Emily watched the bird until it disappeared into a distant clump of blue spruce trees. The low rumble of the car engine made a soothing background noise, a counterpoint to the silent beauty of the hawk's flight. An unexpected sense of peace stole over her. Her jangled nerve endings, wounded by the trauma of Michael's rejection and the multiple stresses of the wedding, finally calmed down. Reveling in the view of snow-capped mountains, she rested her chin on her arms, feeling like a cat whose fur had finally been stroked back into sleekness after weathering a brutal storm.
"Almost there," Jordan said, easing into lower gear as he glanced across at her. "Are you tired? Getting to the house means a long drive on top of the flight from San Antonio, but I always think the end result is worth every minute of it."
"I'm tired," Emily acknowledged. "But this trip has been a pleasure, not a hardship. Even the stretch where we were driving along the regular highway was mostly gorgeous once we were clear of the airport."
"It's an amazing piece of interstate, isn't it? Makes a pleasant change to see herds of elk and buffalo as opposed to billboards advertising fast-food restaurants."
"Yes, it sure does."
"You mentioned that you hadn't been to Colorado before. Is it living up to your expectations? At least so far?"
There was something ridiculous about having this sort of a conversation with the man who was her husband. They sounded like two people who'd ended up as seat-mates on the same vacation tour bus, Emily thought ruefully. On the other hand, politeness sure beat the tension and suppressed hostility that often hovered right below the surface of their exchanges, so she decided not to break the mood with a surly comment.
"No, I've never been to Colorado," she said. "My parents are real homebodies and we didn't travel much when I was little. We did the standard trip to Washington D.C., and a couple of vacations on the Gulf shore when I was a teenager. And we went to Acapulco with some of my cousins one year, but Mom got horrible food poisoning, so we never tried that again."
"Do you like to travel? Or are you a homebody, too?"
"I love to travel, although finding vacation time can be a problem these days. My dad's business has been growing at such a rapid pace the last few years, it's been difficult to get away."
"You do the interior design work for all his model homes?"
"Yes, and I have a few private clients, too, which makes for a really hectic schedule." Remembering that Ted and Mary Christine Bernauer had been one of those private clients, Emily hurried on. "Luckily for me, Carolyn St. Clair is a whiz at finding last-minute travel bargains, and every so often she makes reservations for two, then forces me to go with her. We've taken a couple of really fun trips together. One to New England in the fall a couple of years ago, and another last summer to Alaska."
"Did you enjoy that?"
"We loved it. The high spot of the trip was encountering a family of polar bears on a trail walk. A mother and two cubs. It was a case of love at first sight, at least on our part. I'm not so sure about the bears."
"They refrained from eating you, so I guess you can claim there was a certain mutual esteem."
She laughed. "I'll have to tell Caro that."
"Carolyn seems to be a really good friend. How did you meet? It wasn't at college, was it?"
"No, Caro and I have done volunteer work with the Texas Fund for Children for several years, and one day we'd both volunteered to help out with an open house. Unfortunately, there was a massive power failure just minutes after dozens of important donors had arrived. Caro and I ended up serving lukewarm tea and melted chocolate mousse by candlelight. Most of the donors were very gracious, but even so, cleaning up afterward in hundred-degree heat was a real bonding experience, let me tell you. We've been good friends ever since."
Jordan slowed down to let a pair of squirrels chase each other across the road, and Emily pointed to a waterfall that cascaded down the side of the mountain, hitting the edge of the road in a dazzling display of foaming, frothing power. "That is so beautiful. Where does all the water come from?"
"It's snowmelt," Jordan said. "This mountain is almost thirteen thousand feet high, so it takes until June for the meltdown to begin in earnest. By the beginning of October, snow will start to fall again and the waterfall will freeze. The ice crystals are sometimes two or three feet long, and clustered several yards wide. It makes for an amazing sight."
"Good grief, that's only four months without snow and ice!"
