Mad About The Man

by Stella Cameron

  "I always try to separate business and pleasure myself."

  She heard Jacques's voice through the pulse thundering in her ears.

  "By the way," Michael said. "It's time I asked the big question."

  Jacques hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "Which is?"

  "Why, what exactly are your intentions toward my ex-wife, of course? After all, I do have an interest in these matters."

  "Intentions?" Jacques laughed, and Gaby felt her blood pressure rise. "Who said I had any?"

  The distance to the door was too long. Gaby's legs moved as if through deep water until her hand closed on the handle.

  "Wait for me." Jacques held her elbow. "We've got things to talk about."

  Gaby looked at his fingers on her arm, then at his face. "Tell me, Jacques Ledan, do you know what they call men like you?"

  She saw his pupils dilate, his mouth open slightly. "I see you do. Unfortunately, you give all the other spineless bastards a bad name."

  17

  "This is crazy, Gaby," Rita said. "How do you stand it?"

  "I thrive on chaos. Most people in my business do—those who get into the theatrical stuff."

  All work stations in the room were occupied. Brilliantly colored materials littered every surface, echoing the shades used in sketches pinned to boards around the walls.

  "Gaby," Char called. The day's mail littered the desk in front of her. "This is the rent check. It's been returned."

  Gaby massaged her aching neck. "Is the address right on the envelope?"

  "It's preprinted."

  "Then it makes no sense. Call and say we'll get it to them."

  "Tell me how you got into millinery," Rita said, following Gaby from chair to chair as she resumed overlooking work in progress and made comments. "Did you get up one day when you were seven and say, 'Gee, I want to make hats' or something like that?"

  Gaby didn't want to talk about her work. She didn't want to talk or think about anything. "It's a long story. I'll tell you sometime if you still feel like it. Why are you here, Rita?" The other woman had arrived more than an hour earlier and on no apparent mission.

  Without warning, Rita fell into a chair and clamped her hands over her face.

  All Gaby needed was a crying female on her hands. "What is it?" she asked, as nicely as possible. "Can I help?" Even if she was incapable of helping herself.

  Rita dropped her hands, revealing dry eyes in a pale face with a bright spot of color on each cheek. "I have had it, Gaby. Had it. And I couldn't think of anyone but you who might be as fed up as I am."

  Wonderful.

  Char chose that moment to breeze up with a purple satin turban draped with ropes of pearls. "Can't get through to the landlord. Where the hell are the ears supposed to stick up in this thing?"

  "They don't," Gaby said, more sharply than she'd intended. "They hang down. The character's a basset hound."

  "I see. Excuse me." Char made owl eyes and sailed on her way before Gaby could apologize for her foul temper.

  "Men," Rita said, pursing her lips. "Can you believe what complete duds they are?"

  "Complete," Gaby agreed. "Total losses." So why did the fact that she'd probably never see Jacques again—apart from across a crowded room— threaten to rip her heart out?

  "You were married."

  Gaby started. "Yes. To Mae's father."

  "Of course. How was it?"

  She wanted, suddenly and desperately, to crawl away and cry. "At first it was the whole hearts and flowers thing. Champagne and music. We were wildly in love. Or I thought we were."

  "But you weren't?"

  "No… Yes. Whatever love is, I think it was there for Michael and me at the beginning."

  "Hah!" Rita, in a pair of impossibly high-heeled shoes, stretched out her legs and crossed the ankles. "But he didn't have the staying power, did he? I know how this scenario goes. At first he was all attention. Couldn't do enough for you. Then, when the bloom was off, when you stopped putting mascara on before you brushed your teeth in the morning, then he started looking elsewhere."

  Gaby frowned. "It wasn't exactly like that."

  "You don't have to make excuses for him. I know what it's like to knock yourself out for a man only to have him behave as if you're invisible. Why is it that an otherwise wonderful, sexy man becomes a blind idiot the minute a woman falls in love with him?"

  "Michael didn't want children." And now he'd managed to completely ruin any chance she'd had of grabbing something marvelous with Jacques. True, she'd already ruined it herself before Michael showed up—but there might have been a chance.

