Mad About The Man (7 page)

"When did you see—"

"Ah-hah!" Char wagged a long finger. "So the
reports are true. Where did he take you and what did
the two of you do?"

"I don't
believe
this." Gaby realized she'd crushed
the charcoal, and tried to brush oily black dust from
her fingers. "Sophie tattled! Not that there's anything
to tattle about. I simply wanted to take the opportunity
to tell Ledan where we stand in this town."

"For an hour and a half?" Char said, squinting at
a row of
small
pump bottles. "Drove off
toward
Odles' place, so Caleb at the garage said. In a big
Jeep. The one we've seen going through town, only we didn't know it was Ledan's."

"We decided we'd talk better in private," Gaby said lamely.

"We
decided." Char sprayed a mist from one bottle into the air and sniffed. "Banana. I don't know about this idea of making the fruit smell authentic.
You and Ledan already became a
we.
Sounds promising."

"Promising?"

"Do you like him?"

"No!"

Char smirked. "Too emphatic, darling. You do like
him."

"I
hate
him!"

"Very narrow line between love and hate. Did you
wonder what it would be like if he kissed you?"

An immediate flood of heat washed Gaby's face.

"Yippie!" Char twirled, spraying essence of ba
nana as she went. "You didn't just think about it.
You
found out!"

"You don't know—"

"Yes I do. I'm clairvoyant. Good. I'm glad. It's long past time for yo
u to have a man in your life…
again. Michael Copeland was a dud, but—"

"Michael is Mae's father and he's a good
…
well,
an interesting man. He wasn't right for me, but neither
was I right for him
.
"

Char hoisted herself to sit on the edge of a bench. "As I was about to say. Just because Michael Cope
land's a dud, it doesn't mean every man is. Jacques Ledan will probably do Goldstrike some good. And
if he can do you some good at the same time, I'm all
for it."

"Char!"

"There's no substitute for good sex, my girl.
You've been celibate far too long, and before you
know where you are you'll be a dried up old bag like
me."

Gaby flapped a hand. "You amaze me. That—" she pointed weakly toward the upper story of the building "—that opportunist is going to turn this lovely place into a zoo, a
nd all you can think about is…
"

"Go on. What?"

"All you can think about is getting me into bed with him. I don't know what's gotten into you."

"I believe in making the best of things. He plans
to build a little hotel and some shops and maybe put
up some mining displays. Big deal. We could use something new around here."

"Little hotel? Shops?
You don't know the
half
of
it. Try a wild teen center in the old schoolhouse. Try
a
theme park
.
When Jacques Ledan finishes with us we're never going to be the same—ouch!" A blur of
white shot from above and something sharp hit
Gaby's cheek.

"That came through the skylight," Char said.

"No kidding." Scowling, Gaby picked up a sleek paper airplane. "What a dumb stunt."

Char craned her neck to peer out the skylight. "There's a man up there. He's waving."

"I bet he is," Gaby mumbled, knowing who she would see if she looked.

"Tall, dark, blue-eyed and knock-'em-dead handsome, unless I'm much mistaken," Char reported in rapt tones.

"Yeah."

"Wave to him, Gaby."

Feeling yet another dull flush creep up her neck, Gaby raised her chin. The window where Jacques
stood had always been closed. Now it was open, and
he leaned his weight on the sill—and smiled that smile she was unlikely ever to forget.

"He's got a mean aim," Char said.

"Yeah. Doesn't he?" Gaby rubbed her cheek. "Some people never grow up."

"He's trying to tell you something."

"I'd like to tell
him
something."

"I bet the plane's a note. Open it up and see."

"No." Gaby threw the plane on the bench an
fished a fresh box of charcoal from a drawer.

"Then I will."

Gaby snatched back the plane as Char made a grab.
"All right. All right." Even at a distance, Jacques's teeth shone. "Stupidity. Throwing paper planes like
a little kid." She unfolded the paper, read, then
pressed it to her chest when Char tried to see what
he'd written.

"What does it say?"

"Nothing." Gaby made to crumple the paper,
caught Char's eye and pushed it into a pocket instead.

"Oh, come on." Char sidled closer. "You can't
do
this to
me. What does the note say?"

"Nothing."

"Yes it does."

"No, it doesn't." Why did she wish so badly tha
t whatever game the man was play
ing wasn't just
that—a game?

