Mad About The Man (4 page)

"I'm
not."

"Good." He approached the door. "You do rent
this space from a Mr. Shaw?"

"Yes." Her face was tight.

"This really is a coincidence. I made enquiries
about empty spaces that might be available in Gold
strike. But maybe you already knew that?"

She nodded.

"Yes, of course you did. We discovered this build
ing had unoccupied space upstairs. Bart was saying
he thought it would convert into a great suite of of
fices. I've decided I agree with him, so you'll be see
ing a lot of me." He smiled his most charming smile.
"I hope you'll be as happy about that as I am."

3

S
unday mornings wouldn't be the same without
breakfast at Sis's. Gaby propped her elbows on the
brown Formica-topped table, cradled her thick, yellow coffee mug in both hands and pretended not to
see Mae hide most of her egg beneath a piece of toast.

The rush had thinned. In addition to Gaby and Mae,
a group of farmers hunched in a back booth were the
only remaining patrons. Warm maple syrup, crispy
bacon and fresh-brewed coffee were the scents of the
moment.

"What d'you feel like doing today?" Gaby asked,
already anticipating the response.

"Gonna help Sis. She says I can put the apples in the pies." Mae's current ambition was to run a diner
"just like Sis's," which the girl considered to be the
hub of everything exciting that happened in Gold
strike.

"Maybe you should ask if it's all right with me,
Mae."

"You always say it's all right."

Gaby looked down at Mae's shiny black ponytail and the soft curve of her seven-year-old cheek. Life
was mostly very wonderful. "I guess I do." She gave
the ponytail a gentle tug. "Don't get in the way. And
call me when Sis is tired of you."

The door opened to admit Sophie Byler, elderly but
spry and still exuding the all-seeing alertness of a
small-town schoolteacher—which was exactly what
she'd been before she retired.

"Morning, Sis." Sophie nodded curtly at the tall,
stately owner of the diner and headed for Gaby's
booth. "Char tells me you had a few visitors yesterday." She slid in to sit opposite Gaby and Mae.

"It's as bad as you said it was, Sophie," Gaby said.
"Probably worse. Did Char give you the scoop about
mining exhibits and leprechauns?"

Sophie shuddered. "We aren't taking it lying
down. We aren't taking it at all. We've got some
history to preserve here. Maybe it's not significant to
the rest
of the world, but it is to us…
and to our chil
dren."

The school had closed a couple of years after Sophie, already in her late sixties then, had decided to
spend her days pleasing only herself—which meant
she became the self-appointed guardian of Gold
strike's affairs. And since then the children had been
bussed many miles for their education. Sophie had
never stopped talking to the town's youngsters about
their heritage, or trying to find a way to have them
stay closer to home for their studies.

"Ledan made a point of how the younger genera
tion moves on as soon as they can," Gaby said mo
rosely. "Great revelation—they need jobs and incen
tive and we don't have a whole lot of either around
here."

Sophie, her white hair wound into its customary
severe knot at her nape, rested a gnarled hand on
Gaby's forearm. "We aren't beaten. Six years ago
you brought something special to this town. What we
should be looking for are more ways to get people
like you interested, people who won't want to change
things. You liked the place enough to decide to run a business here that most folks would have taken to a big city. And it works just fine, doesn't it?"

Gaby nodded. "There's no denying we need much
more than I'm doing if there's
going to be a perma
nent fix."

"Don't tell me you're giving up on us, too, girl."

"I'm not giving up. Just trying to be realistic. Ledan's got what it takes to be very persuasive." And
totally unforgettable. She tamped down that thought.
"He already talked—or had one of his people talk the
Bartletts into selling."

Sophie turned down her mouth, sending ripples of
wrinkles across her thin, pink skin. "Abe Bartlett's
spineless. Forget him. Put your mind to how we can
get more people like you to move out here."

"Easier said than—Mae, sit still."

"I just wanna go look out the window."

The pattern was predictable. Mae had a fascination
with what the locals called The Table; a table in the window, covered with an orange vinyl cloth and set
for three diners. Three chairs were tipped up at those
place settings.

"You can look out of the window from here," Gaby said. "You know what happened the last time you sat at The Table."

Mae wiggled but said nothing.

"Sis didn't speak to you for a week, and she
wouldn't let you help for another week after that."

The Table was kept exclusively for Sis's three si
lent brothers, and it was understood that no one else
ever sat there. It was said to have the best view in
the place. That was true: a view of the corner gas
station with a tiny sliver of distant mountain—if you
pressed your nose to the glass.

Sophie took a fork and moved aside Mae's slice of
toast, revealing the congealed remnants of a sunny-
side up fried egg. "Concentrate on finishing the good
food your mother's paying for," she said severely.
"You'll never do well in school if you don't eat prop
erly. And you're too thin."

Mae sighed and waited until Sophie looked at Gaby
again before performing the egg's burial once more.

"The committee against Ledan is coming along nicely," Sophie said. "Artie and Freda are on board. And Barney—though sometimes I wish that gaudy
hacienda of his would just disappear. Caleb at the gas
station—and his wife, of course. And every one of
them is taking a section of the town and visiting peo
ple personally. I'm planning a meeting for two weeks
from tonight in the Women's Auxiliary Hall."

"This is going to be a tough fight." Gaby looked up as Sis approached with fresh coffee. Sis was al
most as silent as her brothers and refilled Gaby's mug
without a word. She set down a second mug for So
phie and retreated. "Ledan's opening an office above
my place."