He smiled at her horrified tone. "Yeah, it's a very short summer at this elevation. There's virtually no spring, just mud season, and fall lasts about three weeks. Long enough for the aspen to change color and lose their leaves, then winter sets in. I kind of enjoy winter, though. I like to cross-country ski, and this is a perfect spot for that. And in lots of ways I think the views are even more spectacular when the mountains are covered in snow."
"I thought it was written into the state constitution that Texans are forbidden to like snow."
He grinned. "I got a special dispensation. Anyway, I'm not a complete traitor. I like the snow best when I'm admiring it from inside the house, sitting in front of a huge fire. We're not talking hardy pioneer stuff here."
Emily could barely imagine anything more magnificent than the scene that surrounded her at this moment, but she accepted Jordan's word that winter was even better. With a touch of wry amusement, she found herself thinking that marriage to Jordan Chambers was almost worth it, if it meant that she got to spend the next week in this small corner of paradise.
The contrast with what she would have been doing at this moment if her wedding to Michael had gone ahead as planned was stark. She would probably have been lying on a Tahiti beach with Michael beside her. Or maybe sipping piňa coladas by the pool at the superdeluxe resort hotel he had selected for their honeymoon. Beach or pool-side, she was willing to bet that Michael would have been making endless calls to political cronies from his cell phone. And then there was the ubiquitous Jeff Greiff, ever present in spirit, if not in person. Two hours without contacting his campaign manager was about as long as Michael could go during waking hours.
Michael would have expected to make love to her last night, and Emily gave an involuntary shiver at the thought. He had been right to claim that their failure to make love was indicative of a real problem in their relationship. True, she was a person who lacked interest in sex. You didn't reach the age of twenty-seven with only one lover to your credit unless you were somewhat underendowed in the sexual appetite department. Still, she should have realized there was something seriously wrong as the weeks of their engagement stretched into months, and she had never felt the slightest urgency to initiate any sexual contact.
Jordan must have noticed her shiver. "Cold?" he asked. "We've been climbing steeply for the last half hour, and it starts to get pretty chilly at this elevation. If you need a sweater, I packed a couple of extras. I could get one out for you if you like."
"Later, maybe, but right now the cool air is wonderful after the San Antonio heat. I'm fine. Great, in fact." Emily realized that she was speaking the simple truth. She felt no regret for the lost pleasures of Tahiti, and even less regret for Michael's absence. He had chosen a lousy time to break off their engagement, and his refusal to take responsibility for the break had been contemptible, but she was becoming more and more convinced that she owed him a debt of gratitude for calling off their marriage.
She'd been so happy that her engagement pleased her parents that she'd never stopped to question how much of her own pleasure derived from gratifying them, rather than herself. In organizing a grandiose wedding, she'd kept herself too busy with military-precision-style planning to dwell on the fact that the core of her relationship with Michael was hollow. Their lack of intimacy—mental as well as physical—should have been glaringly apparent, but she'd refused to see what was under her nose. Instead of probing beneath the surface, she'd deliberately disguised the emptiness with nonstop, frenetic activity.
Em
ily felt Jordan's gaze resting on her inquiringly, and she turned away, reluctant to answer his unspoken questions. It was one thing to admit to herself that Michael had done her a favor in breaking off their engagement, another thing entirely to confess as much to Jordan.
In a disconcerting example of his ability to pick up on her mood, Jordan didn't push for confidences, didn't even comment on her sudden silence. "As soon as we turn this corner in the road, you'll be able to see the house where we're staying," he said. "Look straight ahead. Yeah, there it is."
Emily glanced up at the note of satisfaction in his voice, then felt her heart miss a beat when she saw what he was pointing toward. She couldn't remember ever seeing a house more perfectly attuned to its setting than the one that rose ahead of them. With a cedar shake roof, rough-hewn siding, and huge windows, it had a rustic charm that soothed the eye and grabbed the heart. Jordan drew the Jeep to a halt on a concrete apron built in front of the garage. "This is Elk Meadow, one of my favorite places in the world. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Em."
