by Diana Palmer
“I know,” she laughed. She stopped suddenly. “Atlanta was like that,” she added quickly when he paused.
“I’d forgotten you lived in a city,” he said.
“Just while I worked for the newspaper,” she replied. “I like the country sounds much better.”
“Me too. I don’t mind travel so much. I enjoy foreign places. But I’m always glad to get home.”
“Are you still in Dallas?” she asked.
“Dallas? That was last weekend,” he pointed out.
“Oh.”
“I’m in Paris.”
“Paris!” she exclaimed. She’d been there year before last with a girlfriend. They’d spent a week shopping and eating and enjoying the atmosphere. “It must be lovely,” she added with a sigh.
“Most cities I visit all I do is end up in hotels and airports,” he said wryly. “I did get to visit a vineyard, however, and they didn’t even ask me to help stomp the grapes.”
“I would love to have a vineyard,” she sighed. “I don’t even drink wine. I just love to watch grapes grow.”
“Where did you see that in Georgia?” he asked, surprised.
“Up in the north Georgia mountains, there are vineyards,” she replied. “The soil is really good for growing grapes. Some of the wines win prizes.”
“We learn something new every day,” he said.
“Yes, we do. Paris. You do get around.”
“Business drives the money machine,” he said. “I’m talking mergers with a man who lives here but owns refineries in Dallas. It’s doing business the long way around,” he laughed.
“I guess so.”
“I miss you,” he said suddenly.
She caught her breath. “I miss you, too,” she said, and felt her heart jump.
“About that not getting involved thing,” he began.
“But there’s still Mount Everest,” she interrupted.
He laughed. “Okay. We can talk about mountains when I get home. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Be careful in foreign parts,” she said. “You never know if you’re having coffee next to a Russian spy.”
“You watch too many old James Bond movies,” he teased.
“No, no, it’s the new ones, with Daniel Craig!”
“And they’re espionage agents, not spies.”
“Have it your way. Just don’t get captured.”
“We need to talk about spies.”
“When you get home,” she promised.
There was a lazy affection in his deep voice. “When I get home,” he agreed. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Bye,” she said.
“So long.”
She hung up and caught her breath. She hadn’t expected him to call her. It was a surprise, a very nice one. He missed her. She felt lighter than air, happier than she’d been in ages. Life was looking up. Way up!
* * *
She wished that she and her father could afford one of the nice cable packages that offered Warlocks and Warriors, so that she could keep up with the series she’d written for. She missed being part of it. She missed the other writers, the crew, the actors, she missed all of it.
She’d written for the show for three years. It had been quite a feather in her cap to become even an associate writer. Her father’s contacts had given her a boost. Her writing skills had clinched the deal, of course. Even contacts would do nothing for a person with no literary ability. But her father’s contacts had certainly helped.
She’d worked for a daily newspaper while she was in college in Atlanta. It had taught her a great deal about communities and how they worked. That insight also helped with her chosen craft. Even medieval communities had much in common with small towns, like the one she’d lived in while she was going to school. Human nature never changed, even if plenty of other things did.
It had been hard, giving up her work on Warlocks and Warriors. But the harassment wouldn’t have stopped. Her father was leaving town. If she’d stayed, the brunt of the publicity would have shifted to her. It was a no-brainer, that she’d have to go with him. Waiting tables, she thought sadly, with two years of college and three years as a prestigious TV writer working on one of the top series on television. It was a comedown. But she had to be philosophical about it. At least she had a job, and a place to live, and food to eat. The necessities. It would be a learning experience, as much of life was.
She fixed a light supper for her father and herself Saturday night when they both got off work.
“My feet are throbbing,” she laughed as they ate chili and corn bread. “I’m still not used to being on them all day.”
“It’s a comedown, I know,” he said apologetically.
“Nobody made me come out here,” she pointed out. “You’re my dad. We’re a matched set.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He finished his chili and sat back to drink coffee. “I wish we could afford satellite,” he added wistfully.
She laughed. “I was just thinking how nice that would be,” she confessed. “I miss seeing Warlocks and Warriors.”
“You miss writing for it, too, I know,” he said. He grimaced. “I miss being part of a hit TV show as well.” He shook his head. “One mean-spirited woman and her lies, and look at the trail of misery she’s left behind her.”
“It sounds trite, but what goes around does come around,” she pointed out. “She won’t get away with it forever. Eventually, somebody’s going to call her bluff.”
“I wish I had,” he said. “I could have produced witnesses, even if I’d had to have Jake browbeat them first into testifying. All she had for evidence was a big mouth and accusations.”
“Mama always said that God never closed a door, but He opened a window. There’s a benefit to anything, if you look for it.”
“I’m short on benefits and long on misery,” he laughed. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I missed another sale. This time, it wasn’t my fault. The customer was willing to buy the machinery. But his bank informed us that he didn’t have the price of a roll of paper towels.” He sighed. “Just my luck. It would have been a very nice commission.”