  "I've done everything I can think of to show I'm crazy about him," Rita mumbled.

  Gaby stared unseeingly at Rita's face, at her trembling lips. Without Michael's interference, Jacques's base sense of humor and lack of chivalry might never have surfaced and then she could have hoped to— She couldn't bear to think of never being with him again.

  "I kind of thought you and Jacques might have something going," Rita said tentatively.

  "Well, we don't." And they never would again. Any man who didn't make the effort to come after her when he'd seen the state she'd been in at Sis's two days earlier wasn't worth bothering with.

  "Speak of the devil," Rita said, nodding toward the showroom.

  Gaby composed herself and looked around. Instead of Jacques, Michael came strolling in, his face turned away as he surveyed the women's work. "How's it going, love?"

  "Great." No thanks to him. Since his arrival, she'd only seen him for minutes at a time when he'd come to pick Mae up and bring her home that first day. He'd visited the workrooms once—when she hadn't been there.

  "Great as usual," he said, smiling "You don't need much help from me or anyone else, Gaby. You're the best."

  In his profile she saw a shadow of the boy she'd fallen in love with. "Thank you, Michael."

  The shadow faded, and the public Michael Copeland resumed position. "Think nothing of it, love. Just stopping by to give you a pat on the back and a cheer. We'll talk in a few days."

  "Where will you be in the meantime?"

  "Back in L.A. I'm needed. I've already said goodbye to Mae at the school. I drove over there with Camilla."

  "That must have been nice." Poor Camilla. Another Michael conquest about to be dumped.

  "It was. I'm giving her a lift back to L.A."

  Gaby crossed her arms. "A lift? That's a fresh way of announcing a new affair. I hope she gets along with Toby."

  "That's over." Michael faced her. "Forget me. It's you who need to look out for yourself."

  Before Gaby could react, Rita gave a small, horrified cry.

  "Nice mess, huh?" Gingerly Michael touched a split at the corner of his mouth. The eye that had been hidden was puffy, with a pocket of blue swelling beneath. "Watch yourself with that man, Gab. He's an animal."

  She felt behind her for the edge of a table and leaned heavily. "Jacques? Jacques did that?"

  "Not without taking a lick or two himself."

  "Oh, my God," Rita said distinctly. "When? Why?"

  "The bastard jumped me. Early yesterday, it was."

  Which explained why Gaby hadn't seen Michael in twenty-four hours. "Rita—is Jacques hurt?"

  "Who knows? He hasn't been returning messages for two days. The last time he talked to me he was off to Sis's for some reason he didn't bother to mention."

  "But you saw him yesterday morning?" Gaby rounded on Michael. "Where? And where is he now?"

  "Not, how are you, Michael, you poor dear? Or, does it hurt? To which the answer is a great big yes. How the hell should I know where Ledan is? He jumped me, damn it. Jumped me when I was leaving Char's. Fortunately Camilla was in the trailer where she's staying and she looked after me."

  "Very fortunate," Gaby said. "Are you telling me Jacques Ledan waited outside Char's and attacked you without provocation?"

  "Yes… Damn little, anyway. The man wanted me to apologize to you. He said I'd embarr
assed you in front of your friends at Sis's. We both know that's a bunch of crap."

  Gaby swallowed. "You did embarrass me." Why hadn't Jacques had the guts to plead her case on the spot? The probable answer hurt. He didn't want to be seen as caring enough to stand up for her. Hadn't Jacques made fun of Michael's suggestion that he was involved with Gaby?

  "I wasn't about to agree to come crawling to you about something that doesn't matter a damn. I tried to give the guy a piece of free advice—good advice I've lived by, so I know it pays off."

  "And Jacques repaid your kindness by punching your face? Must have been some advice."

  "You bet it was. I told him a smart man never gets confused about who's the runner and who's the run-nee in the male, female game. I told him men like us are always the runners, we just don't let the little women realize it. Then he hit me."