An odd tremor rippled down her spine every time he called her Em. She supposed it must be caused by suppressed irritation at his refusal to use her proper given name. Still, the house was lovely and she chose not to pick a fight.
"It's just beautiful," she said, getting out of the car. "And that's a totally inadequate word to describe it."
"The interior has some innovative design features. I think you'll be impressed."
"I already am." She turned to him with a smile. "If there's running hot water, I'm willing to declare the place perfect."
"There's hot water. There's even a Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom."
"Then I can't imagine anywhere I'd prefer to spend the next week." Picking up her purse and flight bag, Emily walked toward the porch that ran the entire length of the house. The sun shone with an intensity that rivaled San Antonio for fierceness, but the air was desert dry and cooled by a steady breeze. The scent of pine and wild-flowers had floated tantalizingly around her ever since she opened the car window down by the White Rocks River, but up here the scents were intense, almost heady.
"The house is built on a plateau," Jordan said, coming up behind her. "There's a meadow at the back. Take a look before we go inside." Putting his hand beneath her elbow, he guided her to the corner of the house.
Against a sky of dazzling blue, the meadow stretched for about five acres before dropping off into a ravine. The grass was lush with a feathery silver bloom, and blue columbines with yellow stamens grew tall and straight among the grasses. The breeze, its path interrupted by myriad mountain peaks, constantly changed direction, creating subtle changes in the predominant color of the meadow.
If this house were hers, Emily thought, she would take the wonderful, elusive shades of blue, gold and green and weave them into the decor of the house so there would be a seamless continuity between the magnificent natural setting and the interior design.
"I've always found this house is a pretty good place to unwind," Jordan said, standing with his hands shoved into his pockets and his gaze sweeping the horizon. "I thought we both might appreciate the chance to catch our breath for a few days, so this seemed like a good place to choose."
"We look as if we're in the middle of the wilderness, and yet we're no more than three hours from downtown Denver," Emily said. "This place is just magical, Jordan. How did you manage to discover it? Are the owners friends of yours? They must be. I can't imagine owning a house this perfect and then renting it out to anyone I didn't know well."
"Long story," he said. He paused for a moment before adding, "Actually the house is mine."
"Yours?" Emily looked at him blankly. "How in the world—" She stopped herself just in time from asking how he could possibly afford something so expensive.
"That's great," she said, recovering her polite smile. "What a terrific vacation home you've made for yourself, Jordan."
"Yeah, it is a great vacation spot." He grinned at her, his smile setting her nerve endings jangling with all their old force. "Go for it, Em," he said softly. "Forget prim and proper. For once in your life, say what's really on your mind."
"I've no idea what you mean…"
"Sure you do. My parents are always complaining that I have no money and no career, so you're dying to ask how I found the money to buy this house. Your worst suspicion is that I earned it in bed. That some grateful billionaire's wife gave it to me in return for an especially splendid orgasm."
"No orgasm is worth a house. Not even one of your best." As soon as she'd spoken, Emily wondered if the altitude was depriving her brain of oxygen. She couldn't believe what she'd just said.
Far from being offended, Jordan laughed. "Are you absolutely sure about that, Em?"
"Quite sure." Emily spoke all the more firmly because, in fact, she wasn't sure at all.
"Well, if you don't believe that I acquired it as payment for sexual services rendered, would you believe that I bought it the old-fashioned way? With money I earned as a carpenter for the down payment, and a very large mortgage from the bank for the balance?"
Emily not only believed him, she felt a surge of relief. "How unexpectedly respectable of you, Jordan."
"Isn't it just?" With a last look toward the magnificence of the ravine, he put his arm around her waist and walked her back toward the Jeep. "Don't tell anyone, Em, but I'm really a very respectable person."
"That's certainly not what the legends say."