“There will be other ones,” she said. “It’s just now technically spring, even though we’re still dealing in snow. People will need to replace equipment.”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t get discouraged,” she pleaded. “It’s early days yet. We’ll get through this. No matter how rough it gets, it won’t be as bad as what we’ve already lived through.”
“Your grandmother had a saying about that. She said life rewards us in the same measure that it punishes us. Bad things happen, then good things do. It all evens out.”
“I’m so ready for good things,” she laughed.
“Me too.” His eyes twinkled. “I do believe you have a good thing due tomorrow.”
She looked blank for a moment until she remembered. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. JL’s coming to pick me up,” she said, and laughed.
“Definitely, a good thing,” he teased.
“Definitely!”
* * *
JL was ten minutes early. Which didn’t matter, because Cassie had been ready for an hour.
He came to the door to get her, carrying a bag from an exclusive store. “I brought you some peanuts from the airplane,” he said dryly.
Her eyes widened at the size of the sack.
“A lot of peanuts,” he amended.
“Hi, JL,” her father said. “Have a good trip?”
“A long one,” he chuckled. “I’m always glad to get back home. Well, go on, open it,” he prompted Cassie.
She dug into the bag and pulled out a beautiful fringed leather jacket, with beadwork in a colorful and intricate pattern. “Oh,” she whispered, admiring it. “It’s beautiful!”
“It’s warm,” he said dryly, and grinned. “No more bronchitis.”
Tears stung her eyes. Once, she would have taken such a thing for granted. Now, in her impoverished circumstances, it was almost t
oo much for her. “Oh, JL,” she began, her voice breaking.
“You stop that,” he said firmly. “You’ll be standing here bawling and somebody will come by and next thing you know, the newspaper will have big headlines and I’ll be the talk of Benton.”
She stared at him. So did Roger.
He gave them a droll look. “They’ll see you crying and think I did something to hurt your feelings. Then they’ll interview my foreman, who’ll tell them what a bad man I am, and it will all go downhill from there.”
“Why would your foreman tell them you’re a bad man?” she asked blankly.
“Oh, he’s jealous,” he said easily. “I’m way handsomer than he is, and one of his girlfriends brought me a homemade apple pie once. He’s still looking for ways to get even.” He gave her an angelic smile.
She and her father burst out laughing, finally getting the joke.
“That’s better,” JL said. “Put on the jacket and I’ll drive you over to see the kittens.”
“Kittens?!” she exclaimed. “You didn’t say you had kittens!”
“I didn’t have them until four days ago. Bessie’s got them in the kitchen, where it’s warm, along with their mother.”
“I love kittens,” she remarked.
“You can’t have a kitten,” her father said firmly. “You’re allergic.”
“I am not!”
“You are so,” he returned.
“I’m allergic to rabbit fur,” she countered. “Not cat fur. That’s why I was sneezing. It wasn’t Ellen’s cat, it was her coat.”
“Oh.” Her father looked perplexed. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She slid into the jacket. “JL, this is the nicest thing anybody’s done for me in a long time,” she said softly. “I’ll make you another pan of rolls!”
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Thanks,” she said huskily, and flushed as she met his eyes.
“You’re welcome. I’ll have her home before midnight,” he added to her dad, and chuckled. “But Bessie’s working all day and everybody knows it. I’m not going to be the one to blemish Cassie’s perfect reputation,” he added, just to make the point.
“I appreciate that,” Roger said quietly.
JL shrugged. “We should frame her,” he mused. “Not many women with pristine reputations left in the world. Not these days.”
“And you can pin a rose on that,” Roger sighed.
“Stop it or I’m going to blush,” Cassie chided.
“Okay,” he said, but he was grinning.
“Have fun,” Roger said as they were leaving.
“It will be. I’m going to teach her to play chess,” JL said.
“Oh, but she . . .” Roger stopped abruptly. He laughed. “She plays checkers very well,” he amended, having almost blown her cover. JL might wonder about a waitress who liked a cerebral game like chess.
“I’ve got a checkerboard,” JL said. “We’ll try a bit of both. See you later, Roger.”
* * *
He herded her out to the truck and put her inside. She was admiring the jacket when he climbed in beside her.
She’d noticed that the beadwork wasn’t machined. She flushed. This was a very expensive jacket. She’d thought at first that it was something off the rack. She almost remarked about the expense, but then he might wonder how she knew it was expensive. She bit her tongue.
“How was Paris?” she asked.
“Crowded,” he sighed as he pulled out into the snow-lined road. “I’m not a social animal,” he said. “I don’t like high society. I hate brainy people with cocktail mentalities and city manners. You’re a breath of fresh air,” he added with a warm smile, missing the flush that flamed on her cheeks. “I can’t remember the last time I was around a woman who didn’t bathe in expensive perfume or wear couture.”
She felt guilt all the way to her shoes. He was describing the real Cassie, not this pretender whom he thought he knew. “Not all brainy women wear couture,” she said.
He laughed. “Care to bet?” He shook his head. “My ex-fiancée moved in those circles,” he said with a cold smile. “She had to have the latest fashions, the most expensive purse. She paid hundreds of dollars to have her hair styled. She read all the popular novels. God, what a bore!”
