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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

BOOK: The Heartbreaker
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“I don't know.”
The rain came down harder, drumming against the windows. “Why don't you see if you can buy two weeks? We'll know a lot in two weeks. If I'm a disappointment in any way, then you can take the Handmade offer.”
“A two-week trial isn't going to satisfy Ernie, if what you say is true about his dedication to this project”
He noticed the phrase
if what you say is true
and gritted his teeth. Trust would be a scarce commodity for a while. Two weeks might not be long enough, but he'd have to make do. “If it's okay with you, we'll keep the two-week trial between us and just tell Ernie I'm taking over the operation. That way we'll buy him two weeks of healing time before anything more has to be discussed.”
“I—”
Crack! The glare of lightning filled the studio, and then everything went black.
Instinctively he reached out. “Beth, don't be afr—” “I'm not afraid.” She pushed his hand away. “Stand right there while I get a candle. If you move around in the dark without knowing the place well, you might break something.”
So thunder and lightning didn't frighten her anymore, he thought, standing perfectly still in the very dark room while he listened to the rain lash the outside of the building. Even the streetlights had been knocked out.
A glow emerged from the workroom in back, and Beth came out carrying a glass and tin lantern with a slender candle burning inside. Mike recognized the lantern, which Beth's father had bought across the border in Mexico. As kids they hadn't been allowed to play with it, but whenever possible they'd smuggled it into their hideout anyway, so they could tell ghost stories by candlelight. He and Alana had told ghost stories, at any rate. Beth had cowered under an old quilt and listened, her eyes huge in her pale face.
She set the lantern on the counter and Mike walked over toward the circle of light. “You used to hate thunderstorms,” he said.
She glanced at him. “I learned there were a lot worse things than storms.”
“Yeah, there are.” He was sure she was talking about Pete's death. Mike had been working in a machine shop in Manaus when Ernie had called to tell him Pete had died of a particularly fast-working strain of pneumonia. The two men had been friends and business partners for years, ever since they'd met in a group counseling session for widowers. Pete had been the artist and dreamer, while Ernie had balanced the relationship with a dose of practicality.
It had nearly killed Mike not to come home for the funeral, but after some agonizing he'd finally decided the best thing for everyone was for him to stay in Brazil and not chance opening old wounds at an already traumatic time.
Beth leaned an elbow against the counter and gazed at him across the circle of light. “Do you ever wish you could be six years old again, as free as a bird, with no idea that bad things can happen?”
“Sometimes. There's a tribe in the rain forest who lives like that. The forest provides everything for them, and they literally have no problems.”
“I'm surprised you didn't just disappear into the forest with them.”
“It wouldn't work. I already know too much about the so-called
civilized
world to be happy the way they are.”
“Two weeks, huh?” she asked.
“Two weeks.”
“Okay.”
He let out a long breath. “Thanks. I know it will mean a lot to Dad.”
“That's the only reason I'm doing it, Mike.”
“I know.” But he wasn't totally convinced. There was still the matter of the stained-glass version of their kiss. In his eight years of moving among people who spoke no English, he'd become good at picking up nonverbal cues. The stained-glass piece was the biggest one he'd ever seen.
“I hope I won't live to regret this,” she added.
“At least I won't have to worry about regrets,” he said.
“Oh? Why not?”
“If I screw this up, you'll probably kill me.”
A gleam of resolve he remembered very well lit her eyes. “I will. Slowly, and with great relish.”
He gazed down at her and thought about the first sweet taste of her lips a few moments ago, before she'd bitten him. And despite the sting in his lower lip, he wanted to kiss her again. He controlled the impulse. “Guess I'd better go up to the house and get some sleep. I'll make an early-morning run to Tucson to see Dad and tell him we're all set, but I should be back before noon. Maybe you can come by the shop during your lunch break and we'll go over the cutter design.”
“All right.” She hesitated. “Listen, maybe we should set some ground rules.”
Apparently she realized he'd nearly kissed her again. “Whatever you say.”
“You can think what you like about that piece I created, but it means nothing. Don't get any funny ideas.”
He considered arguing with her and decided against it. “Understood. But I am curious about something. Has Alana seen
The Embrace?
”
“Yes.”
“And what did she think of it?”
“She doesn't really pay much attention to my work. It's not her thing. She saw it and said something like
hey
,
that's different
. I told her it was a fantasy couple, and she never mentioned it again. She doesn't know what happened between us that night, and I've never told her.”
