Scout's Honor (19 page)

“Well, you’re right about that. He’s not
much of a gambler,” she said, then added, “He sure played his cards
wrong with this lady.”

“Does it matter?”

She sighed and dropped her gaze to her
half-empty coffee cup. “Yeah, bro’. It mattered this time.
Damn.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?” he asked
softly.

“No, I’ll take a cab. See you later.” She
hung up the phone and covered her face with her hands. The dream
was over, and it hurt. But she hadn’t expected anything else. She’d
always known it would end, next week, next month, whenever. There
was no true love. She’d learned that a long time ago.

“Then why do I feel betrayed?” she whispered
to the empty kitchen. Because you thought boy scouts never lied.
Because everything about him sent a different signal. Because you
wanted to believe.

She had to get out of there. She grabbed the
phone book, flipped to the yellow pages, and ran her finger down
the “automobile” column. She found car rentals and dialed the first
number listed. She had to bribe the guy to pick her up, and she
promised him an extra twenty if he came within half an hour. No man
was going to make a fool out of her again.

Her next call was to a travel agent. Booking
an afternoon flight to Miami wasn’t a problem, but there was no
Nassau connection. She told the agent to get her to Miami. From
there she could arrange her own flight to Nassau.

Action and the need for speed didn’t leave
her enough time to change her mind. She wouldn’t change her mind—no
matter how much she wanted to. Better to take control of her life.
Better to put some distance between her heart and her mind. Between
Mitch and reality. Between pain and emptiness. Only once did it
occur to her that she was falling back on her trusted solution to
any problem—running away.

When the rental car pulled up in front of
the ranch house, Anna was waiting on the porch with her luggage,
watching the road for Mitch and half hoping he would show up, half
praying he wouldn’t. She’d left a note on the kitchen table,
telling him the coast was clear and that she had decided to return
to Nassau. It was a cheap shot, but she refused to feel guilty.
After all, Mitch had pulled an even cheaper shot.

Gravel crunched under the tires as they
drove through the ranch gate. She had kept one eye on the side
mirror all the way down the drive, wondering what she’d do if Mitch
came jogging into view. But she never had the opportunity to find
out.

* * *

By the time she arrived in Miami, Anna was
tired, hungry, and grungy. The agent in Granby had routed her
through every podunk city in the Midwest. Nassau flights had
stopped running until morning, leaving her with two options, a
hotel or home.

Home. The word sounded good, yet foreign. It
had been a long time, too long. Doubt had dogged her trail all the
way from Colorado. During her layover in Cincinnati, she’d lost her
anger and begun wondering if her behavior was rational or merely
comfortable habit. Back on the run, she thought now. Always running
from something—responsibility, love, home. Time to grow up, Anna,
she told herself as she pulled her cell phone out of her purse
.

The call was short. She declined her dad’s
offer to pick her up, and told him she’d take a taxi. She’d be home
within half an hour. His silence told her he hadn’t missed her use
of the word
home
. Then he spoke.

“Fine, dear. I’ll be waiting . . . at home.
I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

A new bounce lifted her steps down the
concourse. For the first time in years she felt as if she had a
direction, and it was “toward,” rather than “away from.” If nothing
else, Mitch had taught her the value of forgiveness. The more she
thought about it, the more foolish she felt. Leaving this morning
had been a mistake, the result of a childish tantrum. She had been
so quick to condemn, and running was always too easy.

As the taxi drove through the wrought-iron
gates to the Lange home, she decided to take another step “toward.”
She would call Mitch in the morning and at least give him an
opportunity to explain his lies. Deep in her heart she knew why
he’d done it. He’d told her he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.
But he’d chosen the wrong weapon.

James Lange was waiting in the doorway. Tall
and graying, he was an older version of St. John. He greeted her
with outstretched arms.

“Welcome home, Anna.” His voice caught on
her name as he wrapped her in a hug.

Together they walked into the house, both
knowing tonight was a time for healing old wounds.

* * *

Three days later Anna still hadn’t reached
Mitch, and her confidence was dipping toward an all-time low. The
only thing she knew for sure was that he wasn’t hanging around the
phone waiting to hear from her. And being without him had proved
how important he’d become to her. She missed his crooked grin and
broken nose, his soft brown eyes and easy laughter. Inactivity left
her more time than she wanted to think about all the things she
missed, so she said her sweet goodbyes to her father and caught a
plane to Nassau.

Her heart wasn’t broken yet, just starting
to crack in the more tender places. She knew Mitch loved her, and
if this aching emptiness meant anything, she would put her money on
love. No matter what happened between her and Mitch, she wasn’t
running anymore. The price for running had gotten too high. She’d
lost four years of having her father in her life by running. And
three days of Mitch’s love.

