"Over my dead body." Gaby sidestepped him and headed for the door. "You can tell Jacques-the-wonder-boy that I'm declaring war."
8
Jacques checked his Rolex and leaned on the sill at the open window above Gaby's factory. "She's late."
"Who's late?"
He turned on Rita. "Don't play dumb with me. Not at this hour of the morning and not when I'm uptight."
"How come you're uptight?"
"Damn it, Rita! Cut the smart talk. I'm not in the mood."
Rita crossed one long leg over the other and jiggled the high green pump that dangled from her toes. "I'm trying to inject a little sanity into all this, Jacques. You can't tell me you aren't suffering from some form of wilderness disease. That's all this business with the little hat person is—a reaction to boredom. What you need is a fast trip to L.A.—and maybe Paris, too."
She stretched a hand toward the phone on the desk that had been moved into the as-yet-unfinished suite. "I'm going to call a few people and see what they've got on for the weekend. I'll arrange for the chopper to pick you up."
Jacques clamped his fingers over hers and set her hand back in her lap. "You don't get it, do you? I'm fed up to the teeth with L.A. and Paris and parties and smarmy, grinning faces and Yes, sir. No, sir. Whatever you say, sir. That woman—" he pointed downward "—is real. I want some of that, Rita—someone real for a change."
"Aha!" She waggled a long finger at him. "A change. Okay. That I can buy. You want a change, an entertaining little oddity to titillate you for a while. And why not? But don't mix up sexual deprivation with something meaningful, for God's sake."
Talking to Rita about anything deeper than a sidewalk puddle was a waste of time. Jacques went back to his study of the view through Gaby's skylight.
"Don't sulk," Rita said, sounding pinched. "It doesn't suit you. Have you looked over the data that came in from the Paris office? Bayard already called this morning. He wants to know what you think."
"I think we're going to make a killing in the Eastern Block." And he should be more excited. He was excited at some level, but somehow the thought of even more Ledan shops selling even more Ledan candies didn't have the power to really thrill him.
"And?" Rita prompted.
Jacques turned and sat on the window sill. "And I'm in total agreement with everything Bayard suggests. The man's a genius. Why wouldn't I agree with him?"
"Good!" Straightening her cream linen skirt, Rita got up. She went to a stack of shiny black crates embossed with the gold company logo and opened the top one. "These arrived late yesterday. Bayard sent them with his compliments. I think he's trying to make sure you don't get so tied up with the Goldstrike extravaganza that you lose interest in the main agenda."
"Until we're up and running here, this is my main agenda." Goldstrike and Gaby McGregor. "What's in the box mountain?"
"Ta-da!" With a flourish, Rita whirled around—a risky feat on four-inch heels—and held aloft a sparkling heap of gold-wrapped bundles. "Isn't Bayard inspired?"
Jacques got up and stuck out a hand. "Gimme."
She dropped the bundles into his fingers. "Pots of gold! Jacques, you've got to call him and tell him this is going to be pure magic."
He eyed the candies doubtfully. "What exactly are we supposed to do with them?"
"Give them away, of course. As… well, as kind of party favors, I guess."
"Party favors?" Increasingly there seemed to be times when his employees' declared strokes of brilliance went right over his head.
Rita pulled more candies from the crate and began heaping them on the desk. "We'll find some locals to dress up as leprechauns and go around handing these out. They can say something like, ooh—" she screwed up her face "—like, welcome to our end of the rainbow. Accept this pot of gold with Jacques Ledan's gratitude—and the gratitude of his entire team who hope you'll be as excited about going for the gold in… You don't like it, do you?"
"Do better."
"I will."
He plopped a candy bundle in her hand and said, "Welcome to Goldstrike."
Rita's mouth turned down and she pushed back her mass of auburn hair. "Of course, you're right. Simple is best. It's this town, Jacques. I'm going nuts here."
"Why? It's a great place. It'll do you good to live a simple life for a while. Isn't the trailer okay?" He'd had a fleet of luxury trailers moved in ready for the crews who would be part of the planning stages.
