a leave of absence. His father had arranged the appointment to Roosevelt. Roger Claxton was one of the most powerful senators in the United States, and one of the most politically shrewd. His father was friends with the young Roosevelt, but not out of the goodness of his heart. He knew a winner when he saw one.

     Leon respected and admired his boss, even if he thought that Roosevelt was too idealistic at times. Fortunately, his idealism was mitigated by his shrewd practicality. Like his boss, Leon had jumped on the McKinley bandwagon, as had most of corporate America, including his father and the Braggs. Teddy was campaigning and working actively for McKinley's election over the populist Democratic nominee, Jennings, and he had recruited Leon. Leon knew Teddy expected a "plum" after McKinley's election, and so did he—although being younger, he did not expect as high a position. But it was another important stepping stone. His future was coming along nicely, but that wasn't enough. He was going to add the power of the Bragg family to his arsenal, and he was going to go places quickly, indeed.

     Leon was only twenty-six, but he was very impatient.

     Which was why he clutched an three-carat diamond ring in his pocket. No woman, and certainly not Lucy, who loved beautiful and expensive things, could resist the flawless ring he carried with him. Not that he thought she could resist him. He had everything and he knew it—looks, charm, charisma, power, breeding, wealth. He hadn't proposed to anyone since his wife's death in Madrid. She should be quite flattered. He intended to court her all week, and after the party, before he left, he would propose.

    He saw her. He waved. She waved back gaily.

***

Lucy was exhausted. She had had another sleepless night. Her insomnia was getting worse, not better. She waved at Leon with a bright smile. She felt a bit guilty because she had not thought about him once since she had arrived in Texas.

That was strange, now that she realized it. Leon had been her favorite beau by far for the past few months. They had had a lot of fun together, attending balls and soirees, horse races and sailboat competitions, and everyone had said how well suited they were. Lucy had sort of assumed that one day he would propose and one day she would accept. After all, next year she was graduating, and it wouldn't do for her to become a spinster, and she certainly would not find a more suitable fiance than Leon. Lucy had always accepted her parents' unspoken rule that the man she married must have certain qualifications—social status and wealth. Of course, she would fall in love with the man she eventually chose to marry. For a while, she had been merrily in love with Leon. Or close to it. She had found his career exciting. Although he now worked in New York City, he assured her he would be returning to the Foreign Service soon. Lucy had easily imagined herself the wife of an ambassador and living in Paris or London or even Rome, three of her favorite cities. That had soothed her when she had faced the fact that one day she would marry, and marry someone like Leon—if not Leon himself. She wasn't particularly ready to wed and raise children and become a Society hostess, so she preferred not to dwell on those responsibilities that awaited her after graduation.

Yet she hadn't even thought of Leon once in the past weeks.
Well, she supposed that would soon change. He was here in Paradise now.

She stifled a yawn. She must not allow Leon to see her like this and think she was bored. Yet she was desperate for a good night's sleep. Thoughts of
him
kept her awake at night.

He'd worked up at the house for three days, during which time Lucy did her utmost to avoid him. Yet it seemed she always knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. She only had to glance out the parlor window to see him returning from the smokehouse with a side of beef, his strong legs stretching taut the fabric of his jeans. Or she'd be in the library, searching for a book, and she'd hear him whistling tunelessly in the living room, as he put back up the heavy drapes Miranda had taken down to clean. She couldn't escape him even in the privacy of her bedroom. She heard him in the hallway outside, helping the maid shift furniture so the floorboards could be dusted.

And each time she heard him, she visualized him, lean and dark, proud and arrogant, every sinew outlined in his damp shirt and his tight jeans. And she waited for blackmail. Surely that was why he was here. There could be no other reason. She didn't believe that he didn't want money. He was toying with her, playing a cruel game, although she could not fathom why. Any day now he would make his demands in return for his silence. She lived in anxiety. And worst of all, she had no doubt that he knew her innermost thoughts, for whenever they came face-to-face, she could see the smug, knowing look in his eyes. He knew damn well how he was racking her nerves, and he was enjoying it.

The insomnia dated from that very first day she had found him working at the ranch. The Texas nights were so hot and so humid that under normal circumstances it was difficult to sleep. But nothing was normal now. Images she did not welcome taunted her, teased her. Images of Shoz demanding blackmail money, images of his hard body in his tight jeans, his torso naked and slick and wet. Images of his mouth. She would toss and turn, the damp sheets twisting around her, her body consumed with its own blazing heat. She could remember the feel of him that one heady night in the desert when they had come together in wild abandon; his body hot, slick, and hard beneath her hands, his weight warm and heavy on top of her, the power coursing through him which, ultimately, he had not been able to restrain. The feel of him, the scent of him, the look of him . . . Lucy could not bear her memories in the heat and dark of these endless nights.

Last night had been like the others, only worse. The air was so thick and wet, her cotton nightgown was like a second skin, damp and opaque. Even the sheets were annoyingly wet. She had padded barefoot to the open window to try and catch a breath of air—to try and escape her fantasies. To her shock, she saw him standing in the front yard by the swing, clearly illuminated by the moon and the outside porch lights. He was shirtless, his back resting against a tree, his cigarette glowing. No doubt he had the same intention as she, or did he? His was staring directly at her window, directly at her.

