Envious

by Lisa Jackson

  Katie’s throat went dry and she knew right then and there that she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

  Chapter Six

  Every muscle in Luke’s body ached. He’d spent ten hours setting fence posts and cleaning out the stables. He smelled bad and probably looked worse, though the woman behind the convenience-store counter hadn’t appeared to notice as she’d counted out his change when he’d stopped to buy a six-pack of beer, a bag of chips and a copy of the local paper.

  He pulled into the driveway of the carriage house and parked near the garage. As he grabbed his copy of the Review and his sack from the store, the Santini family, dressed to the nines, emerged from the back door of the main house.

  Tiffany had her purse in one hand and her other was wrapped around Christina’s wrist. Wearing a long, shimmering blue dress she was giving orders to her family, commands Luke heard through the open windows of his pickup. “Now, listen, I don’t want any more fights,” Tiffany said, leveling her gaze at her son as her small family gathered on the back porch. “You’re a lot older than Christina and fighting with her is ridiculous.”

  The little girl, pleased with the turn of the conversation, smiled broadly, then, behind her mother’s back, stuck out her tongue at her brother.

  Stephen yanked at his tie, looked about to say something but just rolled his eyes instead.

  If Tiffany noticed any part of the exchange she ignored it as J.D. locked the back door. “Now, come on, I just talked to Aunt Katie. She and Josh need a ride.”

  “Still no car?” J.D. asked. He seemed every bit the lawyer in what looked to be an expensive suit and neat tie.

  “Not for a few more days. If I were her, I’d go out of my mind. The good news is that Josh is off crutches and that the phone calls he was getting have stopped.”

  “What phone calls?”

  “Oh, some kind of prank, I think. He’d answer and no one was there.”

  “Probably kids.” J.D. shook his head but every overworked muscle in Luke’s body tightened. He hadn’t seen Katie in a couple of days, not since she’d been out to the ranch.

  Tiffany had shepherded the family down the back steps and onto the dry grass of the lawn when she spied Luke climbing out of his truck. “Oh, hi!” The worried knot between her eyebrows disappeared as both kids dashed for J.D.’s Jeep. “It’s a madhouse as usual around here. If we make it to the wedding on time it’ll be a miracle,” she said with a laugh. Her eyes skated down his dusty, sweat-stained T-shirt and worn jeans. “I thought—I mean, didn’t Katie say that you were going to Bliss’s . . .” She blushed and he figured out the rest for himself.

  “I think she expects me to show up at the reception.”

  “You should!” Tiffany enthused.

  “I told Bliss I’d think about it.”

  A horn blared and Luke spied Stephen behind the steering wheel of J.D.’s rig. A broad smile creased his face.

  “Stephen, stop!” Tiffany said, shaking her head at her son. She turned back to Luke. “We really do have to run,” Tiffany said as J.D. managed to get his soon-to-be stepson to move to the back seat as he was still a few years too young to drive.

  Luke waved and headed up the stairs. He tried not to think about Katie dressed up and looking for him at the reception, nor did he want to dwell too long on the thought of a couple making vows. He’d been down that road himself and had ended up being burned. Big time. Good luck to Mason and Bliss. He wanted no part of it.

  The carriage house was stuffy and hot, so he cracked the windows, opened a beer and settled into his recliner with the paper. The headline on page one caught his attention: Wells Mystery Deepens. Katie Kinkaid’s name was on the story. “Great,” Luke growled, taking a long swallow from his bottle. His eyes skimmed the article and his jaw hardened. “Damned fool woman.”

  There was no doubt about it; she was trying her best to get herself killed.

  It’s none of your business, Gates. None.

  “Hell.” He attempted to read the rest of the paper, but his mind kept straying back to Katie and her stubborn fixation on becoming some kind of hotshot ace reporter. In Bittersweet, Oregon. Fat chance. No wonder she wanted to jump feet first into this Isaac Wells mystery.

  He drained his bottle, then slammed it down on a nearby table. Try as he might, Luke couldn’t forget the fact that she was getting crank calls and weird letters.

