Best Laid Plans (12 page)

Without hesitation, Amanda inched
forward, letting shaky fingers capture the telephone receiver. Eleven numbers
later, the object of her lust sleepily answered the phone. "Lucas, it's
Amanda. I'll be there on Sunday."

Four

The two women made a rather odd
couple arms locked together as they came through the airport gateway. One was
tiny in stature, in her early fifties with a modern, navy nun's habit cloaking
her angular frame. The other was tall, twenty years younger. Her shapely figure
was molded by slim tan slacks and a matching belted jacket. The only thing they
appeared to have in common were the water stains that marked their clothing.

Lucas shook his head and smiled.
"Mandy!" One large hand waved in the air, competing for her attention
over the noisy crowd that jammed the arrival gateway.

Amanda gave the nun a good-bye hug
and angled toward him. "Hi!" Her wide, toothy grin echoed the
amusement glinting in her eyes.

"What kind of trouble did you get
into on the plane." It was a statement, not a question. Lucas took her
aged leather carry-on, then led the way through the congested hall.

"It wasn't much. . .not
really." Her eyes were wide and innocent, her expression serious.
"Although Sister Felicia and I did get a round of applause from our fellow
passengers."

"Oh, God."

"
He
was on our
side." Amanda's sober tone was demolished by a burst of giggles. She
locked her arm into his. "I loved it, Lucas. It was truly a giant step for
mankind. The sister was next to the window. I had the aisle seat. The
gentleman, and I use the term loosely, between us should have flown first class
or cargo because his bulk draped onto our cushions.

"He was a disgusting specimen,
Lucas." Her voice became grim. "After making a few rude comments to
me and grunting at the nun, he ordered four bottles of Scotch, opened two of
them and proceeded to drink them at the same time. He poured the other two
bottles in a cup of ice then had the nerve to light up a cigar that was rolled
yesterday in someone's cow field.

"I politely reminded him that he
was in the no smoking section. He puffed even harder. Sister Felicia turned
green. I told him to snuff his butt. He growled an expletive deleted. The
sister turned purple. I saw red and torpedoed his nickel stogie into his drink.

"He bellowed like a bull moose,
jumped up, forgetting his seat belt was still fastened, jarred the table and
sent the drinks exploding over everyone. The stewardess relocated him."
Amanda's contented sigh was nearly drowned out by Lucas' laughter. "It was
marvelous and it seems an omen that my vacation will not be boring." She
looked at the seemingly endless corridor that still lay ahead and jiggled his
arm. "Lucas, I know Texas is big, but isn't this going a bit too far?"

"Our psychiatric population has
soared since they built this airport," came his dry rejoinder.
"Passengers have been known to suffer nervous breakdowns racing from one
terminal to another trying to catch their flights."

Lucas stopped walking, turned and
caught Amanda's chin between his long fingers. The sienna curls were in
charming disarray. Her complexion was flushed by her adventure; her eyes glowed
like twin solitaires. She looked like a mischievous child, the freshman rascal
who invaded his life twelve years ago. It seemed like old times. Natural. Easy.

Suddenly, he was more relaxed. The
sexual tension that had possessed his body had broken. Maybe it was just a
macho fantasy. Or was it because he had seen Kitty this week? Damn! Who said
women were more fickle than men? A soft smile etched his face. "I'm really
glad you decided to come."

Amanda's gaze strayed over the lean,
muscular length of him. Lucas looked every inch the cowboy in his western plaid
shirt, slim-fitting jeans, silver-buckled belt and leather boots. While it had
been a carnal image that prompted her visit, she realized that Lucas'
attraction had little to do with biology and more to do with trust, honesty and
a symbiotic relationship that benefited both parties. "I'm glad I'm here too."

"This can't be all the luggage
you brought." He lifted the small suitcase.

