Winter Roses

by Diana Palmer

  IVY felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under her as she stared into Stuart’s pale eyes. His gaze dropped to her soft, full mouth and lingered there until she thought her heart would burst out of her chest. She stared at his hard mouth and remembered, oh, so well, the feel of it against her own. The need was like a desperate thirst that nothing could quench. She started to lean toward him. His hand contracted. His face hardened. She could see the intent in his eyes even before he reached for her.

  And just then, the car lurched forward as the traffic light changed, separating them before they’d managed to get close.

  Ivy laughed breathlessly, nervous and shy and on fire with kindling desire.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re safe,” he murmured, although he still had her hand tight in his. “But don’t get too comfortable.”

  She only smiled. His eyes were promising heaven. It seemed impossible that they’d been enemies for so long. This familiar, handsome, compelling, sexy man beside her had become someone she didn’t know at all. The prospect of the future became exciting. But even as she felt the impact of her own feelings for him, she remembered why she was in New York City. Dreams would have to wait for a while.

  They went back to Rachel’s apartment to arrange things. Stuart went down to talk to the apartment manager. Ivy stayed in the apartment and began going through drawers again.

  She found a photo album. She sat down with it on the couch and opened it. As she expected, the photos were all of Rachel. There was one of their father, sitting on the porch swing at his house. There were a few of their mother. There wasn’t one single picture of Ivy anywhere in the album. It stung. But it wasn’t unexpected.

  She put the album aside and picked up a letter, addressed to Rachel and marked Private. It was trespassing. She felt guilty. But she had to know what was in the letter, especially when she read the return address. It was an expensive stationery, and the return address was that of a law firm in Texas.

  Just as she started to open it, she heard foot steps. They weren’t Stuart’s. She stood up and slipped the letter into her slacks’ pocket just as the door flew open.

  Jerry Smith walked into the apartment as if he owned it. He was somber and angry. His narrow eyes focused on Ivy with something like hatred.

  “What are you doing here?” Ivy asked coldly.

  He shut the door behind him and smiled. The smile was sleazy, demeaning. He looked at Ivy as if she were a street walker awaiting his pleasure.

  “So, it’s the little sister, come looking for buried treasure, is it? Don’t get too comfortable here, sweet heart. Everything in this apartment is mine. I paid for all this.” He swept his arm around the room. “Mustn’t steal things that don’t belong to you,” he added in a sarcastic undertone.

  She would have backed down even a year ago. But she’d spent too much time around Stuart to cave in, especially when she knew he was nearby and likely to return any minute. This sleazy drug dealer didn’t know that, and it was her ace in the hole.

  “Any photographs and quilts and paintings in here are mine,” she returned icily. “You don’t get to keep my family heir looms.”

  “Quilts.” He made the word sound disgusting. “Rachel thought they were worth a fortune, because they were handmade. She took them to an antique dealer. He said they were junk. She tried to give them away, but nobody wanted them. She used them to pack her crystal in, for when she planned to move next month.” He shrugged. “I guess she won’t be moving anywhere.”

  Her relief at knowing the quilts weren’t trashed disappeared when he made that odd statement. “Rachel never said anything about moving. Where was she moving to?”

  “Back to your little hick town, apparently,” he said. “She owned a house there.”

  “She didn’t,” Ivy returned, and felt guilty as relief flooded her. Rachel had planned to come home and let Ivy be her personal slave. “She sold the house two years ago.”

  “Whatever. She didn’t remember much. I warned her about that damned meth. I don’t even sell it, because it’s so dangerous, but she got hooked on it and wouldn’t quit.”

  “Did you kill her?” Ivy asked curtly.

  “I didn’t have to,” he muttered. “She stayed comatose half the time, ever since she lost that big part she’d just landed in a play that’s starting on Broadway in a couple of months. Her lover’s wife knew the producer. She had him drop Rachel, then she called and told her all about it. She promised Rachel that she’d never get a starring role ever again. That was when she hit bottom.”

  “They’re doing an autopsy.”

  He shrugged. “They usually do, when people die suddenly. I didn’t kill her,” he repeated. “She killed herself.” He looked around, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t take anything out of here until I have time to go through her things.”

  “I’ve already taken her jewelry to a bank for safekeeping,” Ivy returned.

  “You’ve what?” He moved toward her, his hands clenched at his sides. “That jewelry is worth a king’s ransom! She wheedled it out of that old man she was sucking up to!”

  “Which means it belongs to him,” Ivy replied.

  “You’d really give it back to him, wouldn’t you?” he taunted. “God, what an idiot you are! Tell you what, you give me half of it and I’ll forget where it went.”

  “You can only bribe dishonest people,” she said quietly. “I don’t care that much about money. I only want to make a living.”

  “Rachel would have kept the lot!”

  “Yes, she would have. She took and took and took, all her life. The only human being she ever cared about was herself.”

  “Well, you’re not blind, are you?” He moved into the bedroom and opened drawers while Ivy hoped that Stuart would come back soon. Seconds later, Jerry barreled out of the bedroom. “Where is it?”

  She blinked. “Where is what?”

  “The account book!”

