Perhaps she should have told him about her writing career. She hastily decided she did not know him that well. She didn’t want him to race out and to buy her last few novels just to study her further, to dissect her as most people felt they could do from a writer’s works. Anyway, his manly image seemed disturbed by her “career woman” facet. It could make him feel threatened or intimidated if he knew she was a successful, famous, wealthy author. It would be best if they got better acquainted before he learned too much about her personal life; that is, if she ever saw him again . . .
Adam Ross stopped by late that evening before leaving the hospital. He hand-delivered pink sweetheart roses and several magazines. He was exceptionally polite and genial. He chatted for twenty minutes, then smiled and bid her good night. After his departure, Brandy pondered his motives. She had been careful to be nice and friendly, but had not allowed an inch for misunderstanding her. Her reserve hadn’t seemed to bother Adam, or to discourage his warm smiles, or to prevent his invitation to dinner after her release. When she stated she didn’t think it proper to accept a date from her doctor, he had offered to remove himself from her case.
Taken off guard, she had said she would consider the invitation when she was feeling better. She actually hoped he would forget about it and her. She tossed upon her hospital bed for hours before falling asleep, fretting over the amorous Ross and tempting Reynolds. Did she dare pursue Lance Reynolds with carefree abandon?
It was evident the following morning that neither Adam Ross nor Lance Reynolds had forgotten about her. By lunch, Adam had visited her twice, revealing his best side. Even so, Brandy found herself wishing he would ignore her. In spite of Adam’s change of mood and tactics, she still disliked him.
Lance had stopped by briefly at ten o’clock, also to deliver some flowers—long-stemmed red roses. He had breezed into her room with his masterful air, inquired about her health, handed her the roses, smiled, and then breezed out—all in ten minutes!
Brandy fingered one of the roses, then held it to her nose to inhale its heady odor, a scent better than any bottled or sold at any price. She was contemplating two of his statements. Lance Reynolds was a mercurial and confusing man. Why had he been so concerned over her talk with the local police? Why did he insist on knowing if she had spoken with them yet? Was she mistaken, or had she sensed something odd in his expression and tone? Once he learned she hadn’t seen the police yet, he actually appeared relieved. Why? If he wasn’t interested in her, why the visits and flowers? Why had his parting words sounded like a final farewell? A curious pain needled her heart. If her concentration wasn’t nil, she would work on the requested revisions for her latest book, oddly entitled Valley of Fire. Yet somehow she couldn’t face working on her writing when the book featured a hero named Landis Rivera whose description matched Lance’s.
Chapter Three
As Brandy frantically took in the colorful details of her recent accident and her shocking rescue by the stunning man who had visited her three times, her mouth fell open and her green eyes widened in astonishment and embarrassment. The talkative officer very vividly described the events of her misadventure. Her face altered between a bright red and a snow white as the incredible story unfolded.
Lance Reynolds had actually bound her hands like some captive and had then ridden her into civilization in a most humiliating position. No wonder he had looked so smug and amused; he had handled her like some sack of potatoes. She could mentally recreate the entire episode. Then, to come to her room and not even mention the manner of her rescue . . . How he must have enjoyed his little secret!
She had innocently assumed he had brought her here in his car, not tied to his sexy body like some war booty. No wonder their return trip had taken so long. Yet, she was perplexed by the officer’s allusions to Lance’s anger and resentment at being hindered so long. The officer came right out and said Lance was infuriated and embarrassed at his detainment; he even quoted his stinging comments about regretting her rescue! The officer was so intent upon lingering with her and with darkening the image of his flamboyant rival that he colored a few of his facts and greatly dwelt upon the harshness of others.
“Who is this Lance Reynolds?” she asked when she could force some words from her constricted throat, abruptly realizing how very little he had told her about himself.
“Don’t rightly know much about him,” the officer lied convincingly. “From what I gathered, he has some money and property around these parts.”
Brandy’s alert mind challenged Lance’s earlier denial of residence here. She wondered why he had lied about such a minor thing. The man went on, “He was real moody; quite a hot temper. Real insolent and smart-mouthed! For a while there, I was afraid he was going to fight me and my partner. Had to pull my gun on ’im.” He went on to reveal that Lance had been carrying a weapon.
Brandy could easily envision that proud man’s reaction to such a degrading situation. She could imagine that powerful body taut with rage. She could also picture his jaw tight with rigid control, his white teeth clenched in suppressed fury, his blue eyes glacial and threatening. Her wayward thoughts returned to Officer Connelly’s ramblings.
“He’s got powerful connections though. Had to release him before we even reached the station! Didn’t help any that his bike was demolished and stripped by vandals where we forced him to leave it behind. Whew, was he mad when I told him that news! Looks like somebody’s gonna have to pay.”
She couldn’t imagine anyone forcing Lance Reynolds to do anything he didn’t agree to. Still, she couldn’t imagine such an intelligent man resisting the authorities. He had not even mentioned his motorcycle or its loss; why?
Baffled by these contradictions, she ventured shyly, “You say he was furious?” Was that why he wanted to know if she had spoken with the police yet?