"Yup. You get a lot in a bag if
you roll your clothes. Besides I'm here to paint so a pair of cut-offs and a
couple old T-shirts were all I needed, a handful of casual clothes and one
dress in case you decide to take me out for gourmet chili. If you notice I'm
wearing Durango's." Amanda showed off her distressed, slouch tan leather
boots, knocking the metal toe rand against the floor. "These are Texas
two-step worthy." She rubbed the stains that decorated her pants.
"You told me you bought a hi-tech washer and dryer, so I'm sure I'll be
fine."

The powerful late-afternoon sun
hammered their eyes into slits and contorted their smiles as they made their
way through the car-infested parking area. "Well, what do you think?"
Lucas stopped next to a battered truck, its short bed filled with plywood and
two-by-fours.

"Where's your classic
Jaguar?" Amanda cried, grimacing at the white, rust-freckled vehicle.
"Don't tell me you wear that Pierre Cardin suit in this thing!"

"I still have the Jag." As
he pulled open the cab door, the hinges emitted a squeaky greeting. "But
this," Lucas gave the aged metal an affectionate rub, "this is
–"

"A piece of junk," she
offered hopefully.

He ignored her crass comment and gave
her a helping hand onto the masking-taped red cloth seat. "You can insult
a man's job, you can insult a man's mother but never, ever insult a man's
truck," Lucas intoned in a deep, warning voice.

"Well," Amanda drawled, shifting
her feet to accommodate the suitcase, "at least I can now truly claim I've
been picked up in a pickup."

With consummate ease, Lucas
extricated the truck from the center of the Metroplex, negotiating the
monstrous maze of freeways that connected from the north exit. "How did
your pattern project turn out?"

Amanda stuck her tongue out at his
chiseled profile. "You know me too well, Lucas Crosse." She slunk
down against the bench seat and stared at the traffic-choked highway. It seemed
Texans were preoccupied with the internal-combustion engine. "I ended up
doing exactly what you predicted," she grudgingly admitted. "I worked
night and day and got the design, the pattern and the sample fashioned in
record time.

"Then I was back to where I
started. Nothing to do at the shop so I stayed home, stared out the window,
counted raindrops and sighed a lot." Amanda twisted sideways in the seat,
knuckles extended to caress the curve of his jaw. "It's going to be up to
you to make sure I'm not sighing and staring in two states!"

"Listen, kid," Lucas
flashed her a roguish grin, "I've got a clear, spring-fed pond, two
complacent horses that love to be ridden and an eight-room house just screaming
for your talented hand."

The swiftly rushing air became sweet
as the scent of mown grass replaced the carbon-monoxide fumes. Amanda's eyes
widened in delight at the explosion of wild flowers that traversed the concrete
artery. It was as though an artist had dipped his brush into a multicolored
palette; the gold and crimson, orange and purple fields brought the land to
life. "This is lovely. How far from the city are we?"

"About twenty miles. The ranch
is just outside of Farmersville but you'll have to go into the Dallas shopping
centers to get your decorating supplies," Lucas added with dutiful
consideration. A dimpled grin punctuated his features. Laughing hazel eyes
slanted away from the windshield. "I'll leave you the keys to the
truck."

A low groan assailed his ears.
"At least it's an automatic."

The pickup was directed off the
highway onto a dirt road. "This gives me a wake-up massage every
morning!" Lucas yelled, trying to make his words heard over the creaking
shock absorbers and the bouncing, shifting cargo.

Then, suddenly, the rocks
disappeared. The potholes were packed by dirt and smooth under the tires.
Amanda was greeted by a cool grotto of mesquite trees. A sun-toasted, stucco
ranch house lay at the cusp of the crescent drive. "Oh, Lucas," her
fingers gripped his tempered biceps, "I can see why you snapped up this place.
It's beautiful."

The powerful diesel engine came to a
halt. "The exterior and grounds promised a lot more than the interior
delivered," he related, leading her through an arched entryway into a
concrete courtyard. "The previous owners had let the place fall apart.
Walls were punched full of holes, floors were riddled with termites and the
plumbing was so antiquated that an outhouse would have been a step up."