"Fine," Rita said without enthusiasm.
"Good." He didn't want to deal with his employees' temperaments right now. Once more he looked through the window. Still there was no sign of life in the workroom. "You'll settle down eventually I think I'll see if I can finally get Gaby to La Place for dinner tonight."
"You're kidding."
He looked at her sharply. "Why would I be?"
"She's so unsophisticated, Jacques. A little nobody who makes caps for the feed store people, or something. Or those cheap straw efforts the men wear in the fields around here. Have some fun, if you want to. Take her to Hacienda Heaven for one of those horrible burner things and… well, and whatever else you've got in mind. I hardly think she's the type you invite home for a gourmet supper."
Very slowly, Jacques made a circuit of the desk. "There are times when I really don't like what I am," he said. "Or should I say what I'm supposed to be. And I sure as hell don't like what you just suggested."
"Hey!" Rita jerked down her jacket. "Don't get mad at me because you've got some kind of an itch that needs scratching and—"
"Cut it, Rita. You don't know what you're talking about. I've finally met a woman with some depth and I don't intend to miss an opportunity to get to know her better." Too bad a kid came with the package, but he'd figure out a way to win her over. "Gaby McGregor is one of a kind. She's got a lovely little girl named Mae."
"What?" Rita's mouth remained open. "A kid! You don't like kids."
"I damn well do like kids. I love kids."
"Since when?"
"Since—" Since never, but he could learn. "This is a very bright child with a wonderful vocabulary and a good sense of humor." La Place had been there since before he was born, which made the house "real old." Great sense of humor.
Rita shook her head and began shoveling the candy back into its crate. "We've got to get you back to civilization."
"Do you know, I actually feel possessive about Gaby." He laughed self-consciously. "Can you believe that?"
"I can't believe any of this."
"I'm making progress, y'know. She's not nearly as cool toward me as when we first met."
"Oh, good." The crate flaps smacked shut. "I only wish I could feel as enthusiastic about something in this dump of a town. Maybe I should work on developing an interest in fruit trees."
Jacques regarded her seriously. "Is something wrong, Rita?"
"Nothing."
He approached and bent to look into her face. "Yes there is. Forgive me. I've been too preoccupied with what's going on in my own life. Come on. Spill it."
"Nothing…" She stepped back and raised her chin. "Yes, there is. I hate this place and I hate the dense local yokels who live here. And most of all I hate being Bart Stanly's gofer. There. You asked and now you know."
"You aren't Bart's gofer," he said slowly. "You and Bart have different functions and you're at the same level."
"Tell him that, why don't you?" Her face grew pale, and freckles Jacques had never noticed before stood out on a nice nose. "He treats me like a slave. Get this. Do that. And I have to listen to every little idea he comes up with. Then I'm supposed to be over the moon about how brilliant he is."
"Rita—"
"He's driving me mad!" To Jacques's horror, huge tears welled in her eyes.
"Now, now." Awkwardly he patted her shoulder. "You're overwrought. Take a day off."
"And do what?" she almost screamed. "Watch the grass turn browner?"
Jacques cleared his throat. "I'll think of something." He p
ulled a tissue from a box and pressed it into her hand. "And I'll talk to Bart—"
"No! No." Sniffing, Rita dabbed at her eyes. "Don't do that, please. I can deal with Bart."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely." She gave him a watery smile. "Forget I said anything. I've had a difficult few days. Bart's okay most of the time."
Jacques watched her assessingly. Perhaps the lady protested too much. Maybe the real problem here was denial of feelings quite different from those Rita had declared for her colleague. What he had to deal with, and now, was the next step in getting closer to Gaby. "Women like being courted, don't they?"
Rita looked blank.
"I mean, despite all the talk about equality, women like the gentle, romantic approach." Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? "Flowers, champagne. Soft music."
"Candy," Rita said and laughed.
Jacques bared his teeth. "I'll let that pass. I feel… euphoric. Yes, that's it. I could have something really fresh and satisfying with Gaby, I know I could."
