Heiress (29 page)

"Rachel. Rachel Farr," she responded, not knowing what else to do.

"I thought to myself, what big blue eyes you have."

"That's very flattering of you, Mr. Tibbs." But his compliment made her feel all the more uncomfortable.

"Ross," he insisted. "I'll bet your nickname is Blue Eyes."

"No. Just plain Rachel."

"You're not plain by a long shot. I could write a song about you. I'm a songwriter and singer. I play here on the weekends, give the place a little atmosphere and class. Of course, that'll only be 'til the end of July. After that, my agent's booking me into Gilley's. See, there's a good chance Mickey Gilley's going to record one of my songs on his next album." He said it all with a kind of pride and modesty that didn't make it sound like he was bragging.

Now that she knew he was a performer, she understood why he could talk to her with such ease, and say exactly what he was thinking. She envied that lack of reserve with strangers. At the same time, she wished Lane would come. She felt so much safer with him.

"That's wonderful." She was glad for him, even though she knew her voice lacked sincerity.

"I don't start singing until around eight o'clock, but I always come early to grab a bite to eat and give my food a chance to digest before I have to perform. Why don't you join me? I'd like the company, and there's no need for you to eat alone either. It makes for a long meal."

"Thanks, but I'm waiting for someone. He should be here anytime."

"That's just my luck." Ross Tibbs smiled ruefully. "The pretty ones are always spoken for."

"You're very kind." She wished he'd stop saying things like that.

"I'm not kind. Envious is more like it." His admiring look flustered her even more. "And, listen, if the guy is stupid enough not to show, the invitation stands. Okay?"

"He'll be here," Rachel asserted with more conviction than she felt.

There was always the possibility that Lane might not be able to make it. As busy as he was, a hundred other things might have come up that were more important than having dinner with her. He might be tied up at the farm, unable to get away. That had happened to her before with Dean—too many times to count. He had constantly made plans to see her, then broken them at the last minute. She wished she hadn't arranged to meet Lane here, at a public restaurant. It would be so embarrassing if he called and canceled.

Just as she was getting anxious that he wouldn't come, Rachel saw Lane enter the restaurant. "Here he is now," she said to Ross Tibbs, as Lane approached her table. "Hello." She watched his eyes light up with that special look that made her feel as if she was the most important person in the world to him, a look reserved for her alone. It gave her confidence and assurance. She could say or do anything and he'd still feel the same. "I was afraid you might not make it."

"Nothing would have kept me from you." He kissed her lightly on the cheek, the heady fragrance of his expensive cologne washing over her. "If necessary, I would have moved heaven and Texas to get here."

"And I'll bet you could." She laughed, proud that it meant so much to him to be with her. After all, he was Lane Canfield.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting long." His attention strayed from her, and she saw his gaze narrow ever so slightly on Ross Tibbs.

"No. I was early," she said, and unwilling to have Lane think she might have something to hide, she added, "Lane, I'd like you to meet Ross Tibbs. He's the singer here. He was kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting for you to come. Mr. Tibbs, this is Lane Canfield."

"Mr. Tibbs, I'm in your debt." Lane held out his hand. Ross took it and stared at him. "Lane Canfield. The Lane Canfield?"

"The same," Lane admitted with neither apology nor pride, just a mere statement of fact.

Ross released a low whistle under his breath and shook his head, obviously impressed. "It is an honor to meet you, sir. Everybody in Texas knows who you are."

"I doubt that everyone does." Lane smiled politely, then glanced at Rachel. "I see you already have a drink. I could certainly use one myself."

Rachel noticed the look of curious speculation on Ross Tibbs's face, as if he was trying to guess what her relationship to Lane was. For the first time she was aware of their age difference—a young woman with an older man. She hated the idea that people might think it was something sordid and cheap when it was nothing of the sort. Lane Canfield was a wonderful man and he meant a great deal to her. His age had no bearing on that. Why did people have to judge others and turn something special into something dirty? she wondered as Ross Tibbs moved away from the table, retreating toward the lounge. All her life they'd done that to her. It wasn't fair.