“Like some caged tiger who hadn’t been fed in days! Wouldn’t want to be his enemy. No sirree,” he stated emphatically.
“Is he married?” she asked to test Lance’s honesty.
“Nope, but he’s real big with the ladies from what I see and hear. Always around with some new or fancy bird on his arm.”
“Are you positive we’re discussing the same man? He came by here this morning. He was most polite and . . . kind,” she hastily selected another word for charming. She did not mention the other visits.
Sensing the probable effect of Steven Winngate upon her, he scoffed, “He can be real kind and polite if he chooses. But I’ve heard tales about his ruthless ways in dealing with rivals or enemies, if you catch my drift. Nothing illegal, but mighty powerful,” he quickly added when he noted her reaction, deciding he might be laying it on a little too thick. He was delighted this lovely creature didn’t know Lance Reynolds was the Steven Winngate, but he wondered why Winngate was keeping it from her. However, he could not resist one last attempt to plant dislike and mistrust in her mind.
“Wonder why he came by here? From the way he acted and talked the other night, you’re the last person he’d want to see again! Course you can’t ever tell about men like that; always after some new filly. Did you offer him some reward for saving your life?” The tone of that question brought a peachy glow to her already rosy cheeks.
“No, Officer Connelly. I assumed he rescued me from the goodness of his heart . . . if he has one,” she caustically added, suspecting Lance had been toying with her. Was this one of the flaws she had feared: masculine spite? She had innocently inconvenienced and embarrassed him, but did he need to punish her? He hadn’t appeared the kind of man who would stoop to such childish methods. Perhaps he had changed his mind after meeting—really meeting—her.
The officer chuckled, vowing smugly, “Men like him never do, Miss Alexander.” He waited for the intruding Dr. Ross to agree.
For the next two days, Brandy anticipated another visit from the disarming Apollo. She wanted to hear his side
of this curious situation. But he did not come again. Perhaps he had only been intrigued about the woman he had rescued. Perhaps he had been interested in some type of revenge or spite. Perhaps he was allowing her to simmer after making her vividly aware of his abundant male prowess. Perhaps after meeting her, he had been content to let her escape his charms or retaliation.
She gradually regained her strength and vitality. She took daily walks to aid her circulation. Too bad her walks were in the company of the besotted Dr. Ross. She forced herself to be cordial and grateful. It was unlike her to be rude or spiteful, but Ross certainly inspired those emotions within her.
In all fairness, she admitted that Ross was making an effort to control his temperament and affection, but she sensed his resentment toward her rebuffs. All she could do was get well and leave his domain. Her steady cooperation and natural resilience would make that possible in a few more days.
She was forced to politely endure another visit from Officer Connelly. She guessed that her dislike and mistrust of him were due to her preoccupation with Lance Reynolds and with Connelly’s overly friendly manner. No matter, she thanked him for his visit and for the lovely bunch of flowers. When asked if she would see him when she left the hospital, she did a most uncommon thing; she lied to him. She told him she would be flying home to Kentucky on that same day. He sighed in disappointment as he announced that his present schedule might prevent him from seeing her before she left, as if she cared whether she saw him again.
She was delighted to hear that news, but concealed her relief. Why did these western men behave as if women were a rarity, as if each one was a challenge? Had the unusual circumstances of her accident and rescue intrigued them and inspired them to act in this curious manner? As if she owed each of them some reward? Brandy then annoyed Connelly with a question about Lance. “Where could I reach this Lance Reynolds? Can I find out what kind of motorcycle he lost?”
Connelly’s eyes mirrored his feelings. “Why do you want to know that?” Besides, Reynolds was out of town on business.
“The man saved my life, and that help cost him his bike. I intend to show my appreciation by replacing it for him, the exact same kind if possible,” she stated firmly, annoyed at feeling obligated to explain herself to anyone.
“No need to worry yourself, Kathy. His insurance will cover it. He’s probably already gotten a new one. Besides, you thanked him already. That’s enough gratitude for any man.”
“Lance Reynolds isn’t just any man,” she vowed heatedly before thinking. Hoping to recover her error, she quickly added, “He’s the man who saved my life! Like it or not, I feel I owe him more than a verbal thank you. Some impersonal reward which can be delivered by someone else . . . The bike is a perfect choice. I want to see to it before I return home to Kentucky.”
Satisfied with her reasoning, he smiled and agreed. He promised to secure the information for her when he had it. They chatted a few more minutes before his departure.
When Nurse Kay Hart came to visit Brandy that afternoon, Brandy asked if she could pay her to do some shopping. She and Kay had struck up a friendship that first morning, and they enjoyed each other’s company and conversation. Wanting something special for her next meeting with Lance, she asked Kay to shop for a couple of feminine—but subtle—nightgown sets with matching slippers. She teased about needing something to brighten her spirits, but an alert Kay knew the motive behind her request. She giggled and agreed. After all, what female in her right mind would ignore a catch like Lance Reynolds?
