The Bride Price

by Ginna Gray

  “Hold it. Don’t leave yet. You said she left in a motor home?”

  “Yeah, the one she keeps in the warehouse. You must’a seen it when you was here before.”

  Surprise flickered through Wyatt. So, the old bum did keep a watch on the place. “I saw it, but I had no idea it belonged to Miss Muldoon. Did she say where she was going?”

  “Naw. You could check with the guys in the warehouse. Could be they’d know, but I kinda doubt it. When the urge comes over Miss Muldoon, she usually just takes off and goes where the wind blows her.”

  Wyatt’s jaw clenched. “I see. I don’t suppose you would have any idea when she’ll be back, either, then.”

  “Nope. She’ll be back when she gets back. Maybe today, or it could be a week or two or next month. Two or three months, even. Once she stayed on the road all winter and clear into spring. She’s a restless one, that little lady.”

  “I see.” Wyatt reached into his inside coat pocket and withdrew a pen and a card and scribbled something on it. “This is my business card, and I’m writing my home number on the back. I want you to call me as soon as Maggie returns—and I do mean the minute she drives in,” he said, shoving the card into the old man’s grime-encrusted hand.

  “Well, now...I don’t know...”

  “There’s fifty dollars in it for you if you do.”

  * * *

  A buzz interrupted Asa’s concentration. He looked up from the report he was reading and cast an irritated look at the intercom on the corner of his desk. “Damned, infernal contraption,” he grumbled, reaching over to stab the button. “What the devil is it? Dammit, Della, I told you not to disturb me.”

  Della Ledbetter had been Asa’s secretary for twenty-eight years. His growls and snarls didn’t faze her. “Mr. Sommersby on line one for you,” she said.

  Asa sat up straighter. “Which Mr. Sommersby?”

  “Wyatt Sommersby.”

  “Well why the devil didn’t you say so in the first place? Put him on. Put him on.

  “Wyatt, my boy! Nice to hear from you. How’s the world treating you?”

  “Where the hell is your granddaughter?” Wyatt bellowed.

  Asa winced and held the receiver away from his ear. He looked at the mouthpiece and raised one eyebrow, then leaned back in his chair, his features settling into a sly expression. “Daphne’s attending a fashion show at Neiman’s. She should be home in an hour or so.”

  “Not Daphne. You know damned well I’m talking about Maggie.”

  “Ah, Maggie is it?” Asa reached for a cigar. “Well now, that I can’t say. She’s a hard one to keep tabs on.”

  “I know. I’ve been trying to locate her for the past ten days. Did you know she’s running around the country in that damned motor home of hers? All alone.”

  “Is she now? No, I didn’t know, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s real fond of doing that.”

  “Are you saying this is a regular thing?” He sounded appalled, and Asa had to bite back a chuckle. “She just goes careering off, God knows where, all alone? And you allow it?”

  “Allow it?” Asa snorted. “Hell, man, I don’t like it any better than you do, but there’s not a damned thing I or anyone else can do to stop her. If you know anything at all about Maggie you ought to know that. She’s a grown woman, as she’d be the first to tell you.”

  “She’s a defenseless target for any criminal or pervert that comes down the pike,” Wyatt shot back. “As you pointed out yourself, she’s too damned trusting for her own good. Did you know she’s given a bag lady a key to her apartment?”

  “The hell you say!” Asa pulled his hand down over his face and gave a weary sigh. “Agnes, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Look, does Maggie have a cellular telephone in that rig she’s driving?”

  “Are you kidding? It was all I could do to talk her into putting a phone and answering machine in her apartment. Says she doesn’t want to be bothered when she’s out on one of her jaunts. Hell, even when she’s home most of the time she lets the machine take her calls, and she returns them when she gets around to it.”

  “Didn’t she at least leave an itinerary with you so you can reach her in case of an emergency?”

  “An itinerary? Maggie? Hell no. She doesn’t know herself from one day to the next where she’s heading.”

  Wyatt growled something under his breath, and again Asa fought the urge to laugh. “Dammit, she could be lying dead in an alley somewhere and you wouldn’t even know it.”

