The Case Of The Bad Luck Fiance

by Sheryl Lynn

  She stiffened under his touch and her gaze went distant. Abruptly, she stood, moving out of reach.

  “If not Daniella,” she said, “then who?”

  Her rejection pricked his feelings. She’d been acting standoffish ever since the brakes went out.

  “It has to be her. Christie Carter couldn’t have done it. She didn’t have enough time. Besides, how could she possibly know what car you were driving?”

  “How would Daniella know? She hasn’t seen me driving around.”

  “She could have asked at the desk.”

  “So could anybody. Anybody could have opened the brake lines. For all you know, it could be an employee.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  He patted the step next to him. “I’m being practical. Come on, sit with me. You’re all agitated.”

  “Somebody is trying to kill you, Tristan! And she doesn’t care who she hurts, either. Me or William or anyone else who happens to be around. Do you think it’s going to end just because Mike took your fingerprints? What happens when you leave? You’d be easy to find in Powder. What’s to stop her from hiring a hit man or knocking on your door and shooting you?”

  “Why, Ms. Megan,” he drawled. “I do believe you care about me.”

  “You know I care.”

  His urge to tease her died. “Can’t tell by the way you’re acting.” He patted the step again. “Sit down, talk to me. Why are you mad?”

  She hugged one elbow and took agitated sips from the beer bottle. He pushed off the step. Her eyes widened and she danced away. If she were a spooked horse, he’d know what to do, but he doubted roping her, snubbing her short and sweet-talking her nerves away would go over very well. He walked to the edge of the fountain, watching the bubbling arcs. Lights had come on automatically at dusk, adding their sparkle to the lively water.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.

  As if not hearing his suggestion, she said, “Cody is taking Daniella and her group on a moonlight ride. They’ll be gone for hours.” She turned around, her face set in determination. “I’m going to search her room. I’ll find tools or greasy clothes. I’ll find proof—”

  “You will not!” He stepped in and caught her elbow before she could move away.

  She tried to escape, but he refused to let her go. She wasn’t mad at him; she was angry at the so-and-so who’d tampered with the brakes. “Daniella isn’t carrying tools around in her purple handbag. Besides, you’ve got no right to snoop around her private belongings. If you get caught, she’ll have every right to make trouble for your family.”

  “You want to wait until she kills you?”

  “If she’s the culprit, then she did it before she knew who I was. She knows now and she’s probably sorry as can be, and glad none of us got hurt.”

  “If she’s so sorry, then why didn’t she tell us the car had no brakes? She could have sent an anonymous note. Or written on the windshield with lipstick. I think she did it, and I don’t think she’s sorry, and she probably thinks all of us telling her that you aren’t Bradley Carter is a big conspiracy or something. As far as she’s concerned, you’re Nicky Alonza. She’ll try again.” She pushed against his hand. “Let go of me.”

  “Not until you calm down.”

  “Don’t expect me to act nice!”

  He hated that old cliché about a woman being beautiful when angry—but she was gorgeous right now. Her color was high and her eyes flashed fire, her full lips parted while her breasts heaved. He curled his arm around her neck, trapping her head against the crook of his elbow and kissed her.

  She resisted, but he kissed her, anyway, capturing her sweetness, growing drunk with the mingling of tart-sour beer and honeyed Megan. Her lips parted to allow him entry, and her slim hands stopped pushing and began holding him. The fountain water ruffled to match the erratic excitement of his heart, and he had the odd thought that roping and snubbing worked as well on a woman as it did with a horse.

  Only, an animal never made his blood rush like pounding waves against his eardrums or tightened up his muscles at the same time his insides went soft as warm glue. He fingered the lean, sleek line of her back and wanted more.

  He kissed her mouth until he couldn’t breathe. When he pulled away to drag in air, he desperately needed to kiss her again. He kissed her silken cheeks and the fragile folds of her eyelids and nuzzled the barely thereness of her eyebrows. His hands itched to touch her all over.