"I'll go on upstairs and thank him for it anyway and tell him you agree. How's that?" Char put down
the bottle and turned toward the door.

"He wants me to have dinner with him," Gaby
said in a rush. "At that wretched La Place. Can you imagine the nerve of the man?"

"He wants you to have dinner
^?
" Char repeated slowly. "Accept."

"I will not." But she wanted to.

"Wave and nod."

"No."

"Then I'll go and tell him for you." Char headed for the door again.

"No! Char, don't you dare do any such thing. He's
only trying to get me in his corner because he doesn't
Want any opposition to his plans."

"I bet he kisses wonderfully."

"What?" Gaby leapt to her feet. "Char, I can't believe you're talking like this."

Char shrugged. "Great aim with a paper plane. Stands to reason a man with that kind of aim would be marvelous at kissing—and other things. He'd be bound to do other th
ings with a lot of flair and au
thority."

"
This is bizarre. You must be tired. Why don't you
go home early?"

"You did like the way he kissed you?"

"Yes, but—I never said he kissed me."

Char nodded with apparent satisfaction. She leaned
forward to peer at J
acques. "Gone," she said, sound
ing disappointed. "Use your head, girl. Even if you
don't want to have an affair with him, it won't hurt
to get close enough to be on the inside of whatever his plans are."

"You are definitely not yourself," Gaby said. "There's no reason I can't go home and sketch. You
stay here and fantasize. I'll go to my place and work.
Michael's expecting the drawings for
Dogs
by next week."

"And since Michael's always been so trustworthy and timely himself, we wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would we?"

Gaby picked up a natural straw hat with a wide brim that turned
up and crammed it low over her
brows. "
Michael did get me the work for the fil
m,"
she reminded Char
.

"
Because you
'
re the best there is at what you do,
"
Char said tartly.
"
Go on home. But make sure you give
some thought to tall, dark and—"

"Knock-'
em-dead handsome,
"
Gaby concluded for her.
"
Not if I can help it.
"
But she probably
wouldn'
t have any choice.

Letting herself out by the back entrance, Gaby walked into the courtyard where she kept her bike
…
and stopped.

Littered all over the red tiles and caught in the fronds of purple bougainvillea that trailed from painted planters atop a white stucco wall, were pieces of white paper—pieces of white paper folded into sleek
airplanes.

Gaby shook her hea
d, picked one up and unfolded:
"
Have dinner with me tonight. It
'
s time you saw La
Place from the inside. Jacques."

She retrieved another and another and opened each one:
"Have dinner with me tonight…"

A slow smile formed on Gaby
'
s mouth. She pulled her battered bicycle upright before turning back to look again at the upstairs window. Once more he watched her and this
time
she did wave—and let the papers flutter, one by one, from her fingers. The thought of him trying, again and again, to get one of his silly concoctions through her skylight brought immense satisfaction. It shouldn
'
t please her so much that he
'
d been determined to capture her attention, but it did.

Great aim Jacques Ledan didn
'
t have. Great kissing technique, he did. The jury was still out on the rest of his
s
kills
. But the jury hadn
'
t adjourned—not yet.

5

H
e almost fell down the stairs.

Scrambling to catch his balance, Jacques skidded through the hallway and burst into the street Without pausing, he gained
th
e Jeep, vaulted into the driver
'
s seat and gunned the engine to life. In seconds he shot around a co
rn
er and instantly brought his quarry into sight
.
His
prey,
as Bart called Gaby.

She rode at a leisurely pace, arms braced straight against the handlebars of the decrepit bike. The brim of the straw hat flapped, and her hair and skirts floated behind.

Jacques steered the Jeep
'
s nose beside Gaby
'
s back wheel and crawled. When the bike wobbled dangerously, he grinned and rested an elbow on to
p of his door. "Nice afternoon!"

She wobbled even more, then gained control and kept right on riding—and ignoring him.

"
Didn
'
t your mother tell you it
'
s dangerous to ride a bike in a skirt?
"

"
Why?
"

"
It might get caught in the wheel and yank you off.
"
He edged forward until he was beside her.
"
Or maybe just yank your skirt off. That would probably embarrass you.
"

"
I don
'
t embarrass easily.
"

He grinned. "Good."

Gaby looked at him sharply and there was no mis
taking the tinge of red in her cheeks.

