Black Gold

by Ruby Laska

  That's what the song was about, acceptance and wishing and regret. So why had he sung it, of all things, for this stranger who had shown up at the worst possible time, to try to drag him back to a life he no longer wanted?

  And why, for the love of God, had she kissed him?

  His face was burning from the memory when Jayne pushed open his bedroom door and came to stand next to him, hands on her hips.

  "Sweet Mary, don't you ever knock?" he demanded. "What if I'd been in my skivvies?"

  "I've seen it all, living with four men," she said placidly. "Now, what are you wearing for your date?"

  "It's not a date." He groaned. "I'm only going so Sherry won't be nervous. Honestly, that woman is a trial."

  "Mmm hmm," she said. "Which is why you got all nervous when she called."

  Cell service was unreliable out on the ranch, so they used the landline. Heaven only knew how Regina had gotten the number—strike that; anyone in town would have gladly given it to her. It wasn't exactly a secret, and what with Jayne's hauling business and Cal training for the police force and Matthew doing the shopping and the rest of them on the rigs, between them they knew just about everyone in town.

  At least it had been Matthew who answered. And Matthew who, very diplomatically, promised to pass along the message that she had made reservations for the three of them at DuBonnet's, the fanciest restaurant in town. And Matthew who, as he hung up the phone, called out "You owe me, pal!" and went off to find Jayne to gossip about him. Which was why she was standing here in his room, not even pretending to give him his space.

  "I'm not nervous," he protested. "I just don't want to give her any encouragement."

  "Considering the fact that she took off this morning like there was a swarm of hornets after her, I think it's safe to say that she's not feeling especially encouraged. Did you really have to make her go barefoot?"

  "I didn't!" Chase said, trying to tamp down his guilt. "I mean, I wouldn't have, if she'd given me half a second—"

  "You don't own a single decent shirt," Jayne interrupted, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of his room. "Let's look in Zane's closet."

  "Aw, not Zane," Chase said, allowing himself to be hustled down the hall. Jayne was a force to be reckoned with. If she wanted to dress him, it was pointless to resist.

  "Cal's shirts won't fit—the sleeves won't be long enough," Jayne said matter-of-factly. "Jimmy needs even more help than you in the fashion department. I'm not letting you out of the house in one of Matthew's good shirts—and that leaves Zane."

  "But he dresses like a lawyer."

  "That's because he was a lawyer." Zane had graduated from law school and spent a miserable year as a junior member of a local law firm before he saw his chance for escape, when Matthew invited him to come north. Now he was even happier, if that was possible, to be a derrick hand than Chase was. "Besides, you want to look professional tonight, don't you? I mean, come on, you keep saying you're not interested in this woman. Which I totally don't believe, by the way. But if you borrow Zane's clothes, the vibe you'll be putting out will be more business and less how'd you like to get in my pants."

  "Wow. Classy, Jayne," Chase mumbled, hoping she couldn't see him blush.

  Zane's room was the messiest of any of them, with books and clothes and dishes strewn everywhere. It was as though, when he'd left the law, some unfettered spirit had broken free and taken over. His shirts, though, hung neatly in the closet because the one habit Zane hadn't been able to break had been sending his laundry out, especially after Matthew's first few disastrous attempts. He owned only business clothes when he arrived in North Dakota, and after six weeks on the job, he was still making do with the few things he bought when they arrived. Which meant he was the only man in Conway whose Wal-Mart shirts and pants were laundered and pressed at Sparkle-Brite Dry Clean.

  "This one," Jayne said, after running her hands down the row of clothes and selecting a cotton button-down that was still in its dry-cleaner bag. She sorted through the ties hanging on a rack, and selected a red tie with a design of abstract dots.

  "You do know how to tie a tie, don't you?" Jayne asked, handing him the clothes.

  "I'm not taking these without asking Zane first!"

  "Well, he's out hitting golf balls with Jimmy, so he's not going to pick up. Don't worry. I'll tell him." She pushed him out the door and gave him a shove down the hall. "Don't forget to let me see before you go!"

  Instead, he snuck out the back door—he'd been humiliated enough for one day without Matthew and Jayne cooing over him like it was the first day of kindergarten—and rapped on the door of the Tar Barn.

  Harry raced out, barely slowing to bump fists with Chase, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks for making her let me come over!" And then Sherry came to the door, looking even more intimidated than she had earlier. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress that didn't really fit her and looked like it came off the Goodwill rack, something Chase knew was entirely likely.

  Still, she'd pulled her hair back with a ribbon and put on button earrings and a bit of lipstick, and she looked fresh and lovely. Not much like Stiletta, but sweet. He decided not to tell her that, settling for "You look very nice."

  Sherry alternated between nervous chatter and silence all the way into town. When Chase came around to open her door, and then offered her his arm, she frowned nervously. Still, she walked into the restaurant with her head held high, and when the maître d' escorted them to the table where Regina was waiting, she managed to say hello without letting her nerves show.

