Courtney’s mouth twisted. She’d like to hear herself explain her sudden interest in ophthalmology to Roger.
Roger. A twinge of guilt rippled through her. Roger Winthrop was, after all, the real reason she’d decided against Hawaii. She’d just been so certain that her birthday would be the day that he’d finally pop the question.
And then he’d left for Chicago six days ago. On more Winthrop-Hamilton business.
Courtney smiled a little. But hope was not lost. Early that morning Roger had called and assured her that he would be back in Butte by late afternoon. He was interrupting his hectic schedule setting up a new W-H branch office just to be with her.
“I’m taking you to dinner,” he’d announced on the phone. “And I won’t accept any arguments to the contrary. In fact, if I’d have had any sense, I would’ve called yesterday, told you to hop a plane and meet me downtown here in the Windy City. There’s a five-star restaurant in the Loop I would’ve loved to show you off in!”
“I don’t care where we eat, Roger, just as long as you’re there.”
“Ah, Courtney, I’ve missed you, too. Be ready tonight, okay?” A buzzer sounded. “Gotta go. See you soon.” He sent her a kiss through the phone, then hung up.
Courtney glanced at her watch and gasped. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Roger would be here any minute. Quickly she abandoned her packing chores and hurried to her closet. Very little of her wardrobe remained at the house. From what was left she chose a simple cotton print skirt and a peasant blouse, trusting that Roger would be pleased.
She really had missed him. Sometimes their courtship seemed to be happening so fast, too fast. Other times, when he was out of town, as he so often was, she would find herself wondering if their relationship really existed at all.
Even so, she’d been flattered six months ago when Roger had returned to Butte from two years of schooling abroad and, just like that, announced his intentions to court her, then marry her, claiming his absence had only made him realize how much he loved her. For herself, Courtney had long harbored a secret crush on Fletcher Winthrop’s only offspring. Roger’s new air of European sophistication had made him seem all the more alluring.
She’d just finished arranging her honey-blond hair in a halo of soft curls, when the doorbell rang. Courtney hurried down the stairs from her second-floor bedroom and threw the front door open wide. Roger stood on the porch, resplendent in his Armani suit, silk shirt and custom-made tie, his blond hair cut to GQ perfection, his classic good looks the cause of many a turned female head whenever they were out together. Courtney wanted nothing so much as to fling herself into his arms and enjoy the pleasure of a welcome-home kiss.
But the look in his green eyes stopped her.
“What on God’s earth are you wearing?” he demanded.
Self-consciously, Courtney’s hand flew to the exposed area above her bodice. There was nothing at all provocative about the blouse. It wasn’t as if she’d snugged it down to display her cleavage or anything. “I...I...” she stammered, flustered and hurt. He hadn’t even said happy birthday.
“Go back upstairs,” he said, stepping into the entryway of the hundred-year-old Victorian mansion. “Change into something more suitable. I’ll wait.”
“But, Roger...” Her voice wavered a little.
His scowl dissipated. “Damn, Courtney, I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s been one hell of a long day.” He pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
The thrill Courtney had anticipated didn’t materialize. She was still stung by his reproach. “The only other clothes I have are a pair of blue jeans and a couple of old sweatshirts. Most of my things are at the new place in Elk Park.”
“Of course. How stupid of me. I’ve been under so much pressure in Chicago, I just...well, I guess I was just picturing how I know you would’ve looked if I’d taken you someplace spectacular back there. You look fine. Wonderful. My God, you could wear a gunnysack and make it look like Christian Dior.”
Courtney relaxed a little. The man had just gotten off a plane. And he’d made the long trip especially to see her. He could’ve just settled for the phone call. “Shall we go?”
He took her arm and led her out to the curb, where he’d parked his new Jaguar.
“You’re going to bring me back here, right?” she asked.
“Of course.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’ve missed you. Very much.”
As unobtrusively as she could manage, Courtney took a step away from him. She enjoyed his obvious affection, but she couldn’t shake the letdown she was still feeling. “I’m going to need to take the Jeep out to the new house.”
“You’re staying there tonight?”
She nodded. “I’ve got a lot of unpacking to do before Daddy gets back in a couple of weeks. You know how he hates clutter.”
“So I’ll take you out there in the Jag.”
“The roads aren’t very good. Your car...”
“Will be fine. Get in.”
After the unpleasantness about her clothes, Courtney wasn’t about to risk another argument. With a sigh she climbed into the Jaguar. Thankfully, the drive to the restaurant proved uneventful. Roger relaxed, became his usual, more congenial self. By the time their dessert arrived at the restaurant, Courtney was having a thoroughly delightful time.
“And you should have seen the way I had the place jumping,” Roger said. “That Chicago bunch really knows what they’re doing. It’s going to be a terrific boon to the company. Even my father will have to be pleased.”
“I’m so glad for you, Roger,” she said, and she was. Ever since Fletcher Winthrop had promoted Roger to an executive vice presidency some five months before, Roger had been under a tremendous amount of pressure to get things up and running in various cities throughout the world, Chicago being only the latest.
“I couldn’t have done any of it, if I hadn’t known you were always here waiting for me, darling.”