Mike wasn't so sure that Alana was clueless, especially when he considered the pressure she'd put on him that night to make love. “I'm amazed she didn't figure out what she was looking at. That's the exact color of your hair, and you had on a red dress that night.”
“She's probably forgotten about the red dress, and it would never occur to her that I'd have allowed you to kiss me. Besides, if I hadn't been drinking champagne at the rehearsal dinner, it wouldn't have happened.”
So that was the lie she'd been telling herself, he thought. “Are you trying to say you were too smashed to think straight?”
“Well, not exactly, but my inhibitions were pretty much gone.”
“You couldn't have been very drunk, Beth. You recreated every detail exactly, even that green-and-blue silk jacket I was so proud of.”
“Artists remember those sort of things.”
Or women in love?
He couldn't—or wouldn't—accept her dismissal of the work's significance. Not yet, anyway. “If you say so.” He pushed away from the counter. “Well, guess I'll take off.”
“Let me light your way out.” She picked up the lantern and started toward the door. “These wrought-iron stands can be tipped over if you're not careful as you walk by.”
“Which is a diplomatic way of saying I'm like a bull in a china shop?”
“I don't remember you having a reputation for graceful movement.”
“Maybe not, but you have to admit I've always been good with my hands.”
She paused. “I thought we'd agreed on ground rules.”
“What did I say?”
She glanced at him, her eyebrows lifted.
“You're hiring me to be a machinist,” he protested. “Good hands are a plus for that kind of job.”
“That's not what you meant by that statement and you know it. I don't intend to spend two weeks fending you off, Mike Tremayne.”
“Don't worry. You won't be fending me off, Beth.”
“Good. Incidentally, how did you come by that jaguar's tooth?”
“An old medicine man gave it to me. For good luck. See you tomorrow.” He opened the door and stepped out into the rain. When he reached the driver's side of the car he looked back at the studio. She might have thought the downpour would conceal the fact that she was standing right where he'd left her. And he couldn't really see her, but the glow from the candle gave away her position.
He took courage from that small action, and from the belief that she'd let him kiss her on that night eight years ago because she'd wanted his kiss. And despite the painful mark of her teeth on his lower lip, he suspected that she still wanted it. Of course that didn't solve anything. The fact remained that he'd jilted her sister.
Eight years ago he'd been unwilling to put his needs and perhaps even Beth's needs ahead of that allimportant relationship between the two sisters. But Alana and Beth had grown up, and each had her own business in separate towns. Things had changed. He just wasn't sure if they'd changed enough.
He switched on the ignition and turned on the car's headlights. Then, on a whim, he flashed them off and on again, knowing she was still watching him. He leaned down to see if she would respond with the lantern. The light was gone.
3
B
ETH STOOD IN THE DARK and watched the ruby taillights of Mike's car as it wound up the hill and out of sight. Hating herself for the impulse, she wanted to throw on her raincoat and follow him. The Tremayne house, a restored little Victorian, wasn't far up the hill, and after the way Mike had kissed her, she had no doubt of the reception she'd get if she appeared on his front porch. Just imagining it made her liquid with desire.
She hadn't been truthful with him in many ways. His exotic travels during the past eight years excited her more than she dared admit. She'd smothered her questions about the places he'd seen, the people he'd known, because having him describe his adventures would make her wish she'd shared them. How he and Alana would have laughed if she'd confessed her secret desire to explore the jungle with Mike, to experience that dark sensual land in the company of the man she loved. She didn't have Alana's willingness to challenge the wilderness alone, but with Mike by her side, she'd dare almost anything. Yet Mike had always planned to have those adventures with Alana, and Beth had remained silent when they teased her about her timid nature.
She'd tried to find a substitute for Mike, someone with whom she'd feel safe to go adventuring. But the biker she'd dated had been crude and unfeeling, and she'd broken off the affair quickly. Her relationship with the professional skydiver had lasted longer, but in the end he'd been too self-absorbed to create the kind of mutual respect she needed. She'd begun to resign herself to a life filled with the company of her artist friends and a satisfying career, but no grand passion for a man.
Now Mike had walked back into her life and within minutes, he'd created an ache so demanding that she trembled from the effort to conceal her need. She knew if he made love to her it would only be a fling, and still she wanted him. Only one thought kept her from throwing herself into his arms. Alana.
Beth was pretty sure Alana had never stopped loving Mike. Like Beth, she'd seemed to be searching for his double. Every man she brought home looked something like Mike, and a few even had the same first name. But she'd never committed herself to anyone for longer than a few months, and Beth thought that in the back of Alana's mind was the hope, nurtured for eight years, that Mike might come back and ask to be forgiven.
