The Rebel's Return (4 page)

“So, what's she doing now?” Dylan asked. “Running all of Jock's business interests, or is she leaving that up to her husband?”

Carl shook his head. “Maddie's never married. She's been engaged twice. To that Newman boy first.
But it didn't work out. And then to some English count or duke or something. He turned out to be a penniless phony. Don't guess it's worked out too well for her. A woman with that much money could never be sure if a man was marrying her or her bank account.”

If Maddie the woman was half as fabulous as Maddie the girl, Dylan couldn't imagine a man wanting her for anything other than herself. She'd been pretty and smart and had done a real number on Dylan's teenage hormones and his young heart.

“Then I guess Maddie's the big businesswoman, huh?” Dylan wondered if she'd cut that mane of golden-red hair and started wearing severe, nondescript business suits.

“Actually, she has a group of financial advisors and company executives that handle things for her.” Carl finished off his fourth cup of coffee. “Of course, she makes all final decisions, but she doesn't deal with the day-to-day running of Delarue, Inc. No, Maddie's got herself an ordinary job as the events manager over at the Lone Star Country Club, and from what I hear she's good at it, too. She's always got something going on. Take this weekend for example. She's put together some sort of black-tie murder-mystery gala. You know, one of those interactive things.”

“This weekend?”

“That's right.”

“Are you going?”

“I'd planned on it.”

“Would you like for me to go with you?”

Carl beamed. “I'd love for you to go with me. It'd give me a chance to show you off.”

And it would give me a chance to see Maddie Delarue again, Dylan thought.

“Then we'll go and make a night of it,” Dylan said. “I'll wear one of my Armani tuxedos and we'll drive to the club in my Porsche. I'm having it driven here.”

Carl grinned from ear to ear. “Can't think of anything I'd like better.”

 

Maddie opened the French doors that led onto the second-floor balcony. As she stepped outside, the warm summer air enveloped her and the muted hum of a midsize town at midnight drifted up from below. Her plush, ultra-modern condo was located in the center of Mission Creek, and the entire complex of luxury housing belonged to her as it once had belonged to her father. As a matter of fact, her father had kept his mistress in one of the adjacent condos, then after they married, he and Renee had lived there for almost a year before they moved out of town and resettled in Corpus Christi.

It had taken her years after the divorce to forgive her father for breaking up their family, and in time she had even learned to like her stepmother. But she'd never been able to reestablish the kind of relationship
with her father that she'd wanted, mostly due to the fact that her mother expected her to choose sides.

Illumination from the town brightened the dark night like soft lights on a Christmas tree. Often she stood out here and drank in the serenity of Mission Creek in slumber, peaceful and beautiful, the cares of the day laid to rest for a few brief hours. She couldn't help thinking about all the families in all the houses in town and on the surrounding ranches. Men, women and children living perfectly normal lives and never realizing how lucky they were.

Don't do this! An inner voice commanded. Stop wallowing in self-pity.

What was wrong with her? She had a wonderful life. She was rich—filthy rich—and relatively young and quite attractive. She had a job she enjoyed. Being the country club's events manager might have started out as a lark, but over the years, it had become an integral part of Maddie's life. After all, a person could be a guest at only so many social functions, head up only so many charitable organizations, take only so many holidays abroad.

Besides, with far more knowledgeable people than she taking care of Delarue, Inc., people she trusted as her father had trusted them, Maddie needed a real job of some kind. Otherwise, she would have been available twenty-four hours a day for her mother's never-ending succession of crises.

Then again, as Nadine had said, if she had several
grandchildren to dote on, to spoil rotten, then maybe she'd have something else to concentrate on other than herself.

So, what are you going to do, Maddie, marry some money-hungry Don Juan just so your mother can have grandchildren? The very thought turned her stomach. What about artificial insemination? What about adoption? Neither solution required a husband.

Off in the distance an ambulance siren wailed. It struck a sad, sobering note in the stillness of the night. Illness? Death? Another life with problems far more serious than hers? She felt almost guilty for wanting more when she already had so much. Far more than most people. But was it too much to ask for a man who would love her and her alone? Out there somewhere, there had to be a guy, rich and successful in his own right, who could look beyond the huge Delarue fortune and see the woman who longed to be loved and cherished. A man who would teach her to trust again, to believe in the happily ever after that had eluded her parents.

