Nancy Herkness (19 page)

For a long moment, he withdrew his hands. She was about to beg him not to stop when she felt him gather up her mane and twist it into a rope.

“Just like Rapunzel,” he said in an odd voice.

“Are you going to braid it again?”

“Not this time. I want to see what it looks like spread across black leather.”

“Ma’am, sir, we’re here.” The driver’s voice came through the car’s intercom as the car glided to a stop. Charlie fumbled her feet back into the Lucite slippers and scooped up a handful of hairpins. Jack watched her as he adjusted his cuffs.

“Maybe I’ll put you up in the sky as a constellation,” he mused. “Like Zeus did for his favorites. Then I could stare at you all night long.”

“I hope you’re a better artist; only about three of those constellations look anything like their names.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t miss a single curve,” he said, leaning forward to run his hand down her hip to her thigh. With his thumb, he gently stroked high on the inside of her leg through the velvet. “I’d put a supernova right here because you are very, very hot.”

“Wicked man,” she said, brushing his hand away. “You and horny old Zeus would get along well.”

He laughed as he opened the car door for her. On her front porch, he tilted her chin up to give her a quick kiss. “Sweet dreams, sugar.” And he was gone.

She walked into the living room to find Isabelle reading by the fireplace with Twinkle in her lap. The older woman looked up and after a quick survey of Charlie, shut her book with a wise smile. “I’ll find out all about it in the morning.”

“No, don’t go! I want to hear what you think of Don McGraw,” Charlie protested. “And what you meant by the way he was looking at—”

“Tomorrow,” Isabelle said, stowing her book in her tote bag and wrapping a wool shawl around her shoulders. She headed for the door.

“Thanks so much for taking care of Sallyanne,” Charlie said.

Isabelle waved over her shoulder.

Charlie went up to check on the little girl. The beads on her dress clicked together softly as she bent over the sleeping child to smooth her hair back and drop a kiss on her forehead. She gently pulled the blanket up to cover the small shoulders, and lingered a moment to savor the sweet curve of the little girl’s cheek.

She walked slowly back down the stairs with Major padding along beside her. As she passed the full-length mirror in her bedroom she gasped. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild waves and her dress looked like someone had balled it up in his fist, which wasn’t far short of the truth. “No wonder Isabelle beat a hasty retreat. And what am I going to tell Stephen Askegaard?”

Jack sprawled in the shadows in the back of the limousine trying to forget what he and Charlie had been doing just minutes before. Leaving her at her front door had taken all the willpower he could summon. If Isabelle hadn’t been waiting in the house…

He had it bad.

Even worse, the party had made him see her as a partner.

He had begun to construct a scenario in which she played a role in his life, and that scared the hell out of him. It scared him because her generosity and willingness to forgive reminded him too much of his mother. But his mother hadn’t had the strength to support her love. Charlie had it in spades. She was strong and determined and stubborn and gorgeous and smart as a whip and…

And she wanted to have children and a house and pets and a loving husband.

He didn’t need this right now. He needed to focus on untangling Sahara-Mars from the diplomatic snares of Mauritania and selling it for as much cash as possible. In fact, his first meeting tomorrow morning was with Dyson Foley, Charlie’s contact.

Charlie’s contact. He shook his head.

There was entirely too much of Charlie in his life.

Nineteen

The next morning, Sallyanne woke up talking.

“Papa, Miss Isabelle and I saw you and Jack on television. You looked so beautiful, and Jack looked really, really handsome. Papa said you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. We went mini-golfing. I got a hole-in-one on the hole with the windmill where you have to wait until your ball can go between the blades. Papa’s ball hit the blade, and he got mad because he had to start over again.”

By the time they were dressed and eating breakfast, Charlie had heard every detail of Sallyanne’s evening with her father, some several times over. Don McGraw was clearly well on the road to overcoming the girl’s doubts about his treatment of her mother. She had picked up the New York Times from the front porch and was idly paging through it to see if there were any familiar bylines when Sallyanne squealed.

“Look, it’s you and Jack!” she said, pointing with her spoon.

Sure enough, on the front page of the Metro Section was a photo of the two of them standing in front of the Willamette meteorite, chatting with Kate and Randall Johnson. “Clever photographer,” Charlie muttered.

“Why?”

“Well, because he got a lot into one photo. There are the two people giving the party, two of the more interesting guests, and a large meteorite.”

“Do you think Jack would let me see Sahara-Mars?”

“He’d love to show it to you,” Charlie said. “I’m not sure when your father plans on returning to Tennessee, but maybe he would wait until after the weekend and we could all go to New York City on Saturday?”

Sallyanne looked down at her cereal.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Couldn’t he live here?” the little girl asked. “I don’t want to move to Tennessee,” she said, beginning to cry.

