by Arlene James
Color tinged her cheeks. She should have known better than to wear this dress. Obviously he thought she was inviting herself into his private circle of friends. His tone seemed to question her manners, and that stung. Quickly she lifted her chin and looked away. "No," she managed tersely, "I did not think I would be included in your dinner party. Frankly, I didn't know what to wear, so naturally I chose to look my best." She turned cool green eyes on him, expecting an apology, but he merely returned her gaze, brows arched slightly.
"We are pretty much jeans people around here," he informed flatly, then softened the statement by adding, "I suppose you do things differently in the city." It was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get, and his constant referral to her background was beginning to wear thin.
"Well, I'm afraid this will just have to do," she countered defensively. "Since I don't happen to own a pair of jeans."
He stood looking at her for a moment, jaws clamped, then blinked his eyes once. "Do you mean to tell me that you've come off out here without one stitch of suitable clothing?" he exclaimed, jabbing the air with an index finger.
Crystal's lips tightened. "You hardly gave me time for packing, let alone shopping!" she retorted crisply, inundated with hurt and dismay.
His hands went to his hips, and he blew out a snort of air through flared nostrils. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to take care of it." He sighed resignedly. "In fact, there are a lot of things we will have to take care of. Be in my office by eight in the morning."
"Fine." She nodded tartly. "I'd like to get to work as soon as possible."
Blue eyes flickered momentarily. "Bored already?"
His words cut through her, sharp and acidic, slicing through the hurt into indignant anger just beneath the surface. Determinedly she retained a tight grip on her temper. "The only thing I'm bored with," she enunciated clearly, defiantly, "is this conversation."
She came to her feet, intending to stalk past him through the door and to her room. At that moment the soft gong of the doorbell signaled that his guests had arrived, and Garrett cut her off at the door, stepping past her and hurrying to greet his guests, who were being ushered through the entrance hall at that moment by Gloria.
"Don't mind him, child," Lupe advised comfortingly at Crystal's elbow as the broad back disappeared through the door. "He's gruff like that sometimes, but it means nothing."
Crystal bit back a quick retort. "It's just that he's got such a prejudice against anyone raised in the city," she could not restrain blurting out, stamping her foot. "I don't know why he even offered me this job!"
Lupe's eyes narrowed mysteriously. She seemed to be looking Crystal over, seeking to find something there that she might have missed before. "I have my own ideas on that," she said absently, then gave herself a little shake and inclined her head pleadingly toward Crystal. "Just be patient," she advised. "When he gets used to having you around, he will be different." Her eyes seemed to be trying to convey some silent message of their own. "I'm sure of it," she pronounced solemnly, but Crystal was just as sure that she was wrong. She chose to change the subject.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, almost pleadingly.
"No. Everything is done. Just sit still. When the others come in, you can go into the dining room and eat while Mr. Big Shot there entertains his guests."
She glanced at the courtyard, and Crystal saw her face change from one of comforting friend to one of protective matriarch.
"Now, what's that hussy doing here?" she demanded hotly, and hurried to the glass wall to get a better look at the people gathering there in the courtyard. "That's one gold-digger that just won't be put off!" she spat.
Crystal's curious gaze followed Lupe's scornful one, and her chest tightened at the sight of a tall, elegant blond in a clingy burnt-orange gown. She came forward and wrapped herself around Garrett, one long-nailed bejeweled hand bending his head forward so she could kiss him languidly on the mouth. His hands were at his waist, and the next instant he was pushing her firmly away and striding toward the kitchen door.
Crystal turned away, not wanting to be caught with this inexplicable pain and frustration upon her flushed face. She heard the door slide open and his footsteps as he entered the hushed kitchen.
"What's she doing here?" Lupe wanted to know huffily.
"How do I know?" Garrett growled. "She came with the Meads in their private plane. He said he was bringing guests, but I'd no idea it would be her."
"Ooh! That woman would invite herself to the White House if she knew someone who was going!" Lupe hissed.