She blushed, genuinely pleased.
The waiter returned to pour her a second glass of wine, and Courtney was about to raise it in a toast when Roger reached into the pocket of his suit coat and extracted a tiny, velvet jewelry box. “This is for you, dear heart. Happy birthday. And many, many more.”
Courtney’s heart turned over. Was Roger about to make an official proposal? And why, when just such an occurrence had been exactly what she had thought she wanted only hours earlier, did she feel herself suddenly riddled with doubt?
Because it was perfectly natural to feel that way, she assured herself. Every engaged woman who ever lived had moments of doubt. Didn’t she?
Eagerly, Courtney opened the velvet box. Instead of a ring, she found herself staring at a pair of exquisitely made emerald-and-diamond earrings. Courtney dismissed the odd relief she felt. “Oh, Roger, they’re beautiful.”
He flashed her an adoring smile. “Not half as beautiful as you are, Courtney.”
She blushed.
He reached across the table and caught both of her hands in his own. His skin was warm, and yet Courtney felt a sudden, strange chill. “I love you, Courtney,” he said fervently. “And I think the time has finally come to ask—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Winthrop.” The waiter stepped back up to their table. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But you have a phone call. The party says it’s quite urgent.” The waiter set the phone on the table and left.
“Excuse me, darling,” Roger said, snatching up the receiver with obvious annoyance. “This had better be—” He stopped in midsentence, his face flushing. “Yes, Father. Yes. I’ve told you— Yes.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I can, but— Father, please, I— Yes, Father.” Roger replaced the receiver. For a long minute he didn’t speak.
Finally the silence grew so awkward that Courtney felt compelled to say something. “What did Fletcher—?”
“He wanted the same thing he always wants,” Roger snapped, cutting her off. “The moon, the sun, a coup
le of minor galaxies. Those damned idiots I’ve got working for me in Chicago have screwed everything up again. And somehow, as always, it’s my fault. The Chicago office was supposed to be up and running in three weeks by my father’s calculations. Unfortunately, it’s going to be more like two months. He just won’t listen. What does he expect when he hires incompetents...?”
“But I thought—” She stopped and amended her thoughts to, “You’ll show him, Roger. You always do.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes being the son of the co-owner of Winthrop-Hamilton isn’t the enviable position people think it is.”
“Tell me about it. I’m the daughter of the other guy, remember?”
“But Quentin’s not grooming you to take over the company.”
Courtney sighed. She didn’t want the company. Had never wanted it. And yet perversely, it would have been nice if her father had at least offered. Sometimes she wondered if she and Roger had been switched at birth. Her father adored Roger. And Fletcher Winthrop had always been like a doting uncle to her.
Roger ordered a Manhattan, a double.
“Don’t you think the wine was enough?”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Courtney.” He finished off the drink in two swift gulps. “I get quite enough of that from dear old Papa.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was ordering you about. That is, everything’s been so wonderful, I— Thank you again for the earrings.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stood and came around to help her with her chair. “Let’s get out of here. Your new house doesn’t have a phone yet, does it?”
“No. They’re coming out early next week I think.”
“Good.”
Courtney wondered what that was supposed to mean, but decided against asking. Whether or not Fletcher could call out to Elk Park hardly mattered, since Roger wasn’t going to be staying there. But Roger was just a little too drunk, a little too unpredictable right now. And she was suddenly very tired, even though it was barely nine o’clock. All she wanted to do was lie down in her own bed, which she now fervently wished wasn’t a half hour’s drive away at the new house.
Outside, it took Roger three times to get his key into the lock on the passenger door of the Jaguar. He opened it and gestured grandly for her to get inside.
“I think you’d better let me drive,” she told him.
He stiffened, his generous mouth tightening in a stubborn line. “You’re not driving my Jag.”
“Then let me call someone, get us a ride. You’ve had too much to drink to be behind the wheel.”
Grumbling, he handed her the keys. “All right, all right. You can drive. Just be careful.”
“I’ll take you to your apartment. Then I’ll leave your car at my place while I take the Jeep out to—”
“Absolutely not. I always see my dates to their doorstep. It’s a Winthrop policy. My father raised me to be a gentleman.”
“And he did a fine job, but—”
“No buts.” He looked at her, his green eyes suddenly pleading. “He’ll be calling me all night, Courtney. All night. Just let me sleep in one of the guest rooms, okay? I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”
He really did look boyishly endearing at that moment. “All right,” she said. “But just for tonight.”
“No problem. Tomorrow I have to head back to Chicago. The king commands.” They climbed into the car. “Be careful.”
“The roads...”
“Just be careful. It’ll be fine.”
A half hour later, Roger was cursing bitterly. No matter how slowly or how carefully Courtney drove, his low-slung car was taking a beating on the dirt road that led to the Hamilton Pine Ridge grounds in Elk Park.
Despite Roger’s sour mood, Courtney couldn’t help but smile as she approached the new home she and her father would share, at least when he wasn’t out of town on business, and she wasn’t off to Wellesley for college. Nestled in amongst a two-hundred-year-old stand of lodgepole and spruce, the house looked as though it had been carved out of the landscape itself. And in some places it had.
