Reckless Promise (13 page)

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
Slow deep anger burned in Poppy's stomach. She would not lose her
temper. She would not lose her temper. She would not— She would.
"Don't feel bad about it, honey," she purred as she stood. "Those
who can, do. Those who can't, shop. I'm sure you can manage
that."

Brandi took a deep breath and her face turned
red. "You—you—slut. I had you pegged the minute I saw you. I
knew—"

Poppy regretted her words the minute they
were out. She'd done it again, acted out of hurt and done something
dumb. She had to stop doing that. After all, there was no point in
living down to this woman's expectations. And she had brought it on
herself by shamelessly chasing two men.

As if her thought had conjured him, Tom
appeared at her side. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," she said, and forced her
expression into a smile. Alice must be somewhere around. Poppy sank
back into the chair and concentrated on giving a good
performance.

"You okay? You look upset." Tom leaned over
and breathed the words in her ear. It probably looked like hot
stuff.

She nodded, and her curls brushed his
cheek.

"We owe you big time for that one. That could
have been nasty. Not to mention bad publicity and lawsuits," he
said in a loving tone of voice that would have fooled any one
listening.

Mac came through the door with a glass in one
hand. "Here we go—" He stopped and glared at Tom. "Everything
okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped between them.
"This should settle your nerves." He handed her the brandy.

"Thanks." The heady burn did chase away the
deep-down shakiness, but too late she remembered the trouble
alcohol had gotten her into the first night here. She tried not to
look up at him to see if he remembered.

He did. "It's only a couple of sips." His
glance teased her, saying that he remembered too, and his little
half-smile drew her gaze to his mouth. She remembered exactly how
it had felt, that first touch.

"How predictable." Brandi sneered at Poppy.
In a move as smooth as Mac's had been, she cut in between them,
smiling up at Mac, laying one hand on his arm. Her inch-long purple
nails dug into him and he winced. "I've been wanting to ask your
advice," she said as she maneuvered him a few steps away, her voice
low and throaty, completely unlike the vixen screech she'd used on
Poppy.

"That is not a nice person," Mrs. Hamilton
said in a low voice.

Poppy jumped. She hadn't seen the woman come
up the stairs behind her. "Maybe she's just unhappy."

Mrs. Hamilton didn't look convinced. "That's
no excuse for speaking to you like that. And after you saved her
life."

"Well—"

"But you know, dear, you really should be a
little more careful about married men. Tom, for instance—"

Poppy looked around, hoping for any avenue of
escape. Everyone believed her act, even nice little Mrs. H., and
she just couldn't stand it. Alice drove up in that awful Suburban
with the steer horns. Poppy bolted down the steps, climbed into the
car, and fastened her seat belt. "I guess Brandi changed her mind.
Anyway, she's busy. Do you mind if I go to town with you
instead?"

"Of course not. Guests are always welcome to
ride along."

And keep going? Alice probably wished they'd
both leave. Poppy might be jumping out of the frying pan and into
the fire. She could only hope Alice would play the good
hostess.

As Alice jerked the SUV into motion and they
jounced over the cattle guard, Poppy assured herself she wouldn't
look back. Mac probably hadn't even noticed that she'd left. She
would not look.

She leaned forward and checked the side
mirror. He stood at the foot of the steps, empty glass in one hand
and brunette clinging like poison ivy to the other, staring after
them. Well, at least he'd noticed.

She settled back in her seat and glanced at
Alice, whose gaze didn't budge from the road. The tight line of
Alice's mouth said not to count on conversation. Poppy faced front
and realized she'd done it again. This didn't seem like a big
mistake, as her mistakes went, but once again she'd gotten her
feelings hurt and just jumped off a cliff without any thought for
what might be below.

So here she sat, stuck in a car for a whole
afternoon with a woman who hated her, headed for town with uncombed
hair, dirty hands and face, and still smelling like horse. No
purse. What could she do in town without a cent to her name? "How
long are you planning to stay?" She gave a light laugh. "I guess I
should have asked before I jumped in the car."

"About an hour." After a pause, Alice added,
"There are several interesting galleries and boutiques. Are you
looking for anything in particular?"