“I see.”
“You’re nothing like her,” he said, his eyes on the road. “You’re a breath of spring. Unspoiled, natural. All I had to do was be around women in Paris at a cocktail party I attended to see the difference.” He glanced at her with a warm smile. “I couldn’t wait to get home.”
“Thanks,” she said, hating the guilt she felt.
“One of the attendees was a novelist.” He made a face. “She’d just landed at the top of the New York Times bestseller list and readers gathered around her like flies around honey.” He shook his head. “I don’t mind a woman having a mind, I just hate women who think they have to flaunt how smart they are. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added quickly. “I know you worked as a reporter. But there’s a world of difference between reporting news and swanning around in couture and preening because you can sell books.”
“I like to read,” she began.
“Me too. But I don’t travel in those circles. I like living in the country, waking up to a rooster crowing, riding out early to see my cattle grazing in the pasture. Things like that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes rich, successful people live in an artificial world. They’re removed from the simple things that make life worthwhile. They buy into a lifestyle that isn’t real.”
She’d never considered that. In a way, he was right. When she’d worked on Warlocks and Warriors, she was a world away from normal people. She’d associated with other writers, with business executives, with people who lived and worked in the city, in high social circles. Her whole family had lived like that.
It was only since she and her father had come to Benton, Colorado, that she realized how artificial that other world really was. She’d lost touch with everyday things, with normal people. And she hadn’t even realized it.
“You’re very quiet. Have I offended you?” he asked.
“Oh, no! No, of course not!” she said. “I was just thinking about what you said. I guess maybe people in those situations don’t even realize how different the world is for those who have to struggle for a living.”
“That’s what I meant,” he said. He laughed. “Nobody could accuse you and your father of being artificial. You live within your means and you don’t put on airs. It’s what I like best about both of you.”
She smiled wanly. “Thanks.”
“You’re sure you’re not allergic to kittens?” he added as he pulled up into his own yard. “Your lungs still sound a bit twitchy.”
“I wasn’t kidding. It was fur, not cats. Honest. I love cats.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Cassie felt her heartbeat skyrocket as his dark eyes fell to her mouth and lingered there. It was so quiet in the cab of the truck that she could hear her own heart beating.
“It’s been a long week,” he whispered. His big hand slid into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged, very gently. “And I’m starving. . . .”
She felt his lips, cold from the wind, settle gently on hers, tenderly, so that he didn’t frighten her. He was slow, barely touching her as his mouth smoothed over her lips and began to part them.
Her fingers caught in the lapel of his jacket and tightened as he increased the pressure of his mouth. He heard her breath catch, felt her body stiffen, just a little. Then her lips softened under his and she shivered, just slightly.
He drew her completely against him and his mouth ground down into hers. She tasted him, drowned in him, as he explored her slowly warming lips in a silence that was static with feeling.
Finally, his mouth slid against her cheek and into the curve of her throat as he held her and rocked her in the sile
nce.
“Maybe you should forget about climbing Mount Everest,” he whispered.
Her heart was beating her to death. “Maybe . . . I should,” she managed.
He laughed softly and drew away from her. He liked that little flutter in her breath, the flush in her cheeks, the light that grew in her eyes. “How about coffee and pound cake?”
“I’d love that,” she whispered.
He just nodded. There was an expression on his face that made her feel warm and protected and valued. She felt as if her feet didn’t touch the ground as they went into the house.
* * *
“Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed as they entered the kitchen and she saw what was in the cloth-lined box against the far wall. “They’re beautiful! They’re all white!”
Bessie chuckled. “White, with blue eyes,” she agreed. “We’ve had white cats here forever.”
“They’re precious,” she said, picking up one of the tiny creatures and cradling it against her cheek.
“They’re handy, too,” JL remarked as he slid off his jacket and looped it around the back of a kitchen chair. “They keep the mice down in the barn. So you could say that they earn their keep,” he chuckled.
“I haven’t had a kitten since I was ten,” she remarked. “We had a Siamese cat. He was beautiful and absolutely dangerous,” she laughed. “He hated dogs. He’d sit outside our apartment when he could get past us and wait for the neighbor to come by with her little Pekingese. Then he’d chase it, and her.”
“A vicious cat,” he laughed.
“Very. We named him Lucifer. The name really suited him, too.” She petted the mama cat, who just looked at her with soft blue eyes and purred. “What’s her name?” she asked.
“Should we tell her?” Bessie wondered.
He shrugged. “We call her Lady Godiva.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“It should be obvious,” he remarked. He leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, “She doesn’t wear any clothes!”
Cassie burst out laughing. So did they. She’d never felt so much at home as she did here, in this bright kitchen with two of the nicest people she’d ever met. She thought about what JL had said, about artificial people, and she felt suddenly guilty. She was deceiving him. She hadn’t meant to become involved with him, but now that she was . . . how in the world was she ever going to tell him the truth without having him perceive her as the biggest liar in town?