Evening Hours

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  Crying out loud, she had dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around her upper torso and rocked back and forth until sleep had mercifully overtaken her.

  The following morning she had awakened to a numbness that had stayed with her for weeks. She had existed in a zombielike state. But she had finally made a promise to herself never to let her guard down ever again. She would never subject herself to that kind of pain and humiliation.

  To date, she had kept her word.

  But she had to admit that Cutler’s phone call had made a tiny dent in her shield of steel. Dredging up that awful memory had, however, served as a wake-up call.

  She had to keep her vow uppermost in her mind or she would sink back into that black hole from which she might never recover. She wasn’t about to let that happen. She had worked too hard, gone through too much hell to get where she was today. There wasn’t a man in this universe for whom it was worth sacrificing her peace of mind.

  Not even a hunk like Cutler McFarland.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hey, Sandy, come on in.” Her assistant couldn’t have chosen a better time to make her appearance. The past was just that, Kaylee reminded herself. She didn’t need to keep dragging it out of storage and rehashing it—for more reasons than one, the most pressing one being her work.

  “I knew you’d want to see me first thing, so here I am.”

  “And none too soon either. Even though I’ve culled this stack of shots, I need your critical and clinical eye.”

  “You got it. But before we get started, I think you might need to have a heart-to-heart with Jessica and Gwen. Maybe Barbie, too.”

  “Oh, dear, what’s going on now?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  Sandy made no apology for her choice of words, but then Kaylee didn’t expect her to. Her frankness was part of her winsome personality.

  “I hate to come to you with this, but they don’t seem to listen to me anymore,” Sandy went on. “I had to get away from them before I lost my cool and said something I’d regret.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Kaylee said, steel in her tone. “You’re right, that petty jealousy between those three has gone on long enough. With the Neiman Marcus and the Medical Alliance shows close on the horizon, I need to nip this in the bud right now.”

  “They may even refuse to work together.”

  “If they so much as hint at such at thing, none of them will work the shows.”

  Sandy grinned. “Lady, did I ever tell you I like your style?”

  “You’re full of it, too.” Kaylee grinned, then frowned. “Before you and I get down to the nitty-gritty, go get the three rebels and send them in.”

  Sandy’s eyebrows went up. “Now?”

  “Nothing like the present to kick some butt.”

  Five

  “Gwen, I’m counting on you to tell me what’s going on.”

  The model lifted her head with a defiant jut to her chin. Kaylee clenched her jaw to keep from coming on too strong in the beginning. She didn’t want to start World War Three unless it proved necessary.

  She had called the models into her office one by one. Gwen was the last. So far, she’d struck out. Jessica and Barbie had refused to divulge what had triggered the rift. Hopefully she would have more luck with Gwen, who was more even tempered than the other two.

  “I’m waiting,” Kaylee finally said.

  “What did the others say?”

  “That’s something I’m not prepared to share.”

  Gwen blew out a breath, then tightened her protruding lower lip.

  Of all the models who worked for the agency on a steady basis, this young lady had the most potential. Not only was she gorgeous—with perfect features that enhanced her alabaster skin, big dark eyes and coal-black hair—she had the body to match the face. Unlike the majority of her cohorts, she didn’t have to starve herself in order to remain thin as a stick. It was in her genes. She was a natural. At five foot ten, Gwen seemed to float down the runway or jump off the pages of a magazine.

  “I don’t have anything to say.” No mistaking the mutiny in her voice and features.

  “So that’s the way you want to play?”

  “Are you going to fire me?”

  Gwen’s question shocked Kaylee. Letting any of them go at this point had not crossed her mind. Dealing with temperamental girls and their heightened egos was a big part of her job. While she would like to throttle them when they acted like spoiled brats, she chose to curb that urge and opt for the diplomatic approach. That had always worked.

  Until today.

  Something was definitely going on, something more serious than the petty jealousies that often triggered these outbursts. The girls were three of her top models, and with two important style shows only weeks away, her strategy had to produce results. If none of the three was willing to talk, then she, with Sandy’s help, would have to go in the back door, which was not her first preference. It was her policy to be honest and direct with her girls. She always wanted them to know where they stood with her. She expected the same courtesy from them and for the most part, they complied.

  “Is that what you want?” Kaylee finally asked. “For me to fire you, that is?”

  “Of course not.” Gwen’s response was emphatic, though spots of color surged in her cheeks.

  A warning bell clanged in Kaylee’s head, but again she had no evidence, concrete or otherwise, to give her concern a bona fide name.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Gwen nodded.

  Kaylee chose her words carefully. “You’ve made your choice, and I’ll respect it. Having said that, I want to remind you that choices have consequences.”

  Kaylee paused hopefully to let that statement soak in. “And the consequences are not always pleasant.”

  Gwen lowered her head, but not before Kaylee glimpsed a moistening on her thick eyelashes. Suddenly she felt the urge to get up and give the girl a comforting hug. But that would show a weakness she couldn’t allow if she didn’t want this situation to blow up in her face.

  “Can I go now?”