Jacques was suddenly aware of how good he felt.
"So—what do you say?"

She frowned at him "About what?"

"Will you?"

"Will I?" She backpedaled to a halt. "Will I
what?"

Jacques braked and backed up. "Let me entertain
you? At La Place? For dinner…
or whatever?"

Gaby planted her feet on the dusty pavement.
"You haven't invited me."

"Yes I have." He tipped his face up to a sky as
crystal-bright blue as only a California sky could be.
"I invited you over and over again. It wasn't easy getting one of those invitations through that skylight
.
"

"And into my face."

He looked at her. "It didn't hit you?"

"It certainly did." Holding the crown of the hat, she tilted her cheek. "See?"

Swiftly Jacques killed the engine and got out of the
Jeep. "Let me
see
that." Before she could react, he held her face in his hands and used a thumb to prop her chin. "Well, hell, I'm mighty sorry about that, ma'am."

"It's all right
.
" She closed a hand over his wrist
and pulled. "Think nothing of it."

Jacques made no attempt to release her. "Afraid
that's not possible, ma'am. I'll have to make
amends." With that, he kissed her soft skin very gently. "Mmm. Recko
n that ought to make it all bet
ter."

He felt her tremble and lean—ever so slightly—toward him. Dropping his hands to her shoulders, Jacques looked down into brilliant green eyes that
seemed vaguely out of focus. Her lips parted and she
held the tip of her tongue in her teeth.

"Is it better?" he breathed, expanding his lungs and flexing his thighs against an aching jolt.

Gaby' s eyes slowly regained focus and grew sharper. "Oh, I don't get this." Pushing away his
hands, she mounted the bicycle. "I don't
do
this kind
of thing. I'm a mature, sensible woman who—I just
don't get it." Muttering, she bent over the handlebars
and stood on the pedals of the gearless machine to pump furiously.

"I get it," Jacques said to himself. "I know exactly
what this is all about." He would let her get ahead—
maybe even allow her to think he'd given up and skulked away. He already knew where she lived.

The small, picture-book-pretty, white stucco house that Gaby called home wasn't more than a ten-minute
drive from the hat factory. Jacques waited until she was out of sight before inching the Jeep to the next corner and waiting again.

Gaby took not ten, but twenty, minutes—pedaling
rapidly—to reach her home. No doubt the bike was
an occasional nod to fitness
…
not that he'd seen any
thing to suggest she wasn't in great shape. Jacques
grinned broadly. Yeah., the lady was in great shape.

"Hey, Gaby!" Swerving into the pink gravel drive
way, he hailed her as she opened her front door. "We've got things to discuss."

Gaby walked into the house and shut the door.
Jacques switched off the ignition and got out. Something was happening to him, something differ
ent.
And he liked it. He leaned against the Jeep,
tossed his keys in the air and caught them. There were
a host of acquaintances who wouldn't believe this
scene. Jacques Ledan supposedly always waited for
people to come to him. Jacques didn't chase, hadn't
chased, until Gaby McGregor.

He shrugged away from the Jeep, jammed his hands into his pockets and sauntered toward the
house. Not a chase
…
a hunt. There was a subtle dif
ference. And, possibly without knowing, Gaby was
adding to the fascination.
Country bumpkin
…
hayseed.
Remembering Bart's sneering comments,
Jacques narrowed his eyes. Without being sure why,
he was convinced there was more to Gaby than the
obvious—much more.

Oleander, pink, white and peach colored, still
bloomed in plantings near the house. Jade bushes glis
tened in groups of terra cotta pots. Jacques reached
the door and knocked.

From inside came the muted tones of a male ballad
singer.

Jacques rested a shoulder on the jamb and waited.
He knew with some deep part of him that they were
both playing a game
.
She didn't want him to give up,
any more than he intended to do so.

Across the wide, potholed street, fence posts,
linked together by sagging wires, sloped at drunken
angles. Yellow brush bent in the warm, dust-laden
breeze of a late-October afternoon, and on the horizon
sunlight danced and glittered, turning yellow to gold:
This was his country and it made him feel alive.

He raised a hand, bowed his head and knocked
again, much louder this time.

Rapid footsteps approached. The door opened
wide. "Are you bored, or what?" She crossed her
arms—a pleasing sight given what happened to the
thin, white cotton shirt.