  He tightened his grip on the beer bottle, the glass growing hot in his hand.

  “Tristan,” she whispered. “Don’t”

  “Don’t what, honey? Don’t stop?” He pressed his nose against her hair, and the heady scent of sunshine and flowers deepened his excitement. He’d like to ravish her now. Slowly, patiently, while watching her skin flush and warm under his hands.

  Her body tensed against his, and she worked a hand beneath his arm so she could press his chest, pushing him. “Don’t kiss me. It hurts.”

  “Hurts? I hurt you?” Befuddled, he relaxed his hold enough for her to step from under his arm.

  She turned her back on him. “You shouldn’t kiss me if you don’t mean it. It’s not fair.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know.”

  “Doggone it, Megan, I don’t know.” His tingling body and the heaviness in his groin distracted him. His head felt as muddy as floodwater.

  A woman approached the Hideaway. She wore dark glasses, so he couldn’t tell where she looked, but he feared she looked at him. If she glanced below the belt, she’d see a love-hungry fool who didn’t know the first thing about courting a lady.

  “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  “I’m going back to the lodge.” She walked away.

  He lunged after her, made a gesture to take her arm, then caught himself in time. He fell into step beside her. The woman left the path and walked quickly through the woods, obviously wanting nothing to do with a lover’s spat. Tristan lowered his voice.

  “What did I do?”

  “Do?” Megan walked faster. “Don’t play games with me, Tristan Cayle. You know what you did.”

  He trotted a step and turned, planting himself in front of her. She skidded to a stop. To his horror, she looked close to tears. He traced ineffectually in the air before her face, wanting to touch her, but afraid to.

  “If you have a bone to pick with me, say so.”

  She glanced at the beer bottle she held, at the trees, at the now pink-and-golden sky—everywhere except at him. “Don’t kiss me again.”

  If she’d punched him in the gut it couldn’t have hurt worse.

  She breathed raggedly. “I can’t…play around. It has to mean something.”

  “I’m not toying with your affections, honey.” He was thoroughly confused now.

  “Sex isn’t the same for men as for women.” Even in the gloom he saw her cheeks redden. “For you guys it’s just feeling good and making whoopie.”

  His mouth fell open. He hadn’t even finished one beer, so he knew for darned certain he wasn’t drunk and imagining this. “I am not playing with you,” he said slowly.

  “We both know you aren’t serious. I’m much too young for you and we both know it and that’s that!”

  “Whoa!” He scratched beneath his hat. “You’ve been telling me all along you’re not too young, and now you think you are?”

  “I see your point of view, that’s all. I was wrong about fate meaning for us to be together. Fate is obviously telling me that you and I are a disaster.” She turned away with a groan. “I’m so ashamed of how I acted today. I nearly got you killed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Fighting with William.” She closed her eyes and shuddered, her face skewed in a pained grimace. “He needs a real woman in his life. A grown woman. Not me. He hates me, and if we get together, he’ll hate you, too.”

  “Oh.”

  “He needs a mother. A mature w
oman who can act like an adult.” Her chest hitched with a sob.

  “He has a mother, and I’m not looking to replace her.”

  She backed away from him, shaking her head. “If you and I get together, you’ll have a war on your hands. I am what I am, Tristan, and I can’t make nice and be sweet when I’m picked on. If that’s immaturity, then I’m immature. You deserve better than me.”

  “We can work things out with the boy.”

  She kept shaking her head. “Not unless he wants to, and trust me, he doesn’t want to. He hates me.”

  “Now, doggone it, Megan, quit laying all this on the boy. Maybe he’s not thrilled about me getting hitched, but he’ll get over it.”

  “Before or after we kill each other?”

  “You’re not being fair-minded, honey. What’s your real problem?”

  “I am being reasonable. Which is how I should have been before this whole thing blew up in my face. It was a mistake you coming here and wrong thinking I could fall in love with a guy long distance. Now, excuse me, I have a room to search.” She shoved past him.