Garrett's warm, rumbling chuckle brought Crystal's head around. Her curiosity had been piqued by their disdainful words, and she wondered just who this woman was and why Garrett was so put-out with her.
"Now, Lupe," Garrett warned sternly, "I don't want any scenes. I've got a better idea."
His eyes came to rest on Crystal. She felt the color rise to her cheeks, though she had no inkling as to what was going through that brain of his. It seemed that she had been caught up in one confusing, unexplained episode after another since setting foot in this house.
"I was thinking," he said slowly, "that Crystal might join me tonight as my date."
"Your what?"
Talk about changeable! Only a few minutes earlier he had rather cruelly reminded her that she was overdressed to dine with the help, which was to be her assigned place. And now he was asking her to be his date to dinner! It was ridiculous, utterly incomprehensible, so totally out of the question she could not even believe he was serious.
"You heard me," he returned evenly. "I want you to join me for dinner. You are dressed for it, after all."
Crystal's head began to shake in utter amazement. He took it for a refusal, and his face colored visibly.
"Look," he said tightly, "that woman out there has been trying to get her hooks in me for months. I've tried to tell her that I'm not interested, but she doesn't want to get my message. The last time she was here, she came in uninvited and broke up another dinner party I was having. She tried to pretend she was my date for the evening, and I had to go along with her, but afterward I made it a point not to call her. All I'm doing is turning the tables on her."
When she continued to hesitate, he snorted impatiently, "What would you have me do? March out there and demand that she leave me alone?"
Crystal did not know what to say. She had already formed a dislike for that blonde, whoever she was, but that did not make up for the way he had insulted her earlier, or for his high-handed manner now.
Garrett addressed himself to the big woman across the counter from Crystal.
"Lupe, will you see to our guests, please? Tell them I'll be along shortly. And, Lupe, try to be civil."
The big woman scowled, but she went out obediently to do as she had been told. When she was gone, he turned back to Crystal.
"I can always make it an order," he said bluntly.
She shot him a disbelieving look, but knew immediately that he meant it. The sharp line of his jaw was stern. The cold blue eyes stared back, implacable and hard.
"You can't make me go out there and pretend to be your date!" she snapped.
"Can't I?" Fine dark brows rose in challenge. "It's a long walk back to Dallas."
He was threatening to put her out of his house! Rage boiled up in Crystal. Who did this man think he was anyway?
"You are vile, Mr. Dean," she enunciated calmly, but her insides twisted and turned in outrage and shock.
"When I have to be, Miss Gentry." An odd, almost sad parody of a smile twisted his sculptured lips.
Crystal would have gladly slapped the smile from his face then, but her mind was working along strangely logical pathways. There was no choice, really. None. She was stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere, a prisoner of sorts. She had no money, no real friends, no place to go if he should actually throw her out, and at the moment, she believed he would.
Silent, challenging, h
e slid the door back and stepped aside, bowing slightly at the waist. Resigned to the role he forced upon her, Crystal climbed down off her stool. He inclined his head, signaling for her to precede him out into the courtyard. Imperiously she gathered up her skirts and slid past him out into the cool shadows of the archway.
The stillness of the courtyard contrasted sharply with the rage broiling inside of her. Their guests lolled about on small divans, sipping from drinks provided by Lupe. There were three couples, all of them looking slightly uncomfortable in the absence of their host.
Garrett took her arm just above the elbow. "Smile," he hissed beneath his breath.
She looked up, green eyes popping with defiance. "Am I under orders to be happy about this?" she whispered through clenched teeth.
"You're under orders to act like you enjoy my company whether you do or not," came the threatening rumble. He escorted her from the shadows into the soft flicker of torchlight.
Crystal pasted a plastic smile across her face and steeled herself for an uncomfortable evening. They reached the little group of people as the gentlemen came to their feet. They were a fancy lot, dressed to the teeth in evening finery. The blonde chilled her with a contemptuous stare over the rim of her glass. Crystal felt awkward and out-of-step, underdressed, tacky, and very, very nervous. For just a fraction of a second she thought about bolting and running to her room.
