by Sandra Brown
“He’s harboring a great deal of resentment for career women.”
Gracie’s eloquent brow arched. “You included?”
“Me especially.”
“Ah, well, I can see where he might be a bit put out with you for speaking around him the way you did yesterday. Thought it was right clever and humorous myself,” she added, laughing. “But you’re right. He’s suspicious when it comes to women.”
“What was her name?”
“Who? His wife? Jerri.”
“Jerri,” Andy echoed absently.
Gracie assumed the same position from which she had analyzed Andy the day before. Hands crossed over her immense stomach and head tilted to one side, she asked baldly, “Did more happen out there in the rain than just the two of you getting wet?”
Andy felt a wash of color rising to bathe her cheeks. “Ex—excuse me. I’ve got to go over some notes.”
As she awkwardly backed out of the kitchen she heard Gracie chuckle and say, “That’s what I thought!”
“So there sat the Wimbledon men’s singles winner in my hotel room in London. He was still lugging around that huge trophy with him.”
All eyes were turned to Andy as she recounted the story. Even Gracie had stopped serving the after-dinner coffee in order to listen. General Ratliff’s eyes were partially closed, but Andy knew he was listening, for he was smiling. Lyon was leaning back in his chair, twirling his wine-glass between his thumb and finger.
“As you can imagine I was flattered and thrilled that he had granted me the interview. It was a real coup. The only condition laid down by his coach and manager was that it not take more than ten minutes. You can well imagine how many other media reps were clamoring for a word with him.
“The crew was hustling around, trying to get us lit and wired. Then disaster struck. One of the technicians got overzealous and tripped over the leg of a light tripod. I watched in horror as the light tipped and then began to fall. It was like in a dream when everything is in slow motion, yet there’s nothing you can do to prevent the tragedy. The light crashed directly on top of the new Wimbledon champion’s head.”
Gracie clapped a hand over her mouth. Lyon laughed outright. The general’s smile deepened.
“I’m glad you all find it funny,” Andy said with feigned indignation. “Though he wasn’t seriously hurt, I saw my career flying right out the window.”
“What happened?” Lyon asked.
“Since he’s not known for his pleasant disposition—quite the contrary in fact—I held my breath. But like a true champion, he carried off the interview with aplomb. He was dazed for a few moments, but when he recovered, he calmly wiped the blood—”
“Blood!” Gracie shrieked.
“Didn’t I mention the blood?” Andy asked innocently. Then they all laughed. “Truthfully he wasn’t harmed, but as that light was falling, I could just see the headlines: WIMBLEDON CHAMPION DIES AT HANDS OF AMERICAN JOURNALIST.”
“Who else have you interviewed?” Gracie asked, breaking with tradition and sitting down at the dining table, not even pretending any longer to be serving.
“Let’s see,” Andy said musingly. “Some have been the greats and near greats, others just plain folks who for one reason or another found themselves in the news.”
“Name some of the greats,” the housekeeper urged her.
Andy cast a concerned eye toward Michael Ratliff, but he seemed to be relaxed and not overly tired. They had talked for a long while that afternoon, him providing her with dates and pertinent information that would help her during the interviews ahead. “Bob Hope, Neil Armstrong, Reggie Jackson, John Denver, Prince Andrew of England, Mikhail Baryshnikov.”
“Ahhhh,” Gracie said in awe.
“All men?” Lyon asked peevishly.
“No.” Andy smiled. “There’s also been Lauren Bacall, Judge Sandra Day O’Connor, Carol Burnett, Farrah Fawcett, and Diana Ross. To name just a few,” she added mischievously as she ticked the names off on her fingers.
“Whom would you like to interview that you haven’t?” Lyon asked.
“General Michael Ratliff,” she said smiling, and he raised his hand like a pontiff blessing the multitude. “And”—she rolled her eyes heavenward—“Robert Redford.”
Gracie hooted. “Now you’re talking.”
The general laughed out loud. “I’m glad to be in such august company.”
Lyon, too, was laughing, and Andy loved the wholesome, rumbling sound of it. “Dad,” he said when they had all calmed down, “you’d better get to bed.”
“You’re right, of course, though I hardly noticed I was tired. The company was so charming and entertaining.” Andy went over to him as she had done before and kissed him on the cheek.
“Good night. Get some rest.”
“Good night.” He left the dining room in his wheelchair.
Lyon asked Gracie, “Did the doctor come this morning?”
“Yes, while you were caught in the rain.”
“And?”
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s in the Lord’s hands, Lyon.”
He reached over and patted her hand and looked up at her solemnly. After a moment he shook his head to ward off the gloomy subject and stood up. “Andy, I hate to desert you, but I’ve got a Cattlemen’s Association meeting tonight. Will you be all right?”
Flooded with disappointment, she smiled bravely. “Certainly. I need to study anyway.”
“Good night then.”
“Good night.” It was long after she heard the front door closing behind him that she could take the initiative and leave the dining room.
She never was sure what awakened her. Just suddenly she was awake and sitting up in her bed. The clock on the bedside table indicated with its glowing hands that it was after four o’ clock. She threw off the covers and padded to the window, for some reason exercising stealth.