  Chase, on the other hand, was doing fine until he saw Regina. She'd put on a fresh dress for the occasion—a coppery thing with tiny sleeves that slipped off her shoulders, lace draped over some shimmery fabric that invited touch. The front of it dipped daringly low, showing off the tops of her breasts, cinching in tight at her waist. She got up from her chair to clasp Sherry's hands in hers, and Chase saw that she'd traded the shoes she had on earlier for a pair that was even higher, if such a thing were possible, with tiny pearl clusters pinned to the leather. Chase had never fancied himself a foot man, but those little glimpses of her red toenails were enough to drive him insane.

  When he finally allowed his gaze to travel back up her body to her face, he found Regina was glaring at him. She indicated the chair across from her with an imperious flick of the wrist as Sherry settled herself in next to Regina.

  "Lovely to see you again," she said frostily, in a voice that suggested the opposite, and held out her hand stiffly.

  As they shook hands, Chase checked to see if she'd repaired the damage to her manicure. Sure enough, the nail was long and shiny and red, as if nothing had happened. Regina caught him staring. "I made an emergency visit to the salon," she said. "I'll take the bill out of your first check."

  "What happened?" Sherry asked.

  "Nothing," they said in unison.

  Conversation didn't exactly flow at first. Regina stared at the menu, frowning slightly, as if it was written in an unfamiliar language.

  "So," she said after the waiter walked away—she ordered one of the fancy dishes that sounded like it would leave you hungry an hour later, a frisee of something on a bed of sautéed something—"I've made a few calls."

  Sherry glanced at Chase in mute fear. He tried to telegraph "don't worry" with a reassuring smile, but he knew how many hopes Sherry had pinned on this evening.

  "I've spoken to administrators at several of Nashville's top-rated school systems. Harry will be able to transfer without a problem. And we have an arrangement with a leasing agent who will be happy to assist you in finding a suitable apartment. Naturally, we won't put any of this in motion until we've signed you—for a very healthy sum."

  She smiled expectantly, but Sherry only managed to look more frightened.

  "I will need you to come to town for a couple of weeks for auditions," Regina continued. "You are welcome to stay with me. I have an extra bedroom."

  "A couple of weeks?" Sher
ry asked.

  "Harry will be fine here," Chase assured her. "Hell, we'll move him into the bunk house. He can sleep in the TV room. The guys and I start a new hitch in a week so we can get him up with us, drop him off at school. Matthew can make sure he's home after school and get him started on his homework."

  Regina could see the worry in the young woman's face, and guessed at what she must be thinking. "Look," she said, "I know you are uncomfortable asking others for help. But let's look at this from a business perspective. I'm offering you a place to stay because I hope to make lots of money on you."

  "And we're going to take care of Harry because we're family," Chase broke in, sounding positively threatening. His face was serious, his eyebrows lowered, a vein in his jaw twitching.

  He looked dangerous. And something in Regina responded. Not in fear, which might have made more sense, because the man had already proved he was impulsive and unpredictable and not above picking a woman up and bodily carrying her where she didn't want to go. No, the feeling that went through Regina's body, traveling along all her nerve endings with exquisite sensation that bordered on torture, was...

  "Excuse me," Regina said. She pushed back her chair, grabbed her purse, and bolted from the table without looking at either of them. Threading her way through the tables, she nearly twisted an ankle on the vintage pumps that were more pretty than practical. Other diners stared, so she pretended to be sorting through her purse, looking for something. Once she made it to the ladies' room, she threw herself into a stall and slammed the door closed.

  Lust. The sensation she'd been feeling back there, taking over her body and stealing her concentration, was sheer willful desire to wrap herself around Chase Warner's taut, hard body and hold on for a wild ride. Even now, her face flushed and her hands shaking, she was imagining the smooth skin of his abdomen, the broad expanse of his chest, the hard planes and—

  She swallowed, adjusting her skirt primly. This was ridiculous. Yes, Chase Warner was a fine looking man and yes, there appeared to be some sort of chemistry between them. It happened; it was part of being an adult. Just a caprice of nature, nothing more. And she couldn't hide in the bathroom forever because she couldn't handle a little schoolgirl crush.

  Regina came out of the stall and washed her hands at the sink, grateful to be alone. Most of the diners and staff had been men. She could probably stay in here most of the night and only share the bathroom with a few other women. She touched up her makeup, talking softly to herself. "It's just business," she reminded herself. "I can make a real difference in her life."

  That was how she finally convinced herself. The last time she'd seen Mason Crenshaw, she'd made a solemn vow to herself to promise less and deliver more, and in Sherry's case, she was certain she could deliver nothing short of fame.

  Snapping her vintage sterling compact shut and slipping it into her purse, she exited the ladies' room with her head held high and walked back to her table, conscious of the swish of her skirt around her legs, of the way the bateau neckline set off her collarbones. It was one of her favorite dresses, a 1960s era piece she found in a Nashville estate sale, and she—

  Oh no. Oh, no. Sitting in her chair, turned away from her and chatting animatedly with Sherry and Chase, was a painfully familiar figure.

  "Carl Cash," she accused. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  He grinned and waved a breadstick at her. "Oh, hi, honey. Don't worry, they're bringing over another chair. Great place you picked, by the way. They're going to fix me up with the sea bass."

