I'll treasure it." She looped her arm through his. "Why aren't you dancing? Every female over the age of puberty has her eye on you, just waiting for you to be so kind as to break her heart."
Slade laughed. "I promise, I'll do my best to oblige. What about you? How come my father let you out of his sight?"
Marta smiled as she took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
"You know Jonas. He's gone off somewhere for a bit of chitchat with some of his cronies." She sipped some of the wine, then looked up at him again. "Is everything all right?"
"Why do women always ask that question?" Slade dredged up what he hoped was an easy smile. "First Catie asks me if I'm okay, now you." He put his hand over Marta's. "Yes. I'm fine. I've just been busy lately, flying back and forth from one job to another."
"I didn't mean to pry, Slade. It's just that you looked... Well, never mind." Marta laughed gently. "You're right. We women can be impossible. We look for trouble even when there isn't any, your father says."
"Well, for once I agree with him." Slade looked past his stepmother, to a little knot of men crowded together. "What's going on over there? Looks like a football huddle.,"
Marta swung around, followed his gaze and laughed.
"It's my daughters. They're in the center of that what did you call it? A huddle?"
"Your daughters? I haven't seen them in years. Three cute little girls, as I recall. Sam, and Mandy, and Carrie."
Marta's eyes twinkled. "These days, you can only call them that on pain of death. It's Samantha. Amanda. And Carin, if you please. Come on. Let me take you over."
She drew him toward the little crowd and it parted reluctantly, revealing three young women beautiful enough to make a man's heart stop.
"Girls, this is Jonas's youngest son, Slade. I don't know if you recall meeting him before, so let me introduce you. Slade, this is Samantha."
Samantha was a redhead. "Hi," she said, and flashed a dimpled smile.
"And Amanda."
Amanda was blond. "Hello," she said, and offered a smile that was intriguingly cool.
"And this is Carin, my eldest daughter."
Carin was brunette and businesslike. "Nice to meet you," she said, and stuck out her hand.
"Well, well, well," Slade said, and smiled, and for the first time he thought maybe, just maybe, he really might start to enjoy the evening.
He tried. Marta's daughters tried, too. But as lovely as the trio of sisters were, there was no chemistry. One by one, they drifted away, with Carin the last to leave.
"Whoever she is," she said gently, "you have to forget about her."
Slade thought of looking baffled, of offering a denial. In the end, he nodded, jammed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and said that was great advice, if only he could figure out a way to take it.
He danced with one gorgeous woman after another. He had another conversation with Gray and made plans to get together for dinner the next time they were both in New York. He ate canapes and drank champagne and, at last, weary of keeping a smile plastered to his face, he went outside, down to the lowest level of the three decks that fell like a waterfall from the rear of the house to the gardens, found a shadowed corner and a quiet bench and sat down.
Maybe out here, with the quiet of the night around him, he could sort out what was happening to his life.. .but the smell of expensive cigar smoke intruded.
Slade frowned and rose to his feet. "Father?"
Jonas's deep chuckle sounded from the darkness to his left. "The Havana gave me away, huh?"
Slade turned and looked at his father. Jonas was leaning his elbows on the deck railing, the cigar clamped between his teeth.
"I thought you were in the house. Marta said you were closeted with some of your cronies."
"I was." The older man took the cigar from his mouth, sniffed it appreciatively, then bit down lightly on it again. "What're you doin' out here, boy? Don't you like all that fancy stuff goin' on inside?"
Slade smiled and leaned his elbows on the railing alongside Jonas.
"It's one fine party," he said.
"It is that. But you know Catie. She takes it into her head to do somethin', she does it right."
"She loves you." Slade looked at his father and arched one dark eyebrow. "Despite your best attempts to convince her otherwise."
Jonas nodded. "Almost as if she were my own flesh and blood."
"Flesh and blood doesn't count for everything, Father."
"It does, when you get to the point where you can stand on the road and see clear to the end of it."
Slade laughed. "You'll outlive all of us."
"I won't outlive Espada, that's for certain, which is why it's got to go to somebody who's a Baron."
