Channing Ellis.
9
Cat’s posture subtly changed — her chin went up and her shoulders squared, and she made a too-casual flip of her braid over one shoulder. Loc followed her gaze and saw a tall, handsome man walking through the crowd, clearly intent on coming up to talk to her. The stranger’s gaze slid toward Loc and paused there for a second or two, taking his measure, and then he stopped a few feet away from where the two of them stood.
“Hi, Cat,” the man said.
“Hi, Channing,” she replied coolly. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Obviously, this was Channing Ellis, the man Cat had had a relationship with a year after they’d graduated from high school. Loc did his best not to dislike the stranger on sight, mostly because he realized it was foolish to show antipathy toward a person who’d been out of Cat’s life for years, but he didn’t know how successful he was. Besides, Loc knew he had no claim on Cat, none at all…and yet he still wanted to shift into his true winged form, take hold of this smiling man in his ridiculous polo shirt with the little horseman embroidered on the left breast, and drop him somewhere from a very large height.
“Oh, I couldn’t miss it,” Channing said. Unlike many of the party-goers, who appeared to be of either Hispanic or Pueblo extraction, or possibly a combination of the two, he was quite fair, with sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and a lightly tanned complexion. “I’m just glad I happened to be in town at the right time.”
“Yes, I suppose it was serendipity,” Cat said. Although the words were polite, there was an edge to them that Loc couldn’t miss. However, it seemed Channing Ellis wasn’t quite that perceptive.
“Exactly.” He chuckled, then shifted so he faced Loc and stuck out his hand. “I’m Channing Ellis.”
“Loc de la Cruz,” Loc replied.
“Right. Ashley said you were an artist or something?”
The way Channing asked the question was deliberately off-hand, as if he didn’t think much of being an artist. Since Loc had assumed that identity as an easy way to explain his presence here, he wasn’t offended on his own behalf. However, he found himself bristling for Cat’s sake. She cared very much about her work, and this insignificant human was belittling the profession simply because it wasn’t the same as putting on a suit and accumulating as many billable hours as possible.
However, since Cat had just sent him a sideways, pleading glance, Loc knew he needed to remain civil. She had already said that she no longer had feelings for this person, and so there was no point in causing a scene…even if the desire to drop him off the highest spire of Loretto Chapel had only increased exponentially.
“Yes, I am an artist who specializes in fiber work, like Catalina here. She was good enough to invite me to Santa Fe to attend an international show and competition this coming week.”
That was definitely a disdainful curl to Channing Ellis’s sculpted upper lip. Artist was bad enough, but for a grown man to be playing with fabrics and yarn? Loc could only imagine the mocking thoughts going through the other man’s head.
“Yes, Loc is really talented, and busy, too,” Cat put in, obviously conscious of the tension between the two men. “I’m just lucky he was able to carve out a little time in his schedule to come for a visit. We’ve been corresponding for a while, but we just didn’t know until fairly recently whether he was going to make it this year.”
“That’s great,” Channing said, his tone dismissive. “Hey, Loc, you mind if I borrow Cat for a bit? I’d love to get a tour of the property.”
She didn’t look too thrilled at this presumption, but it also seemed that she wanted to keep everything as friendly as possible, since she said, “Oh, sure, let me show you the rest of the grounds. You don’t mind, Loc, do you?”
Of course, he minded a good deal. He did not want Cat going off with this person, but protesting probably wouldn’t go over very well with either of them, for different reasons. Besides, when this party ended, Channing Ellis would be sent off with the rest of the party-goers, but Loc would be able to remain here with her.
“No, I don’t mind at all,” he replied. “I think I’ll go get some food.”
“Great idea,” Channing said. “Better to get yourself something before it gets too picked over.”
There was no danger of such a thing happening, because Loc had been monitoring the refreshments to make sure that all the food and drinks remained well-stocked. He couldn’t very well point this out to Channing Ellis, and so he nodded and replied, “The tapas have been very popular.”
With that, he walked off toward the food table, forcing himself not to look over one shoulder to see where Cat and Ellis might be headed. She’d made it sound as if she only planned to show him the rest of the patio and probably something of the vineyard, but Loc doubted whether her erstwhile boyfriend would be content to have the tour end there. No, he would want to see the house as well. With any luck, he would be content with seeing the ground floor, but what if he pressed her to go upstairs, to look at the bedrooms?
Such jealousy and foolish conjecture were not at all like him. Loc shook his head at himself and went over to refill his glass of sangria. For some reason, he did not have much of an appetite, although he had made it a point to choose food that he’d sampled when he traveled through Spain, all dishes that he’d enjoyed very much and wanted to have again. Food was just one of this world’s many wonders; his demon body hadn’t required it the way this form did, but he was glad to have to eat and sample the apparently endless variety Earth had to offer.
As he stepped off to one side to allow more people near the drink dispensers, Cat’s cousin Tony got up from a nearby table and approached him, expression a little too knowing.