"No, just browsing."

"Well, you've been with us for a day and a
half. I suppose being on the ranch gets pretty dull when you're
used to the city." Alice managed to make the insult sound almost
like polite conversation.

Poppy hadn't had a dull moment since she'd
first seen Mac. She wanted to tell Alice just how not-dull she
found the ranch, but that would mean breaking her promise to Tom.
Damned if she did, and damned if she didn't.

Alice didn't say another word the whole time
they bumped down the miles of gravel road to the highway, and Poppy
settled in for a long, grim afternoon.

Or—maybe her impetuous action had landed her
in rose petals this time. She had just been gifted with about four
hours that she could spend making Alice jealous. She wouldn't even
need Tom. And when Alice and Tom were straightened out, she'd be
free of this Other Woman nonsense. Free to concentrate on Mac.

"How long have you and Tom had the ranch?"
she asked, feeling her way through this new territory. In the whole
month she'd been practicing the other woman business, she'd only
had to be seen having a drink or lunch with her 'client'. Smile.
Put a suggestive hand on his arm. She'd never had to write dialogue
for the part. But it couldn't be too hard. Sound innocent but
admiring, that's what she'd do. Just leave no doubt that she
thought Tom burned hotter than the marshmallow-roasting fire Moses
built for the kids every night. Hotter even than Mac, although how
anyone could believe she'd think that—

"Five years," Alice said.

"It's so nice you have something you can do
together. It must be wonderful to get to be with him every day."
She made her eyes wide and admiring, just in case Alice glanced
over at her. "I'd just lo-o-ve to be able to work with a husband.
You're so lucky."

"We don't really—well, yes. It is nice to
work together." It looked like Alice had almost added something
else but censored the comment with clamped lips.

"Oh, I know you always have guests
around."

"Not always. We close for a couple of months
in the early spring. After the skiing is over and before the
weather is nice enough to enjoy riding and camping."

"Ooo, how wonderful," Poppy cooed. "Just like
a fabulous honeymoon every year. How lucky you are. I'd just die
for something like that." Good Lord, she sounded like bimbo to the
tenth power. "With a man like Tom," she added, just in case Alice
didn't get the message.

Alice got it. "We always enjoy our guests."
She sounded like a kid saying 'I like spinach.' "But yes, we also
enjoy our vacation."

Well, that sounded tepid. But then, she
couldn't expect Alice to wax ecstatic over private things to a
stranger, especially one she didn't like much. She had to push a
little more. "You must enjoy having Tom all to yourself. Or is Mac
here then?" No. Wrong. Mustn't talk about Mac. "It must be awfully
hard to share Tom. And he's so-o-o good looking. I think every
woman dreams about cowboys."

"That's for sure." Alice took her eyes off
the road long enough to slide a sideways glance at Poppy. "He's
wonderful with guests. He makes everyone feel so special. Whether
they are or not."

Score one for Alice. Poppy plowed on. "So
you're here all alone. Unless Mac..." Darn it, there stood Mac,
pushing his way into the conversation again.

"Mm-hmm."

"It must be wonderful, just the two of you
together in that beautiful house. I can see it now, a bottle of
wine and a big fire. That bearskin in front of the fireplace in
your private parlor...mmm." She could imagine what she and Mac
could do with it. But from what Tom said, the good moments were few
and far between, what with Alice's deep-freeze act.

A grimace that looked like pain flash across
Alice's face, Poppy saw when she peeked through her lashes. She
must be doing a good, if reprehensible, job of half-swooning
bliss.

"You're so lucky to have Tom," she murmured,
just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the car. Her
mental picture didn't include Tom, of course.

Alice flicked a look at her that could have
stopped a charging bull in mid-stride.

Poppy closed her eyes and leaned back,
bracing herself against the jolting of the SUV. The road might be
terrible, but her performance had been great. She should feel
satisfied instead of sick, because she'd done a good job and maybe
now the whole thing would be over. But she could only think about
the pain on Alice's face. Why couldn't Tom just talk to his wife?
Bringing in an outsider only made things worse.

