"What's that got to do with anything?" he grumbled.
She only smiled. He probably felt as miserable as she did. She laid a gentle hand on his broad shoulder. "Don't let it get you down. Take up the guitar and practice."
"I can't even carry a tune," he sighed. He looked up. "You might study veterinary medicine."
"I faint at the sight of blood," she confessed.
He smiled warmly. "I guess we're both out of the running."
"I guess." She smiled back.
It was too bad they didn't look across the room at that moment. If they had, they'd have seen two furious pairs of eyes glaring at them from the bandstand.
Carson hadn't danced one single dance all evening. But as the band launched into the "Tennessee Waltz" he led Patty to the floor and held her close during that last dreamy tune.
He shook hands with the Gibson boys, bent down to brush his lips over Patty's cheek and thanked her for the evening. And then he turned to Mandelyn with such evident reluctance that she wanted to scream and throw things.
"Thanks, Patty," she said with forced politeness. "I had a lovely time."
"Good. I'm glad," Patty said with equally forced politeness. "See you."
Mandelyn shot out the door past Carson and climbed into the Thunderbird with ill-concealed impatience. He sauntered along, taking his time, cocking his hat at a jaunty angle.
"You're in a flaming rush," he remarked as he climbed in beside her and started the car.
"I'm tired," she said. Her gaze went out the window to the ghostly shapes of the sa-guaro cactus against the sky.
"From what?" he asked. "You only danced once. With Jake."
"Jake dances very well."
"He stepped all over you."
She stared ahead as the headlights penetrated the darkness. She almost said, "So did you the other night." But she wasn't going to fall into that trap. She kept her silence.
“Patty looked good, didn't she?" he remarked. "I haven't seen her let her hair down and wear a dress in years."
''She looked lovely," she said through her teeth.
He glanced at her and away again. "Want to declare a truce? At least until the ballet? It would be a shame to waste those tickets."
"I'm not going to any damned ballet with you," she said vehemently. "And, no, I don't want to declare a truce. I hate you!"
He whistled through his teeth. "Temper, temper."
"I've seen so much of yours lately that it's affected my mind," she said sweetly.
"I thought it was your loving memory of your late fiance that had done that," he said.
She turned, eyes glittering. "Stop this car and let me out, right now!" she demanded.
Amazingly, he did just that. He stopped the car abruptly. "Okay! If you want to walk, go ahead. It's seven more miles."
"Fine. I love long walks!" She got out, slammed the door violently, and started down the road. He took off, leaving skid marks behind him.
She couldn't believe he'd really done that. She stood gaping at his disappearing tail-lights and tears welled up in her soft gray eyes. She felt lost and frightened, and she really did hate him then. Leaving her alone in the darkness on a deserted highway.
She looked around nervously. She could hardly see her feet at all, and she just knew there were rattlesnakes all around her. Diamondbacks! She began to move gingerly, wishing she had a flashlight, wishing she could have kept her stupid mouth shut. She'd set him off again, just when his temper seemed to be improving.
Her lips trembled. She was really afraid now, and there wasn't a soul in sight. There were no houses, no cars, no nothing. She rounded a curve, shaking, and there was the Thunderbird. Carson was leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.
"Damn you!" she bit off, but she was crying and the words hardly registered.
He said something rough and threw the cigarette to the ground. The next minute, she was in his arms.
He held her much too close, rocking her, his arms warm and hard and protective. And she cried, because of the miserable night she'd had, because of the way things were between them.
"I’m sorry," he said at her ear. "I'm sorry."
She trembled at the deep softness in his voice. "I was afraid," she admitted unsteadily.
His arms tightened slowly. She felt the length of him and something kindled in her own body. Her eyes closed. She clung to him, her hands flat against the rippling muscles of his back, her breasts crushing softly into his chest, her legs brushing the powerful muscles of his. Out on the desert, a coyote howled and the wind blew. And Mandelyn had never felt so safe, or so happy.