As if reading her thoughts, Garrett slipped an arm around her, his big hand biting into her waist. Her skin felt hot where he touched her, and she sensed the color rising to her cheeks.
"Folks, this is Miss Crystal Gentry, my date for this evening."
A murmur of greeting went around the group, and Garrett proceeded with the introductions. "Crystal, this is Ernest Mead and his lovely wife, Janette."
The Meads each nodded graciously. Through her fog, Crystal noticed an odd little smile toying with the corners of Ernest Mead's puffy mouth. He was a stout man with a mane of unruly gray hair. A thin, pale woman stood at his elbow and nodded solemnly.
"Well, well!" exclaimed a tall, balding man. "Where have you been keeping this cupcake, Garrett old boy?" He presented a limp, clammy hand for Crystal to shake.
"Down, boy," cracked his wife, a bosomy, freckle-faced brunette wearing a most unbecoming fuchsia gown. "I'm Marion Swain," she introduced herself, elbowing her husband away. "And this is German, my better half. We call him Germ for short."
"Oh, really, Marion, don't you ever get tired of that boring old joke?" he whimpered. "Ignore her, cupcake, I do."
Before further .animosities could be aired, Garrett jumped in with the final introductions. "And this is Winston Murrow," he rushed on diplomatically, indicating a sleek, sophisticated man who seemed far more interested in the contents of his glass than this gathering of people. "And this is Alicia Murrow, his sister." Garrett saved the best, or the worst, for last.
Alicia locked in on Crystal, hazel eyes not quite concealing a savage glint. She gave a curt nod, but said nothing. Instantly Crystal decided that she disliked the woman enough to enjoy playing a convincing part. "Hello, everyone," she managed. "It's so nice to meet some of Garrett's friends."
She glanced at him, and he smiled secretly, approvingly. He left her then and went to the bar, where he poured himself a drink from a pitcher prepared by Lupe.
"I think I can handle this now, Lupe," he said smoothly, and the big Mexican woman excused herself and went inside. He filled a glass for Crystal and carried it to her. Together they crossed to a small divan and seated themselves side by side.
"Tell me, Crystal," Alicia purred, "where are you from?"
"Dallas."
"And are you living there now?" Alicia pressed conversationally, leaning one smooth elbow upon a knee and suspending her drink in the cool night air.
"No." Crystal bit her lip, wondering if an honest answer had been wise. One glance at Garrett, compressing his lips against a wiggly smile, told her that the decision was hers. He would go along with whatever story she chose to tell them. She chose the truth, in its simplest form. "Actually," she began, savoring the words, "I'm staying here for the time being."
The carefully contrived mask on Alicia Murrow's face slipped, revealing defeat and anger, and was quickly restructured.
"Crystal is a teacher," Garrett put in. "I've hired her to tutor some children living on the ranch." He slid a casual arm about her shoulders, giving the impression that the job of tutor was only part of the reason she was presently living under his roof.
"How lovely," Alicia pronounced sourly, and tossed off her drink.
Crystal cut her eyes at Garrett, being careful to keep her back muscles rigid against the pressure of his arm, and caught just the slightest glimpse of a wink.
"Tell me, Alicia," Garrett said, purposefully parroting her, "how did you manage to be with us tonight?"
"I was invited." The biting sarcasm was thick in her voice.
"Oh, yes, indeedy," piped in her brother. "When she found out the Meads were flying down in their private plane, she called up and invited the both of us along." He smiled sweetly at his sister and finished off the liquid in his own glass.
Alicia Murrow sliced her brother a killing look, but apparently he was immune to her malevolent glares. Mrs. Mead squirmed uncomfortably at her husband's elbow, but Crystal noticed that Ernest Mead seemed to find the whole situation rather amusing. She decided that of the lot, she liked him the best by far.