  She frowned. “What account book? There wasn’t any account book here!”

  He went white in the face. “It’s got to be here,” he muttered to himself. He started going through drawers in the spacious living room, taking things out, scattering them. “It’s got to be here!”

  She couldn’t under stand what he was so upset about. Obviously there would be some sort of record of rent and other expenditures, but who kept a journal in this day and time?

  “Wouldn’t it be on the computer?” she asked, indicating the laptop on the dining room table.

  “What? The computer?” He turned on the computer and pulled up the files, one by one, cursing harshly as he went along. “No, it’s not here!” He stared at her over the computer. “You took it, when you took the jewelry, didn’t you?” he demanded. “Did you get my stash, too?”

  He strode into the bathroom. Loud noises came from the room. He appeared again with some small bags of white powder. “At least only one is missing,” he said, almost to himself. He stuffed the bags into his pants pockets. He glared at Ivy. “I don’t know what your game is, but you’d better find that journal, and quick, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “What journal?” she demanded. “For heaven’s sake, my sister just died! I’m not interested in your house hold accounts!”

  He glared back.

  “Did she have any life insurance?” she asked, forcing herself to calm down. “A burial policy?”

  “She didn’t expect to die this young,” he returned. “No, there’s no life insurance.” He smiled coolly. “You can leave the apartment and its contents to me. Now take whatever you want of her ‘heir looms,’ and then get the hell out of this apartment.”

  She wanted to argue, but Stuart would be here soon, and after Jerry got his comeuppance, he wasn’t likely to let her back in again. She retrieved the quilts out of the closet, leaving the crystal stacked neatly on the floor. She took the photo album, although the photos were mostly of Rachel. She took none of the dresses or gowns or shoes or furs. Rachel’s whole life boil
ed down to frivolous things. There wasn’t a single book in the entire apartment.

  Clutching the quilts and the photo albums, she moved back into the living room, where Jerry was still pulling open drawers, looking for the mysterious journal.

  He seemed surprised when he saw what she had. “There were evening gowns in the closet. Weren’t you interested in them? You and Rachel were almost the same size.”

  “I can buy my own clothes,” she replied. It was a sore spot. Just once, when she was sixteen, she’d asked to borrow one of Rachel’s gowns to wear to the prom. Rachel had asked why, and Ivy had confessed that a nice boy from the grocery store had invited her to the prom. So when he came to the house, Rachel had flirted with him and before he left, Rachel had teased him into driving her to Houston to see some friends on the same night as the prom. Then Rachel had mocked Ivy about borrowing the gown, adding that she hardly needed one since she no longer had a date.

  “Did Rachel send you anything to keep for her?” Jerry persisted.

  “Rachel only phoned me when she wanted me to send her something,” she replied. “She wouldn’t have trusted me with anything. She never did.”

  “Yeah, she said you stole her stuff when she was living at home.”

  Ivy’s face went red with bad temper. “I never took anything of hers. It was the other way around. She could tell a lie to anyone and be believed. It was her greatest talent.”

  “I guess you were jealous of her, because she was so beautiful,” he replied.

  “I’m not jealous of people who don’t have hearts.”

  He laughed coldly. “Beauty makes up for character.”

  “Not in my book.”

  He moved toward her, noting her quick backward movement. He smiled tauntingly. “Maybe you and me could get together some time. You’re not pretty, but you’ve got spirit.”

  “I’d rather get together with a snake.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Suit yourself. I guess you’ll grow old and die all alone in that hick town you come from.” He touched her long, blond hair. “You could have some sweet times if you stayed here with me.”

  The door flew open and Jerry’s face went rigid as the tall, dangerous man saw what Jerry was doing, stalked right up to him, took his hand from Ivy’s hair and literally pushed him away.

  “Touch her again and I’ll break your neck,” Stuart said, his whole demeanor threatening.

  “Hey, man, I’m cool!” he said, backing even further away with both hands raised, palms out.

  The flippant, cocksure young man of seconds before was flushed with nerves. Ivy didn’t blame him. Stuart in a temper was formidable. He never lost control of himself, but he never flinched when con fronted. The meanest of his cowboys walked wide around him on the ranch.

  Ivy felt relief surge up inside her. Instinctively she moved closer to Stuart—so close that she could feel his strength and the warmth of his body. His arm slid around her shoulders, holding her near. She felt safe.

  “I was just telling Ivy that this stuff is mine,” Jerry said, but not in a forceful tone. “My money paid for it.”

  “And I told him,” Ivy replied, “that all I wanted was whatever heir looms from my family that Rachel kept here. I’ve got them…three quilts and a photo album.” She was holding them.

  “Ready to go?” Stuart asked her calmly, but his cold eyes were pinning Jerry to the wall.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “All right, then.”

  She grabbed her purse from the table and went through the doorway. Stuart gave Jerry one last, contemptuous look before he closed the door behind them.

  “The drug dealer, I take it?” he asked, relieving Ivy of the quilts.

  “Yes. He was being very nasty until you showed up. Thanks for saving me.”

  He chuckled. “You were doing pretty well on your own, from what I saw.” He led the way into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. “At least you won’t have to dispose of the apartment and its contents.”