  Dog-tired and irritated as all get-out, Luke slapped the copy of the Rogue River Review onto the table and shoved himself to his feet. Knowing he was about to make a huge mistake, he kicked off his boots and stormed into the bathroom.

  He yanked off his T-shirt and dropped it onto the floor. What the devil was Katie thinking? Why did she insist upon stirring up trouble? Muttering under his breath about hardheaded career women who had more guts than brains, he twisted on the shower faucet and stripped out of his jeans.

  In the past two days he’d half expected her to show up at his ranch again, half wanted it. Anytime he’d heard a rig slow at the end of the lane, he’d felt an unlikely rush of adrenaline, experienced a clenching in his gut, only to end up disappointed when she didn’t appear.

  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was something about that little spitfire of a woman that got under a man’s skin—well, at least his skin.

  “Man, you’ve got it bad, Gates.” Disgusted with that particular thought, he stepped under the shower spray and sucked in his breath. Hot water splashed against his chest and ran down his torso. As he scrubbed the dirt, sweat and smell of horse dung from his body, he told himself that Katie Kinkaid was off-limits. Way off-limits. She was the kind of woman who could turn a man’s head around, and he needed no part of that. None. And yet ...

  Annoyed, he scrubbed until the dirt under his fingernails had washed away and all the lather that swirled down the drain was white. Why did he care what Ms. Kinkaid did? It wasn’t as if she was someone special in his life. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t in his life at all. Heretofore he’d helped her out of a jam with her car and her kid, and had made the mistake of kissing her. She’d shown up on his doorstep asking about Dave. That was it. So what if she wrote articles about hermits who disappeared? Who cared that the man had decided to contact her? It wasn’t any of his business.

  Oh, yeah? What if she’s the mother of Dave Sorenson’s kid? What then? It sure as hell is your business.

  And he was bothered by Katie’s involvement in this Isaac Wells mess. The situation bordered on the bizarre. What if the old man was involved in something criminal or sinister? The police had been questioning Ray Dean, a local hoodlum who’d been in and out of prison for years. Though no connection had been made, there was speculation in town that the two men had known each other.

  A lot of people had thought Isaac Wells was dead. Maybe even murdered.

  Yeah, then who wrote Katie the letter?

  That was what bothered him. Was the letter the real thing or some kind of grand hoax? Either way, he was worried.

  Angrily he dried his hair with a towel, stepped in front of the foggy mirror and swiped at the glassy surface until he could see his reflection well enough to scrape off his five-o’clock shadow and run a comb through his hair. He’d suspected from the moment Katie had invited him that he would attend the wedding reception, but it galled him to think that he had no will where that woman was concerned. One curve of her lips, a tiny sparkle in her eye, a mocking lift of her eyebrow and he found himself doing things he’d sworn to avoid.

  “Damn.” He dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, then fingered a bolo tie only to discard it and slide into his best pair of boots. By the time he walked outside it was dusk and the filmy clouds gathering over the moon were beginning to thicken. The air was hot and sultry without the slightest hint of a breeze, and yet he sensed a storm was brewing.

  As he walked to his truck, he eyed the old Victorian house. It seemed strangely empty. No lights glowed in the windows, no kids ran in the yard, no angry guitar chords w
ailed from one of the upstairs rooms. Boxes were stacked on the porch—evidence that the Santini clan was moving out.

  And Katie Kinkaid would be moving in. That thought made him edgy and restless. Living less than a hundred feet away from her was much too close. Though she probably needed a man to look out for her, he wasn’t a candidate. As he climbed into his truck he tried to take solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be here long. As soon as the electricity and phones were connected, he’d set up housekeeping at the ranch.

  Oh, yeah? And then what? Are you just going to forget her and the fact that she’s wading into dangerous waters? Are you going to ignore the fact that you’d like nothing more than to kiss her until her knees went weak, peel off her clothes and make love to her until dawn? And what about the fact that Josh just might be Ralph Sorenson’s grandson? What the hell are you going to do about that?