"He's a good-looking young man," Lane remarked. "You probably should be having dinner with him instead of me."

"Don't say that, please." It hurt, and she blinked at the tears that so quickly stung her eyes.

"Rachel." He sounded surprised and bewildered as he reached over and covered the hand she rested on the table. "I was only joking."

"You weren't, not really." She knew better. "You feel self-conscious about being seen with me in public. I'm sure you're concerned that people will think you're foolish."

"I don't give a damn what people think. I never have, Rachel, or I would never have built the companies I have," he insisted sternly. "Only one person's opinion is important to me and that's yours. I know you deserve someone young, with his whole life still ahead of him—not someone like me, who's used up most of his. My feeble attempt at a joke was my way of acknowledging how lucky I am that you are with me and. . . it was also my way of saying that I would understand if you ever decided to choose him, or someone like him, instead of me."

"I won't. I'm sure of that." She saw the way he smiled at her, almost patronizingly. "I suppose you think that's amusing."

"No. I was just remembering when I was your age, I was that sure about things, too. Now I'm older, and I know better. You can't be sure of anything, especially what the future holds."

She longed to deny that and swear that he would always be special to her, but she was afraid such a declaration would sound childish and silly. "I know it's true, but I wish you wouldn't say that."

"Now is enough, Rachel," he said gently. "When you think about it, all anyone has is now. The past and the future don't really matter. Let's enjoy tonight and worry about tomorrow when it comes."

"If it comes."

"If it comes," Lane conceded, then released her hand as a waitress approached their table. Rachel missed the warm pressure of his fingers. As he ordered a drink, she wondered if she would ever be able to explain to him the void he filled in her life. "So tell me, did anything new and exciting happen today?"

"Yes. Or, at least, I think it's exciting. As of this morning, Simoon and Ahmar are on their way here from California. I've made arrangements to board them temporarily at a private stable until I get a place of my own. It's going to be so good having them here. I've missed them," she stated simply.

"When will they arrive here?"

"In three or four days. The driver's going to take it in easy stages so the long haul won't be too much of a strain on them."

"You've talked so much about them, I'm looking forward to finally seeing them."

"I want you to meet them. But. . . I know how busy you are, and this isn't really very important in comparison." She hated the idea that he might have suggested it just to humor her.

"It's important to you. That makes it important to me." Lane leaned forward and laid his arm on the table, extending his hand to her. Rachel slid her hand into his palm and his fingers closed around it, the pressure warm and reassuring. The waitress returned with his drink, but this time Lane didn't let go of her hand. When the woman set the drink before him, he thanked her absently and dismissed her with an indifferent nod. "As I was saying before we were interrupted, I'm interested in everything about you, Rachel."

"I know you say that."

"It's true." He understood her hesitation. He'd had trouble coming to terms with it himself. In the beginning, he'd tried to convince himself that his interest was motivated by a sense of responsibility and compassion. But it was much more complicated than that. Other women had wanted him, but Rachel actually needed him: his knowledge, his guidance, and his affection. The butterfly was slowly emerging from her cocoon, and Lane knew he was responsible for her transformation. Watching it, he felt renewed himself—strong and vital again, losing his jaded outlook. Out of all the women he'd known, she was the first to arouse the man in him, both emotionally and sexually. "How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe me?"

Warmth flowed from his hand. It seemed to fill her up until she thought she would burst with happiness. Not a wild kind: the feeling was more contented, like sitting in front of a fire on a cold night, close enough to feel all toasty and warm inside, but not so close that the heat burned.

"Maybe a thousand," Rachel teased.

His eyebrows shot up, amusement deepening the corners of his mouth. "I believe you're flirting with me."

She laughed shyly. "I guess I was."

"Don't stop. I like it."

"Now you're flirting with me."

