Opal Fires

by Lynda Trent

  Clare blushed to see that Ryan was regarding her with amusement, and she tried to look nonchalant. “Do you come here often?”

  “No. Only when I particularly want to impress someone.”

  “It’s quite nice,” she said in her best Regina-like tone.

  He laughed aloud. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound so snobbish. We don’t have anything even close to this in Kilgore and, frankly, I’m intimidated.” As Clare spoke, she watched Ryan gaze deeply into her soul. There was a puzzled expression in his hazel eyes.

  “Since this is a time of honesty, I have to admit I’ve been here exactly one other time when my father retired from Huntly Oil.”

  Clare relaxed and sipped her water. “I feel better now. Maybe we can be awed together.”

  The service was impeccable and the food was delicious. By the time they’d finished their cherries jubilee, Clare decided to behave naturally, and both she and Ryan were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

  “Tell me,” Clare prompted as they were leaving, “was your father as impressed as I was?”

  “Not entirely. He had been here before often, in fact. My mother’s father lived here several years before I was born, and they came to visit him at least once a week.”

  “Here? Your grandfather lived here?” Her jaw had dropped open and she shut it hastily. “Did he work for Huntly Oil, too?”

  “Not exactly. He owned it.”

  Before Clare’s mask of gentility could settle back in place, Ryan drove her to the Quarter. Leaving the car in his own garage, they walked the few blocks to a corner bar where strains of heart-rending music were being coaxed from a battered trumpet and a clarinet. The smoke was so thick that Clare felt closed in and almost blinded, but the music was a sirens’s song which seemed to draw them through the crowd to a small table. The waiter, a rather effeminate young man with masses of curly blond hair, took their orders for drinks and faded away into the throng.

  A singer wearing a slinky gold lam? evening gown stepped up onto the small stage to join the musicians, and began belting out the lyrics of a haunting jazz number.

  “Are you having a good time?” Ryan asked under the music as he took her hand.

  “Yes, I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

  He smiled and lifted her palm to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. “I’m glad, too.”

  His kiss made her tingle, and she nervously pulled her hand away. “I like the singer. She’s very good.”

  ” He’s very good,” Ryan corrected.

  “What?” Clare said incredulously.

  “His name is Billy Chandell. He lives across the street from me, in that apartment house with the green balcony.” He was watching her with amusement.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Not at all. Billy’s a female impersonator. One of the best. He also plays a mean game of tennis. I’ll introduce you one of these days.”

  Astounded, Clare gazed at length at the lovely singer, and wondered if Ryan was joking. When Billy’s act was finished, “she” glanced at Ryan and waved, bowed again and then made a graceful exit to appreciative applause.

  As the musicians picked up the beat for the next entertainer, Ryan said, “Are you ready to go somewhere else? Billy is their best act.”

  Clare nodded.

  As they walked down the side street, the music became fainter and fainter until, at last, it melted into the balmy night air. Several rough-looking men, all too reminiscent of the one who had accosted her earlier, passed them. Clare was thankful for Ryan’s muscular body by her side. She put her hand trustingly in his and matched her stride to his own.

  On the patio at Pat O’Brian’s, Clare and Ryan each had a hurricane in one of the famed glasses. The foliage about them was lush and abundant, the candlelight warm and caressing. And the music from the piano bar inside was soft and melodious. Ryan held her hands firmly, but lovingly, on the tabletop, while he watched her every movement.

  “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” he said.

  “I never left town,” she replied, trying to calm her racing emotions. “All you had to do was look for me.”

  “Believe it or not, I did intend to do just that. I had planned to take a few days off in a couple of weeks to come to Kilgore and find you.”

  Clare didn’t answer, but her hand trembled.

  “Ever since I left that day, I’ve regretted not calling you. I could hardly believe my eyes when you came into the Blue Crystal this afternoon.”

  “It was important for me to find you,” she murmured. “I needed someone to drill a well for me.”

  “And that’s the only reason?” he asked in disappointment.

  “No,” she replied softly, “That’s the reason I could admit. Actually, I wanted to be with you again.”

  He smiled. ”And here you are. Tell me, Clare, is there anyone in Kilgore waiting for you? A man, I mean?”

  “No. No one is waiting for me.” For some reason, she had turned down all offers of dates. Nobody but Ryan interested her.

  “Good.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Did you know that in the candlelight your skin is golden and your hair and eyes are black as jet? And did you also know that you blush beautifully?”

  “That’s something I’m trying to outgrow.”

  “I hope you don’t. I find it intriguing. But then, I find all of you intriguing.”

  Clare blushed even more. “Ryan, I really don’t go tumbling into bed like that. I don’t know what I was thinking of.”

  “I do,” he said, stroking her hand.

  “Ryan,” she said hesitantly, “I’m not going to go to bed with you tonight.”

  “Why not?” he asked in surprise.

  “Because I don’t want to feel that our business deal was based on that.”

  “Are you always so blatantly honest?”

  “Usually. It’s a great failing of mine.”

  Ryan sighed. “All right. Whatever you say. But I want you to know I didn’t have your body in mind when I agreed to wildcat your oil well. I’m a better business man than that. And we aren’t talking business now.”