"What!"

"Mommy says it isn't nice to say
what,"
Mae said
pompously. "You're supposed to say excuse me, or
I beg your pardon."

Sophie ignored her. "Ledan's going to use that empty space up there? Isn't it just an old storage area?"

"He says it's going to be renovated." She lifted
her loose hair from her neck. "Imagine the noise and
mess that's going to mean."

"What's he like?"

Gaby met the other woman's light eyes, and her mind immediately slid away, back to yesterday and
the moment when Jacques Ledan had faced her in the
shop. Today, as then, her legs felt weak and achy. Just what she needed, a sexy rush over a man who didn't know she was alive other than as a maker of baseball caps! "It'll be a cold day in hell," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Sophie's eyes widened.

Gaby flapped a hand. "Talking to myself. He told me how he wants to use all the little people in Gold-
strike. Give them jobs to make them feel included.
My job was supposed to be making baseball caps with
dumb logos on the front."

Now Sophie really stared. "Doesn't he know what
you do?" she whispered, almost reverently.

Gaby grimaced. "Oh, sure. I
make
hats. Why wouldn't I be delighted to make hundreds of caps with GFTG in Goldstrike on the front
…
in my little
factory."

Before Sophie could do more than start to respond,
the door opened once more and a woman's strident voice announced, "Will you look at this. You didn't tell me it was like this, Bart. Jacques, did he tell you?"

"No. But I've driven by many times."

Gaby ducked her head and scooted lower in the seat. The last thing she wanted was another eye-to
-
eye confrontation with Jacques Ledan, not until she'd
decided what her next move would be.

"Is it them?" Sophie croaked.

"Mmm."

"What's the matter, Mom?"

Gaby aimed a warning frown at Mae, who had
taken her burial one stage further and was squishing
down the toast with the back of her fork. The child wrinkled her nose and kept quiet.

"Ma'am." Rita said loudly. "Excuse me, ma'am."

Sis grunted.

"Is the floor dry over here now?"

"Weren't wet," Sis said and continued wiping the counter.

Clattering followed and Gaby dared a peek toward
the window. Rita was pulling the chairs away from
The Table. "Let's sit here. More light. I want to show
you some of the figures the accountants gave me."

The three sat around The Table.

"I saw those two parties you mentioned and
they're agreeable," Bart Stanly said. "All we need is the old guy
…
Damned if I remember his name The
one to the north. That'll give us all the space we need
to start with."

"I don't want any hitches now," Jacques Ledan said, his voice deeper than Stanly's and with that quality Gaby had noticed yesterday: soft, yet clear and with a hint of gravel that singed her nerves.

"They're sitting at The Table, Mommy," Mae
said. "Sis is getting real mad. Look."

Sis being
real mad
meant her plump face turned
red and she stood like a statue with her arms crossed.

"Mommy," Mae hissed. "If she stays mad I won't get to help make pies!"

Sophie, clearly unable to resist any longer, craned
to see the trio in the window. Returning her attention
to Gaby, she asked, "Is that
really
them?"

"Uh-huh."

"And Ledan's the dark one." She sniffed.
"French. You can see that."

"His grandfather was French," Gaby said, keeping
her voice low although Rita and Bart were too busy vying for Ledan's attention to be aware of anyone else. "Take it from
me. This one's all-American en
trepreneur."

"Been investigating?" Sophie asked. Her mouth had thinned to a pale line.

"I had a friend in Los Angeles make some enqui
ries. The Ledans started making candy in a small way
in France. Then the grandfather came to the States
and began building the business here. The son built a
whole lot more. Four years ago he retired to the south of France, leaving his son, the original Ledan's grand
son—Jacques—to run things. They're big in Europe as well as the States."

"So what does he want with us?" Sophie asked, hardly moving her lips.

"Who knows?" Gaby responded. "Either he's
bored or he's greedy. Probably some of both."

"Mom, Sis looks funny."

"I'll see to it," Sophie said, getting up. She
inarched to the counter, picked up menus and took them to Ledan and the dynamic duo. "Are you sure you want to sit here?" she asked. "Sun gets hot through the window."

Gaby looked down into her cup and waited.
"We're fine," Rita said. "I'll have decaffeinated. Regular for you two, right?"

A chorus of masculine grunts followed.

Gaby suppressed a grin. The arrogant ignorance of
these people was amusing—almost.

Sophie passed the booth, brows raised almost to her hairline, walked behind the counter and picked up two
coffee carafes. Sis continued to stand like a large, irritable statue. Gaby could see her lips moving but couldn't hear a word she might be saying.

"You sure you wouldn't like a different table?" Sophie asked and Gaby heard coffee splashing into mugs. "It's a whole lot more private in a booth."

"We like this table," Rita said. "How long have you lived here?"

"Seventy-five years," Sophie said promptly.

"My," Rita said, her voice patronizingly sweet. "And still waiting tables. That's really wonderful."

God help Jacques Ledan.
Gaby bent her face and
rested her brow on a fist to hide her grin. Sophie Byler
wasn't an enemy she'd like to have, and she had a hunch Mr. Ledan wasn't going to enjoy it, either.

The squish, squish of rubber-soled shoes preceded
the arrival of Sis who did what Gaby had never
known her to do before—she sat down in the booth.
Her face had passed through red and arrived at purple.