"Fresh and satisfying?" Skepticism loaded Rita's voice.
"That's what I said and that's what I think." Heavy footsteps thudded on the wooden stairs, and the top of Bart's blond head came into view. "And here's the man himself. He must have followed his burning ears."
"Shush," Rita said urgently.
"Trust me." Jacques smiled an evil smile. "I'm feeling in a really good mood. She likes me. I can feel it and I like the feeling."
"Who likes you?" Bart's face resembled a week's worth of bad news.
Jacques decided to ignore the thunderous countenance. He felt too optimistic to be brought down by either Rita or Bart's foul tempers. "Gaby McGregor, of course. Don't tell me that's any surprise."
"I was afraid you'd say that." Bart dropped into a chair, stretched out his legs and let his feet flop apart "Hi, Rita, love. How's it goin'?"
"Fine, not that you care."
There was definitely something odd between these two. "Why would you be afraid?"
"I ran into Camilla Roberts. She wants to see you. Says she's just passing through. I thought it might be a good idea to put her off until I'd warned you."
"Damn it." Camilla had been a nuisance for longer than Jacques wanted to remember. "Keep her out of my way for as long as you can. I want to get a shipment of fresh roses sent in."
Bart frowned up at him. "Am I allowed to ask why?"
"Sure. I'm going to snow Gaby with attention. Make them those red roses with frosty white inside the petals. Several dozen. Twelve dozen should do it. Long-stemmed. Baccarat crystal vases, one for each dozen. I want them here by tomorrow."
"Twelve dozen roses and twelve Baccarat vases." Bart scrubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hell, what a mess."
Jacques dropped his hands to his sides. "Would you like to elaborate on that remark?"
"Not if I could help it."
"Give it your best shot."
"You've decided to woo the fair Gaby, correct?"
"Correct. For the first time in my life I've met a woman I think might actually be worth the effort."
"Sex and intellect all rolled up in one package."
"I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but close." Today, he resented having to deal with other people's jaded views. "We don't have to get into a discussion on this subject. Just arrange for the roses to be delivered to me. I'll take them to her myself."
"There's something you ought to know," Bart said into his fist.
"Have you noticed who raises pigs around here?"
"Pigs?" Bart and Rita chorused.
"Forget it." They'd never understand that he felt spontaneous and free—and ready to do the outrageous.
Bart got slowly to his feet. "I'm out of here. Let me know when you're ready to listen to me."
"Okay. I'm ready. I'm listening now."
"You're going to hate this."
Jacques sat on the edge of the desk. "Tell me."
"You think you've got a thing for Gaby McGregor?"
He hated the indirect approach. "I don't think, I know. And I'm going all out to make her see that she feels the same way."
Bart shifted. "You believe she does?"
"I'm sure of it."
"At this moment Gaby's out collecting signatures on a petition."
Jacques grinned, imagining black hair flipping in the breeze… and soft cotton shifting over even softer skin. "Gaby's never going to be idle. What cause is she championing?"
"The anti-Jacques Ledan cause. Gaby's doing her damnedest to get you run out of this town… for good."
9
Six foot plus of dark, powerfully lean—and evidently mean—muscle came into view and it was heading straight for Gaby.
"Thanks, Mrs. Meaker," she said hastily and tucked the clipboard under her arm. "You won't regret it." Goldstrike's postmistress nodded and went on her way.
Jacques had called last night and she'd hung up on him—five times. This morning she'd left home early to see how many signatures she could get before going to the shop. After deciding to dedicate yesterday to helping kick off the campaign, she felt anxious to get back to work.
"Gaby!"
He didn't sound any less angry than he had last night. Ducking her head and pretending to concentrate on keeping her hat in place, she scuttled past Caleb's gas station and whipped around the corner in the direction of Hacienda Heaven.
"Gaby!"
She slowed her pace. If this was going to be the moment of direct confrontation, so be it.
"War, huh?" He fell in beside her. "Are we going to talk about this?"
Gaby switched the clipboard to her other arm. "Not if I can help it."