"I know. I like that, too." He picked up his glass. "Shall we drink to our mutual flirtation?" Lifting her wineglass, she touched it to his, then sipped at the dry Chablis, her eyes meeting his over the rim. There was something warm and intimate about the moment that gave her confidence.

"I wish we were alone." She wanted to be held and kissed—loved.

Lane took a deep breath, then seemed to have trouble releasing it as an answering darkness entered his eyes. "I think we'd better change the subject," he murmured as he reluctantly released her hand and leaned back in the chair, putting more table between them. "What else did you do today?"

She was tempted to test the full extent of her ability to disturb him, but she was afraid she might find out it wasn't that great. "I spent the biggest share of today riding around looking at various properties for sale with that realtor you recommended. She must have shown me ten different parcels outside of Houston. Unfortunately none of them was what I had in mind."

"What are you looking for?"

Another River Bend, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to admit that. Ever since she'd gone there that afternoon, the sight of it had lived with her. Nothing she'd seen since had come even close to being comparable.

"I'd like to find about a hundred acres with some buildings already on it, not farther than an hour out of Houston. It sounds easy, but something has been wrong with every piece of land I've looked at: either the price is more than I want to pay, or it's too far out, or it's too heavily wooded and the cost of clearing it and turning it into pasturage is too high. I don't know." She sighed, all her insecurities and feelings of inadequacy flooding back. "Maybe the whole idea is impractical. After all, who am I? A twenty-seven-year-old woman with two million dollars and no practical experience in breeding Arabians. I not only have to buy land and horses, but I need to hire a qualified manager, trainers, and grooms as well. I'm just dreaming if I think I can do it."

"Dreams are never practical, and they shouldn't be. But they do come true. Hold on to it, Rachel. You can make it happen if you try, but only if you try."

"Do you really believe I can do it?" No one, not even Dean, had ever encouraged her so totally. As her glance swept over his thick, silvered hair and strong face, Rachel finally identified the thing that attracted her so. The look of eagles—that was the quality a person sought in a stallion, a rare blend of nobility, pride, and strength. And Lane had it.

"Yes."

"Deep down, I think I can, too. I know it won't happen overnight. It takes time to establish a breeding program and prove that it works. A lot of it is trial and error. Dean taught me that. The knowledge I gained from him is going to be very useful. Look what he accomplished on a hundred acres, how successful he was. There's no reason I can't do the same." Rachel saw the frown that flickered across Lane's face, erasing the smile of interest and encouragement that had been there seconds ago. "What's the matter? Don't you agree with that?"

"I do." The smile came smoothly back, yet Lane seemed slightly distant.

But she wasn't reassured. She knew she must have said something wrong. Why else would he frown? But what could she have said? She tried to recall exactly what she'd been talking about when Lane reacted. It was something about Dean and River Bend. River Bend. . . Lane had been there today was that it? Had she unconsciously reminded him of something that had happened there? Had she reminded him of Abbie?

Resentment rose in her throat, but she forced it down. She'd had to accept that all her life. Why should she think it would be any different now?

Somehow she managed to get through the meal without letting on how hurt she felt—hiding it just as she'd done so many times in the past with Dean. As she left the steakhouse with Lane, she caught a glimpse of Ross Tibbs in the lounge, singing and accompanying himself on the guitar. She remembered how much she had been looking forward to spending the evening with Lane—and realized how anxious she was now for it to end.

Lane followed her back to her hotel in the Galleria. When he suggested having coffee in her hotel suite, Rachel wanted to plead tiredness, but realizing how kind he'd been to her, she felt too guilty to refuse.

Lane was standing at the window of the suite's luxurious living room, looking at the light-studded nightscape of Houston, when room service arrived with the coffee. Rachel poured each of them a cup and carried them over to the window. As usual, their conversation was centered on her plans for an Arabian horse farm. Rachel couldn't help wondering if that was the only subject Lane could think of to talk to her about.

"Have you ever considered taking on a partner?"

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

"I mean, why don't you and I become partners in this farm of yours?"