"I know, but that's the whole point about legends, isn't it? They're much more interesting if they don't stick too closely to the facts."
She turned and looked at him intently, trying to see him without the distorting lens of his family's disapproval and the embarrassment of encountering him in bed with Mary Christine the day after they'd first been introduced. "Which parts of your legend are true, Jordan?"
He shrugged. "Not many. It's true I left home when I was still in high school, and that I dropped out of college after a single semester, but that's about where truth and legend part company. Sadly, the stories about my amazing sexual conquests far exceed the reality."
"Sadly?"
"Sure." He leaned against one of the porch posts. "I'm rumored to have had affairs with at least ninety percent of the most beautiful women in San Antonio. Hell, I wish that were true. Any man would."
"But it isn't true?"
He shook his head. "Rumor vastly exaggerates." He waited for a beat then grinned at her. "It can't possibly be more than eighty percent."
"Only eighty percent, huh?" Without thinking, she smiled back. "Well, that'll teach me to listen to gossip."
"Sorry to shatter your illusions." Jordan's expression sobered. His gaze sought hers, then held it. "And for the record, that's eighty percent of the single women in San Antonio. Contrary to what you believe, I don't make love to other men's wives."
Emily's smile vanished. "Don't lie to me," she said, her voice tight with anger. Anger that was all the more intense because only a few seconds earlier the wretched man had actually beguiled her into joking about his sordid affairs. "I saw you in bed with Mary Christine Bernauer. That's not legend. It's not even a secondhand report. That's fact, observed by me."
"Seeing isn't necessarily a guarantee that you've understood the whole truth of the situation."
"Right. Sure. There are so many possible reasons why you might have been naked in bed with Mary Christine. Maybe you have a bible study group that meets Tuesday afternoons in her bed. Now there's a likely explanation. How crass of me to jump to the conclusion that the pair of you were committing adultery."
"Not crass. But mistaken—"
"Mistaken? Jordan, stop it! We both know damn well what I saw!"
"I meant you were mistaken about my intentions."
She shook her head impatiently. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And it's hard to see what there is to misunderstand about two naked bodies convulsed on a bed. And when one of them is married to someone e
lse, I flat out disapprove." Emily drew in a deep breath, striving as always to get her emotions under control where they couldn't run wild and betray her into saying something that she would later regret.
"That's the point I'm trying to make," Jordan said quietly. "I had no idea Mary Christine was married. If I had known the truth, trust me, there wouldn't have been an affair. I promise you, Em, I may have a lot of faults, but I don't knowingly make love to other men's wives."
Emily wasn't so much angered by this obvious lie as hurt. "I have a little difficulty believing that excuse, Jordan. How could you possibly not have known Mary Christine was married?"
"Easily. We met in a bar on my side of town. Mary Christine wasn't wearing a wedding ring, and nothing about her behavior suggested she was married. She claimed to be single, and she told me straight out that there wasn't even a boyfriend in the picture. You can call me naive, or dim-witted if you like, but I believed her."
"And when you escorted her back to Ted Bernauer's seven-thousand-square-foot mansion, stuffed full of antique furniture imported from France, no red flags went up?" Emily demanded. "It didn't strike you that this was a mighty opulent home for a twenty-three-year-old single, unattached woman?"
"No, because she'd already told me she was Ted Bernauer's stepdaughter. She claimed her mother had recently married Ted. Given that Mary Christine is almost forty years younger than her husband, it was a very believable story."
What worried Emily was how much she wanted to believe Jordan was being truthful. "How come you didn't know about the huge age gap? Everybody in San Antonio had been talking about it for months."
"Everybody?" Jordan queried. "Everybody in the circles you and my brother move in maybe. But I don't spend a lot of time hanging out with San Antonio's upper crust, and I can assure you the gossip hadn't reached my part of town. When Mary Christine told me she was single, I had no reason to assume she was lying."
His Brother's Fiancée Page 10