  “It’s not quite that bad. She calls me every few nights when she’s on the road, just to make sure I’m still breathing, I think. Matter of fact, I spoke to her last night. She didn’t tell me she was traveling, but I figured as much. She doesn’t bother to call very often when she’s in town.”

  “You talked to her last night?” Even over the line he could feel Wyatt’s interest quicken. “Then you expect her to call back in a few days, right? When she does, tell her I said for her to call me immediately.”

  This time Asa didn’t even try to stifle his laughter. “Oh, Wyatt, son...I don’t think you want me to tell her that. You’d never hear from her again if I did.”

  “Dammit, I need to talk to her. And according to the wino on her block there’s no telling when she’ll be back.”

  “Ah, you’ve been talking to Fred. He’s right, you know. With my granddaughter, one never knows. But look here, boy. If you really want to see her, come to my birthday party at the ranch next Tuesday.”

  “She’ll be there?”

  “Well now, I can’t promise for sure, but she’s never missed one of my parties yet. She may not go back to her apartment, and she may only stay for a few hours then be off again, but I expect she’ll drop by on my birthday.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Oh, and Wyatt.”

  “Yes?”

  “My offer on that stock still holds.”

  On the other end of the line the receiver banged. Chuckling, Asa replaced his gently. He leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together at the back of his head and grinned around his cigar. “Yessiree. That young man has it bad. Real bad.”

  * * *

  A little after eight on Tuesday evening, Maggie parked her motor home beside the barn. As usual, she entered the house through the kitchen. When hugs and greetings were exchanged with Mrs. O’Leary and the kitchen help she asked about her grandfather.

  “He and the others are in the parlor.” Mrs. O’Leary gave Maggie a chastising look. “Dinner’s been ready this past quarter hour, but he’s held it up. I’m sure he was hoping you would arrive.”

  Maggie laughed and patted the older woman’s plump cheek. “Well, I’m here now, darlin’. I’ll go on in so your dinner won’t be ruined.”

  “Like that!” Mrs. O’Leary’s scandalized gaze swept over Maggie’s black, skintight, scoop-necked T-shirt and multicolored, gauzy peasant skirt, ending up at her strappy sandals. “The others are all dressed to the nines for the occasion and you look like a wild gypsy.”

  “Oh, pooh. Asa won’t care how I’m dressed. Anyway, this is the best I’ve got with me. If it were anyone else’s birthday, I wouldn’t have bothered to get this gussied up.” She winked and headed for the door.

  “Well it’s about time you got here, young woman,” Asa thundered the minute she sauntered into the parlor.

  “Och, you knew I’d be here. Would I miss your birthday?” Grinning, Maggie crossed to where her grandfather sat. She whipped out a foil-wrapped gift from behind her back, dropped it in his lap and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Happy birthday, Asa, you old bear.”

  He turned pink and grumbled, “There’s always a first time.” He picked up the small box and shook it next to his ear. “What’d you bring me?”

  “Och, you greedy old thing, you,” she scolded, snatching the box from his hands when he began to tug at the ribbon. “You’ll open it after dinner along with your other gifts and not a moment before. Saints preserve us
, you’re worse than a child when it comes to presents.”

  Asa grumbled something under his breath, but she ignored him and turned with a smile to greet the others. “Hi, everybody.”

  Eric sat on the sofa with Daphne and Corinne, and Great-Aunt Edwina, Asa’s sister, occupied the wing-back chair across from her brother’s.

  “Sorry I’m late, but—” Maggie drew in a sharp breath when a slight movement drew her gaze to the bay window across the room. Holy Mother Mary and Joseph! What was he doing there?

  “Hello, Maggie,” Wyatt said in a low voice that sent a tingle down her spine.

  “Wyatt. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” He strolled toward her, one hand holding a drink, the other in his trouser pocket, his gaze locked with hers. Those watchful silver eyes did not so much as blink.

  He was trying to intimidate her, Maggie knew. However, now that the shock had begun to fade, she was recovering her composure and with it her sense of humor.