Everything was still. Then she heard a noise. Poised to listen, she thought it was coming from the direction of the river. Her heart sprang to her throat when she saw the bobbing flashlights slashing through the darkness. Two lights, moving erratically through the trees. First one was extinguished, then another.
Who could it be? Ranch hands? She glanced toward the bunkhouse. All was quiet. Intruders? But who? Could other reporters have learned she was here and come to investigate for themselves?
No matter who it was, Lyon had to know.
Racing across the bedroom, she flung open the door and flew down the hallway. Not even pausing to knock, she turned the knob of Lyon’s door and pushed it open. Allowing only a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of his room where no moonlight penetrated, she crept toward the massive bed against the adjacent wall.
He was lying on his stomach. His arm was draped over the pillow. His nose was buried in the crook of his elbow. His bare back was broad and dark against the sheets. Leaning over him, she touched his shoulder lightly.
“Lyon.”
Chapter Five
He jerked upright, nearly bumping her chin with his head. Rapidly blinking eyes focused on her. “What …? Andy? What?”
“There’s something going on down by the river,” she said, the words stumbling out of her mouth. She didn’t know if her heart was thudding because of the possibility of danger, or because she was being treated to a close-up view of Lyon’s bare chest. “Flashlights, some kind of noise.”
He slung his legs over the edge of the bed. “The river?”
“Yes. I woke up and—”
She broke off when he stood up. He was naked. He brushed past her in the dark, for an instant the hair on his chest whispering against her arm. He grabbed a pair of jeans that were folded over a valet and pulled them on. “What kind of noise?” His jeans were the western type with buttons on the fly. He was working at them.
“Uh …” Andy stammered. “Uh, like laughter, sort of …” She trailed off lamely as the snap at the top of his jeans cracked loudly in the still hous
e.
“How many flashlights?” He went to a bureau and opened the top drawer.
“Two I think. What do you think—Is that a gun?”
“Yes. Thanks for waking me. It’s probably nothing, but I’d better investigate.” He pushed the gun into the waistband of his jeans and reached back in the drawer for a flashlight.
“I’m going, too.”
“Like hell.”
“I’m going, and if I don’t go with you, I’ll just follow.”
He stopped at the door, turning around to face her. Even in the darkness—they knew better than to turn on any lights and alert whoever was down by the river—he could see the stubborn set of her chin.
“Come on, then,” he said with no small amount of exasperation. She followed his stalking shadow down the hallway to the stairs. They made it to the back door without mishap and apparently without waking anyone else. “Stay close,” he whispered as he opened one of the sliding glass doors leading out to the pool and terrace.
Moving like cat burglars, they crossed the patio, skirted the pool, and then took the paved path toward the river. Once they had gained the path, Lyon glanced over his shoulder at her. “Still there?”
“Yes.”
He stumbled in the dark when he caught sight of the apparition trailing behind him. “What in the hell do you have on?”
“A nightgown.”
“A very white nightgown. You look like Lady Macbeth. Anyone will be able to see you from a mile off. Anything under it?”
“Panties.”
“Thank God,” he grumbled. “Damn!” he cursed suddenly and viciously. “Do you have on any shoes?” he hissed.
“No.”
“Then be careful of rocks.”
She giggled.
Midway down the path Lyon came to an abrupt halt. Andy ran into him from behind. It seemed only natural that she leave her hands at his waist, where they had reflexively come to rest in an attempt to break her fall. “There’s a light,” he said softly.
The beam of the flashlight darted through the trees like a drunken firefly. The rushing river water masked most other sound, but there was the undeniable murmur of voices. One of them emphasized a word and there followed a chorus of shhhh.
“Step easy,” Lyon said, taking steps forward. Her feet bumped into his as she scooted along behind him, still holding on to the waistband of his jeans.
Through the dense lower branches of the trees they could see several dark figures silhouetted against the moonlit sky and the river, which looked like liquid silver. The figures moved awkwardly, tripping over rocks and nature’s litter beneath the trees. Someone cursed under his breath. There followed a series of smothered giggles. Andy was relieved by the intruders’ bungling. They couldn’t be professional criminals of any kind.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Lyon said in a soft whisper. He turned toward her. “We’re going to have some fun. Play along.”
“But what—”
“Just play along. You’ll see.”
He made a noise like stampeding elephants as he thrashed through the last few trees that separated them from the riverbank. Andy jumped when he roared out, “What in hell is going on here?” Only then did he turn on his super-beamed flashlight. She saw one or two of the trespassers scurry for cover in a large rubber raft she hadn’t noticed until it was illuminated by Lyon’s light.
Three men, about eighteen years old, stood like animals paralyzed by the beams of headlights along the highway, frozen in terror as Lyon bore down on them with gun drawn and light blazing. He came to within a few feet of the first figure, who slowly raised himself up from a self-protective crouch. “You’re not going to shoot us or anything, are you?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lyon said threateningly. “Who are you and what are you doing sneaking around on my property in the middle of the night?”