That afternoon, Brandy made several calls to motorcycle dealers with the information which Officer Connelly had called in to her. She succeeded in locating a dealer who promised he could have her a Harley-Davidson FLT-80 Tour Classic bike which perfectly matched her specifications. She promptly agreed to his terms and price, including the one-week delivery date. She gave him the address supplied to her, then hung up the phone. One way or another, Mr. Reynolds would recall their mutual adventure, and he would have no reason to resent her interference in his life.
Brandy was overjoyed with Kay’s selections when she came by later that afternoon. “Kay, they’re exquisite! I love this silvery gray one. It’s so subtle yet sexy. It’s gorgeous.”
“I think the azure blue will look stunning with your coloring. That dusty rose one too. What’s the fuss? Anything would look fantastic on you, Kathy! I wish I had your hair and eyes . . . and your tan . . . and your charm.”
They laughed. “You’re a dear to help me out like this.”
“As I see it, a happy patient gets well much sooner than a miserable one. Besides, I loved every minute of it. I told them I was shopping for my honeymoon. You wouldn’t believe the clothes in that shop, the prices either. I was glad to be using somebody else’s money,” she jested mirthfully.
When Brandy tried to give Kay one of the outfits as a gift, Kay exclaimed, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive gift! I was only helping out a new friend. Really, I couldn’t,” she vowed halfheartedly, her eyes caressing the satin softness of the tangerine set.
“You can, and you must. I would feel terrible about claiming your afternoon off if you refused it. Please, Kay.”
When Kay realized she was serious and sincere, she smiled and accepted Brandy’s generosity. She clutched the outfit to her bosom and danced around the room. “Never in my whole life have I owned such a costly, gorgeous outfit. Let’s see . . . whom shall I test its magic on?”
They joined in girlish laughter and gaiety, agreeing to have lunch when Brandy was well. Soon Kay had to leave to prepare for her shift. Brandy hurriedly hung up the nightwear, already certain as to which one she would wear tonight. She was ecstatic to know this was Adam Ross’s night off. He was making it more and more difficult for her to discourage him. At least twice a day he visited her and asked her out. She could hardly avoid him, but she wished she could. Perhaps he wouldn’t ask her again, especially after her chilling refusal just before lunch today.
She pulled out the bronze briefcase which Officer Connelly had returned to her on his first visit. She opened it and began to make notes on her present novel. She was vexed to discover that she kept visualizing the alien spaceship captain as Lance Reynolds. She frowned as she read her fictional hero’s description; it was Lance. Why did he keep haunting her mind, stifling her creative flow? Why hadn’t he visited her again? Unable to concentrate very long, she tossed the pad into the case and snapped it shut. Twilight would have to be patient, unlike her.
Reservations flooded her mind; pursuing a man was new for her. What would he think if he arrived to find her clad in one of those sultry gowns? What if she had already given him the impression that she was too eager or too easy? What if he didn’t want another female chasing after him? What if his other visits had only stemmed from kindness or curiosity?
Besides, why should a man like him be interested in her? She was pretty enough, but she sensed he could have his choice of the most beautiful and sophisticated women around. She was intelligent and well-mannered, but brains did not outweigh beauty and sex appeal. She was independent and confident, but men often felt hostile or turned-off by such qualities. What did she know about real love and romance?
Wholesome, bright, self-assured females lost the battles with frivolous, sexy, unbridled femmes-fatales. Successful women presented some kind of threat to men. To be accepted or talented in a man’s field demanded firmness and aggressiveness, things which subtracted from femininity. Men still chose beautiful faces, sexy bodies, male-first attitudes, and near-empty heads!
God, how she had struggled to be taken seriously in her literary field. She had fought against the men who labeled her a “formula” writer or who referred to her talents as “limited to silly romances for bored housewives.” It required a great deal to stifle the resentment which could interfere with her sunny attitude and ability. Strength and skill often
labeled a woman as less than feminine. Such attitudes and difficulties made her glad she worked alone!
Alone . . . Maybe she spent too much time alone. When she wasn’t touring for her latest book or visiting New York on business, she spent most of her time by herself. She often worked far into the wee hours of the morning, then slept until midday. She would go for weeks without seeing anyone other than the ranch hands and her housekeeper. She did ride a great deal; she loved the horses and often trained them. Did she enjoy being alone so much to cover her shyness and to protect her privacy? Was she becoming too captivated by her writing, by her fictional works? Was that why Lance Reynolds was so appealing to her, because he mirrored her perfect hero?
Yet, certain people were now intruding into her private domain and trying to force her to conform to their ideas and concepts. She fumed over how long it had taken her to firmly establish her talent and status, things they were trying to take away from her. She had proven she could write more than just a rosy romance. She had watched her mysteries and science-fiction novels climb to the heights of the bestseller lists—purchased and accepted by men as well as women! Surely she had proven herself.
But why then did they insist upon changes in the movie script for Love’s Cruel Arrows? Why did they want to insert the very type of material which they falsely accused her of writing? Arrows had proven its literary quality. Why did they want to cut it to pieces and to infiltrate it with lurid details and vivid sex which she would innocently take the credit or guilt for writing? Why didn’t they film it as written? With the drastic changes they wanted, it wouldn’t be her story anymore. Why risk its dramatic demise? Should she reject the film offer? She didn’t know.
Valley of Fire Page 6