Where are you? Maddie whispered. Where's the man who will sweep me off my feet and carry me away with him? Where's a guy like Dylan Bridges when you need him?

C
arl Bridges had handed over his caseload to another circuit court judge three days ago, the day after Dylan arrived in Mission Creek. It was that one gesture, probably more than anything else, that showed Dylan the extent of his father's love for him. He could waste time regretting the past, but he preferred to savor the present. After all, his father wasn't getting any younger and Dylan suspected Carl had problems of some sort to deal with these days. He'd noticed his dad ate antacids as if they were candy. And every time the phone ran, Carl tensed. Was he expecting news from the doctor? Dylan had tried to broach the subject of what was bothering his father, but every time he did, Carl simply dismissed his suspicions as groundless.

For some crazy reason, this evening Dylan felt like a teenager getting ready for his first date. He'd been nervous all afternoon. Whenever he thought about seeing Maddie Delarue again, he reverted to a testosterone-driven sixteen-year-old. It had been years since his body had controlled him so completely.

Dylan inspected himself in the mirror on the back
of the bathroom door. Not bad, if I do say so myself, he thought. He'd had his housekeeper FedEx one of his Armani tuxedos, along with accessories. He looked exactly like what he was—a rich, successful businessman who knew how to dress well. Gone were any remnants of the long-haired bad boy whose attire had been faded jeans and a white T-shirt. He bore only a vague resemblance to that rebellious hellion. He'd stopped wearing an earring when he was twenty-two, and over the years the hole in his ear had closed. He'd grown a few inches taller and now reached a solid six feet, and he'd put on enough weight that his once lanky frame was now toned muscle.

He doubted anyone would recognize him tonight, not even Maddie, but for the fact that he'd be showing up with his dad. How tongues would wag. What would the good townspeople be saying behind his back? Once Carl started bragging about Dylan's success, he suspected that more than one former naysayer would be surprised. He grinned at the thought. A perverse part of him wished that Jock Delarue was alive. Would Jock still think Dylan wasn't good enough for Maddie?

“Son, you certainly look handsome.” Standing in the hall, just outside the bathroom, Carl surveyed Dylan. “I wish your mother were here. She'd be so proud of you.”

Carl still wore his everyday clothes, a pair of khaki slacks and a short-sleeved cotton shirt.

“Dad, you aren't dressed,” Dylan said. “You'd better get a move on or we'll be more than fashionably late.”

“I…uh…I'm not feeling very well tonight,” Carl said. “Nothing serious. I think I've picked up a bug of some sort.”

“Have you called your doctor?” Dylan asked.

“No. There's no need for that. I just need to stay close to home, get a little rest. I should be fine by tomorrow.”

Dylan whipped off his bow tie. “I'll change out of this tux and we'll—”

“Don't change clothes,” Carl said. “I want you to go to the country club and enjoy yourself. Tell everybody there tonight who you are. And explain that you and I have reconciled our differences and the reason I didn't show up tonight is because I'm just a bit under the weather. I don't want you to miss out on the fun.” Carl offered Dylan a feeble smile. “Besides, if you stay here, you won't get to see Maddie.”

“What makes you think I want to see Maddie?” Dylan grinned.

“Just a calculated guess. It seems her name has come up in our conversations more than once these past few days.”

Dylan shrugged. “Okay, so I'm curious about her. After all, Maddie was my first love.” He laughed, but a bitter inner voice reminded him that Maddie had
been his only love. The only girl who'd ever gotten under his skin.

 

Maddie buzzed around inside the Lone Star Country Club, issuing orders, greeting guests and double-checking everything, down to the most insignificant detail. Her detail-oriented personality lent itself well to planning and executing grand affairs. Dinner had been planned for the Empire Room, for those who came early. The Mystery Gala would be held in the ballroom on the third floor, and Maddie had assigned her new assistant, Alicia, to be in charge of the event itself, leaving Maddie free to greet guests and make sure every aspect of tonight's extravaganza went off without a hitch. An elaborate buffet table had been set up to accommodate those who hadn't dined in the Empire Room and for those wanting to snack throughout the evening.