  Char had silently joined the circle. Gaby looked from her set face to Rita's disgusted glare and back to Michael. "Don't ever show up in Goldstrike again without calling first. Don't ever expose Mae to any of your friends unless they're suitable company for a sweet, innocent little girl." She drew a deep breath. "And don't ever suggest that you and Jacques Ledan have a thing in common, including being men."

  "Gaby—"

  "Goodbye, Michael."

  At first he didn't move. Then, without another word, he swept from the room.

  Conversation hummed among the women working. The overhead fans whirred. Gaby and Char regarded each other unflinchingly.

  "I told you," Rita said at last. "They're no good."

  Jacques. Gaby wanted to know where he was, how he was. She owed him that much for at least making a belated effort to stand up for her.

  "On a sane note," Char said. "I got through to the landlord's office."

  "Good."

  "You won't like this, Gaby."

  She bowed her head. "If it's more irritating news, save it."

  "I can't. You've got a new landlord, and the message is that you're to contact him about the rent."

  "Okay. You do it for me, Char. I've got to keep focused here." If that was possible after what she'd just been through.

  "Gaby."

  "Yes, Char."

  "Your new landlord is Jacques Ledan. He bought the whole building."

  She raised her face slowly and said, "Damn him. He wants to control everything. And he's going to do it." But she wasn't giving up. "Fine. Redirect the rent to him—without a cover letter. If he tries to force me out, I'll move. It's time I built a place to my own requirements, anyway."

  Char flapped the rent envelope and stopped, holding it in mid-air. "And here comes Mr. Bart Stanly. Why not? Everyone else has trailed through this very busy workroom today."

  "I won't talk to him," Rita said, shooting to her feet and turning her back. "Pretend I'm not here."

  Gaby looked at the woman's tall, impossible-to-ignore back and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "See to that rent, please, Char."

  "There you are," Bart said. Windblown and handsome in jeans and a cream-colored turtleneck sweater that accentuated his tan, he bore down upon Gaby, then passed her to arrive behind Rita. "Where did you go this morning? I woke up expecting… You were gone."

  Rita hunched her shoulders. Her visible cheek turned red.

  "I thought we understood each other," Bart said. "Then, when I need you most—when we need each other most—you run out on me."

  A mumbled response was all he got.

  "Sweetheart, Jacques has decided to play the Invisible Man. He's up there at La Place sending out orders, and we're supposed to be filling them. I need you."

  Before she could stop them, tears sprang into Gaby's eyes. Tears of anger; they had to be. Jacques had used and abused and discarded her. And she'd been fool enough to dream that he might be falling in love. She rubbed her brow. Darn it, anyway. She'd dreamed he was falling in love with her because she'd already fallen in love with him.

  "Rita," Bart said with a note of desperation. "Will you please look at me?"

  "Why should I. All you want from me is job support."

  He caught her arm. "Don't be an idiot. You know that's not all I want."

  Rita wrenched away. "That and— Oh!" One heel caught a chair leg. Her arms flailed and she began to fall.

  "Good lord," Bart muttered. With something resembling a football tackle, he managed to catch Rita the instant before she would have hit the floor and swing her up into his arms. "Will you stop fighting me, woman? Will you just give in and admit you love me?"

  "Love you?" Rita squeaked.

  "Love me, yes. Almost as much as I love you, you infuriating female." He kissed her then, slowly, so slowly that Gaby looked away and blinked back more stupid tears. Now she was jealous of Rita and Bart.

  "Excuse us," Bart said after a long, not completely silent interval. "I'm taking Rita to Vegas for a couple of days. There's something we need to do there."

  Gaby nodded and managed a watery smile. "Have fun. And be happy."

  "I've always thought Vegas weddings were romantic," Rita said, her arms wrapped tightly around Bart's neck.

  Juggling a little, Bart pulled a fat envelope from his hip pocket and thrust it into Gaby's hands. "The master had this delivered to me to give to you. See you later, kid."

  When they'd gone, Char tapped Gaby's shoulder "Let's go outside for a bit. This joint is driving me nutty."

  In the courtyard behind the building, they sat, side by side, on an upturned crate beneath trailing purple bougainvillea. Today the weather had improved again and there was a warm freshness in the breeze.