  No, Ryan,” she said firmly.

  “All right, how about some coffee and doughnuts to top off the evening instead?” he said with one of his lightning swift subject changes. “By the way, you’ll notice I’m giving up reluctantly, but with respect.” He grinned at her until she smiled back.

  “The coffee sounds great, but I’m not sure about doughnuts after all that dinner and two drinks.”

  “By the time we get there, you’ll change your mind. There’s something about this place that makes your very soul whine for doughnuts. You’ll see.”

  The doughnut shop was all Ryan promised, and more. Afterward, they walked for a short while, enjoying the warm summer breeze, before Ryan took her back to her hotel. As Ryan escorted her into the lobby of the Fontainebleau, Clare laughed. “I’m stuffed! That last cup of coffee was too much.”

  “That’s all those doughnuts you packed away,” he teased. “See? Didn’t I tell you? You can’t eat just one.”

  “That sounds like a commercial for an antacid. Don’t remind me. I may never have room to eat again.”

  “You have to. I’m taking you out for breakfast tomorrow morning. You can run a few laps around the pool in the meantime.”

  She groaned. “You’re kidding. Right?”

  “Nope. What time do you get up? I’ll be over to pick you up.”

  She studied his face carefully. “Do you really want to see me tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I’m trying to sweep you off your feet.” Seriously, he added, “I don’t want to lose you again.” Before she could stop him, he brushed her lips lightly with his. “May I take you to your room?” he asked gently.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

  He punched the button on the elevator for her. “I’ll pick you up at nine in the morning. Is that too early?”

/>   “No, that’s fine.” Then, realizing what she was saying, she stammered, “I mean, I’ll come to your place at nine. Really, I’d prefer it that way.”

  He shrugged. “All right. Park in the space beside my car. Do you remember the street? Good. Come into the courtyard through the gate beside the garage, and go up the stairs I showed you.”

  The elevator door rolled open and Clare stepped inside. Beyond the desk, the clerk was starting to frown.

  “Goodnight, Ryan,” she said quickly as the doors shut.

  Clare punched the button to the second floor. When it arrived, she got out, stood in the foyer until the elevator went away, then pressed the down button.

  Ignoring the desk clerk, Clare crossed the lobby and went out into the parking lot. Ryan’s car was gone. As she drove back to the Seven Fountains Motel, Clare hummed a tune.

  Chapter Ten

  Breakfast was at Brennan’s. As Clare ate eggs Benedict in the elegant surroundings, she reminded herself not to be overwhelmed. Much of her infatuation with Elliot, she now realized, had been based on her fascination for the places he took her. Against her will, she was enchanted by both Brennan’s and the Pontchartrain the evening before.

  Don’t be a fool, she scolded herself. You let Elliot wine you, dine you and sweep you off your feet, and it was a disaster. You thought you loved Elliot, too, remember? Stay as far away as possible from rich men.

  Resolutely, she tried to view Ryan platonically. But this appeared to be an impossible task. She found herself memorizing the sound of his voice, the way the sunlight from the window made his hair golden, the shape of his hands and the curve of his lips.

  Ryan spent the rest of the day showing her New Orleans. From the moss-encrusted old mansions to the above-ground cemetery, he presented it all to her with a better itinerary than a tour guide. At last, exhausted, they lay on a blanket in a park, watching squirrels play in the trees above their heads. Ryan rolled over onto his side in order to see her better.

  “You can’t see the squirrels like that,” Clare pointed out.

  “I’d much rather see you,” he said, tickling her nose with a blade of grass. “I can see squirrels any day.”

  “Once you get to Kilgore, you can see me any day, too. I’ll become as commonplace to you as they have,” she teased.

  “I doubt that. You fascinate me. Just when I think I have you all figured out, I see a facet of you that seems to be at odds with all the rest.”

  “Oh?” she asked warily.

  “For instance. You look equally at home at Brennan’s and here on a blanket with sandwich crumbs all around you. Not once have you said anything about the wind messing up your hair. I think you even enjoyed riding around with the car window down.”

  “I did. There’s a feeling of fall in the air today and I love autumn.”

  “I’d have figured you to be a spring person.”

  “That’s true, too. Spring and fall are the best. Summer is too hot and winter is too wet. I’m a sissy.”

  “Yeah, I remember you did whine a lot about that walking tour.”

  “I did not. That was you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I knew it was one of us.” He tossed the grass away and took her hand. “Clare, stay with me tonight.”

  She looked over at him. He wore a white pullover shirt that tapered to his narrow waist and jeans that molded the hard columns of his long legs. With the sunlight dappling his face and the breeze ruffling through his hair, he looked irresistibly virile and commanding. “Just like that?”

  “Why not? I want to be with you tonight, all night. If I had waited until later to tell you, you might have impulsively rejected the idea and had no time to reconsider. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you. I think that’s why you felt so guilty before. I know you don’t hop from bed to bed. That’s obvious. But I want to be with you. All night. And that’s why I’m asking you now.”