  Her eyes twinkled and she flashed him a grin. “Well...’tis a family affair, an’ all. Eric, being Daph’s fiancé, is almost obligated to attend, but you don’t really belong here, do you?”

  “Margaret Mary! Really! You’re being terribly rude,” Corinne chastised. “Mr. Sommersby is here as your grandfather’s guest.”

  “Please excuse my sister, Wyatt,” Daphne chimed in. “Sometimes Margaret Mary speaks before she thinks.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Maggie always says exactly what she thinks. But don’t worry about it, Daphne. You neither, Mrs. Hightower. Your stepdaughter and I understand each other. Don’t we, Maggie?”

  He stopped directly in front of her and searched her features one by one before his gaze settled on her mouth. Maggie’s heart began to lope. Sweet Mary and Joseph! Surely he wasn’t going to kiss her right there in front of everyone?

  She didn’t trust him not to do exactly that. Taking a precautionary step backward, she clasped her hands behind her back and gave him a saucy look. “Maybe.”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond Maggie swung back to her grandfather. “Shall we go in to dinner? It’s ready, and Mrs. O’Leary is fretting that it will ruin if we don’t eat soon.”

  “Good idea. I nearly starved waiting for you,” Asa barked, getting to his feet.

  Wyatt took a step toward Maggie, but she pretended not to notice and linked her arm through her grandfather’s. Leading the way into the dining room, she sent an impish grin over her shoulder and said sweetly, “Do be a dear and escort Aunt Edwina, won’t you, Wyatt?”

  “I’d be happy to.” He offered his arm to the old lady with impeccable courtesy, but the look in his eyes as his gaze caught Maggie’s promised retribution.

  Throughout the meal Maggie thoroughly enjoyed herself. She chattered away happily about how her trip was going so far and took repeated little jabs at Wyatt, knowing how both irritated him. He smiled politely through it all, but his eyes smoldered like hot ice.

  She didn’t know how he’d wangled an invitation to this party. Asa had always been adamant about keeping birthdays just for family. However, she was confident that Wyatt would not dare reveal his interest in her. He knew what a matchmaking old scoundrel her grandfather was.

  After dinner Mrs. O’Leary and her staff proudly brought out a huge cake ablaze with so many candles it looked like a four-alarm fire. Asa blew them out amid hoots and applause, then tore into the stack of gifts, shredding the beautiful wrappings with the utter disregard of a five-year-old.

  He received the usual assortment of sweaters and ties and monogrammed handkerchiefs, for which he was dutifully appreciative. He seemed surprised and pleased by the leather-bound desk set that Eric gave him and Wyatt’s gift of a bottle of fifteen-year-old Scotch, but it was her own gift, which he had saved for last, that made his eyes light up.

  He lifted the plastic case filled with intricate, hand-tied fishing flies from the gift box with a reverence usually reserved for priceless works of art. He shot her a look over the top of the case and lifted one bushy white eyebrow. “Mosely Baker, right?”

  She answered with a grin, and Asa shook his head. “How on earth did you sweet-talk him into selling them to you?”

  “I promised to dance at his next wedding.”

  Asa laughed, then explained for Eric’s and Wyatt’s benefit, “Mosely Baker is ninety if he’s a day. He ties the best flies in ten counties, but he quit selling them at least a dozen years ago, since arthritis slowed him down. Says these days he only has time to make enough for himself.”

  Wyatt gave Maggie a long, steady look. “I’m not surprised he made an exception in this case. I doubt there are many men who can resist your granddaughter’s charms.”

  “Humph. She’s a minx,” Asa muttered fondly, and Maggie stuck her tongue out at him.

  After coffee and cake they rose to return to the parlor. Maggie intended to wait a few minutes, then make an excuse and take off. As they crossed the foyer, Wyatt foiled her plan by grasping her wrist and announcing, “If you have no objection, Asa, I’d like to have a word with your granddaughter. Alone.”

  “But—”

  “Sure. You can use my study. It’s right down the hall,” Asa said absently, appearing much more interested in examining his fishing flies than the reason for Wyatt’s request.

