"Nothing, as far as I know." Well, that was the truth. The doctors didn’t suspect anything because there was nothing to suspect, unless terminal pigheadedness could be classified as a disease.
"He's never been sick a day in his life."
"Yes, but Jonas is an old man." If he stuck to the facts, the truth couldn't hurt him. He was definitely thinking on his feet.
"Who called to tell you he was ill? Abel? Marta?
Leighton?'
Gage frowned. "Hand me that chart, would you? No, not that one. Yeah, that's it. Thanks."
He spread the chart in his lap. How long could he pretend to be studying their route? A minute? Two? Long enough to figure out an answer that wouldn't give the game away, although any answer was probably going to be a bad one. It didn't really matter if the call had come from Espada's manager, from Jonas's wife or from his nephew. Any of those people would be expected to have provided details Gage certainly didn't have.
"Gage? Did you hear me?"
He folded the chart, tucked it away and glanced at his wife as the plane gained altitude.
Maybe now was the time to tell her. They were a mile in the air. What could she do when she found out he'd stretched the truth?
Anything, ranging from slugging him silly to demanding he take her back to Miami. He just didn't know, and that was the problem. He didn't know his wife anymore. Where was the sweet girl he'd married? The girl who'd loved him enough to run away with him? What had become of the helpmate who'd seen him through grad school? Who'd urged him to transfer out of law school after he'd realized he'd have made a lousy lawyer? Where had she gone, the girl who'd worked night and day at his side helping him build Baron Resorts?
She was gone, vanquished by the steely-eyed female who sat beside him now.
Maybe he'd made a mistake, setting things up so Natalie would come with him to Espada. Her life was her own; her choices no longer involved him.
He could turn the plane around, then say to her, "Natalie, Jonas is fine. There's no reason for you to come with me. Actually, Nat, we both know that you don't want to be with me. And that's okay because I don't want to be with you. If you prefer to spend the evening with that bozo, Hans, that's your affair. Hell, if you want to spend the night with ... "
"Gage, I want some answers. What's wrong with Jonas?" He looked at her. "Sorry?"
"I said-"
"There must be something wrong with your microphone.
All I'm getting is static."
"Can't you hear me?"
"No good." He tapped his headset. "You're not coming through."
Natalie frowned, adjusted her mike and spoke louder. "I said ... "
"Nothing but static," he shouted, trying not to wince because her raised voice felt as if it had nearly punctured his eardrums. "I can't hear a thing you're saying."
She gave him a long, hard look. "You'd better not be lying about Jonas, Gage Baron, or so help me Hannah, I'm going to kill you."
Gage's smile was all innocence. "Sorry. I can't make out a word."
Natalie frowned. Then she settled back in her seat, folded her arms, and stared straight out the window.
By the time they were over the Gulf, Natalie was fuming.
Why hadn't she thought of questioning Gage before she'd climbed into the plane? .
Jonas was dying? Somehow, it didn't seem possible. Jonas was too mean to die. Besides, if that was why Gage had come by her apartment, wouldn't he have said something about his father's illness right away, instead of first doing everything he possibly could, short of pawing the ground, to make Hans think he still had some claim to her?
And he didn't. He most certainly didn't, and the sooner he got that through his thick skull, the better.
There was something fishy about this situation, she was sure of it. There wasn't a thing wrong with Jonas. Not a thing. She could feel it in her bones.
She was flying to Texas with her soon-to-be ex-husband for no reason whatsoever, except that Gage had taken one look at her and her new life and decided that he just couldn't tolerate the fact that she could have a life without him.
She wondered what he'd say if she turned and told him that; if she said, "Yes, I can, indeed, live without you. I found my own apartment, I've already interviewed for a couple of jobs, I've even managed to make friends. I don't need you anymore, Gage Baron ... "
But how could she say that, when it would be a lie?
She did need him, she must, or else why would she awaken each morning with that terrible emptiness in her heart? With tears on her cheeks and Gage's name on her lips?
Natalie shifted in her seat.
Habit, that was the reason. Of course it was. Once Liz Holcomb had gotten past the shock of Natalie's announcement, they'd had a long, long talk. And one of the things Liz had talked about was how weird it had felt when she'd divorced her first husband.
"It's like giving up smoking," she'd said. "You know what I mean? You realize it's a good thing you've done but the habit dies hard."
Precisely.
You didn't live with a man for ten years and then grow accustomed to living without him in the blink of an eye. Habit, that was all that empty feeling was. And even bad habits were tough to break.
She was adjusting, though, little by little. Already, she could see how many good things there were to consider about her new life.
Little things, some of them. Like not finding the toilet seat up when it should have been down. Like no wet bath towels draped over the shower door. And if she wanted to read in the middle of the night there was nobody lying beside her to groan, roll onto his belly, put his pillow over his head and say, in that martyred voice, "No, that's fine, the light doesn't bother me at all."