Lucas unlocked the front door.
"I loved the property, which was what I was really after. I saved the
block shell and the arched windows and literally rearranged the in-sides."
He took a deep breath, then suddenly smiled. "Why do I feel I should carry
you across the threshold?"

Amanda laughed. "Here, carry
this." She handed him her suitcase and stepped inside.

The earth-tone slate foyer gave way
to a stunning multileveled L-shaped living area. A natural stone fireplace was
built on an inside corner; its double hearth served both the main room and a
large windowed and book-shelved alcove that was on the highest riser. Arched
windows provided light and an endless view of treed, rolling acres. The walls
were unfinished, the wallboard spackled and taped, ready for finishing touches;
the floors were alternately dark and light squares of polished teak.

She wandered into the dining area
that connected with a remodeled kitchen. "Oh, Lucas, I love the black and
white theme. It's so clean and fresh." Amanda's broad smile took in the
black diamond appliances, dark quartz countertops and white cabinets that made the
kitchen glow. Sliding glass doors led to a wrap-around terrace that was also
accessible from the living room.

The bedrooms were at the far end of
the house. The smallest was still under construction, pink rolls of insulation
visible between the strutting. The middle guest room contained a double bed, a
small dresser and a chair. Except for a king-size bed, the same sparse
furnishings were housed in the master bedroom.

"Well?" A wealth of anxiety
tinged that one word. Lucas peered over Amanda's shoulder, his dark gaze
searching her intense features reflected in the bathroom's vanity mirror.

Smiling at their double image, Amanda
reached back to capture and soothe the twitching masculine fingers that curved
around her shoulders. "I'm really quite speechless. The photos you sent
didn't give you credit." Her tone reflected her awe. "Lucas, you've
done an incredible job. The house is stunning."

Amanda's lips quirked upward. She
leaned back, using his broad frame for support. "But what on earth have
you been sitting on? Except for the bedrooms and they are pretty sparse,
there's not a stitch of furniture in here - not even the proverbial orange
crate!"

As Lucas rested his chin on her
shoulder, the scent of jasmine whispered to him. "There are a couple of
homemade barstools in the kitchen. I did have a sofa and a couple of chairs and
two orange crates but…" he grinned, his voice warm and low in her ear,
"I spent all day yesterday house-cleaning and trucking that stuff to the
dump. I figured if I played on your maternal instincts, you wouldn't leave
until this place was completely habitable."

She tapped his nose. "Wait until
you get my bill for decorating services!"

"You can take it out in
trade," came his teasing rejoinder.

Amanda followed him back into the
living room. "I've got to admit I'm finding this quite an exciting
challenge." Slowly she made a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn. Her
accomplished designer's eyes appraised the light that was refracted off the
white-textured and natural-beamed ceiling and judged the shadows that were cast
against the walls.

She had always likened personalities
to colors. Aggressive and bold, quiet and unassuming, flashy and flamboyant,
muted and dull - each had a definitive hue.

Long ago she decided Lucas was a
neutral. Not that he was boring or bland, rather he was the epitome of the
scales of justice that symbolized his profession: impartial, objective,
tolerant and fair-minded. Neutral could run the gamut from creams to beige to
terra-cotta to rich wood tones. A house that was earthy and natural, rustic and
a bit rough-hewn with a splash of bright here and a little greenery there. That
would be a home to Lucas Crosse.

"Here we go." He placed a
tall glass filled with ice and lemonade into her hand. "I thought we'd eat
barbecued chicken while watching the sunset. There's patio furniture on the
back terrace."

"Hmmm." Amanda's tongue
circled her lips. The lemonade was spiked with gin and limes and tartly
refreshing. "How about showing me your two horses. I haven't been riding
since . . . since I was fifteen and we were stationed in Kentucky." She
took another healthy swallow of the pulp-laden liquid. "Lucas, I don't
think you've ever mentioned your horses' names."

"I was too embarrassed," he
finally admitted while they walked along a dirt path carved through ankle-high
grass. "The mares were from a 4-H project and were already christened when
I bought them."