  “Now, wait a minute. You didn’t ask me if I wanted to talk,” Maggie protested with a nervous laugh, trying to hold back. Wyatt merely hauled her down the hallway without a word. “Wyatt, what’re you—?”

  “Shh. We’ll talk in a minute.”

  “I don’t understand. What does Wyatt want to talk to Maggie about?”

  Daphne’s confused voice floated after them, and Maggie couldn’t stifle a giggle. Poor Daph. Never in a gazillion years would she be able to understand Wyatt’s attraction to her. For that matter, neither did she.

  “Really, Wyatt, you didn’t have to use Neanderthal tactics, you know,” she laughingly complained when he hustled her inside the book-lined room. He released her to lock the door, and Maggie moved to the middle of the room before turning to face him. “If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was say so.”

  “Uh-huh.” Wyatt leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “And run the risk of you bolting again. I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t bolt,” she hedged, but her eyes still brimmed with mirth. “I merely went on a research trip.”

  “Bull. I was getting too close, so rather than deal with what’s happening between us you took off like a scared rabbit.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, no? You promised you’d see me, go out with me. Then the moment I turn my back, you’re gone.”

  “I said now and then, when we were both free. I happen to be busy right now.”

  “Joyriding around the country? You call that busy?”

  “Ah, but you don’t understand. These jaunts are business for me. I’m researching my next book.”

  “You write children’s stories.”

  “Right. The Adventures of Mergatroid and Arbuckle. Don’t you see? How can I write adventures for them if I don’t experience them myself.”

  His expression turned so appalled she almost laughed. “You mean you drive around deliberately courting trouble?”

  “Of course not,” she replied with a giggle. “I look for exciting things to do, unique experiences, interesting new places. Then I try them and have Mergatroid and Arbuckle experience the same things in a book. You didn’t think I made all that stuff up, did you?”

  “Wait a minute, correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember reading a story to my niece in which Mergatroid and Arbuckle did some deep-sea diving in shark-infested waters. You did that?”

  “Uh-huh. That was in book three, I think. Or maybe it was book four,” she said innocently, pretending she didn’t notice the ashen shade his face had turned or the sudden fury that blazed in his eyes. His face tigh
tened, and when he spoke again his voice was pitched low and there was a silky quality to it that did not bode well.

  “I see. And then I believe there was stock-car racing at Indy and hang gliding in Big Bend and rock climbing in Washington State and hotdog skiing in the Rockies and no doubt many more escapades I don’t know about, since I didn’t read all my niece’s books. You did all those things, too, I take it?”

  Maggie shrugged and gave him a cheeky grin. “It’s called research.”

  “It’s damned well crazy!” he bellowed “Dammit, woman! You could get yourself killed doing dangerous stuff like that.”

  “Wyatt, I’m not stupid. Before I did those things I took lessons and I observed all the safety precautions. How could I write about something if I didn’t experience it firsthand?”

  “You could read a book about it. Interview a pro. Something other than risking your fool neck.”

  “It’s my neck. If I want to risk it I will. Besides, it was fun.”

  He looked ready to fly apart at that, but as she watched, he clamped down on his temper and raked a hand through his hair. “All right, I don’t like it and I sure as hell don’t buy it, but even supposing, for the sake of argument, that your method of research is necessary, I still think the timing of this trip had more to do with running scared than creativity.”

  “Scared? Me?”

  “Yes, you. I think you— What’s so funny?”

  Putting her hand flat against her midriff, Maggie leaned weakly against the back of Asa’s big leather chair. “You. Us,” she sputtered between peals of laughter. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what I meant when I said a relationship between us wouldn’t work,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m a creature of impulse. I eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m sleepy and work when inspiration strikes. And any one of those could occur at three in the morning or six in the afternoon. When I get itchy feet, I climb into my motor home and go. I let things happen, go with the flow. You have to be in control.

  “Face it, you’re the nine-to-five, dinner-at-eight type. You don’t make a move, business or personal, without thinking it over, weighing the pros and cons. I doubt you’ve ever made a spontaneous decision in your life. Can’t you see that no matter how strong the physical attraction, we just don’t mesh?”