  When he called her name, she broke into a run that carried her swiftly into the gloom.

  Tristan stared after her. Absently, he sipped from the beer bottle, knowing he’d scared himself with his own powerful yearnings and been soft with William to boot. His son had an excuse, he was only a boy. Tristan had no such excuses.

  He trudged after Megan.

  As he crossed the lobby, Kara gestured for him from the desk. He changed direction but eyed the staircase, knowing Megan had gone up to the guest floor.

  Kara waved a slip of paper at him. “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You have a message. With all the excitement and everything, I forgot. It’s from Bill Cayle. I guess it’s a relative?”

  He took the message. “My dad. Did he say what he wanted?” The call had come around noon.

  “He wants you to call him. Is everything all right? I just saw Megan. She looks upset.”

  Tristan sighed as he tucked the message slip in his shirt pocket. Everything wasn’t all right, but danged if he knew how to make it better.

  “You look upset, too. Did you guys have a fight?” She leaned her elbows on the counter and laced her fingers. Her wide-eyed expression invited his confidence.

  “Reckon.”

  “Every relationship has bumps. Meg acts excitable, but she’s really pretty coolheaded. Is it about the brakes? You guys shouldn’t get mad at each other about that. If it was me, I’d call the sheriff. Not Mike Downes, but Sheriff Townsend. He could make Ms. Falconetti confess.”

  “Far as I’m concerned, it’s over. No harm done.”

  Kara looked right and left, then lowered her voice. “Are you fighting about the age thing? You’re wrong, you know. She’s not too young for you. She’s always been really mature for her age. When she was competing, she’d put in hours of training and practice, and she still maintained a B average with her grades. She’s the most disciplined person I know. When she wants something,

  she puts her whole heart into it. And she really loves you. She told me so.”

  Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. Now that he’d lodged Megan in his life, he couldn’t imagine living without her. Before he had a chance to think it over, he was leaning on the counter, telling Kara everything that had happened today. Megan and William fighting in the car, and then Megan deciding she was too young because she couldn’t get along with William.

  “But that’s not true. William doesn’t hate Megan. He’s a nice kid.”

  “I know it. The real problem with him is he doesn’t want a mother. Fine, I’m not looking to replace Tina.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “He only hears what he wants to.”

  “I can relate to that. Mom says selective hearing is my worst habit.” Her face brightened. “I have an idea. I have tomorrow off, so how about I take William hiking? There’s a place where we can rock climb. He talks a lot about it, so I know he wants to learn and I can teach him.

  I’m experienced, and the climbs are easy enough for toddlers. While he’s busy, you and Megan work your problems out. Okay?”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Don’t be a big chicken. I know you care about her just as much as she cares about you. Are you going to let your entire relationship go down the drain because of a little misunderstanding?”

  “It’s not so little—”

  “You’re just being stubborn.” She nudged his hand. “Pride is for sissies. Real men dive in and do it.”

  Her comment, half insult, half rah-rah, shocked him into a laugh. “Are you calling me a sissy?”

  She shrugged. “Pride is just another word for being too chicken to look dumb.”

  “Your daddy sure didn’t teach you girls to pull punches. You’re all three as blunt as rubber mallets.” He straightened and slapped the countertop. “All right. William can go rock climbing with you tomorrow. Where is he, anyway?”

  “He’s out in the garage with the Colonel.” She nodded solemnly. “You know, for what it’s worth, the Colonel never took any crap off us kids. Well, except maybe from Ross, but my brother is on his own planet. When it was time to move or time to do anything, he did what he had to and he didn’t take any whining from us. We turned out all right. William will, too.”

  “Thank you, Kara.”

  She shooed him with both hands. “So go kiss and make up with Megan.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Pale-faced, sweaty, eyes glazed, Amy stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She leaned heavily on the sink, trying not to breathe in the stink of vomit.