Screeching brakes brought her upright, eyes
wide. A boulder bounced across the road and Alice swerved into the
oncoming lane to avoid it. A horn blared and Poppy stared straight
into the radiator grill of a speeding eighteen-wheeler. The
shoulder harness cut into her as they shot off the road and lurched
through the sagebrush. Alice's head slammed into the side window
with an unpleasant dropped-melon sound and her hands fell away from
the wheel. Poppy saw with horror that they were heading straight
for the edge of nothing.

She ripped off her seat belt and lunged for
the steering wheel. With a wild contortion, she smashed her foot
down on the brake. The Suburban slewed wildly and stopped a yard
from the cliff.

Deafening silence spread like a pool of oil.
The scent of crushed sagebrush vied with the haze of scorched
rubber. Only Alice's deep sobbing breaths and the ting of cooling
metal diluted the unnatural quiet.

Alice held one arm to her chest. Her eyes
were open and unfocused.

"Don't move," Poppy said as she threw the
transmission into park and set the emergency brake. Her voice
sounded strange in her own ears, rusty and unused, and she cleared
her throat. "I'm going to go check—" To see if they were about to
fall over the edge, but that wasn't the most tactful thing to
say.

"Rock." Alice's voice shook. "It almost hit
us."

Yeah. And did you notice the semi? "I know."
Poppy, clearly the designated adult, eased out of the car. Slowly.
Carefully. Her head swam and her knees wobbled. Sort of the way Mac
made her feel, only not good.

The Suburban sat closer to the cliff edge
than she liked, and listed to one side on a flat tire. The truck
that had so nearly been their undoing must be halfway to Denver by
now. And she'd heard westerners were helpful.

"Alice." She made her voice sharp, that
I'm-the-teacher-and-you'd-better-pay-attention tone. "Where's your
phone?"

"In the office," Alice mumbled. She sounded
dazed.

"I mean cell phone."

"Don't have one. They don't work out
here."

So much for calling for help. Poppy stared at
the miles and miles and miles of sagebrush and mountains that
surrounded them, dwarfing her into helpless insignificance. Mac
tugged at her mind, big and strong and dependable, and she sighed.
Modern women didn't lean, darn it. She didn't.

No doubt about who had to change the tire and
get Alice to a doctor. Preferably soon, because the wrist looked
terrible, already puffy and discolored. Poppy straightened her
spine.

A first aid kit turned up under one of the
back seats. She saw with relief that it held an Instant Ice pack
that she squeezed and bound around Alice's swollen wrist. Alice
leaned back in the seat, eyes closed.

Now for the tire. So not her field of
expertise. Driver's Ed taught how to change tires, but that had
been high school and she'd never had to do it since. After all, she
lived in a city with decent public transportation. Well, she'd once
figured out how to run a gas chromatograph from the instruction
manual. Surely cars came with instruction manuals, too. She
rummaged in the glove compartment. Eureka.

"Just sit still. I'm going to change the
tire," she told Alice optimistically.

No response.

Poppy swallowed her sense of urgency and
started reading. Except for the need to hurry, it sounded simple
enough, even for an urban non-car owner. As long as she ignored the
cliff edge that put a distressingly few feet of ground between her
and hundreds of feet of empty space, she'd be fine.

With the book in one hand, she assembled all
the parts and managed to detach the spare from its hiding place
under the car—who would ever have looked for it there? Ignoring the
way it hurt to move, she wrestled the jack in place and started
cranking, muttering thanks to Kate for deviling her into spending
hours at the gym. Someone had tightened the lug nuts far more than
seemed necessary. Mac could probably have loosened them with one
hand.

Once she'd cinched the spare in place, she
lowered the car, tossed the flat in the back, and checked Alice,
who sat glassy-eyed and unresponsive. Time to get to a doctor.

At least she knew how to drive. That would be
a lot harder to do by the book. She'd never driven anything this
size before, but the deserted highway and power steering made
it—not easy, but possible. By the time she had wrestled the big
vehicle into town, her muscles trembled and sweat drenched her
shirt. A sign at the edge of town directed her to the clinic and
she pulled up in front of the door with relief and complete
disregard for assigned parking.