Both in the front, where a massive porch arced across the front and right side of the four-thousand-square-foot home and in the back where a huge deck opened onto much of the land’s twenty acres, trees had been built around and accommodated, appearing to grow up right through the woodwork. In the atrium her father had planned for the center of the house, a half-dozen trees and a tiny rill would serve as their own private wilderness within a much larger one. If she and her father agreed about nothing else, it was their love for this land.
“What the hell is that man doing here?” Roger muttered, interrupting her musings, as they pulled to a stop in front of the house.
Courtney’s heart skipped a beat. Of all the workman to still be here.... “There’s, uh, still a lot of work to do,” she stammered. “It appears that the man is a carpenter and he’s...he’s working on the porch rail.”
“I can see what he’s doing, for crying out loud. I meant what is he doing here? Now at nearly ten o’clock at night!”
“Daddy’s paying top dollar as always. There’s one or two crews here twenty-four hours a day. Daddy wants everything done by summer’s end.”
“Some crew. He’s one guy.”
Courtney watched the man straighten and tug a blue bandanna from his hip pocket. Always before, he had worn white T-shirts. Today he was wearing denim. Unbuttoned to the waist. And those blasted jeans clung to the well-defined muscle of his thighs like a second skin. As she watched—or was that stared?—the man wiped away the sweat that dripped from his face, then pocketed the kerchief and returned his attention to his work.
“Courtney?”
She jumped, looking guiltily back at Roger.
“Are you going to spend the night in the car?”
Quickly she climbed out. Together she and Roger headed toward the porch. Before they reached it, Courtney paused. Roger halted beside her. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she began.
“What?”
“Your staying here.”
Why did it suddenly seem so important that the man on the porch not get the wrong idea about her? And why in heaven’s name would it be the wrong idea? Why was she even thinking about what he might be thinking?
“I’m tired, Courtney,” Roger said. “And you were right. I have had too much to drink. I should just sack out for a while. I don’t think I could negotiate that road in the dark.”
The sun had long since dropped below the horizon. And the lingering light, so common in this high altitude, was now beginning to fade. Courtney’s shoulders sagged. He was right. She no longer had much choice in the matter. “I’ll make up a guest room for you.”
Again she started toward the house. She hadn’t gone two steps, when Roger suddenly grabbed her by the arm and swung her around to face him. Then he pulled her close, so close, she could smell the liquor on his breath. “Maybe we can do better than that. Maybe it’s time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A guest room won’t be necessary.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “I think I should spend the night in your room.”
Courtney’s spirits sagged. “You know better than that, Roger. We’ve talked about this before. More than once. We agreed to wait. To make a real commitment.”
“What more of a commitment do you want? I love you.”
Courtney was painfully aware that the workman on the porch had paused in his task. “Can we...can we talk about this in the house?”
“I want to talk about it now. Your father’s in Japan. I’m sure I can persuade Mr. Hammer and Nail to hit the road. It’s your birthday. I’ve been planning this night for a long time. If my father hadn’t—”
Courtney pulled free. “The guest room, Roger. That’s the deal.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you? I want you, Courtney. I love you. And after what my father’s been putting
me through...”
“Roger, don’t do this.”
He laid his hand on her bare shoulder. “Haven’t we played out the virgin act long enough? You want it, too. I know you do. That’s why you wore this blouse.” His hand slipped lower.
Courtney jerked back. “I wore this blouse because I thought you would like it. I... You can’t expect me to be some kind of antidote to your father’s bawling you out.” She didn’t dare cast a glance at the porch. She would die of humiliation if she did.
Roger’s green eyes glittered. “You make it sound like I’m a naughty little boy.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Roger, please, just go inside and lie down. Sleep it off.”
“I’ll show you how good it can be. Just let me—” He grabbed her arm, his fingers tightening.
“Roger, please!”
“Get your hands off the lady.” The man’s voice was silky soft, yet somehow lethal. “Or I’ll take them off for you.” He was standing directly behind her.
“I don’t take orders from the hired help,” Roger snapped. “And this isn’t any of your business, mister.”
“Maybe you’d best ask the lady’s opinion.”
Roger let go of her.
Courtney rubbed at the red marks his grip had left on her arm. There would be a bruise there in the morning. Roger stared at her, looking positively stricken. “My God, Courtney, I didn’t mean...” He touched her cheek. “Please forgive me. I had no idea. I’m sorry. Please. I’m so sorry.”
Courtney’s senses were on overload. She was still in shock. She took a step back only to collide squarely with the bare, sweating chest of the carpenter. She yelped in surprise. Despite her emotional turmoil, it took no more than a heartbeat—a crazy, trip-hammer heartbeat—to realize that studying this man from a distance hadn’t done him justice, hadn’t done him justice at all. Dark hair covered a magnificent chest. Sweat trickled down that muscled plane to arrow into faded, beltless denim jeans. He’d crooked his thumbs into the waistband of those jeans, so seemingly nonchalant, and yet all Courtney could think of was a panther ready to spring. No, not a panther. A wolf. Just like the one he had tattooed on his left forearm. She had to remind herself to breathe.
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