"We'd better get home," he said after a minute. "Come on."
He held her hand, led her to the car, and put her in on the driver's side. She slid reluctantly across, wondering what would have happened if she'd stayed close to him. Probably, she thought miserably, he'd have pushed her away.
Driving, it was only a short way from there to her house. He stopped outside the door, but he didn't switch off the engine.
"I.. .would you like some coffee?" she offered.
"No, thanks. I've got to get some sleep. We're moving cattle in the morning."
"Oh. Thanks for the ride."
"Sure. Any time."
She opened her door and hesitated. "About the ballet..."
"Since I've already got the tickets, it would be a shame to waste them. I can't take anyone but you with me." He laughed shortly. "Patty would laugh her head off."
Her teeth ground together. "No doubt. What night?"
"Wednesday. We'll need to leave here by five, to get there in time."
"I'll close up early." She got out, hating him more than ever, and slammed the door.
"Mandelyn."
She paused. He'd rolled down the passenger window and was leaning across. "Yes?"
"This will be the last time," he said curtly. "I think when we get through with the ballet, I'll have learned enough to cope."
"Good. It was getting a bit boring, wasn't it?" she asked coldly.
"I'll tell you something, honey," he said quietly. "I've about decided that I like my world better than I like yours. Mine has the advantage of real people and honest emotions. Yours is an old house with elegant furniture and the warmth of a tomb. Speaking of which, there's yours. Why don't you go and moon over your lost love?"
Her fists clenched by her sides. "If I had a gun, I'd blow you in half," she spat.
"Hell. If you had a gun, you'd shoot yourself in the foot. Good night."
He rolled up the window while she was stomping onto the porch. She jammed the key into the lock and broke it in half as he roared away.
Her eyes widened. The back door had an old lock and she didn't have its key. The windows were down and locked. Now what was she going to do?
With a heavy sigh, she went out and got a big rock. She took it to the side of the house and flung it through the window. The sound of shattering glass made her feel a little better, even though she knew she was going to have an interesting story to tell the repairman in the morning.
Unfortunately, the handyman she had to call was out working on the renovations at Carson's place. He was too busy to come. She managed to talk his wife into giving her the number of a man who put in windows in his spare time. She contacted him and got a promise that he'd do the window first thing Monday morning. Meanwhile she got a locksmith to come out and fix the door. She hadn't asked the handyman's wife how things were going over at Carson's, although she was curious about how the house would look when they got through. Carson's preparations were none of her business. Probably Patty knew, though, she thought miserably.
She went up to Phoenix and spent the rest of the weekend there just to get away. How drastically things had changed in just a few short weeks, she thought. She and Carson had been on the verge of friendship, but those few days together had changed everything. Actually, she decided, that long, hard kiss he'd given her behind the bar had done it. Sh
e'd been curious about him after that, and when he'd made a pass, she hadn't had the strength to put him off. She'd wanted to know how he would be as a lover. And now she knew, and the knowledge was eating her up like acid. She'd never known that a man could be so tender, so protective and possessive. She could have had all that, if not for Carson's obsession with changing to suit Patty.
Patty. She went out to the balcony of her hotel room and glared over the city's lights. The wind tore through her hair and she drank in the sounds and smells of the night. He'd kissed Patty at her party. Why had he done that? She closed her eyes and she could almost hear Carson's deep, slow voice as he sang. She leaned her head against the wall and wondered how it would be to sit with him on his porch late on a summer evening while he sang to her. And if there were children, they could sit on her lap The thought was intensely painful. She remembered how it had been that night, the night she'd wanted him so much. If only he hadn't turned on the light and seen Ben's photograph.
Dear Ben. Her bastion against emotional involvement. Her wall that kept love out of her life. And now she was twenty-six and alone and she'd lost the only man in the world she wanted to live with.