Well, he had come back, but Alana wasn't here. Beth was.
She longed to accept Handmade's offer and be done with the whole business, but if Ernie believed that much in the success of the cutter, she couldn't turn the patent over to Handmade without giving Mike's plan a trial. For all she knew the cutter might provide Ernie with a comfortable retirement, and she had no right to take that away from him unless she had no choice. As his business partner she had certain obligations, of course, but her concern went far beyond that. She cherished Ernie as if he were a second father. When he had the heart attack she'd panicked, knowing she wasn't strong enough to lose another loved one so soon after her father's death.
Alana hadn't been in much better shape. They'd clung to each other in the hospital waiting room as if they were survivors of a shipwreck. When word came that Ernie would pull through, they'd screamed and danced around like maniacs. That had been less than a week ago, and Alana had considered canceling her canoeing trip so she could stay and keep tabs on Ernie. The doctors and Beth had convinced her to go, but she'd arranged to call tomorrow morning for an update on Ernie's condition. A wave of uneasiness washed over Beth at her next thought. She was seriously considering not telling Alana that Mike was home.
 
As MIKE WALKED down the hospital corridor toward Ernie's room, he realized he'd make a bargain with the devil himself if it meant he'd have twenty more years to enjoy the company of his father. He'd spend more time in Bisbee, a lot more time. Hell, maybe he could take his father with him on a trip to the rain forest. He could easily picture Ernie with a crowd of natives sitting around a communal fire circle and sharing a gourd full of cassava beer. What a kick that would be.
But first his dad had to get stronger. As Mike neared the doorway to the room, he felt more prepared than he had been the night before to see his robust father reduced to an invalid. He was not prepared to find Ernie propped up against the pillows with a cigar clenched between his teeth.
“What the hell are you doing, committing suicide?” Mike cried, heading for the bed.
Ernie took the cigar from his mouth and grinned. “Fake.”
Then Mike realized he didn't smell cigar smoke. But maybe Ernie was waiting for a private moment to light up. “Give it here, Dad.”
His father dropped the stogie into Mike's outstretched hand. “Judy, one of the nurses, picked it up for me at a costume place. Brought it by this mornin', even though it's her day off. Mighty nice of her, I'd say.”
“That depends on whether you can smoke this sucker. Knowing you, you could sweet-talk the nurses into bringing you a real one.” Mike examined the cigar.
“Aw, it's just rubbe, Mike. But I'm so used to having somethin' between my teeth that it feels good.” He chuckled. “Really got you going, though, didn't I?”
Mike sighed with relief as he glanced at his father. “If this had been the real thing, I was ready to wring your neck and save the doctors all the trouble they're taking to keep you alive.”
“Just what I figured. Now you're gonna become the gestapo, keeping track of everything I do.”
“You've got that right.” He handed the cigar back to Ernie and pulled up a chair. “And when I'm not around, Beth's going to take over.”
“Now if that ain't gonna be a royal pain in the butt, having you two fuss over me.”
“You asked for it, landing yourself in this mess. You'll get no sympathy from me, Dad. If necessary, I'll bring in my shaman friend from Brazil.”
“Humph. Next thing I know, you'll want me wearing that there tooth of yours.”
“Not a bad idea.” Mike started to take off the leather thong.
“Nope. You keep it. I ain't wearing no tooth at my age.” Ernie stuck the cigar in his mouth again. “How'd t go last night with Beth? You two hash things out okay?” His question sounded casual, but his glance was like a laser.
“Sure. Everything's fine.”
Ernie made a grab for his cigar as it tumbled from his suddenly slack jaw. “Fine, did you say?”
“Sure. Why wouldn't it be?”
“For one thing, because you two haven't said so much as
howdy
to one another since that night you cut out.”
Mike was determined to keep the conversation light. Ernie didn't need to worry about the depth of his problems with Beth and Alana. “People lose track of each other.”
“This ain't been a case of losing track, and you know it. This has been more like noticing what track the other one's on—” he waved the cigar to the right “—and taking a track in the opposite direction.” He swept the cigar to the left, then studied it. “Couldn't talk so good without my cigar, neither.” He replaced the cigar between his teeth.
“Well, maybe we had a few problems connected with what happened, but that's all in the past. Everything's going to be fine, now.”
“You got cold feet, is all. Didn't surprise me none. You weren't ready to get married. Like I've told you a hundred times, you should've explained that to Alana somewhere along the line. She wouldn't like it, but I'll bet the three of you could've patched things up. It's a crying shame, after all those years you kids played together, that you're not speakin' to one another.”