  "Peace," Char said, closing her eyes. "These past few weeks have been hell in some ways, haven't they?"

  "Yes," Gaby agreed and added dreamily, "when they weren't heaven."

  Char took one of Gaby's hands and squeezed. "You've never been a quitter. Don't quit now."

  "What choice do I have?" She knew what Char meant.

  "I can't believe you two won't work it out."

  "We both have to want to. Jacques doesn't."

  "You don't know that."

  Gaby sighed dejectedly. "Do you see any sign of him coming to beg for my company?"

  "He didn't let Michael get away with insulting you."

  "He let him get away with it in front of half this town. And what makes you think it was my honor he was concerned with? I saw how mad he was when Michael made those cracks about him at Sis's."

  Char tapped her sandals together and wriggled her toes. "You won't know exactly what's on his mind if you don't ask, will you?"

  "I'm not running after him,"

  "Not going to be the run-nee, mmm?"

  Gaby turned her head away. "You can't bait me with that. It's up to Jacques to make the next move."

  "And he's somewhere telling himself it's up to you. So, between the two of you, you may manage to ruin a chance at something wonderful. How stupid. What did Bart give you?"

  Gaby glared at Char and ran her finger beneath the flap of the brown envelope. "Probably raising my rent." She pulled out a sheaf of forms and a note.

  "Well?" Char said.

  "I don't understand." Gaby read and reread the note, then looked at the papers. "A title. To this building. It's been transferred into my name."

  "You're kidding." Char took the papers. "Gaby! Jacques bought it for you! He's bought the whole darn building and given it to you as a gift. I told you he was in love with you."

  Gaby stared at Jacques's note until her vision blurred. "In love with me? Oh, Char, what fools women are. Jacques Ledan is just attending to business. He's cleaning up his debts." She handed over the note.

  "Dear Gaby," Char read. "My turn to do something nice for you. Enjoy. Can we talk? Jacques."

  "Damn him!" Gaby leapt up. "His turn to do something nice for me? I'm sick of his gifts to bribe me."

  "I'm sure—"

  "So am I sure. He's the white knight in this town now. He doesn't want me meddling with that anymore. But he also doesn't want t
o kiss off— Oh, Char. Why pretend. We were good together and no man wants to pass that up. He's trying to give me a building as a sop and keep me on a string he can pull when he feels like it."

  She took back the title and pushed it into its envelope with the note. "Well, there's one thing Jacques Ledan can't buy—or buy off. Me!"

  18

  "You are the only female who ever understood me," Jacques told Spike. He poured food into her bowl. "Eat. One of us has to keep some strength up." The dog sighed hugely and remained in a heap near the kitchen door.

  "I know how you feel. Okay, don't eat. We'll fade away together."

  He leaned on the counter and flipped through the cook's calendar. Four days. Four lousy days he'd been up here waiting for Gaby to grasp the olive branches he'd held in her direction… so he could reel her in.

  So far, nothing.

  "She'll crack," he said aloud. "She cares, I know she does. All I've got to do is wait it out. Never met a woman who could ignore her own curiosity, and she's got to be bursting with it about now."

  He opened the refrigerator, stared disinterestedly at its contents and dragged out a six-pack. "Hate the stuff," he muttered. Beer was something kept for guests, but he'd given the staff paid leave until farther notice, which meant no one was buying groceries and beer was the only cold drink left.

  "Stay," he ordered Spike and scuffed, barefooted, on the trek to the study.

  Standing in his window aerie overlooking the road leading down through the hills, Jacques took up vigil once more. A welcome spark of glee made him grin. She would come. His last little gift would make quite sure of that. Either Gaby would roar up the mountain and throw the present back at him… or she'd roar up the mountain and throw herself at him.

  The latter was the most likely.

  Either way, the lady would become persuaded that there was nowhere else on earth she wanted to be… other than with Jacques.

  He looked around the room. Michael Copeland might be the artist with credentials, but he couldn't have done better than Jacques Ledan in setting a scene guaranteed to win the desired responses from the desired lady.

  Sympathy.

  Guilt… guilt was great.