Mad About The Man (5 page)

Gaby reached for the woman's crossed arms and squeezed a broad wr
ist. "Don't be upset," she whis
pered. "They're strangers."

"Chairs was tipped," Sis mumbled. "Chairs is always tipped."

Sophie had appropriated the order pad and was standing at Bart Stanly's elbow, pencil poised. "Oat
meal's great," she said. "Though there's some would say it's an acquired taste if you don't like it real thin.
Chicken gizzard and pig's heart fry goes down well with a mess of lima beans and bread fried in bacon
grease to wipe it up with. Fill you up, let me tell you.
Won't need no dinner."

Sis's mouth fell open.

Mae giggled.

"Won't
want
dinner, or any other meal for a
while," Gaby said under her breath. Sophie was noth
ing if not inventive.

"We'll stick with the coffee," Bart said.

Gaby glanced up
…
directly into those blue eyes she
was never going to forget. Ledan became still—still in the way that had made the air seem breathless the
previous afternoon. He smiled, and Gaby's lips parted
before she looked away. The man spelled danger of the worst kind, the kind that attacked the body and maybe the heart and then moved in for the kill.

Sophie returned and sat beside Sis. There was noth
ing to say, and Gaby studied her hands.

"This place is
cute!"
Rita said. "I had no idea
there were still places l
ike this around. It's like some
thing out of a Western movie, right down to the little
old
grandma waitress."

Mae giggled again and Gaby had to peek at Sophie.
Thunderous didn't do her expression justice.
War was declared.

"I told you the town was old," Jacques said. He sounded distracted and Gaby was certain that if she
looked at him, he'd be looking right back. "That's
the point. It hasn't changed since gold prospecting days. Not significantly. If it isn't given a chance it's going to disappear."

"We should try to keep this diner as it is," Bart said. "It's going to be important to play up the old-world, forgotten stuff. People are going to eat up a chance to take a look at primitive places like this."

Gaby listened closely. The more she knew about
Ledan's plans, the better. She had to sit tight and not
show her hand too soon, or else fighting him would be even harder.

"The teen club is what interests me," Jacques said.
"What I said about the young people isn't going to change unless we can get them hooked into liking
where they live, and soon. With the right facility, the
local kids will mingle with the tourist teens. A little
excitement's all we need to make more of them want
to stay. Particularly if they see there are going to be jobs for them here, too."

A teen club sounded like a great idea. And the jobs.
But Gaby already knew they were all going to hate the idea when Ledan got through with them.

"Bart's got a great plan, haven't you?" Rita said, sounding blissful. "Tell Jacques what you told me this morning."

"It's simple really," Bart said. "The old schoolhouse is the perfect spot for a teen club. There's a kind of underlying kick to the idea of using a place that used to be a follow-the-rules stronghold. Think of it. Teenagers cutting up on hallowed ground as it were."

Gaby met Sophie's cold eyes and the old woman shook her head slowly.

Rita gave an enthusiastic whoop. "Bart says the hall's
small
but for a start it'll work for dancing. We can add something that looks like a gymnasium later—in conjunction with the resort."

"Yeah," Bart said. "There's a stage in the hall for the DJ. Throw in the strobe lights and a great sound system and you'll have kids coming from miles around."

"The school's beside a trailer park," Jacques said.
"What about the noise—"

"We'll move the park. No sweat." Bart laughed.
"Everything's got a price. I've already started getting
bids for the video concessions. We'll turn the corri
dors into video arcades. This is going to be dynamite,
Jacques. The farther in I get, the more excited I am. Give me six months and you won't recognize this town."

Sis's hand went to her mouth.

"It's okay," Gaby said, not at all certain anything would ever be okay around here again,
but deter
mined not to give up without a fight. "Stay put and don't say a word. Please look after Mae until I get back."

She left the booth and walked the length of the diner—with Ledan's eyes on her every step of the way. "Excuse me—" she smiled at him "—but I wonder if I could speak with you privately."

Without waiting for his answer, Gaby left the restaurant. When the
door clicked shut, Ledan was al
ready at her shoulder.

She faced him. "I'm sorry to take you away from your friends."

"I'm glad you did. And they're my employees, not
my friends."

Gaby wondered what kind of people he would
count as friends. "Nevertheless, I hope you'll excuse
me for breaking in."

"You can break in on me anytime you like."

The slow warming of her blood started again. "I
only wanted to talk to you for a few minutes—about
your plans here. Would it be appropriate for me to do
that?" Charm and manners could often achieve what
anger would make impossible.

He regarded her with what felt like intense inti
macy. His concentration on her mouth sent her tongue
nervously over her lips and she saw his sharp intake
of breath.

"I'd
like
to show you something," he said
abruptly, taking her elbow. He smiled down into her
face. "Can I steal you away for a little while?"

Her skin tingled where he touched her. "For a little while," she agreed, while common sense told her that
this man was much too persuasive for safe company.

The dusty green Jeep stood at the curb with a silver
Porsche parked behind. Ledan shepherded Gaby to the Jeep and helped her in.