Even better, there was nobody to sit and wait aimlessly for at the end of the day, though why she had, the past couple of years, was beyond her comprehension. Why wait for a man who'd almost invariably phone at seven o'clock to tell you he wouldn't be home for dinner, when you'd already figured that out an hour ago? Why even be there when he finally breezed in at nine or ten or later, aimed a kiss in your direction and said, "Hello, I'm exhausted, good night, I'll see you in the morning, and oh, by the way, how was your day ... " all m. one breath? If he came home at all. If he didn't spend the night, a week's worth of nights, in California or Vermont or Bali or any damned place on the planet except his own bed, with his own wife.
The gall of him, expecting her to turn into a hot-blooded sex kitten the times he was in that bed. There was more to living together than sex but Gage seemed to have forgotten that.
Tears burned in Natalie's eyes. Angry tears. She certainly didn't feel anything for him anymore. Nothing but anger, at the way he'd eliminated her from his existence, except when he wanted physical relief or when he needed her to look like the elegantly gowned-and-groomed trophy she had become.
No, she didn't feel anything for him. And that was fine.
She didn't want to feel anything for him, not anymore. Not ever. Not-
The Cessna banked to the right.
"Espada," Gage said, and jerked his head towards her window.
Natalie looked, but tears blurred her vision. She didn't have to see what 'Was out there; she knew every inch of this place. The dusty airstrip, the endless acres of brown earth, the rolling green hills, the butte where she and Gage had first made love.
Espada, there, their life together had begun. Now they were returning to it, when everything between them was over.
She'd left this place ten years ago, run away with Gage because they'd been too much in love to let anyone or anything keep them apart. And she still loved him, heaven help her, loved this man who'd turned into someone she didn't know and didn't even like.
She couldn't spend the weekend with him here. It would be too painful. If Jonas was on his deathbed, she'd pay her respects, then ask Abel or one of the ranch hands to drive her to the airport in Austin.
If Jonas was on his deathbed, she thought, and at that moment
she knew, absolutely knew, that he wasn't.
She swung towards Gage as the plane's wheels touched down.
"It's not true, is it?"
"What?" Gage motioned to his headset. "I can't-" "Oh, stop it! Don't make it worse by lying some more!"
Natalie slammed her fist into his shoulder. "Admit it!"
"Dammit, Nat, are you nuts? Stop bouncing around. And stop slugging me. You want us to crash?"
"Crash into what? We're on the ground and there's miles and miles of-of nothing out there." She punched him again as he shut off the engines. "You lied about not being able to hear me. And about Jonas."
"Now, Natalie-"
"Don't you 'now, Natalie' me, Gage Baron. If you think that-that kidnapping me is going to stop me from ... "
"Just listen to yourself," Gage said. "I'm a liar. A kidnapper. What's next? Am I a serial killer, too, just because we haven't been able to work out our little problem?"
"You call a divorce 'little'?"
"Considering the reason we're here, I do."
"What reason?" Natalie glared at him. "Or are you going to go on pretending your father's at death's door?"
Gage cleared his throat. "I, ah, I never said-"
Natalie flung her door open. "He'd better be," she snapped. "You hear me, Gage? Jonas had damn well better be dying, or-"
"Or what?" a leathery voice demanded.
Natalie looked around. Her father-in-law was standing beside the wing, looking as indestructible as ever. He was smiling, too, as if to remind her that, over the years, he'd accepted his son's decision to marry beneath him.
"Jonas." Natalie flushed. "I didn't mean-"
"I hope not, because unless you know somethin' I don't, I'm a long way from breathing my last." Jonas Baron held out his arms. "Let me help you down and then you can tell me why you're determined to hurry me into my grave."
She didn't tell him.
How could she say, "Jonas, your son brought me here under false pretences because he doesn't like the idea that I've left him"? when standing right behind her father-in-law were Travis and Slade and Caitlin. The entire Baron clan was waiting to greet her with hugs and kisses. It was not really the right moment to point out that she wasn't supposed to be there because she and one of the clan members were getting a divorce.
So Natalie smiled brightly and lied every bit as glibly as her husband. Jonas, she said, had misunderstood her. She hadn't said "dying," she'd said "trying"; that what she'd meant was that Gage had told her Jonas was trying to get them all gathered together for the weekend, and the more she talked the worse it sounded and the more puzzled her in-law’s faces became until, finally, Gage jumped into the conversation and said he'd been away' and he'd phoned home and left a message on the machine for Natalie but the machine must have garbled it.
Jonas frowned and said that didn't make any sense.
"You got your invitation by courier, boy, ten days ago, same as your brothers."
"Yeah," Travis said, "remember? Slade and I called you and you said-"
"Oh, for God's sake," Caitlin said briskly, "who gives a damn what anybody said? Nat, you come on in the truck with me. Let the men talk themselves to death in the Jeep."