Charlie’s chair crashed backward as she scrambled to gather the sobbing child in her arms. She had never felt so helpless in her life. It seemed highly unlikely Don McGraw would move to New Jersey. She knew from hard experience there was no solution to Sallyanne’s dilemma other than just toughing it out. She hated that a nine-year-old girl had to tough anything out.

“Oh, sweetheart, I promise to come visit you.” It was the only promise she knew she could keep. “I’ve never been to Tennessee, and I hear it’s really beautiful.” She was babbling.

“Th-th-thank you, ma’am. W-w-will you bring Major too?”

“Of course.” It would be a long drive. She hoped Major liked riding in cars. Sallyanne’s sobs finally subsided. She washed her face, finished her cereal, and went off to school with only slightly reddened eyes to mark the trauma of the morning. Charlie, however, came home and flung herself sprawling onto the couch. Major dug his nose under her wrist, looking for attention, and she could barely lift her hand to stroke him. “Parenting is hell!” she said, making the dog swivel his ears in sympathy.

The telephone rang, and Charlie groaned.

She let the answering machine pick up, but hauled herself off the couch when she heard Isabelle’s voice. “I’m coming over with some zucchini bread,” Isabelle said. “We’ll talk about Mr. McGraw.”

Charlie put a kettle of hot water on to boil just as Isabelle appeared at the back door, with two loaves of freshly baked bread wrapped in organic cotton dishtowels.

“Yum, it’s still warm,” Charlie said as she cut into a loaf.

“I had some extra zucchini from the co-op and couldn’t bear to see it go to waste,” the older woman explained as she sat down at the kitchen table and dunked her herbal tea bag in a mug of hot water.

“Everyone has extra zucchini,” Charlie said. “Just don’t leave any in its natural state on my porch.”

Isabelle’s silvery laugh rang out, but then she grew serious. “Now let’s talk about Sallyanne and her father.”

“Yes, let’s. I want to know what you really think of him.”

“He’s a very polite young man; he held my chair, cleared the dishes and ma’am-ed me until I thought I’d scream.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”

“Now wait, I’ve got more good things to say about him. Young people are so impatient.” Isabelle deliberately sipped her tea. “He was very attentive to Sallyanne, encouraged her to talk about all sorts of things, wanted to see her room and so forth. He was always very careful to ask my permission before taking her anywhere, even in the house.”

“So where’s the ‘but’?”

“He has an odd way of looking around your house. As though he’s assessing it.”

“Maybe he’s just interested in the place his daughter’s living,” Charlie said. “You know, making sure it’s safe and comfortable.”

“Not that kind of assessing. Rather the ‘how much did this cost’ kind of assessing,” Isabelle clarified. “But more importantly, Major doesn’t like him.”

Charlie blew out an exasperated snort. “I love dogs, but I’m not going to base my opinion of a person on what a Kuvasz thinks. Major growls at Jack too.”

“Does he? Now I wonder why that could be?” Isabelle raised her eyebrows at Charlie.

“Never mind. You must have a better reason than that.”

“Animals have very sound instincts about certain people. There’s something the tiniest bit frightening about Don McGraw, something just below the surface he’s being very careful to control. Don’t you feel it too?”

Charlie broke the fragrant slab of bread into several pieces and then left it on the plate. “Honestly, I haven’t spent enough time with him to say yes or no. I’m afraid I just don’t want to like him, because he’ll take Sallyanne away.”

“Well, dear, you need to make up your mind quickly because the man is doing his very best to win over his daughter, and I’d say he’s succeeding admirably. She moved the big pink bunny from the closet to the bed last night.”

“I noticed,” Charlie admitted. “I’ll spend the afternoon with them. Is it so wrong to want to give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“No, it isn’t.” Isabelle patted her hand. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Just don’t let your own lack of a father cloud your judgment.”

“I’ll try.” Charlie’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Even if we all decide we don’t trust Don, Mike says it would be extremely difficult to keep him from taking her unless we could prove he’s an unfit father.”

Isabelle poured some hot water into Charlie’s mug and dropped one of her own tea bags in it. “You look as though you could use a pick-me-up. This is my special blend; it has a secret ingredient to counteract lack of rest.”

“It wasn’t that late when I got home,” Charlie protested.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I know very well what you and Jack were up to last night.”

Charlie felt her cheeks burning.

“It doesn’t shock me, but it worries me,” the older woman continued.

Charlie took a gulp of the tea, and almost gagged. “What’s in this?”

“Herbs and spices,” Isabelle said airily.

“It tastes more like mud,” Charlie eyed the mug skeptically, “and stagnant pond water.”

“You’re trying to change the subject, and it won’t work.”

“All right. Why does it worry you that I, um, was up to something with the man to whom I am, after all, married?”

“Because you’re getting as attached to him as you are to Sallyanne.”