Dressed in her simple yet elegant black gown, diamonds dripping from her ears and wrists, Maddie stood several feet from the entrance to the grand two-story, pink granite foyer. Using the tiled, granite fountain in the middle of the lobby as her backdrop, she smiled and spoke to each new arrival. From her vantage point in the lobby, she could see the cars lined up outside the club. Jaguars, Porsches, BMWs. Tonight, the elite of Mission Creek would take part in a fun and games party, and the proceeds from the event would be given to the Red Cross. Maddie especially
enjoyed putting together charity events like this one, knowing that her efforts not only entertained the club's members and their friends, but also provided assistance to those in need.

Joan O'Brien, the manager of Body Perfect, the ladies' spa at the club, entered the lobby on her husband Hart's arm. Such an attractive couple, Maddie thought, and so lucky to have found each other again. Their love story was one right out of the pages of a fairy tale—or a romance novel. During the past half dozen years or so, Joan had become one of Maddie's best friends and she adored the O'Briens' nine-year-old daughter. Although she wasn't officially Helena's godmother, she adored playing the role of “Aunt” Maddie to the hilt.

No sooner had she and Joan started chatting when Hart whisked his wife away before the onslaught of the Carson clan. The big daddy of the family, Ford Carson, a robust, belly-over-his-belt type of man with a shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows, led his plump, blond wife Grace into the lobby. Following the patriarch came Flynt and Josie, Matt and Rose, then Fiona and Cara.

Seven o'clock passed quickly, turning into seven-fifteen and finally seven-thirty. Preparing to leave her post in the lobby to go upstairs to the ballroom, Maddie noticed a sleek, black Porsche pull up under the canopied entrance to the club. She wasn't sure exactly what it was about the man who stepped out of the car
that attracted her attention. From this distance she couldn't make out his features clearly, but there was something about the way he carried himself, a self-confidence in his stance and walk that proclaimed to one and all that he was a man to be reckoned with. Maddie shook her head. Where had those thoughts come from? She wasn't prone to fanciful musings about perfect strangers.

Without taking another look at the intriguing man, Maddie hurried to her destination. Although the gala event didn't start until eight, the ballroom and the open-air aisles that surrounded the main area were filled with guests and busy employees. The ballroom ceiling rose two floors, and a large balcony lay directly over the two-story entrance portico. The jazz band played cool, melancholy tunes.

Maddie checked with Alicia, who assured her that she was ready, and with Harvey Small, the annoying club manager, who seemed to have his areas of expertise under control. Just as she began mingling, ever watchful for any sign of a problem, she caught a glimpse of three waitresses she now knew by name—the soft-spoken, friendly Daisy Parker, the tough-as-nails and highly efficient Ginger Walton and the irritatingly syrupy-sweet Erica Clawson. All three young ladies were attired in the white shirts and black slacks that were de rigueur for the waitstaff at the club.

While she was inspecting the buffet table, Maddie heard a discernable rumble, a soft murmuring at first
that quickly turned to a loud hum. What was happening? she wondered, and turned around just in time to see the attractive man from the black Porsche standing at the entrance to the ballroom. It seemed the debonair stranger in his tailor-made tux and emitting an aura of power and success had gained the attention of almost everyone in the ballroom. Maddie's stomach flip-flopped; her nerves zinged. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with short-cropped, dark blond hair and a rugged, movie-star handsome face.

Who is he? Maddie asked herself and realized that everyone here tonight was wondering the same thing. Well, whoever he was, his presence seemed to be disrupting the gala before it even began. Doing her duty, she sailed across the room and made her way directly to the man who was now watching her approach. His hot gaze raked over her, searing her with its intensity. She suddenly felt as if he'd stripped her naked. Since vulnerability was not a word Maddie allowed in her vocabulary, she returned his gaze head-on. As she drew nearer, she realized he was grinning—at her. Was he someone she should know?