Of course, she hadn't a chance against Patty. She'd always known that. Carson was too fond of the woman. She turned back into her room. How odd that he wanted to learn cultural things for Patty, though. Especially when Patty seemed to like country things and country people. How very odd.
She went back to Sweetwater late Sunday night, feeling drained and no more refreshed than before. It was going to be another long week.
It didn't help that Patty came into her office early Monday morning with a complaint about the property.
"The roof leaks," she grumbled. "It poured rain here, and you told me that roof was sound. I had ten half-drowned cats before I thought to check.”
"I'm sorry," Mandelyn said formally. "The previous owner assured me he'd had a new roof put on recently. You know I'd never purposely misrepresent a property," she added. "You're going to have trouble finding a roofer. Carson seems to have every workman in town out at his place."
"It's coming along nicely, too," Patty remarked. "He's had new furniture put in the house and carpeting... it's a showplace already. Once they get the new roof on, and the painting finished, it will make most houses in the valley look like outbuildings."
"You'll like that, I'm sure," Mandelyn murmured under her breath.
"I'll call Carson and see if he can loan me his roofer," Patty said suddenly. "Why didn't I think of that myself?"
"Good idea," Mandelyn said with a wan smile.
Patty started out the door and paused. "Uh, Jake spent a lot of time with you at the party," she murmured. "Seen him since?"
"I've been out of town," Mandelyn said noncommittally. "I haven't seen anybody."
"Jake's been out of town, too," Patty said, her smile disappearing. She opened the door and went out, slamming it behind her.
Angie glanced up from her typewriter with a curious stare. "You and Jake... ?"
"Oh, shut up," Mandelyn said. "I haven't been anywhere with Jake. She's just mad because Carson isn't running after her fast enough, I suppose. He isn't good enough for her—"
She went into her office and slammed the door, too. Angie shrugged and went back to work.
Mandelyn didn't hear from Carson at all. Wednesday, she went ahead and dressed to go to the ballet, feeling not at all happy about it. She'd rather have stayed home and bawled. It was how she felt. She wasn't even sure that Carson would show up at all. He was getting to be wildly unpredictable.
She chose a floor-length blue velvet gown with white accessories and put her hair up with a blue velvet ribbon. She kept remembering that blue velvet ribbon in Carson's car, and wished she could get it out of her mind. He must not have gotten it from her, after all.
At five-thirty, he still hadn't shown up, and she was on her way back to her bedroom to change her clothes when she heard a car pull up.
She felt as nervous as a girl on her first date. She was probably overdressed, but she'd wanted to look pretty for him. That was idiotic. But she couldn't help herself.
She opened the door, and found him in a tuxedo. That was one item they hadn't bought together, and she couldn't help but stare. He was so striking that she couldn't drag her eyes away. He had the perfect physique for a tuxedo, and the whiteness of the silk shirt he was wearing made his complexion darker, his hair blacker. His blue eyes were dark, too, as they looked down at her.
"You... look very nice," she faltered.
"So do you," he said, but his eyes were cold. Like his face. "We'd better go."
She followed him outside, forgetting her wrap in the excitement. They were halfway to Phoenix before she remembered.
"My stole," she exclaimed.
"You aren't likely to freeze to death," he said curtly.
"I didn't say I was, Carson," she replied.
He tugged at his tie. "I'll be glad when this is over," he grumbled.
"It was your idea," she said sweetly.
"I've had some pretty bad ideas lately."
"Yes, I know."
His eyes drifted slowly over her. "Was it necessary to wear a dress that was cut to the navel?" he asked harshly.
She wouldn't let him rattle her. "It was the only dressy thing I had.”
"Left over from the days when you dated the eligible banker and were in the thick of Charleston society, no doubt,” he said mockingly.
She closed her eyes and wouldn't answer him.
"No retort?" he chided.
"I won't argue with you, Carson," she said. "I'm through fighting. I've got no stomach for it anymore."
She felt that way, too, as if all the life had been drained out of her.