Mercifully Lupe showed up just then to announce that dinner was about to be served, and the group rose to their feet and progressed toward the table, where dinnerware had silently and elegantly appeared in the interim.
Garrett lagged behind, his hand clasped protectively at Crystal's elbow. "This could get nasty," he warned from behind a brilliant smile that made it appear they were having a romantic little conversation.
"I think I'm up to it," she replied firmly.
Blue eyes met green ones and held them in silence for several seconds. The air grew suddenly warm and soothing. She felt light and airy, unaccountably at ease. She supposed it was the drink, but when at last he took his eyes away, the air grew crisp again, and she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
Dinner was awkward. Not even Lupe's delectable standing rib roast and perfect baked potatoes, topped with cheese and seasoned butter, could dispel the chill in the air. Crystal could say later with conviction that the only person who seemed to enjoy the meal was Ernest Mead, who ate with gusto and complimented the cook loudly.
She could only pick at her own entree, and the buttered broccoli and fresh baked rolls that accompanied it. She had to refuse the melon balls and sherbets that Lupe served as dessert, not trusting her jittery stomach to take in more food. She sipped sparingly from the glass of wine Garrett had poured for her, wishing the interminable evening would be over and yet strangely enjoying it.
Her enjoyment came from watching Alicia Murrow squirm, or so she told herself. The woman was truly despicable, but Crystal nevertheless felt a little sorry for her. Her beauty was all veneer, and an uncomfortably transparent veneer at that.
Grudgingly Crystal admitted that she could not blame Garrett for wanting to discourage a woman like Alicia, though she steadfastly refused to condone his manipulation of herself as the means or to admit that her enjoyment stemmed primarily from the attention he lavished upon her during the evening.
At last dinner was over, bat to her dismay, Garrett and Ernest Mead jointly announced that they had business to discuss and asked to be excused. Garrett rose from his seat and assisted Crystal from her chair, whispering into her ear as he did so, "I won't be long, I promise."
She shot him a pleading look. She was unprepared to play the part of hostess in his absence. What on earth would she do with these people until he returned?
To her utter amazement, he cupped her chin with one hand and kissed her hard on the mouth. That entire episode in the park flooded over her and everything he had done since that had displea
sed and offended her receded from memory. For one erratic moment she was deliriously happy.
"Why don't you show the others around the house, darling?" he suggested smoothly. Darling?
She nodded dumbly and swallowed a thick lump in her throat as he strode toward the shadowed archway, Mr. Mead following at his heels.
"I'd love to see the house!" gushed Marion Swain.
For a few seconds Crystal could only blink at her. Then, recovering herself, she smiled and turned to take in the remaining members of the group. While Winston Murrow looked slightly amused, his sister looked like a bomb about ready to detonate. Crystal raised her head proudly. "This way, please." Obediently they followed her lead.
After taking them on precisely the same tour to which Lupe had treated her earlier in the day, Crystal led her charges back to the courtyard and suggested that they might like to see the pool. She was suddenly too exhausted to accompany them and found herself a seat among the scattered wrought-iron divans. To her chagrin, Alicia Murrow also lingered behind.
Crystal carefully avoided her gaze until, inevitably, Alicia forced the issue. "How long have you known Garrett?" she demanded, stopping in mid-stride to aim a malevolent glare at Crystal.
"Not long." Crystal sighed, fixing a cool stare upon her antagonist.
"I thought not!" Alicia crowed triumphantly, tossing her platinum head. "And has he ever talked to you about his late wife?"
"No." Truth clothed in pretense. Why should he? She was only an employee, but Alicia had no way of knowing that, and Crystal did not intend to enlighten her.
"Then you don't know why he's taken with you, do you?"
Crystal was quite certain she did not want to hear this, but saw no way to avoid it. "Does it matter, Alicia?" she countered.
"Oh, yes, it matters!" the other woman shot back, her hazel eyes taking on a feline quality as she narrowed them at Crystal. "Because this relationship can only harm Garrett."
Crystal rose steadily to her feet, the image of composure and tolerance.