“Hello, I'm Maddie Delarue. Welcome to the Lone Star Country Club.” Her heart beat an erratic rat-a-tat-tat as she extended her hand. “I'm the club's events manager and your hostess for tonight's party.”

The moment he touched her, a tingle of electricity zipped up her arm and radiated throughout her body.
Oh, dear, this wouldn't do. She'd never had this type of reaction to a man.

“Well, hello, Maddie Delarue,” he said, his voice deep and husky, a definite baritone.

Maddie realized that people were still buzzing with speculation and many were staring directly at them. Defuse this situation, she told herself. She boosted her courage with determination and laced her arm though the stranger's. “This is a private party, Mr.…er…” When he didn't supply a name, she continued. “By invitation only. I assume you aren't a party-crasher.”

“Oh, no,” he replied. “I'm a lot of things, beautiful Maddie, but a party-crasher is not one of them.”

She tingled from head to toe. Get a grip, girl, she warned herself. It's not as if this is the first man who's ever tried to sweet-talk you. You've heard insincere compliments before, numerous times. But oddly enough she believed this man really did think she was beautiful.

As she led him into the ballroom, she asked, “Since you're not a party-crasher, would you care to enumerate some of the things you are?”

Towering over her five-foot-four height, he stopped suddenly and clasped her hand. Taken aback by his bold action when he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her tenderly just above her knuckles, she glowered at him. This guy was suave, sophisticated and doing his level best to impress her. She knew his
type only too well, and yet this man seemed different from the regular run-of-the-mill Don Juan.

“Let me see, sweet Maddie.” He smiled; she glared. “I'm a connoisseur of fine wine, of artwork that appeals to me, of the ballet and the opera and of—” he paused for effect “—beautiful women.”

“My, how interesting. I've known quite a few men who are just that type of connoisseur.” He cocked his eyebrows; she smiled. “That type is usually also a hunter—” she paused for effect “—a fortune hunter.”

The stranger laughed. A hearty, deep-chested rumble. “I can assure you, Ms. Delarue, that I have no interest in or need of your sizable fortune.”

“Is that right?” Suddenly she realized that their lengthy conversation was attracting more attention than the stranger's entrance had. She followed her first instinct—to take him away from prying eyes. “Why don't I show you the view from the balcony? You can see for miles. It's quite a spectacular sight.”

“Lead the way.”

He draped her arm over his and obediently followed her halfway across the room, then abruptly took a detour and all but dragged her onto the dance floor. Had it not been for creating a scene, she would have responded rather sternly to the man's brazen tactics. Forcing herself not to stomp on his feet, she allowed him to take her into his arms and guide her through the slow, seductive dance steps. His hand drifted down her back to her waist. She sucked in her breath, then
released it slowly when he nuzzled the side of her face with his nose.

“Just exactly who are you and what are you doing here tonight?” She managed to speak without her voice quivering, which amazed her since her insides had turned to mush. Her nipples tightened and peaked. Her femininity moistened. This guy was lethal!

“Ah, straight to the point,” he said. “Have you decided that there's no longer any need to be polite?”

“I'm politely asking you a few questions,” she told him.

His hand strayed lower, coming to a halt at the base of her spine. She lifted her hand from his shoulder, reached behind her and grabbed his wrist. When she tried to move his splayed hand upward, he resisted and instead dragged his hand and hers down and onto one satin-clad buttock. Maddie gasped.

“Let go of me,” she ordered. “Don't touch me that way. People are watching us.”

Chuckling, he raised his hand back to her waist; she returned hers to his shoulder. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, much better.”

“As for who I am and what I'm doing here…I'm an invited guest who came here to enjoy himself, and I'm certainly doing just that dancing with you.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “We aim to please.”

“Do you indeed?”

“Only in my capacity as your hostess,” she amended her statement.

“Of course.”

Don't you dare blush, Maddie warned herself. If he saw evidence that his flirting was affecting her, he'd assume she was vulnerable to his charm. She'd dance this one dance with him. That was all. Then she'd dismiss him from her thoughts. But as the dance continued, her body betrayed her by molding itself to his, fitting them together like two halves of a whole.

“Do you really have an invitation?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“May I see it?”

“I left it with the gentleman at the door.”