  Bradley, her Bradley—kissing another woman! Holding her, fondling her, loving her. How could he? He’d looked straight at her, right at her face, and had pretended he did not recognize her. He looked at her as if she were a stranger. He hadn’t even bothered to say hello.

  As the nausea subsided, anger rose. She straightened her back and shoulders, and met her reflection with a glare.

  “So that’s how it is,” she said. “That’s why he left me. Another woman. Well, we needn’t suffer a philanderer! We have our pride.” She sniffed and swiped her reddened nose with the back of her hand. “We have our pride.”

  Head high, struggling against her wobbly knees, she walked out of the bathroom and to the bed. She examined the small tent card describing telephone services before picking up the telephone and dialing Susie’s number. She reached the answering machine.

  “Hello, Susie, this is Amy,” she said, “I am fine. Your car is fine. I just want you to know it is over between me and Bradley. He’s found another woman. Fine! They deserve each other. So I’m coming home tomorrow. I’ll have my son with me, so please make sure a room is readied for him. Everything is fine, Susie. Everything is perfectly fine….”

  TRISTAN FOUND MEGAN exactly where he suspected he would, on the second floor in the guest area. The hallway lined by carved wooden doors marked with brass numbers was deserted, and the thick, flat carpeting muffled his boot falls. He turned a corner and spotted a flash of khaki and a long, elegant leg disappearing into a room.

  “Megan!” he called in a stage whisper. “Megan!”

  A swing of shiny brown hair appeared, then one eye. He hurried down the hall.

  “Doggone it, don’t be doing this, honey. At best you’ll get yourself in Dutch with your father.” Through the open door he saw a bright purple leather handbag slung on the back of a chair. He’d run into Daniella’s type before. Not only did she feel a pressing need to be right, but demanded everyone know it, too. The type who kept a stable of lawyers, all of them eager to sue.

  She grabbed his arm. “Get in here and shut up.” She hauled him into the room. “I won’t get caught.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Cody took the group up to the campsite. They’ll be roasting marshmallows and listening to ghost stories until midnight.”

 
; He nervously eyed purple unmentionables draped over the bed’s foot rail. “This isn’t right.”

  “She tried to kill you. Even if it’s a mistake, which I doubt very much, then she can’t get away -with it.” She shut the door and locked it.

  “It’s breaking and entering. Not to mention breaking trust with a guest.” His skin itched head to toe, and every noise he made sounded loud as a bass drum. He shuffled away from the bed with its frothy display of purple lace and silk.

  She dangled a key attached to a polished wood fob. “It isn’t breaking and entering. I have the master key. Considering she’s tried to kill you three times, I’m not real worried about her trust issues. Okay? Listen at the door.”

  “You’re crazy, girl.”

  “I’m not the one who thinks murder attempts are no big deal.” She pulled open a dresser drawer. “Bad luck, my foot.”

  Knowing the only way to stop her would be to pick her up and bodily carry her out of the room, Tristan suffered paralyzing confusion. With the mood she was in, she’d fight and that would draw a crowd. He pulled off his hat and listened with an ear against the door. She searched the dressers and closet, and even looked underneath the bed. She entered the bathroom and soon emerged, her face alit with triumph as she waved a purple garment.

  She showed him the arm of a sweater. “And what is this?”

  A black spot smudged the fine knit. “Looks like dirt.”

  “It’s grease.” She peered closely at the sleeve. “I bet it’s from the bottom of your car. She did it, Tristan, and this is solid proof.”

  “To you, maybe, but not to anyone else. You’ll never prove it in a million years.”

  “They have all kinds of scientific tests. I bet they can pinpoint exactly where—”

  “Megan.” He grasped her shoulders, making her face him. “I’m just a country boy, but I know enough to know better than to go around accusing folks. Think about it. She’s a business owner, a rich lady. She’s got lots of friends and a fancy city life. Who’d believe she’d crawl underneath my car and wreck the brakes?”