Mike rolled his shoulders and stifled a yawn as he leaned back in the chair. “You're right, Dad. And I plan to talk things over with Alana, too. You'll see. The whole thing will be taken care of.”
“That's good, Mike. Pete'll be glad to hear it.”
Mike sat up straighter. “Did you say
will
be glad to hear it?” Ernie seemed totally alert, but maybe the drugs were affecting his mind, after all.
Ernie gave him a long look and chewed on his cigar. “Naw. You must've heard me wrong. I said Pete would've been glad to hear it.”
“That's a relief. For a minute there I thought you'd started talking to ghosts.”
“Not me. If I started doin' that they'd give me a rubber room instead of a rubber cigar.” He shifted the fake stogie to the other corner of his mouth. “So Beth promised to give Huxford the boot?”
“Yep.” It was close enough to the truth. Huxford would probably go back to Chicago if he couldn't expect any more action on the deal, for another two weeks.
“And you're gonna make the cutters.”
“Yep.”
“Can you do it?”
Mike laughed. “This is a fine time to ask me that.”
“Well, if you're the least bit shaky on it, I'll talk you through. If you remember anything of what I taught you, it'll be duck soup. You had good hands for it, as I recollect.”
“Thanks. Exactly what I told Beth. And speaking of her, you can do something for me. Tell her I'm a good machinist the next time she comes in to see you, okay? She's not totally convinced I'm a fair hand with the equipment, even though I told her I picked up some jobs in Brazil, so I'm not even out of practice.”
“She'll be okay once you start making them cutters. Beth's the kind you have to prove yourself to. Words don't do nothing for her.”
“Yeah, I know. I remember the time I almost killed myself jumping the steps of the old brewery on my bike, just to prove to Beth I could do it.”
Ernie nodded. “That took about eight stitches to fix. And don't forget that idiotic skateboarding stunt down Tombstone Canyon Road, and the day you climbed the fence into the old mining pit. Showin' off for Beth was a regular stupidity of yours.”
And so it had been, he realized now. He'd never risked his neck to impress Alana, which was strange considering she'd always claimed he was her boyfriend, and he'd always believed it was true. From the time they were six years old she'd appropriated him, and being a guy with other things on his mind like baseball and cars, he'd just followed the path of least resistance. Then somewhere around tenth grade he'd developed an honest-to-goodness crush on Alana, and that had settled things for good. They'd planned to get married, save their money and go to the jungles of South America together.
“What happened to your lip?”
Mike was jerked out of his reminiscent fog and had to scramble for an explanation. He could feel heat climbing up from his collar. “I, uh, hit it on the corner of the medicine cabinet door.”
Ernie gazed at him and shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Is that so? Would that be the top corner or the bottom corner?”.
“It—”
“I'm only askin' because if it was the bottom corner, you must've been bent over like a pretzel at the sink, and if it was the top corner, you must've been standin' on a box. Either way I'm having trouble picturing this accident.”
“Maybe it would be best if we didn't discuss my lip, Dad.”
“Looks like somebody bit you, Mike.”
“I—”
“Time to draw some blood, Mr. Tremayne,” said the nurse who bustled into the room.
Mike had never been so glad to see a member of the medical profession in his life. He pushed himself out of the chair. “I'd better get going. I'm supposed to meet Beth at noon at the shop.”
Ernie grinned. “Want the nurse to take a look at that lip before you go?”
“Never mind.” He glared at his father. “I want to get a good start on those cutters, so I won't be back in the morning, but I'll swing by tomorrow night.”
“Beth said she'd come then, too. Why don't you drive up together and save the gas?”
“I don't know. She's pretty busy, so she might not be able to leave the same time I do.”
“Her being too busy to drive up with you wouldn't have anything to do with the condition of your lip, would it?”
“Goodbye, Dad.” He headed into the hallway followed by his father's dry chuckle.
 
ONCE THE NURSE was finished, Ernie settled in for a little doze. But first he had a report to make. “Well, Pete, I got good news and I got bad news.”
If this is going to be that old joke about the buffalo chips, I don't want to hear it. That joke's got cobwebs a yard long.
“It's sort of a joke, but not about buffalo chips. Mike and Beth are talkin' to each other again. In fact, there's evidence they got a little chummier than just talkin'.”
What kind of evidence?
“Unless I miss my guess, Mike kissed her. Then she bit him.”

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