Natalie threw her a grateful smile. "Bless you, Catie," she whispered as Caitlin put an arm around her waist and hurried her off.
"Bless me, my foot," Caitlin whispered back, peering at Natalie from under a cluster of escaped auburn curls. "What in the Sam Hill is going on with you and that dumb brother of mine?"
Natalie's smile lit the cab of the truck as Caitlin got behind the steering wheel. "Not a thing," she said, and burst into tears.
Gage figured that things were so bad that the day couldn't get any worse.
His brothers had given him funny looks when Natalie launched into that tongue twister of an explanation after getting off the plane, but Caitlin had rushed her away so quickly that there'd been no time for questions.
And then Jonas had ordered his sons into the Jeep and they'd set off for the house in a bone-jarring ride that had raised enough dust to cover all the Barons from head to toe. Now they were sitting in the library, every one of them except the old man trying his best not to spread that dust over the leather chairs and mahogany furniture.
There was a tap at the door. "What?" Jonas roared.
Marta Baron, wife number five, poked her head into the room.
"I just wanted to say hello to Gage, and see if you gentlemen wanted anything."
Gage got to his feet and crossed the room. Marta was sixtyish, elegant, and-as far as he could tell-the best of the old man's wives. That she'd lasted more than a year still amazed him.
"Hello, gorgeous," he said, kissing her cheek. "Still hanging in there, I see."
Marta smiled. "I'm here for the duration."
"Babble, babble, babble," Jonas said irritably. "You can play catch-up at lunch, Marta. Right now, my sons and I have things to discuss."
"Certainly," Marta said pleasantly. She patted Gage's cheek, winked at Slade and Travis, and the door swung shut.
Jonas sank back into his chair, stretched out his legs and crossed his scuffed boots at the ankles.
"Well, this certainly is an occasion. All my sons, under one roof." He smiled thinly. "All it takes, apparently, is thinking' that I'm at death's door."
Gage cleared his throat. "Natalie didn't mean-"
"I'm not talkin' about Natalie. You're here, and your brothers are here. And a bunch of butt-kissers are comin' by for the weekend. Am I really supposed to think that would have happened if I weren't approachin' my eighty-fifth birthday?"
Travis sighed. "Just because you're going to be eighty-five doesn't mean-"
"Bull patties. If I'm not at death's door, I'm certainly in its anteroom. Can we at least agree on that?"
"What's agreed," Slade said pleasantly, "is that we've come here to celebrate your birthday, not to quarrel with you."
Jonas looked at all three of them. Then he turned away, picked up a wooden box and flipped it open to expose a row of Cuban cigars.
"Have one," he said. Gage, Travis, and Slade all politely declined. The old man snorted, plucked a cigar from the box, bit off the tip and spat it into a heavy crystal ashtray. "Figured you boys would have grown up enough to appreciate a fine cigar by now."
His sons made no response. Jonas sighed, lit up and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Nothing like a fine cigar," he said, "except maybe a fine woman."
Gage flashed a look at Slade, who rolled his eyes. Or a shot of good bourbon, Slade mouthed silently ...
"Or a shot of good bourbon," Jonas said. He rose, walked to the mahogany sideboard, took four crystal glasses from a shelf, then opened a bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Are you boys grown up enough for that?"
"Yes," Travis said, and smiled. "But I suspect you know that Gage would rather have an ale, Slade would prefer a beer, and I'd opt for a glass of whatever red wine is open."
Jonas chuckled. "Some things just don't change." "No," Gage said, "they don't."
The old man's bushy white eyebrows lifted. "Testy mood you're in, boy. That wife of yours givin' you a hard time?"
Gage looked at his father. "No," he said coldly. "'Course she is. The temperature in that airplane couldn't have been a degree above freezin'."
"You're wrong, Father."
Jonas· contemplated the tip of his Cigar. ''I'm never wrong."
"You like to think so."
"I know so. Didn't I try to tell you that girl would only bring you misery?"
"You did tell me. A thousand times, at least. But you were wrong. And I'd appreciate it if you'd remember that that 'girl' is a woman, and her name is Natalie."
"I know her name," Jonas said mildly. "Then please use it."
"Gage." Travis's voice was quiet, but it had a warning edge. "Father. . .Let’s calm down, okay? Slade's right. We're here to celebrate your birthday. Surely we can get through the weekend without quarrelling."
"And I didn't invite you
here for that purpose," Jonas said brusquely. He held the bottle of bourbon over the glasses. "Yes or no? You boys prefer your piss-water, you can have it. Got it all right over there, at the bar."
Gage sighed. It was a challenge. He knew it, and he knew his brothers knew it. Travis and Slade were right. It was the old man's birthday weekend.
"Sure," he said, and forced the image of a cold ale from his mind, "why not?"
Travis and Slade looked as if they'd cheerfully throttle him, given the chance, but they nodded in agreement.
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