Charlie started laughing. “The way I feel about Sallyanne and the way I feel about Jack are a bit different.”

“Obviously. But the strength of those feelings is what concerns me, on both counts.” Isabelle reached across the table to lay her hand on Charlie’s. “Jack is a lovely, lovely man, but you know as well as I do that he’s hiding something. And you know as well as I do your marriage is nothing more than a useful facade.”

“Better than you think,” Charlie muttered. She wanted to jump up and escape Isabelle’s well-meant warning, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away from the older woman’s warm clasp.

“Protect yourself, my dear,” Isabelle said.

It was too late for that. As she lay staring at the ceiling last night, Charlie realized she wanted Jack in bed with her when she awoke. She also wanted him swinging Sallyanne up in his arms, and feeding Major bits of cheese, and pointing out constellations in the sky. She wanted him to trust her enough to tell her about his terrible past, and it didn’t worry her at all that he had one.

She angled the ring on her left hand so it glinted in the morning sunlight. “Jack told me I could keep the ring when this is all over. Do you think it would be all right if I did?”

“So it’s that bad,” Isabelle said.

“I think so.” Charlie took a sip of the horrible tea and grimaced.

“Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do to keep that ring on your finger for the right reason.”

“It’s a nice thought, but completely impossible,” Charlie said.

“Remember, I’m a lobbyist. My specialty is persuading people it’s in their own best interests to do exactly what they don’t want to do.”

“Oh great, now you have to brainwash a man into being my husband. I appreciate the offer, but—”

“There’s no brainwashing involved; he just needs to be shown the benefits of making the right decision,” Isabelle said serenely, patting Charlie’s hand before she picked up her fork.

“No lobbying Jack,” Charlie said, giving Isabelle a level stare.

Isabelle just said, “Hmmm,” and sipped her tea.

Jack watched Peter Burke on the security camera’s monitor.

It irritated him that the man walked through the building’s lobby as though he owned the place. But Peter always walked that way; probably as far as he was concerned, there was no reason he shouldn’t. Jack envied him for that feeling and for a lot of other things. Peter had the life Jack should have had.

The camera’s view changed as the elevator doors slid open. Jack swung the door open, and met the scientist in the hallway.

“Dr. Burke,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Mr. Lanett,” Peter Burke said, gripping Jack’s hand hard. “We meet again.”

“I hope under more constructive circumstances. Come in.”

Jack led the way to the living room. This was his last and least welcome appointment of the day. “What can I pour for you? Coffee, water, soda?”

“Nothing, thanks. It’s late and I’m sure you want to know what my offer is.”

Peter sat in one of the armchairs, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. Jack picked up a bottle of water and sat down opposite. He had to stop himself from matching the other man’s pose.

“Go ahead.”

“I represent a consortium of three universities, a museum and a private investor.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose at the last. “What does the private investor expect to get out of this? A tax deduction?”

“He expects to add to the knowledge of our solar system.”

Jack snorted.

“You find it impossible to believe a man can be motivated by something other than cash?”

“Not at all. There are other temptations: power, fame, sex.”

“You’re a cynic, Mr. Lanett.”

“I’m a realist, Dr. Burke. I’d say you fall into the ‘fame’ category.”

The younger man suddenly sat forward. “Even if my consortium succeeds in buying Sahara-Mars, I may never get to touch it, and that’s fine. As long as another scientist using proper scientific procedure makes the first cut into that rock, I will have done what I needed to do.”

“Your altruism is an inspiration. Now what’s your offer?” Jack tilted the water to his lips without taking his eyes off the man across from him.

“My offer has two parts. You should listen to both of them. First, the money.” He named a very respectable figure. “However, we are also willing to offer you assistance in clearing the meteorite’s ownership.”

“What if I don’t need your help?” Jack said, smiling.

The scientist looked taken aback. “Mauritania has made a very serious claim to ownership—”

“No, it’s made a completely baseless claim. I’m not worried about it.”

“I see.”

“You’re a lousy negotiator, Dr. Burke,” Jack said, rising easily and walking to the bar. He poured a mug of coffee and carried it over to his guest. “You look like you could use some caffeine.”

The other man took the mug, put it on the table and stood up. “Are you rejecting this offer because I’m making it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we’re—” The younger man stopped.

“On opposite sides of the fence?” Jack finished for him.

Peter shook his head and looked away.

“Sit down,” Jack said as he went back to his own chair. “I’ll accept your offer—the cash, that is. But I want to know the name of your private investor.”

“I can’t tell you that,” the younger man said, still standing.

“Then the deal’s off.”

“Then it’s off,” the scientist said through gritted teeth. He pivoted toward the door.

Jack laughed. “Now that’s something I admire more than altruism,” he said.

Peter hesitated. “What?” he finally snapped.

“Protecting your sources. Sit down, you pain in the ass. You’re giving me a stiff neck.”