"Catie's better than a Baron. She loves you, and she loves this place."
"You think I'm stupid?" Jonas waved his hand to ward off any protest. "I know all that."
"Well, then..."
"Well, then, what? Speak up, boy. I ain't no mind reader."
Slade's jaw tightened. "No," he said coldly, "you aren't. If you were, you'd know that if you call me `boy' one more time, I'm just liable to-"
"Well, will you look at that?" Jonas chuckled, tossed away his cigar and turned towards his son. "You got some gumption left in you, I see. That pansy stuff you do ain't completely destroyed your backbone."
"I design office buildings," Slade said through his teeth, despising himself for sounding defensive. "Damned fine ones, which you'd know if you occasionally took your nose out of your-"
"The one in Noo York City ain't bad a-tall."
Slade blinked. "The Stahl building. You've seen it?" "'Course, I like the one in Philadelphia better. Nice lines to that, what do you call it, that indoor park thing with the fancy waterfalls on all them levels?"
"An atrium." Slade heard the disbelief in his own voice and he cleared his throat. "When did you see my buildings?"
"Oh, I get around." Jonas grinned at him. "Man wants to see what his offspring are up to, even if he don't approve."
"Well." Slade told himself to say something intelligent but nothing would come. "Well," he said again, "that's..that's very interesting."
"You'd be surprised what a man thinks, when he gets to be my age."
"You're not old," Slade said, and meant it. "Hell, Pop, I hope I look half as good as you when Catie tosses me my eighty-fifth birthday party."
He waited for his father to chuckle but the old man didn't. Instead he reached into his hip pocket and took out a silver flask.
"Bourbon," he said, unscrewing the top. "Have a sip."
Bourbon, Slade thought, of course. Jonas loved the stuff, which was probably why his sons all hated it. Still, he took the flask, nodded his thanks and tilted it to his lips, though he let only the slightest amount of liquid trickle down his throat. He couldn't recall ever sharing a companionable moment with his father before and he wasn't going to ruin it over a taste of bourbon.
"Thanks," he said, and tried not to shudder.
Jonas's teeth flashed in a quick grin. "You're welcome." He took a long swallow, sighed with satisfaction and put the top back on the flask. "So, you figure your stepsister's gonna throw you a big party the day you turn eighty-five."
Slade laughed. "Something like that."
"Why should she?"
Jonas's voice was cool. Slade frowned and looked at him. "I'm just joking."
"I know you are, but think about it. Why should she do that? By then, she'll have a husband of her own. Children. Probably even grandchildren." He reached into his breast pocket, took out another cigar, bit off the tip and spat it into the darkness. "You want somebody to give a damn what happens to you as the years go by, boy, you need to have yourself some sons." Jonas took a gold lighter from his pocket, flicked it on and slowly lit his cigar. "Unless," he said lazily, "you don't need that advice."
"I don't. I'm capable of planning my own life, Father. I have been, ever since I turned eig
hteen."
The old man blew out a plume of cigar smoke. "What I meant was, maybe you don't need that advice because you already started arrangin' for some heirs."
Slade's heart seemed to kick against his ribs. "What are you talking about?"
"Babies." Jonas puffed out a series of perfect smoke rings. "You know what those are, boy, and you know how to make 'em. Leastways, you been practicin' ever since Dan Archer's wife gave you that extra-special birthday present all them years ago."
"Never mind that," Slade said tightly. Without thinking, he reached out and grasped the older man's arm. "What kind of crack was that, Father? About me already producing heirs?"
"I didn't say that, exactly."
"What did you say, exactly?"
"I simply said that a man who beds a lot of women is liable to find he may have left one of 'em with more than happy memories." Jonas looked pointedly at his son's hand, wrapped around his arm. "You gonna rip that sleeve off my tux, son? Won't mean a damn to me. I hate wearin' the thing, but Marta might mind me comin' back into my own party lookin' like I been stomped by a mean bull."
Slade followed his father's gaze. It looked like he had a death grip on his biceps. Slowly, deliberately, he let go.