  The waiter chose that minute to show up with a chair, which he deftly slid into place. Carl clapped him on the back; Regina didn't miss the subtle motion of him palming bills to the gentleman. It was a classic Carl move. He'd scored the best tables and tickets to sold-out shows and great seats at ball games and hotel upgrades, all with the flash of a little green.

  "Sir," a second waiter said gravely, proffering a champagne bottle. "The Domaine de St. George."

  "I took the liberty," Carl said, waving the man to open it.

  "I'll say," Regina said coolly. "But this is a business dinner, and I'm afraid that some of the things we'll discuss are confidential, so you'll need—"

  "I'm sorry," Sherry piped up, looking distraught. "I told him it would be all right. He said you guys were really good friends and—"

  "Of course," Regina said quickly. The poor girl looked terrified that she had made a mistake. Chase, on the other hand, looked like he was considering taking the bottle out of the waiter's hands and smashing it across Carl's smug face. "Carl and I go way back." She turned to Carl, smiling sweetly and clenching her fists under the table. "So I suppose it will be fine as long as Carl understands that he is bound by confidentiality, as I am discussing client business."

  "Oh, sorry, I must have missed that," Carl said innocently, nodding at the waiter to pour champagne in their glasses. "’Course, I’m a little tired, since I slept in my car last night. Did you sign them already?"

  Regina fumed. "Not... not quite. But I am hoping, that is to say, once I explain what the Jester Group can offer—how did you know we'd be here, anyway?"

  "He stopped by today," Sherry said, looking relieved. "When I was at work, on my break. He was telling me all about Nashville. I've dreamed about visiting since I was a little girl."

  "What a coincidence," Regina said. "You wandering into her restaurant. Of all the establishments in town... What are the odds?"

  "I know, right?" Sherry said, oblivious to her tone. "So I was telling him what you told me about the audition process and all, and—"

  "And she just happened to mention that you were dining here tonight," Carl cut in hastily, not looking at Regina. "And I had a craving for seafood and I was just going to eat by myself until they were kind enough to ask me to join them."

  Chase made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and an indignant snort. Their eyes met, and he raised one eyebrow a fraction. She could tell he was on to Carl.

  But that might not mean a whole lot when it came to negotiations. She fumed silently. Carl had contacts with every top producer in town. Regina was still building her list. Carl could negotiate back-end bonuses and terms she could only dream of. His calls were always answered. He and Meredith went head-to-head on deals all the time, but Regina had yet to win a bidding war for a client. She knew that over the life of a relationship with a client, she could offer things—focus, enthusiasm, sheer hard work—that might well make her the better candidate for a star on her way up... but could she make Sherry see that?

  Or was she about to lose out to Carl Cash?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Carl steered the conversation to lighter topics, asking Sherry about her brother, her interests, her favorite songs.

  "Well, I mostly sing Chase's," she said loyally. "People seem to like them. He's so smart."

  Their food arrived, and Chase took the opportunity to steer the conversation away from his work. "Damn, I'm hungry," he lied.

  "So you're an oilman," Carl said, stabbing an asparagus spear with his fork. His voice had an edge to it. "No wonder you work up an appetite. That's hard work, I bet. Dirty, too. Do you ever manage to get all the filth off in the shower or is it sort of permanent? I mean, do you smell like oil when you go home at night?"

  Regina bristled at the way Carl was goading him, but Chase only looked at him blandly. "Well, I guess I couldn't really answer that, partner, seeing as I can't check every inch of my body on my own. But I don't get a lot of complaints, if that's what you're asking. Besides, if I had to push papers and talk on a fancy cell phone for a living, I think I'd have to kill myself."

  Carl chuckled. "Got me there. I do spend a fair amount of time on my phone. 'Course, I find ways to make it more bearable. Making calls from my Porsche helps. And knowing I can go shoot a quick nine holes after work at the club, that takes the edge off too."

  "Whatever floats your boat, man." Chase took a big gulp of his wine and the two men glared at each othe
r.

  Sherry seemed oblivious to the hostility between the two men. Now that she was more relaxed—and had a little food in her—she chatted easily, growing more animated as Regina told her about her favorite Nashville attractions. Every once in a while, one of the men would interject something and the other would contradict him. As bad as a pair of roosters in the yard, Regina thought to herself.

  But she was also aware that every time Chase lowered his eyebrows or sliced a chunk off his porterhouse with more aggression than necessary, she couldn't take her eyes off him. His strong hands, with the nails cut short and square and not a speck of grime, despite Carl's implications. His jaw, which looked like it had been forged from steel whenever he was annoyed. His eyes, which caught the candlelight and seemed to be lit from within, all gold depths and lights.

  And was it her imagination, or was he staring at her too? Well, of course he was; she'd kissed him without provocation. He probably thought she was insane. At least he seemed to have forgiven her. Actually, with each glass of wine, he seemed to have put the incident, unfortunate as it was, further out of his mind. Carl had ordered a second bottle of wine and the two of them were making good headway on it, while Sherry drank a club soda and Regina barely sipped her own wine.