The young man cast an anxious glance over his shoulder, seeking reinforcement, but his cronies hung back. Something in the raft moved with a rustling noise. “We … we’re students at UT. We were rafting down the river. The guy where we rented the raft said you ranchers didn’t mind us riding past your places if we didn’t pull in.”
“Well?” Lyon said, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other and hefting the gun in his hand. “You pulled in.”
The culprit swallowed visibly. “We … uh, got to drinking beer and uh … sort of overturned the raft when we were coming through those rapids a few yards upstream. We just pulled in here to wring everything out and regroup. So to speak.”
Another muffled giggle from the raft caused him to glance furtively over his shoulder. He faced Lyon again with trepidation. “We’re awfully sorry, sir. We didn’t mean to do anything. Swear to God we didn’t.”
Lyon, seemingly with some reluctance, put the gun back in his waistband and the young man’s shoulders slumped in relief, as did those of his friends. Placing an arm around her shoulders, Lyon pulled Andy around him to his side.
“You nearly frightened my wife to death. We had just been making love when she went to the window and saw your flashlights down here. She thought it was her exhusband coming for his revenge. He’s in an institution for the criminally insane and prone to acts of violence.”
Andy stared at him with mute dismay, but she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. For the reference to their making love, which had caused six eighteen-year-old eyes to turn to her with lascivious interest, she ground her heel over Lyon’s big toe. Other than a tensing of the muscles in his jaw, he showed no reaction.
“We’re sure sorry we disturbed you while … I mean, we didn’t mean to interrupt your … we’re sorry we bothered you,” the spokesman for the dripping group finally managed to get out.
“Andy, go check to see if those silly girls hiding in the raft are unharmed and not being held there against their will.”
“No, sir, they’re not. They’re just scared.”
Sparing her bare feet from the bruising rocks and twigs, Andy tiptoed over to the raft and peered inside. Three girls were huddled together. Their hair and clothes were soaked. They looked at her with chagrin as they began to unfold and step out of the rubber raft. After a cursory glance it looked to Andy as though the only provisions brought along for the trip were six-packs of beer. “Are you all right?” she asked the disheveled trio.
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison, and Andy marveled at the sudden show of manners. They probably hadn’t said “ma’am” since the first Gracie.
“Is there any more beer in there, Andy?” Lyon asked.
“Yes.”
He came over and picked up two of the six-packs and handed one to her. She held it with one hand while trying to hold her nightgown closer to her body with the other. In the moonlight she knew her figure was clearly outlined through the sheer fabric.
“It’ll be dawn in about an hour,” Lyon was saying. “If I see you after that, I’ll come back. If I see one scrap of paper, one cigarette butt, any litter you might have left behind, I’ll call the sheriff and have you arrested on sight for trespassing. Is that understood?”
Andy would have answered in the affirmative to any order given in that tone of voice. He had inherited his ability to inspire obedience from his father.
“Yes, sir.” Lyon waited until all six had responded.
“All right, then. And from now on, to save yourself possible injury, I’d suggest you wait until you put in for the night before you break out the beer. This river can be dangerous and it’s totally irresponsible to drink while you’re trying to navigate it.”
“Yes, sir.” Another meek chorus.
“Come on, Andy, we can go back to bed now.”
She shot him a murderous look before she preceded him up the path to the house. The voices behind them were subdued as the group began gathering the things they had dragged out of the raft. If the dousing in the river hadn’t them up, Lyon certainly had.
“I’m going to kill you,” she said ove
r her shoulder as she huffed up the gentle incline.
“Why?” he asked innocently.
“Wife? With an insane ex-husband no less. Where did you come up with that?”
“Would you rather I’d said, ‘This is my houseguest, Ms. Malone’? What conclusions do you think they’d have drawn if I’d introduced you like that? Especially with you traipsing around with me in the great outdoors half-naked in the middle of the night?”
“I was traipsing around in the middle of the night because I thought all of us might be in danger. And I’m not half-naked.”
“Virtually naked.”
“That’s better.” They laughed softly. “But you didn’t have to tell them that we’d been … uh …”
“Making love?”
“Yes,” she said, glad that her back was to him. Every once in a while she’d feel the heat of his body as he walked close behind her. “You could have said that we were sleeping.”
“Yes, but something so mundane wouldn’t have gotten their attention nearly as well. They were stupefied at the sight of you anyway.”
“Their stupefaction was due to your light and the gun.”
“Actually it’s a pistol,” he corrected. “Maybe at first they were concentrating only on that, but I saw their roving eyes. If I hadn’t said you were my wife and if I hadn’t intimated that we were very happily married, they might have been tempted to overpower me and take you.”
“Don’t forget the girls they had with them.”
“Who looked like three drowned rats. No, I think they would have preferred you.” They were at the back door now, and he was depositing the confiscated beer on one of the patio tables. “You look good, you know, tousled from bed and virtually naked.”
She slipped past him through the door as he stepped aside. “Thank you,” she mumbled. Thank you? What was she doing saying thank you when she should have slapped his face?