Suddenly realizing that if she could see him, he could certainly see her, Lucy hastily drew back. It was a long time before she slept at all.

    The train was slowing. The noise was deafening. Leon was smiling and calling to her; Lucy smiled back. She suddenly thought of what she had done with Shoz, and she was stricken. If Leon ever knew, he would drop her like a hot potato, but that would not be as bad as witnessing his incredulity and his disgust. The latter would be withering. Tension suddenly tied her in knots. What if he found out? And next week her family would arrive, not just her parents and brothers, but everyone—Uncle Nick and Jane and their children, Aunt Storm and Brett and their children and grandchildren. And everyone knew her so well, especially Nicole; someone would guess ...

Panic hit her sharply. She knew she must not let it show. Especially not now, because although Leon had only courted her these past few months, he knew her well enough, and he was very astute. He would miss little, if anything.

He jumped agilely from the train, taking her in his arms. "Lucy!"

Her smile was tremulous. "How was your trip?"

He didn't answer. He was pulling her into his embrace and kissing her soundly. Lucy stiffened reflexively, although Leon had kissed her many times—and she had always enjoyed it. This time she didn't enjoy it; how could she? Her predicament had just become a near-crisis, and Shoz was laughing at her in her mind's eye.

"What's wrong?"

Lucy managed a smile. "Leon, everyone will see!"

"I know," he said, smiling and chucking her chin.

Lucy pulled away. He had never kissed her in public before. She was uneasy. Now was not the time for Leon to become serious.

They returned to the ranch in the Duryea, with Lucy driving. Leon admired the car, now as good as new, but was skeptical of Lucy's ability to drive. "I've gotten quite good," she retorted. He seemed to find it rather amusing to be chauffeured by a woman.

Lucy halted the automobile in front of the house and climbed out without waiting for Leon's help. He raised an eyebrow at her as he came around the front of the car to take her elbow. "Am I forgetting that we're now in Texas, or are you forgetting you were raised in New York?"

It was a rebuke, and Lucy found it annoying. She gave him a look, and saw his surprise. But he did not apologize— as any gentleman should after receiving such a glance from Lucy Bragg. Lucy was somewhat put out.

She couldn't help noticing that he made no effort to retrieve his luggage from the Duryea's backseat. Was he right about the differences between New York and Texas? In New York no gentleman would handle his bags. Yet this wasn't New York, it was Texas, and here even her Uncle Brett, the most elegant gentleman she knew, handled his own luggage.

Miranda came out to greet them, wearing a simple blue skirt and shirtwaist and an apron—which she was drying her hands on. Leon was gallant, of course, and very proper, but Lucy was stunned to realize that he was shocked to see her grandmother in an apron and so obviously coming from the kitchen.

They entered the cool, spacious foyer. "Lucy, why don't you show Leon to his room?" Miranda said. She poked her head into the open doorway of the large salon. Lucy saw over Miranda's small shoulder that Shoz was there, standing on a ladder, fixing one of the windows. Her heart flopped and sank.

"Shoz?" Miranda asked. "Would you mind bringing some luggage in from Lucy's roadster?"

Shoz's cool gaze moved from Miranda to Lucy to the man standing beside her. Lucy could feel her cheeks flaming. Beside her, Leon moved impatiently. Shoz's lips curled, not exactly pleasantly. Lucy almost expected him to turn on her, one finger pointed, and tell all. Of course, it was only a horrid moment of fear, and he did no such thing. He stepped off the ladder. Lucy turned brightly to Leon. "Right this way."

Leon smiled back.

She led him upstairs and down the hall. As was correct, he was not staying in the same wing as she. This particular guest room was decorated in warm red tones with dark oak furniture and many Persian rugs. She moved across it to open the window. "You have wonderful views of the Pecos and the hill country. You can even see some mountains on the horizon."

He came up behind her, crowding her. Lucy jumped when he gripped her arms. "Darling, why are you so nervous?"

"Me?" she asked, her voice a higher pitch than normal. She cleared her throat. "I'm not nervous—just excited is all."

"Excited to see me?" he murmured, his hold tightening.

Lucy could not say no. "Of course," she said, striving for a light tone of voice. "It's been weeks."

He smiled, pulled her up against him, and before she could protest, his mouth claimed hers.

Leon's mouth was warm and firm and coaxing. Lucy had allowed herself, in the past, to be seduced into accepting his tongue. She had always preferred his kisses when they were closemouthed. Now she had no intention of allowing him such liberties, and she kept her lips firmly glued together.

Something heavy hit the floor with a thud! Lucy was intent on keeping her mouth closed no matter how hard he tried to pry past her lips, while he was intent on attaining her surrender. Both heard the noise but did not react. Then there was another thud, this one more forceful. Leon froze and lifted his head; Lucy jumped free of his grasp.

Shoz set the third bag down even more resoundingly and left without even a glance in their direction. As if they were invisible. But of course, he had seen them standing right there in the middle of the room.

"That was outrageous!" Leon gasped, staring after him. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

Lucy hurried to the door and did not reply. It was a harbinger of the disastrous week to come.