"I've never been less bored." Amazingly it was
true.

"You must lead a really quiet life."

"May I come in?"

"No."

"Just for a little while? To talk?"

Gaby raised a hand to smooth escaped pieces of
hair. "Absolutely not."

Jacques didn't even try not to look at the way her
breasts—she wasn't wearing a bra—moved when she
angled up her elbow. "We need to talk. We've got
things to discuss."

"We've got nothing to discuss."

"Do you believe in
…
Do you think that sometimes
two people are wildly attracted on sight?"

"I think most men are attracted to anything in a
skirt on sight."

He let out an explosive laugh. "You aren't subtle,
Gaby."

"I'm honest." She stood aside. "All right. Come
i
n and have something to drink. But I'm not going to
play games with you, Jacques. Becoming a diversion
to a bored city type isn't
,my idea of a good time."

"We ought to talk about what each of us considers
a good time." He paused in the act of passing her
and looked down. "You have a wonderful face. Do
lots of men tell you that?"

"Dozens every day." A small smile tipped up the
corners of her generous mouth. "I have to fight them
off."

"I know what you mean. So do I—fight off the women."

"I believe you," she said and the smile left her
face. "Which makes me very puzzled about you,
Jacques Ledan. Why are you following me around?"

She was tiny of stature, small-boned with slender arms and ankles—ankles were all he'd seen of her legs to date beneath the long skirts she favored. A belt, made of bold silver links, loosely circled her small waist.

"You know why I'm following you," he said, entering a cool, white-walled foyer with woven hala rugs atop a terrazzo floor. "I can't help myself and I don't want to."

"Tea, coffee, soda, wine or beer?" She led the way
down a hallway to an airy kitchen, white again but made striking by dark green accents. "I'm having a white wine cooler."

"So am I."

"What is it you think we have to discuss?"

"Our future." Instinct told him he'd have to co
rn
er
her or fail—he didn't do failure at all well.

"You
think
you're amusing, don't you?" Ice
clinked into glasses and Gaby splashed in wine and soda. "For some reason you've decided I'd make an entertaining mouse to your
cat
."

Did she really think that?
"Wrong. We didn't get off to a great start. I'm sorry for that."

"We didn't get off to a start at all. Here."

He too
k the glass she handed him and
tipped it
back and forth. "What would you call what happened
between us yesterday?"

"A mistake."

The tightness in her voice meant he didn't have to
look at her to kn
ow she was blushing. "You embar
rass easily, don't you?"

"I told you I don't get embarrassed."

"Yes you do." He drank deeply. "I kissed you and
you liked it. You liked it a lot."

"Have you finished your drink?"

Now he did look at her. Those green eyes, the
instant
before she looked away, were brilliant and
deeply troubled. "I haven't finished my drink, Gaby.
I haven't finished anything as far as you're concerned.
Would you believe me if I said I was as caught off guard by what happened between us as you were?"

She spread her fingers on the pale skin at the neck
of her shirt. "I don't know you well enough to believe
or disbelieve anything you say. It's getting late
and—"

"I've got all the time in the world. My plans for Goldstrike are a different issue from what's happening between you and me—"

"Nothing's
happening."

A minor topic switch might lull her into relaxing. "Cycling is good exercise."

Gaby frowned and shook her head.

"It must be nice not to have to drive your car to work every day."

"I don't have a car." There was almost a defiance in the way she told him.

"Isn't that inconvenient sometimes? I mean, you must have to transport things occasionally."

"Goldstrike's a generous place. Everyone knows I
don't have a car anymore. If I need help, I get it. That
must seem odd to a man like you." She swirled the drink in her glass.

Jacques considered. "Like me? I thought you'd de
cided you don't know me."

"I don't."

This wasn't improving. He made himself smile. "You will." And maybe he'd wise up. She probably couldn't afford a car. A single woman running a hat factory in a hick town was likely to live hand to mouth. "Were you ever married?"
Oh, very smooth.
"Is there anyone else now?" He wouldn't blame her for refusing to answer.

Gaby showed no sign of offense. "There's no one else."

So, there was no impediment there. He was free to
pursue. "I used to like riding a bike."

^,
Gaby stared, then puffed up her cheeks. "The topic
changes from marriage to bikes. Okay. When was that—when you rode bikes, I mean? Before you became a candy king?"