When he sat beside her he smiled, and in the sun
light his eyes were tropical sea lapis, the color of deep
water over a coral reef.

"What about your
…
the others?"

"They're Porsche people." He hooked a thumb
over his shoulder. "That's Bart's. They won't wait
for me."

With that, he drove away, heading out of town to
the north. "I shouldn't be gone too long," Gaby said. This was the way he must come when he went to La
Place. What a name for a house!

"We aren't going far," Ledan said.

About ten miles out of town he took a sharp left turn down a dirt track leading to one of the farms. Gaby knew it was owned by a family named Odle who kept to themselves.

Once through a sagging wooden gate propped open
with a pile of old tires, Ledan drove straight toward
the shabby clapboard farmhouse but skirted the build
ing and continued through groves of stripped peach trees.

Dust sprayed from beneath the Jeep's wide tires
and the smell of fallen fruit and warm dirt hung heavy
in the air.

At last, when there was nothing in sight but acres
of trees and crisp brown grass with a crystal-blue sky
stretching to the mountains, Ledan parked and walked
around to Gaby's side.

"Let me." Before she could climb out, his hands
closed on her waist and he lifted her effortlessly down
until they stood, toe to toe.

"Thank you, Mr. Ledan." Her hands rested on flexed biceps.

"Jacques." His throat was deeply tanned against the open collar of his khaki shirt.

"
Jacques."

Beneath his fingers her gauze dress was too thin,
too flimsy a shield between his skin and hers. His grip
on her waist tightened slightly. "Is this private
enough, Gaby?"

She started. He made a new sound of her name, something oddly foreign and exotic.

He smiled again. "You did say you wanted to talk
to me privately."

"And you asked if you could steal me away for a while."

"And I have, haven't I?" The tilt of his head, the parting of his lips to show such even, white teeth, sent her stomach plunging.

Gaby stepped away. "You certainly have." She walked farther from him up the slight incline of the orchard. The trees stretched endlessly on all sides.

Jacques fell in beside her. "You aren't from Goldstrike—not originally?"

"No. I've lived here for six years, though, and it's the only home I ever want from now on."

"Really?" he sounded amazed.

"Really. Not everyone wants to race on the fast track. Some of us can hardly wait to get off."

He strolled, a stride to every two or three of Gaby's
steps. "Were you ever on the fast track?"

She smiled to herself. "Too fast for me." And that
was all she'd volunteer.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

They'd reached a knoll bisected by a leaning wire fence that meant another farmer's land lay on the
other side. Gaby thought carefully before she said, "I
wanted to ask you about your plans for Goldstrike. You can refuse to tell me, of course."

"Ask me anything." He braced a straight arm against a tree and looked out over the land rolling away before them.

Gaby wiped her damp palms on her skirt. She was
grateful for the breeze that stirred her hair and cooled
her skin—though not nearly enough. "You, er, you really ought to wear a hat more," she said in a rush.

He glanced back at her. "Why?"

"Too much sun isn't good for you." This was a
mistake. She hadn't thought through what she needed
to say, and experience had taught her that acting first
and thinking second rarely worked out too well.

"I don't wear hats."

"You should. They'd suit you." She felt sick.

Jacques ginned. "I'll take that as a compliment,
but I still don't wear hats. What did you want to ask me?"

A slow, calm approach would be best. An oblique
attack. "Are you married?"
Wonderful!

"No."
He appeared unmoved. "Are you?"

"No."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Gaby looked at her bare toes and dusty beige san
dals. Now he must think she was personally interested
in him.

"You're beautiful, Gaby. But I expect you know that."

The ground felt as if it was slipping away. "Your grandfather started Ledan's, didn't he?" Now he'd figure out she'd been digging up his background.

"Yes. He came from France with a few old family
recipes and more hopes and ambitions than you can imagine—and a great big heart. Almost no money, though." He laughed. "My father took over about
twenty years ago and passed the reins to me five years
ago."

Gaby raised her shoulders.

"My parents live in the south of France now. My grandfather died only ten years ago. D'you know what his last words were to me?"

"No." She wanted to watch his face, loved watching his face.

"He said, 'One day you'll meet your nemesis,
Jacques.' And then he went to sleep. He was ninety-
seven. Guess what he meant by that?"

Gaby chafed her arms and shook her head. "I don't
know."

"I didn't think you would. Maybe I'll tell you one
day." He ran a finger from her shoulder to her elbow
and rubbed a fold of the loose dress between finger
and thumb. "You look good in this. It touches all the
right places."

She felt a blush speed up her neck.

"Particularly when the breeze blows it against
legs
…
and the rest of you." His eyes passed boldly over her before he turned back to the landscape.

For the first time in longer than she could remem
ber, a raw surge of heat flashed in her breasts and all
the way to her knees. He was setting out to confuse her and succeeding masterfully.

Gaby wrapped her arms around her ribs and drew herself up. "I heard some of what you said at Sis's."