"Not that it's any of your business," he said stiffly, "but I'm always careful about protection. For the woman's sake, and for my own."
Jonas shrugged. "All it takes is one time. Just once." His voice roughened, and the easy Texas drawl disappeared. "If men and women play around in bed, they end up payin' the price."
"Don't you think I know that? I just said, I'm always careful."
Always, except the time he'd taken Lara to that hotel. His hunger had been so deep, his need so intense... it had driven all rational thought from his head. No, she'd said, when he'd wanted to buy condoms, no, it's not necessary...
Now she had a child. A son, with black hair and gray eyes, and a face so familiar, even in its childish innocence, that it might have been his own. He didn't know the boy's age but it looked right. He was no expert on kids but Jack had a nephew who was nine, ten months old.
Yeah. The size was just about the same.
Slade felt as if a fist had landed in his gut. He wrapped his hands around the railing, bent forward and took a gasping breath. There was no use telling himself not to think about it. He knew what he'd seen, what it meant and what he had to do.
He turned to Jonas. "Pop..."
But there was nobody standing next to him. His father was gone. The only lingering sign he'd been there was the glowing stub of a Cuban cigar.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
SLADE stood on the deck, alone, and stared blindly into the shadowy darkness.
An owl cried out in the distance, its eerie call piercing the silence. He thought of the terror the sound must strike into the hearts of the tiny night-creatures, of how they'd freeze, then scuttle desperately for sanctuary. Their flight would be useless. Nothing would elude the owl's fierce eye and the bite of its razor-sharp talons.
Slade wrapped his hands tightly around the railing, until his knuckles shone white.
He had fathered a child. A son. And Lara had not told him. She'd been determined to keep his parenthood a secret but he knew it, now, and she would no more escape his fury than the denizens of the night would escape the owl.
Did she think he wouldn't give a damn that he'd helped create a life?
His plans hadn't included having children. Children needed stability. They needed-they deserved-the love of two parents. He'd grown up believing it, knowing, in his heart, that he'd missed something wonderful and knowing, too, that marriage-all the forever after nonsense, the hearts and flowers-were not for him.
Everyone thought he was just a carefree bachelor, cruising from woman to woman for the pleasure of it, but there was more to it than that. The truth was, he didn't believe in commitment. It didn't work. Growing up under his father's cold eye, learning not to get attached to a stepmother because each one came and went in a heartbeat ... that life had taught him a lesson.
Marriage, to put it succinctly, was pointless. It didn't work, especially if your last name was Baron. Just look at the old man, who had chalked up five wives. At Travis, who had been married and divorced quicker than a rattler could strike. At Gage, whose marriage was in trouble...
Slade drew a deep breath, then blew it out.
It was simple. Kids deserved a mother and a father and a happy home, but if you were a Baron you had as much chance of giving a kid that as a snowball had of surviving in hell. It was a truth he'd lived by and, knowing that truth, maybe even fearing it, he'd never made the mistake of planning a future that depended on commitment. Now, Lara Stevens had changed that forever.
He had a child. A son.
Didn't she think he'd want to know? And what about the boy? The kid sure as hell had the right to know he had a father.
"Slade?"
Who was Lara, to play God?
"Slade? Is that you?"
Catie. Slade closed his eyes. Catie, the Queen of Perception. She was the last person he wanted to deal with just now but there wasn't much choice. He braced his shoulders, turned and smiled.
"Yeah," he said, "it's me. What are you doing out here, away from all the fun?"
"I came looking for you." She put her hand on his arm. "You okay?"
"Sure. Just just too much noise inside, you know? I figured I'd take a breather."
"You're a bad liar," Caitlin said gently. "Want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about, darlin'."
It was the truth. There wasn't a way in the world he was about to let anybody know what had happened, not until he knew the details. Not until he confronted Lara and maybe wrung her pretty little neck.
`Slade?„
"I'm fine," he said, and gave her the old Los Lobos salute, to make her laugh. Then he looped an arm around her shoulders, told her she owed him a dance and hustled her inside the house, back to the lights and the noise and the party.