"You can't help it." Looking straight ahead, a brown sack clasped in one hand, he strode purposefully at her side. "What did I do?"
"There's nothing to discuss, Jacques. Please excuse me."
Nigel Parker lounged in front of his hardware store. Gaby marched up to him and proffered the clipboard. "Good morning, Nigel. We're collecting signatures for a petition to block the project proposed by Ledan Enterprises."
"Well, now." Nigel straightened his long, rangy body and peered at the paper. "I don't rightly know how I feel about this."
"Good for you!" Jacques grabbed Nigel's hand and pumped. "That's what I like to see. A man with vision. You've been here in Goldstrike a long time, haven't you, sir?"
.Nigel rolled a wad of chew from one cheek to the other. "Sure have. My dad was here before me, too. And his dad. My great-granddad settled here when they were still scrabbling for gold in them hills." He laughed and coughed.
"I love hearing the old stories," Gaby told him, sliding Jacques a withering glance. "Your family, and people like them, made Goldstrike what it is."
"What it was," Jacques remarked, centering his gaze on the hills. "They were men of vision. They had the guts to forge into a new frontier and take chances. Damn big chances they were, too."
Nigel nodded. "That's tellin' it."
"They were men who would have known what to do today," Jacques continued. "Nigel, if your great-grandfather were here today, he'd say that you come from stock that's never been afraid of something new. He'd tell you Goldstrike needs something new right now if it's not going to die. And he'd say, 'Nigel, this Ledan guy's got what you need. Support him.' That's what he'd want you to do."
He was completely unscrupulous. "Sign," Gaby said briskly, handing Nigel the pen. "Your greatgrandfather would have signed and he'd want you to sign now. He wouldn't have wanted the town he founded to change into something that'll look like a fairground."
Jacques reached into the brown sack he carried and produced several gold-wrapped candies shaped like little pots and tied around with rainbow-colored ribbon. "Try these," he said, and gave them to Nigel. "We're making pots of gold the motto for Ledan Park in Goldstrike."
"Leprechaunville," Gaby muttered. "You'll never win."
"All's fair," Jacques murmured back. He heaped more candy upo
n Nigel. "Your great-grandfather's gold—the gold he tore out of cruel rock, with little more than his bare hands, is what inspired our theme. Give some of these to your friends and tell them Jacques Ledan is looking forward to working with them—hand in hand—to make this town everything it can be."
Nigel considered the candy for a long time before leveling a brown stare on Jacques. "My great-granddaddy never did mine no gold. Didn't hold with it. He was an undertaker. Reckoned as how the kind of fools who wasted everythin' they had on hackin' away at dumb rocks weren't about to be long for this world. He figured there'd be more call for prettyin' up the remains and buryin' than marryin'. That's what he did afore he come out here. Ran a marryin' chapel."
Gaby pressed fingers to her mouth and swallowed a laugh. Jacques's arched brows slowly rose. "Your great-grandfather was a minister?" he asked.
"Nope. Thanks for the candy, though." Nigel took the pen from Gaby and signed the petition. "There. Now I guess everybody's happy. I'd better be gettin' on."
With Jacques at her side, Gaby watched Nigel go inside his store.
"The man's a moron," Jacques said. "Everyone's happy? What is that?"
"That's simplicity," Gaby told him. "We aren't complicated people here."
"You aren't one of these people."
"I certainly am." A trace of discomfort crept up her spine. "What makes you think I'm not?" She couldn't expect to keep her origins from him indefinitely.
"No one told me. I'm not a fool. Don't ask me how, but you've managed to soak up some sophistication from somewhere and it shows."
She wished she could regard that as a compliment. "Well, have a good day."
A long, strong hand closed on her arm. "I've been trying to talk to you since yesterday morning. How come you didn't go to work all day?"
"I don't have to answer your questions."
"Why did you keep hanging up on me last night?"
He didn't know how to quit. "I didn't want to talk to you."
"I want to talk to you."
"Goodbye, Jacques." She turned away, but he didn't release her. "Let me go, please."
"I'm not hurting you."
Mad About The Man Page 8