  “You may. But I’ll tell you what I told the others. I won’t put up with any behavior that blights this agency or its reputation.”

  When Gwen stood, her face turned chalk-white, and another alarm went off silently inside Kaylee’s head.

  “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “My suggestion is that the three of you go for pizza—”

  Gwen gasped. “Did you say what I think you said?”

  It was all Kaylee could do to keep a straight face. “If you’re referring to the word pizza, yes.”

  “You’re telling me that we can have pizza?”

  “If that’s what it takes to settle this mess between you three, then I’ll even spring for it.”

  Gwen’s features broke into a smile, but for only a second. Her solemn, troubled look quickly returned, and she shifted her gaze.

  Kaylee smothered a sigh before motioning toward the door. “Go on, get out of here and get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gwen muttered, then fled as if her backside was on fire.

  Feeling as if all the energy had been sucked out of her, Kaylee stayed put. Her leg was also throbbing, which meant she should’ve strapped on her brace before leaving that morning.

  But she hadn’t. On purpose. Some days she simply couldn’t deal with that piece of steel, and today was one of them. Kaylee’s conversation with Gwen, or rather the lack of one, had frustrated her, a rare condition since most of the time she could reason through any problem.

  She considered herself to be one tough cookie who could overcome any obstacle thrown in her path. From age sixteen on, she had borne more than most, but it had given her character depth and strength, both traits she needed to run a successful business, though it still wasn’t as prosperous as she wanted it to be.

  Only when she reimbursed her godfather and mentor, Drew Rush
, for the money he had lent her to start the agency would she feel completely successful. Although he hadn’t been sure this business would take off in Houston, he’d told her to go for it, that he would back her 100 percent.

  If the agency continued on its present course, Kaylee would have Drew paid off sooner rather than later. Diversity was the key to her success, or so she’d been told by a friend at the Ford Modeling Agency in New York. She had visited with Emily Austin many times before making the decision to open her agency.

  Emily’s advice had been to lean heavily toward the commercial side of the business rather than the live fashion side, though Kaylee was proud that her models did fashion as well, catering to the large upscale stores in the city such as Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy’s.

  Yet her agency’s focus was on jobs for clients who promoted household items, vehicles of all sizes and shapes, hardware, baby goods, cosmetics and the many essentials people used daily.

  Print modeling, which catered to catalogs, high-fashion magazines, billboards and so on was gaining popularity and momentum in her agency, and as a result, Kaylee had gotten nationwide recognition.

  “How did it go?”

  Shaking her head, Kaylee smiled, then gestured for Sandy to come in and sit down. “It didn’t.”

  “Ah, so they took the Fifth.”

  “That’s about the size of it, even though I spoke to them separately.”

  “Good move,” Sandy said, sitting down, then neatly arranging a stack of folders on her lap. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

  “None of the three would budge.” Kaylee shook her head. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  A silence ensued during which Kaylee absently rubbed her quad on the bad leg, feeling a bit of relief in that sore muscle. She longed to be home soaking in a hot tub of water with bubbles up to her neck.

  Suddenly the image of Cutler McFarland joining her, naked, popped into her mind.

  Where had that come from?

  Feeling her face turn crimson, Kaylee ducked her head before Sandy noticed anything amiss.

  “So how do you want to play this?” Sandy asked.

  “I’m open for suggestions.”

  Sandy shrugged. “Continue to ignore it.”

  “That’s what I’m leaning toward, but—” Kaylee broke off, her mind getting ahead of her words.

  “But what?” Sandy pressed.

  “What if it, whatever this is, continues to simmer until it blows up?”

  “Then we’re screwed.”

  “My thought exactly.”

  “So tell me what you want me to do,” Sandy said. “If anything.”

  Kaylee thought for another long moment. “Talk to the other girls, see if any of them knows what’s going on.”

  “Do you think they’ll rat?”

  “No,” Kaylee said, “but it’s worth a try, especially since this group seems to be so competitive.”

  “If that fails?” Sandy left her sentence open-ended.

  “We’ll have to go to plan B?”

  Sandy leaned her head sideways. “And that is?”

  “Let’s just say I’ll know when the time comes.”

  Sandy gave the thumbs-up sign. “Works for me.”

  “Meanwhile, just keep your eyes and ears open.” Kaylee’s features turned grim. “If they have done anything to hurt this agency’s reputation, then I won’t hesitate to give them their walking papers.”

  Cutler took another sip of his coffee, then looked at his watch. He should’ve already been in his office preparing for his first court appearance of the day. He was dead tired and had needed some down time, so he’d indulged himself and was out on the balcony of his River Oaks high-rise apartment with his feet propped up, a full cup of freshly dripped coffee in hand.

  He deserved this moment of respite, didn’t he?

  Not when he had more to do than was possible to get done, he told himself with a smirk. He’d been in tight situations before—in fact, he performed better when he was under the gun. But with the upcoming election, fast turning nasty, and his high-profile caseload, he felt as if his insides were in a meat grinder.