  His fingers tight on the wheel, he drove through town, past the church where Bliss Cawthorne had become Mrs. Mason Lafferty, and on to the old Reed Hotel. A tall three-story building with a Western facade, narrow windows and the original weathered siding, the Reed Hotel had once been a stagecoach stop. Now, after some remodeling and additions, it was the most elegant and historic inn anywhere near Bittersweet.

  He handed his keys to a kid who didn’t look old enough to drive, but was eager to park the truck, then headed inside. As if it were Christmas instead of early September, thousands of tiny lights winked in the branches of the trees and shrubbery that flanked the front porch. Again, he told himself, he had no business being here—none whatsoever—and yet he climbed the few steps to the open double doors.

  Music filtered from within and he didn’t have to pause at the front desk; he just followed the tinkle of laughter and buzz of excited conversation to a ballroom that was filled to the brim with the citizens of Bittersweet. A small band was playing a lively tune and couples were already swirling around the floor.

  He spotted Katie instantly. In a long blue dress with her red hair piled onto her head, she danced with a guy Luke didn’t recognize. Long-legged, with hawkish eyes and a smile that looked as phony as a three-dollar bill, Katie’s partner held her close. Too close. As if she were his personal possession. And Katie was eating it up. She talked and laughed, tilting her head back and flirting outrageously with the stranger. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes sparkling, her smile positively radiant. Luke’s gut twisted with something akin to jealousy and he silently swore.

  When offered a glass of champagne by a waiter dressed like an old stagehand, Luke accepted the drink and downed it in one long swallow. The room was crowded, the music a little loud, the room surprisingly stuffy and hot. With two fingers he pulled at his collar and told himself his claustrophobia was way out of line.

  Mason and Bliss danced past, she in white silk and lace, he in a black tuxedo. He twirled her off her feet and she laughed gaily, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if she were completely and truly in love.

  The thought sat like lead in Luke’s stomach and he snagged another glass of champagne from a tray near a fountain that spouted gallons of the stuff. Hearing Katie’s laughter rising above the buzz of conversation, clink of glasses and notes from a dance band, he sauntered outside to a veranda where there was a little respite from the heat.

  Several people had gathered on the flagstones, talking and smoking, holding drinks or resting their hips against the stone railing and looking over the creek that splashed behind the hotel.

  Two women strolled onto the patio and stood far enough away that he only caught snatches of their conversation.

  “Can’t imagine what happened to him,” one of the women was saying. She was short and round, with hair starting to turn silver and long, well-kept fingernails that rummaged through the contents of her purse.

  “So you don’t believe the letter is real?” her companion; a wasp-thin woman with harsh features and more makeup than she needed, asked.

  “The letter that was printed in the paper? Naw.” She found a pack of cigarettes and shook one out. “If you ask me, Lois, Isaac Wells is gone for good.”

  At that point Mason strode onto the patio and spying Luke, offered a smile.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be cuttin’ the cake, or toasting the bride or somethin’?” Luke asked as they clasped hands.

  “Needed a break.” Mason tugged at his collar and Luke noticed the sweat sliding down his neck.

  “I hear Bliss has designed a new house for you. That you’re going to open up a dude ranch at the old Sorenson place.”

  “That’s the plan.” Luke sipped his drink. He wasn’t much good at small talk, but felt comfortable with Lafferty; there was something about him that seemed sincere. Beneath the expensive tux was a real, solid man, a fellow rancher who felt a kinship with the earth. The kind of man Luke trusted.

  “I’d like you to show me around sometime when work gets under way.”

  “Come on out, anytime,” Luke offered, then asked a question he’d been tossing about all day. “I heard you were related to Isaac Wells.”

  “Yep.”

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  “Wish I knew.” Mason rubbed his chin. “I’m afraid it might become one of those unsolved cases around here, just like the Octavia Nesbitt thing a few years back.”

  “Nesbitt?” Luke asked. The name was familiar.