  “Yes, that’s one worry gone.” She looked up at him. “He was des per ate to find some sort of account book he said Rachel had. He was frantic when he couldn’t locate it.”

  “Did you find it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “There weren’t any account books that I could see. He was furious about the jewelry, too,” she added.

  “He can try to get them back, if he likes. I have some great attorneys.”

  “I told him they were going back to the millionaire who gave them to her,” she replied.

  He laughed. “That must have given him hives.”

  “He was upset. I meant it, though.” She grimaced. “But how am I going to find out who he is?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” he said, so easily that Ivy relaxed. “All you have to worry about is the funeral. And I’ll help with that.”

  “You’ve been so kind,” she began.

  He held up a hand. “Don’t start.”

  She smiled. “Okay. But thanks, anyway.”

  “I couldn’t leave you to do it alone.” He led her out of the elevator when it stopped and out to the limousine, which was waiting for them just beyond the entrance. Stuart motioned to the driver and he pulled out of his parking space and around to the front of the apartment building.

  The quilts were placed in the trunk and Stuart helped Ivy into the limousine.

  They went back to the hotel. Ivy felt drained. She hadn’t done much at all, but the stress of the situation was wearing on her nerves.

  “You can have the master bedroom,” he offered. “I’ll have the one across the living room…”

  “But I don’t need all that room,” she protested. “Please. I’d really rather have the smaller of the two.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He put her suitcase onto the bed in the smaller room and left her to unpack. “Why don’t you lie down and rest for a while? I’ve got some phone calls to make. Then we’ll see about supper.”

  “I haven’t got anything fancy with me,” she said as she opened the suitcase. “Oh, no,” she muttered, grimacing as she realized that she’d only packed another pair of slacks and two blouses and an extra pair of shoes. She’d for got ten that she was going to spend the night.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I didn’t pack a night gown…”

  “Is that all?” He pursed his lips, letting his eyes slide down her body. “I can take care of that. You get some rest. I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t answer the door,” he added firmly. He didn’t add why. He was sure the tabloids would pick up the story, and some enterprising reporter could easily find out that Ivy was in town to see to her sister’s burial arrangements. He didn’t want Ivy bothered.

  “I won’t answer the door.” She wanted to offer to give him some money to get her a night gown, but she didn’t have it. The airfare and taxis had almost bankrupted her.

  He was gone before she could even make the offer. She kicked off her shoes and put the open suitcase on the folding rack. Then she sank down onto the comfortable bed, in her clothes. She didn’t mean to doze off, but she did. The long day had finally caught up with her.

  She woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She started sitting up even before she opened her eyes, and a deep, masculine chuckle broke the silence.

  “That’s exactly how I react to fresh coffee when I’ve been asleep,” he murmured, standing over her with a cup and saucer. The cup was steaming. He handed it to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She smiled drowsily as she took it. The color told her that he’d poured cream in it. He’d remembered that she only liked cream in her coffee. It was flattering. It was exciting. So was the way he was looking at her.

  “Hungry?”

  “I could eat,” she replied.

  “I had room service send up a platter of cold cuts,” he told her. “Come on in when you’re ready.”

  She took a minute to bathe her face and put her hair back up neatly befor
e she joined him in the suite’s living room. The table held a platter of raw vegetables with several dips, as well as cold meats, breads and condiments.

  “Have a plate.” He offered her one. “I like a steak and salad, but it’s too late in the day for a heavy meal. Especially for you,” he added, studying her. “You need sleep.”

  She grimaced. “I haven’t really slept since this happened,” she confessed. “I always knew Rachel could over dose. But she’d been using drugs for years without any drastic consequences.”

  “Anyone can take too many pills,” he said, “and die without meaning to.”

  “Yes, like Hayes Carson’s brother did,” she remarked. “Hayes still isn’t over that, and it’s been years since his brother died.”

  He didn’t like the reference to Hayes, and it showed. He didn’t answer her. He loaded a plate and sat down with his own cup of coffee.

  She sat at the table alone, nibbling on food she didn’t taste. He was more taciturn than usual. She wondered why the mention of Hayes set him off like that. Perhaps they’d been rivals for a woman’s affection. Or maybe it was just because he didn’t want to see his sister get serious about Hayes.

  “He’s not a bad person,” she ventured.

  He glowered at her. “Did I say that he was?”

  “You can’t tell Merrie who to date,” she pointed out.

  He looked totally surprised. “Merrie?”

  “She and Carson are friends,” she persisted. “That doesn’t mean that she wants to marry him.”

  He didn’t answer. He frowned thoughtfully and sipped coffee.

  She didn’t under stand his odd behavior. She finished her food and her coffee. She was worn-out, and the ordeal wasn’t over. She still had the cremation ahead of her. There was something else, too. She would be truly alone in the world now. The thought de pressed her.

  “Are you going to call that man about the jewelry Rachel had?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Tomorrow. We’ll get everything else arranged then as well.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m curious about that ledger Rachel’s boy friend mentioned.”

  “Me, too,” she said wearily. “If he wants it that bad, it must have something to do with his clients.”