“Looks like Channing Ellis swooped in again to do his quarterback thing.”
“His what?” Loc inquired. The phrase sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it at the moment.
“Well, Mr. Ellis was the quarterback of the high school’s football team the year Cat graduated. He always was pretty good at interceptions.”
Loc could only stare at Tony blankly, not sure what he was talking about.
The Castillo warlock chuckled, then said, “Oh, right. You’re from Spain. You probably don’t know too much about American football.”
“No, I don’t,” Loc replied, glad that he could use his assumed nationality as a way to explain his ignorance of something that appeared to be an important part of life in this section of the world. Although he’d traveled just as extensively in the United States as he had in Europe and Asia, he hadn’t wasted much energy on sports, mostly because they had very little to do with his quest, and the people he was seeking wouldn’t have been involved in that sort of thing. “But I assume if he was the quarterback, it was a position of some importance?”
“You could say that.” Tony paused to swallow some of his sangria. “I don’t think Cat ever cared about it one way or another, like some girls do. But I know she hung out with him the summer after she graduated, because I spotted them together a few times down around the Plaza.”
“I know about that,” Loc said. He wanted to make sure Tony understood that none of this was really a surprise. “Cat told me.”
“Oh, she did? Well, then.” He drank more sangria, gazing out over the crowd with a contemplative expression on his face. “You two must be serious if she’s discussing her old boyfriends with you.”
“No, not at all.” Had he sounded a bit too vehement? Loc hoped not, but he also wanted to disabuse Tony of the notion that anything was going on between his cousin and himself. “It’s only that Ashley mentioned his name, and I could see that Cat wasn’t very happy about his being invited to the party. She explained why she was not too eager to have him come back into her life.”
“And yet she’s off giving him a tour of the place.”
“Because he asked. It’s not as though she offered to do such a thing.”
Tony was quiet for a moment. He swirled th
e contents of his cup of sangria, now down to only a few more mouthfuls. “Well, I suppose it’s none of my business anyway.”
“You’re family. It’s right for you to be concerned. But really, I am only here as Cat’s friend, nothing more. However, just because I am returning home soon doesn’t mean that I want her to fall back into the orbit of someone who doesn’t deserve her.”
That remark earned Loc an approving clap on the shoulder, probably a little rougher than Tony had intended. Loc wondered how many glasses of sangria he’d downed already. It was stronger than it looked. “Well, she’s lucky to have a friend like you. You keep an eye on her.”
“Oh, I will.”
“And over here is where we have the Tempranillo planted, three hundred vines in all. If I demolish the parking lot, I may end up planting more there.”
“Cat.”
She glanced away from the vines, now muted and golden in the last light of sunset. Channing was standing a few feet away from her, arms crossed, an amused smile on his lips. “What?”
“I don’t really need the rundown on every vine you’re growing on the property. It’s cute that you have a hobby and all — well, besides the fiber stuff you do — but I’d really love to see the house.”
The word “hobby” made her bristle…almost as much as his off-hand remark about “fiber stuff”…but she did her best to sound calm as she responded, “It’s not just a hobby. These grapes will bring in a lot of cash.”
“Great, but I know you did a lot of renovating, and I’d like to see it, maybe get some ideas for my own place.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What, you bought a defunct winery and are renovating it, too?”
“No, but I’m looking to dump my condo in the next year and buy a real house, and it always helps to see what other people are doing with their properties.”
He spoke so casually of acquiring property, like it was something all twenty-six-year-olds could do. Cat had been in a unique position because of her family’s background, but she knew that most of the people eating and drinking on her patio were renting apartments, or maybe scraping together enough to get a lease on a house if they’d been lucky enough to land a decent job.
But Channing Ellis was a different story. His father was a hotshot attorney down in Albuquerque, and Cat had no doubt that he’d pulled whatever strings were necessary to get Channing into law school and then fast-tracked into a good position with a large firm in Houston. He’d probably started earning in the mid-six figures right out of school and never looked back.
“Okay, okay,” she said, knowing that continuing to protest was worse than just letting him see the damn house and getting it over with. “But it’s not like it’s Buckingham Palace or anything.”
“Good,” Channing said. “Because I hate gold leaf.”
Despite herself, Cat couldn’t help chuckling a little at his remark. She led him away from the vineyard area, through the now-packed parking lot, and along the path that wound its way to the front entrance of the house. Even though most of the party’s action was taking place on the patio, she’d left the house lit up so people could safely find their way to one of the two bathrooms on the ground floor.
No one seemed to be inside at the moment, though. She and Channing went through the entryway with its high, beamed ceilings and antique lantern light fixture, and on into the living room, where the large multi-candle chandelier overhead sent a soft light throughout the space.
“This is pretty amazing,” Channing said, looking around. “You did all this yourself?”
“Well, I hired contractors for the remodel, and I had a designer come in and help me smooth out some of the rough spots,” Cat replied.