"You, through fighting?" he laughed coldly.
"People change."
"Not enough. They never change enough to suit other people. I'm dressed up in this damned monkey suit going to a form of entertainment I don't understand or even like. And it isn't going to change what I am. I'm no fancy dude. I never will be. I've accepted that."
"Will your fancy woman accept it?" she laughed unpleasantly. "Will she want you the way you are?"
"Maybe not," he replied. "But that's how she'll take me."
"So masterful!" she taunted. "How exciting for her!"
He turned his head slowly and the look in his eyes was hot and dangerous. "You'll push me too far one day."
She turned her gaze toward the city lights of Phoenix.
He pulled up near the auditorium and parked. There was a crowd, and she kept close to Carson, feeling a little nervous around all the strangers.
He glanced down at her, frowning. "Aren't you afraid to get that close to me?" he taunted.
"I'm less afraid of you than I am of them," she confessed. "I don't like crowds."
He stopped dead and looked down at her with narrow, searching eyes. "But you like culture, don't you, honey?"
The sarcasm in his voice was cutting. She looked back at him quietly. "I like men with deep voices singing love songs, too," she said.
He seemed disconcerted for a minute. He turned away, guiding her into the throng with a puzzled frown.
Everything seemed to go wrong. Their tickets were for another night, and Carson was told so, politely but firmly.
"Wrong night, hell," he told the small man at the door. Then he grinned and that meant trouble. "Listen, sonny, they were supposed to be for tonight. I'm here. And I'm staying.”
"Sir, please lower your voice," the little man pleaded, looking nervously around him.
"Lower it? I plan on raising it quite a bit," Carson returned. "You want trouble, you can have it. In spades."
Mandelyn closed her eyes. This was getting to be a pattern. Why did she let herself in for this kind of embarrassment?
"Please go in, sir. I’m sure the mixup is our fault," the small man said loudly and with a forced smile.
Carson nodd
ed at him and smiled coldly. "I'm sure it is. Come on, Mandy."
He guided her into the auditorium and seated her on the aisle beside him. He stuck out his long legs and stared down at the program. He scowled.
"Swan Lake?" he asked, staring at the photos in the printed program. He glanced at Mandelyn. "You mean we came all this way to watch some woman dressed up like a damned bird parading across the stage?"
Oh, God, she prayed, give him laryngitis!
Around them were sharp, angry murmurs. Mandelyn touched his hand. "Carson, ballet is an art form. It's dancing. You know that."
"Dancing, okay. But parading around in a bird suit, and her a grown woman?"
She tapped him on the arm with her program.
"Swatting flies?" he asked.
She hid her face behind her program, slid down in the seat, and prayed for a power failure. There were too many lights. Everyone could see that the loud man was with her.
He continued to make loud comments until the lights went down. Mandelyn almost sagged with relief in the darkness. But she should have known better. The minute the orchestra began to play and the lead ballerina finally appeared, he sat up straight and leaned forward.
"When does the ballet start?" he demanded.
"It just did!" she hissed.
"All she's doing is running around the stage!" he protested.
"Shut up, could you!" the man behind Carson said curtly.
Carson turned around and glared through the darkness. "I paid for my ticket, just like you did. So shut up yourself. Or step outside."
The man was twice Carson's age, and rather chubby. He cleared his throat, trying to look belligerent. But he held his peace.
Carson glanced down at Mandelyn. "Something in your shoe?" he asked. "Why are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding," she choked, red-faced as she sat back up.
He was staring at the stage. Out came a muscular male dancer, and Carson gaped and caught his breath and burst out laughing.
"Oh, do be quiet," she squeaked.
"Hell, look at that," he roared. "He looks like he's wearing long Johns. And what the hell is that between his legs... ?"
"Oh, God," she moaned, burying her hands in her face.
"Better not bother Him, lady," the man behind her suggested. "If He hears what that man's saying, He'll strike him dead."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 9