  Even sitting there with a bee buzzing around his head, he couldn’t unwind. He figured that if he didn’t win a second term, perhaps he could get used to lollygagging, but he knew with a deepening smirk that would never happen. He had far too much energy. Hyperactive had been his mother’s term for his inability to stop moving.

  Mary McFarland, unlike her son, had the patience of Job. He bet he’d almost driven her over the edge more times than she would care to count. Not only had he always been on the move, both physically and mentally, but he’d been inquisitive and had always demanded answers. He never stopped until he had them.

  And he’d been argumentative to boot.

  “Son, you’ve definitely chosen the right career,” his mother had told him in her firm but sweet voice. “You’ll make a perfect attorney.”

  He had his doubts about the perfect part, but he’d done his best. For the most part, he had never been sorry he’d chosen his profession, although dealing with scum on a daily basis worked on him, especially lately when he had to deal with postpartum women who murdered their kids. Those kinds of cases cut him to the core. Even so, he had to push his personal disgust aside and see that justice was served.

  And that was what he intended to do, no matter how repugnant or controversial. He’d nail the “haves” as quickly as he would the “have nots.” Class, gender, finances or the lack thereof made not one whit of difference to him. If someone broke the law, he wouldn’t stop prosecuting until they paid.

  Such hard-line tactics had made him a lot of enemies.

  It had gained him a few friends, too, or at least he liked to think that. Time, and the election, would prove that one way or the other. In the meantime he’d best attack the stack of folders on top of his desk.

  He had just drained his cup when his cell phone rang. After checking the name on the caller ID, he frowned but flipped the lid anyway. “Morning, Julia.”

  “Are you at the office?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  A short silence ensued, followed by a sigh as if his one-syllable answers irritated her. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just moving slow.”

  Julia laughed. “That’s a first.”

  “Actually, I’m on my way out the door,” he said, even though that wasn’t quite the truth.

  “I just wanted to remind you about dinner tonight. Remember, I’ve asked several other couples to join us.”

  He winced, having forgotten. “I don’t know, Julia. I—”

  “Don’t do this to me, Cutler. Just bear in mind these particular friends can help you politically. They all have deep pockets. Besides, you promised.”

  He doubted that, but he must’ve made a commitment of sorts. Damn, but that was the last thing he wanted to do, the last place he wanted to go. “How ’bout I call you later in the day?”

  “All right, but call me on my cell. I’ll be out of the office showing houses all day.” Julia paused, then added with emphasis, “I’m counting on you not to let me down.”

  “Later, okay? I gotta run.”

  Once his cell was back in his pocket, Cutler picked up his cup and stared at the empty bottom. He tried to come up with a viable excuse to skip tonight even though his conscience pricked him. He’d much rather be working, which was not a good sign.

  When it came to women, he needed to be more social. The old adage was true: all work and no play made for a dull guy. He didn’t think he was in the dull arena yet, but he was getting close despite Julia’s efforts to the contrary. Maybe he should bow out of that relationship, take a breather, so as not to give her hope that wasn’t there.

  If the invitation had come from Kaylee Benton, he wouldn’t have hesitated to jump at her beck and call. He had never met a woman he wante
d immediately. But he wanted Kaylee. That was an emotion he hadn’t felt in several years. She had stirred the banked-down fire in his loins, made him hungry for a woman’s touch, made him hungry to be inside her.

  He’d never married, much to his mother’s disappointment. Since he was an only child, she had no one else to look to for grandchildren. While he’d rather do most anything than disappoint her, he simply hadn’t been able to make that commitment. When a woman interfered with his job, he cut her loose.

  Kaylee seemed much the same. A match made in heaven. A smile crossed Cutler’s lips. She had looked so soft, so delicate, so much a woman, and he desperately wanted to get to know her better. He sensed she felt the same way, although she had turned down his invitation to dinner.

  He wasn’t giving up, though. He wouldn’t have tagged her as a woman who played coy, but he couldn’t rule that out. Not yet, anyway. Whatever obstacle held her back, he’d bet it had something to do with those sad eyes, and he wanted to overcome it.

  The bottom line was he wanted her and he intended to have her.

  His cell phone rang again. “Damn,” he muttered as he stood. Without looking at the caller ID, he said, “McFarland.”

  “Son?”

  “Hi, Dad, what’s up?”

  “It’s your mother.”

  It wasn’t so much what Trevor said, but the tone he used. Hair stood up on the back of Cutler’s neck. “What about her?”

  “She’s sick. I need to call the doctor, only she won’t let me.”

  Swallowing his panic, Cutler said, “Call the damn doctor. I’m on my way.”

  Six

  Drew Rush stared at the blonde’s creamy white rear exposed to his view.

  “Cover yourself,” he said in a harsh tone.

  Jill Jay rolled over and stared at him through wide, wary eyes. “You’re not coming back to bed?”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  Her wariness turned to fear, and she bolted upright. “Uh, sorry.”

  “If you do like you’re told, you never have to be sorry.” Though he never raised his voice, it sounded chilling even to his own ears. “How many times do I have to tell you that?” A cold smile accompanied that question.