Somehow, he made it through the rest of the evening and the next day, too. He didn't get much sleep but nobody seemed to notice his bloodshot eyes, maybe because Sunday began with Grant Landon confirming that Jonas wouldn't leave Espada to Catie even though it was the right thing to do, and ended with Natalie driving off with Landon's wife and leaving Gage behind. Travis seemed out of it, too. He went into the old man's study and came out an hour later, looking as if he'd just seen a ghost.
It was a hell of a thing, Slade thought, as he packed his suitcase Sunday afternoon, a hell of a thing to be relieved your brothers were too deep in their own problems to notice yours. He had to be pretty far gone, to feel that way-but not so far gone that he'd forgotten what an intelligent man could do with a charge card, a telephone and a couple of discreet calls to people who could make the right wheels turn.
His airline ticket said Boston but he flew to Baltimore. He'd phone Lara from the airport. That way, she'd have little time to prepare for their confrontation. And he wouldn't see her at her home. He wanted to meet her somewhere public, where she couldn't resort to hysterics. Not that he really thought she would; she was far too cool for that but she might try it, when she heard what she'd have to do. It was his decision, his alone. And, he thought grimly, as the plane landed, it was irrevocable.
Her phone rang several times before she picked up. She sounded as if he'd awakened her and for just a second, his mind seized on images of her in bed, all warm and sleepy. If he closed his eyes, he knew he'd be able to feel the silk of her skin, breathe in the scent of her that was all lush, sweet woman...
Warm and sweet weren't words a man could use, about Lara.
The realization strengthened his reserve. He spoke coldly, without any lead-up or niceties.
"This is Slade," he said. "Name a place where we can meet."
She said it was too late. She said she had no intention of seeing him ever again. She spoke calmly but she didn't bother asking wh
at he wanted. She knew; he could feel it in his bones, and when, suddenly, her calmness gave way and her voice trembled, he knew she was panicked and he felt a savage sense of pleasure.
"I'm not asking you, Lara, I'm telling you. Name a place. A restaurant. A bar. I don't give a damn. Just name it, get yourself a baby-sitter and meet me in an hour." He paused, just long enough to make the next words count. "Or I'll show up at your office tomorrow morning and we'll deal with this thing publicly."
There was silence, and then he heard her take a breath.
"There's a diner," she said. Her voice trembled again as she gave him the address. This time, she made no attempt to hide her distress, and that pleased him even more.
"One hour," he said, and hung up.
Slade knew.
Lara put down the telephone. He knew. God, he knew! What was he going to do?
Nothing. What could he do? He had no proof, just that one, quick look at Michael. As long as she stood up to him, denied everything, as long as she showed him that he couldn't intimidate her, she'd be fine.
But she had to deal with him tonight. If he came to her office and made a scene, her job would be history.
She called Mrs. Krauss. The baby-sitter was grumpy; there was probably nothing new in that but she said yes, very well, she'd come right away, for double pay and
cab fare.
Lara went into the bedroom and looked down at her sleeping son. She touched his back, smoothed her hand over his soft black curls. He was hers, and there was nothing Slade could do to change that.
She threw on jeans and a T-shirt and left her house the minute Mrs. Krauss arrived.
Slade was waiting for her at a booth in the rear of the diner. The place was half-empty at this hour on a Sunday night The waitresses were standing at the coffee machine, whispering and shooting little looks in his direction. Why wouldn't they? He was a man whose looks attracted women, made them do things they'd only fantasized.
Lara knew that, better than anyone.
He rose when she reached the booth. A matter of habit, she knew; she'd get no acts of courtesy from him tonight. He looked different, not just because of the taut set of his lips but because of the way he was dressed. She'd only seen him in suits and ties. Now he was wearing a tight black T-shirt. His biceps were prominent, as were the muscles in his forearms, and there was a ripple of muscle in his chest. He wore faded, snug jeans and scuffed cowboy boots.
Sandra Marton - Slade Baron’s Bride Page 9