  “Tiffany’s grandmother. Years ago she was robbed—her jewelry taken from her house, even her damned cat stolen. The case was never solved and made everyone nervous. Leastwise, that’s what Bliss and her father tell me.”

  “But no one was hurt?” Luke asked.

  “Nope. This is different that way.” Mason’s eyebrows drew together. “Can’t help but wonder whether old Isaac is dead or alive.”

  “There you are!” Bliss, breathless, caught up with her new husband. “Hiding?” Her blue eyes sparkled with a teasing light.

  “From you?” he asked. “Always.”

  “Such a charmer.” She clucked her tongue and to the delight of the two women on the far end of the patio, Mason swooped her into his arms and kissed her as if he’d never stop. One woman fanned her face, the other turned away, hiding a smile. Luke grinned. He felt the passion between the just-married couple, knew what it was like to want a woman so badly he ached.

  When Mason finally lifted his head, Bliss appeared breathless. “Well,” she finally said, her cheeks flushed to a rosy hue, “I’d love to steal away to the bushes with you right now, Mr. Lafferty, but we have duties to attend to.”

  “Too bad,” Mason drawled.

  Bliss touched him lightly on the nose. “If you’re lucky, I’ll give you a rain check.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to it, Mrs. Lafferty.”

  They linked fingers and she pulled him back into the interior of the old hotel.

  Luke finished his drink, then stared through the windows and spied Katie dancing. She was grinning and looking as if she were having the time of her life. He wondered what kind of trouble she was getting herself into. First the letter—be it a hoax or the real thing—then the phone calls to her house where no one answered. They could just have been someone dialing the wrong number, but he couldn’t shove them out of his head.

  Not that he could forget much about Katie Kinkaid. As the two women drifted back into the ballroom, Luke leaned against the rail and glared down at the darkened ravine. Lights from the hotel reflected on the tumbling water of the creek and he thought he saw a lone man, a black figure, slip behind a thick copse of trees.

  The hairs on the back of his neck lifted in warning, even though he told himself that he’d imagined the shadow, or, if there really was someone hiding in the undergrowth, it was probably just some kid sneaking booze from the reception or stealing away from his parents’ wary eyes. Luke squinted hard into the darkness and strained to hear a sound—a snapping twig or muttered oath or anything to convince himself that he hadn’t imagined it.

  Watch it, Gates, y
ou’re getting paranoid. Still, he studied the night-darkened banks of the creek. The suspicious part of his mind considered vaulting over the rail and following his instincts, tailing whoever it was and finding out if he was up to no good.

  “I thought I saw you sneak in.” Katie’s voice startled him.

  Luke glanced quickly over his shoulder. She was standing only inches from him, her tiny, flushed face angled up to look at him. Her green eyes sparkled and he wondered if she wasn’t the most intriguing woman in the universe.

  “I suspected that you might decide to put in an appearance after all.” Her lips curved into a smile of silent amusement, as if she could read his mind and found his thoughts laughable.

  “I think you invited me,” he replied, turning and placing his body between hers and the stranger in the shadows—if there was one. A thin sheen of perspiration added an alluring glow to her skin, which was already smooth as silk.

  “That I did,” she said flirtatiously, and Luke remembered seeing her in another man’s arms, how at home she’d seemed, how lighthearted and free. She interrupted his thoughts when she asked, “So . . . how about a dance?”

  He hadn’t been asked that particular question since high school. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “That makes two of us. Come on.” As if she expected him to come up with some kind of excuse, she grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him into the warm room where couples were gliding around the dance floor. Rather than protest, he went with her into the ballroom. He felt safer inside even though there was probably no danger lurking in the gloomy shadows by the creek. It was just his imagination working overtime.

  A song from the big-band era was playing. He’d heard the tune before, didn’t know its name, and didn’t have time to speculate. Katie fell into his arms as naturally as if she’d been born there. She didn’t seem to mind that his dancing was limited. He hadn’t lied. He’d had a few dance lessons in physical education when he’d been about twelve and scared to death of the opposite sex; then he’d experimented a little in high school and at rare social events while he’d been married to Celia.