  “I want to, Ryan. I really do. But…”

  “No buts. If you want to be with me and I want to be with you, there’s nothing to stop us.”

  Clare found his logic faultless almost irresistible. “When you put it that way, I have to agree. But, on the other hand”

  He leaned over and silenced her with a long kiss. When he lifted his head and she tried to speak, he kissed her again.

  Clare was achingly aware of his long, lean body stretched out beside hers, of his muscular arms that held her so gently, yet so masterfully. With a small moan, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, savoring the taste of his lips and the fresh, clean scent of his skin.

  “Is the answer yes?” he asked at last. “Or should I keep kissing you?”

  “The answer is yes. Keep kissing me.”

  With a low chuckle, he complied. Clare felt a warm glow rapidly spreading through her.

  “I hate to break this up,” she said, after a few minutes, “but if we keep this up, a crowd is going to gather. So I’m going to go back to the hotel and gather up my things and change for dinner. What time are we supposed to meet the potential investors you called?”

  “Eight o’clock,” he said, nibbling at her neck. “At the Fontainebleau dining room. We can get your suitcase then.”

  “I’ll bring it when I drive my car over. There’s no need to wait until tonight.” She kissed him again. “I’ll race you to the car.” Before he had time to react, she jumped up and ran away.

  Back at his apartment, Ryan watched as Clare drove away. Then he opened the massive iron gate, not even hearing the familiar squeak of its hinges. As he stepped from the street into the vaulted cave of the entranceway, the shade enclosed him with coolness. The handmade bricks of the tunnel were covered with lichen of various hues and velvety green moss.

  He strode into the lemon sunshine of the courtyard. Flat paving stones restricted the tangled riot of late flowers, shrubs and vines that grappled together at all four walls. He passed by the small fountain without even noticing its tinkling music and climbed the steep flight of steps that scaled the outside of the building to his apartment on the second floor. On the small balcony, he paused, inserted his key in the old keyhole and pushed open the door. Inside, thanks to the thick masonry walls, the room was cool, much like the entrance tunnel.

  What was it about Clare that so confused him, he wondered. Something wasn’t making sense, but he couldn’t quite decide what it was.

  As Ryan shaved, being careful not to nick himself, he ran water into the ancient, four-legged bathtub. Then he removed his clothes and, with one practiced kick, shoved them into the dirty clothes bin and slammed the door on them. Catching his breath against the steam, Ryan slid into the hot water of the deep tub until he lay reclining against the back, his knees jutting out of the water.

  Slowly, he soaped himself, ducking his head under the faucet to rinse his hair. He leaned back against the tub and rested his elbows on the curved rim. Last night when he had taken Clare to her hotel, he had felt something didn’t add up. Of course, it had been odd that she was so insistent about him not seeing her to her room, but that might have been because she didn’t want him to come in. After her having left so abruptly after their first night together, he had no intention of doing anything which might cause her to feel cornered, but she had no way of knowing that. Still, there was something else. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. When she met him in the lobby, she had been breathless, as if she had run downstairs. Then, later, when he had put her on the elevator

  His eyes flew open. That’s what was wrong! To the best of his knowledge, there were no bedrooms on the second floor. And he had watched the elevator indicator stop on two. Those were all conference rooms and staff offices!

  Thoughtfully, Ryan pulled the stopper out of the tub with his toe and stood up to towel dry while the water gurgled down the drain. He rubbed his hair with the towel until it was almost dry, then tossed the towel onto the edge of the tub. As he blew his hair dry, he tried to decipher the puzzle. Why wo
uld Clare say she was staying there if she wasn’t? It didn’t make any sense.

  Neither did the fact that Clare appeared to be two very different people. At some times, she was very nouveau riche, snobbish and pseudo-sophisticated, as when she had proposed drilling the well. This part of her seemed to have an insatiable greed for money, and Ryan found it most unattractive.

  At other times, however, Clare was clearly awed by his wealth, but seemed to be going to extremes to avoid it. There was certainly no indication that she had aspirations to marry him for his money. She actually appeared to be running from it. Part of Clare was happy eating sandwiches on a blanket in the park and strolling hand in hand down a magnolia-lined street. This Clare was easy to talk to and a pleasure to be with.

  Ryan was more than a little afraid he was falling in love with this aspect of Clare. If only he could understand the grasping side, he thought, it would all be so easy.

  That night, as Ryan escorted her past the unsmiling desk clerk to the Fontainebleau dining room, he asked, “Which floor did you stay on?”

  “Why, the second,” she said in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered. How was your room?”

  “Very nice. I had a view of the pool.” Clare noticed a tiny muscle clench in his jaw, but she saw no reason to worry. After all, she had checked out of the Seven Fountains and her suitcases were in Ryan’s apartment.

  The dinner meeting went well. The two men were enthusiastic about partially backing the well, especially when Ryan told them he was investing some of his own capital in the venture. Both of them were familiar with Ryan’s reputation as a geologist, and even though Ryan’s theory was untested and the risk was high, his good name was enough for them. One of them gave Ryan the name of a business acquaintance in Houston who thrived on high risk investments.