“But still.” He rubbed his chin, looking at the large plaster fireplace with its aged oak mantel, the stone tile on the floor. “I guess you inherited a chunk when your mother passed away, right?”
The question sent a flash of anger through her. She didn’t know which was more offensive — the off-hand way in which he mentioned Genoveva’s death, or the assumption that she couldn’t have possibly afforded any of this with her own money. All right, she could see why some people would have a hard time understanding how a fiber artist could earn any real money, but since one of her pieces had recently sold in a gallery for more than ten grand, it wasn’t so strange to think that she could have financed the purchase of the house and its remodel with her own funds.
Voice icy, she said, “I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.”
Immediately, Channing raised his hands and said, “Sorry, sorry. It’s just — this is a hell of a house.” His tone softened further, and he took a step toward her. “You know, I never was happy about the way things ended between us.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a ‘way,’” she responded coolly. “We had some fun, but it’s not like we were boyfriend and girlfriend or anything. We just…got together for a while. I always knew you had to go back to school after you were done visiting for the summer.”
“And now I’m in practice, and you own a vineyard. Crazy, huh?”
Cat shrugged. True, a year ago, she couldn’t have imagined she would end up where she was now, but Channing being a hotshot in a law firm had pretty much been a given. “How about I show you the dining room and the kitchen?”
Channing took another step toward her. “How about we pretend those six years never happened?”
His hands closed on hers, and he pulled her toward him, leaned down so he could press his lips against hers.
The first thought that went through Cat’s mind was, Well, at least his technique has improved a little. But then it clicked that he was kissing her, even though she was pretty sure she’d given him no indication that she’d be at all receptive to such a move.
She snatched her hands away from his and took a step backward so she’d be safely out of arm’s reach. “What the hell was that about?”
“What do you think?” he replied, completely unruffled. “Like I said, how about we pretend those six years never passed? You could show me your bedroom….”
The words trailed off there as Cat stared at him, not sure she could believe he was saying these things to her. She hadn’t given him any encouragement, hadn’t said or done anything that should have made him think she was eager to rekindle their romance…if you could even call it that. A few lunch dates and stolen tumbles in hotel room beds wasn’t exactly enough to make what they’d had a romance, or even a relationship.
“I think I’ve shown you enough,” she snapped. “And really, I think it’s better if you just leave now.”
“‘Leave’?” he repeated, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He moved closer again, and she took another step back — although not quickly enough, because his hand closed on her wrist and prevented her from moving out of his reach. “Seriously, Cat — are you really trying to play coy now, when you were so quick to give it up back in the day?”
Cat’s first instinct was to reach up and slap him across the face for the insult. However, she wasn’t fast enough, because suddenly Loc was there, fists clenched at his sides and his face dark with fury. She had no idea where he’d come from, but she was overwhelmingly relieved to see him.
“I think Catalina has made it very clear that she wishes to have nothing to do with you,” he said, interposing himself between the two of them. He was an inch or two taller than Channing, and broader through the shoulders, and made an effective barrier. “I think you had better leave.”
Channing’s eyes narrowed, emphasizing how they really were a bit too close set. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Loc replied. His voice was calm enough, but Cat could hear the silky threat lying at the bottom of it and wondered if Channing had any idea how much trouble he was in. “What kind of pitiable creature feels he must take such things from a woman, rather than have them freely given?”
“Pit — ” Lips pulling up in a snarl, Channing said, “Cat, I think you’d better tell yo
ur little artist friend here to back off. I don’t think he knows who he’s dealing — ”
He didn’t get any farther than that, because Loc’s fist came up, connecting with Channing’s jaw in a perfect roundhouse punch. His eyes went wide, and then he toppled over, rather like a tree giving way under the last blow from a woodsman’s axe.
Luckily, a Persian rug was there to break his fall. Even so, Cat could hear the grunt of pain he gave as he hit the floor. He shook his head as if to clear it, then managed to push himself back up to his feet. Blue eyes blazing, he said, “I should call the cops on you for that, you Spanish piece of shit. Assault and battery — ”
“And I’ll tell them he was defending me from your assault,” Cat replied coldly, thinking it was far past time to put an end to all this. “I know you think your dad is a big shot, Channing, but believe me — the Santa Fe P.D. and the sheriff’s department will take my word over yours every time.”
A scowl creased his face. “You sure about that? My father knows people at the State Department. They’ll make sure your Spanish friend is deported so fast, his head will spin.”
“Say another word, and your life is forfeit,” Loc snarled, and before Cat could do anything to stop him — or even see exactly how he’d managed it — he had his hand on Channing’s throat and had him pressed up against the nearest wall so his feet dangled helplessly below him. “Understand, vermin?”
“I — I understand,” Channing gasped, face going red.
“And you’ll leave here, and never come back?”
“Ye-es.”
Loc let go of his throat so abruptly that Channing fell to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him. Somehow, he managed to push himself up to a standing position, although Cat saw how he kept one hand pressed flat against the wall to give himself some leverage…and probably to keep himself from falling down again.
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