St. John’s house was empty when she arrived.
She dropped her suitcase in her bedroom and immediately went to the
phone in the living room to try Mitch again, thinking a land line
might improve her luck
. The
phone cord twisted behind her back as she walked over to the patio
doors and opened them, letting the slight breeze blow through the
house. Her gaze found the outside shower, and a pang of remembrance
burned through her heart. Maybe coming to Nassau had been a
mistake. In Miami she’d only had to contend with her imagination.
Here there were solid memories. A kiss, a smile, a touch.
Everywhere she looked Mitch’s presence called to her.

The phone rang on and on and no one
answered. She felt a hint of desperation. What if she never got
hold of him? Where was he? Whom else could she call?

Stephen, his brother. The name popped into
her mind. She dialed the long-distance operator. Checking the time,
she decided to try Stephen at his office, and waited impatiently
for the call to go through. Why hadn’t she thought of him
before?

When his secretary answered the phone and
Anna asked for Stephen Summers, she was informed he was in a
meeting. “May I take a message?” the secretary asked coolly.

Anna wasn’t in the mood to play cat and
mouse with a secretary, so in her own cool voice she played a
bluff. “Tell Mr. Summers that Ms. Lange is on the line from Nassau
and I will hold.”

A moment’s silence greeted her
pronouncement, then, “Anna Lange?”

“Yes,” Anna replied firmly, not revealing
her amazement that the secretary had heard of her.

“One moment, Ms. Lange. Mr. Summers has been
expecting your call. Please hold.” The secretary’s voice had warmed
considerably, almost as if she were afraid Anna might hang up.

When the phone clicked, Anna dropped her
facade of composure and let astonishment slacken her face.
Expecting her call? Fast on the heels of wonder came fear. What if
something had happened to Mitch? Her mind raced over a dozen awful
scenarios before Stephen picked up the phone.

“Ms. Lange?”

“Is Mitch okay?” The words came out a
nervous question.

“You tell me, Ms. Lange. I haven’t heard
from him since your wonderful coup with the ranch. I thought you
were both still in Colorado. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful
1 am—”

“I did it for Mitch,” she interrupted,
cutting off his misplaced thank you. “How can I get in touch with
him?”

“I assume you’ve tried the ranch.”

“For three days, without any luck, Can you
give me the name of anyone in Hot Sulphur I could call?”

“Not really. I don’t spend much time there.
It’s actually Mitch’s home, rather than mine.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she snapped.
Worry was making her voice harsher than she wanted, and she backed
down. An antagonistic attitude wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Summers. It’s just that I’m concerned about
Mitch.”

“Mitch can take care of himself, Ms. Lange.
I’m sure there’s no cause for concern.”

“Then why were you expecting my call?” she
asked.

“Frankly, after you won the ranch back I
figured you might want more of a reward, so to speak, than Mitch is
in a position to offer. I don’t know how you pulled it off with
only his backing, and I doubt if you’re in the habit of financing
this sort of thing on your own.”

Anna’s back stiffened in a flash of anger.
This pompous man had a lot of nerve and plenty to learn, and she
was just the one to teach him his first lesson. “Frankly, Mr.
Summers, I find your attitude disgusting. Mitch’s terms were more
than adequate, and he certainly didn’t resort to using something
that wasn’t his to pay me off. If anything, he showed remarkable
astuteness in his dealings with me. Which is more than I can say
about his dealings with you. I highly recommended that he sue you
for breech of contract.”

She could almost feel Stephen Summers
squirming under her tirade.

“My apologies,” he said. “You’re absolutely
right, of course. But there wasn’t a contract. His suit wouldn’t
have had a leg to stand on.”

“That’s not why he didn’t pursue it,” she
informed him
.

“I know my brother, Ms. Lange. And I also
know he saved me from a very sticky situation. But if you’re not
requesting further payment, I would say our biggest problem is how
to contact Mitch.”

She relaxed, trying to defuse her hostility.
“Yes. That’s why I called.”

“Short of actually going to the ranch, I
would recommend continuing your calls, and I will certainly have my
secretary phone from here. You might try the ski area. The season
starts soon, and the instructors should be showing up in the
valley. If you could contact one of them, he might know where Mitch
is.”

Finally a clue. She sighed with relief.
“What’s the name of the ski area?”

“Winter Park Recreation Association. I have
the number here.”

He gave it to her, then continued. “As I
said before, I don’t think there’s any reason to worry. Mitch
spends a lot of time hiking around those mountains, so it’s not
unusual for him not to answer the phone.”

“At three o’clock in the morning?” she asked
doubtfully.

“You’ve been calling at three o’clock in the
morning?” Stephen asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” she admitted.

A long silence preceded his next, softly
spoken question. “Are you in love with my brother, Ms. Lange?”

The question should have surprised her more
than it did. The answer should have been harder to find than it
was. But in that moment she knew beyond doubt. “Yes, Mr. Summers.
I’m in love with Mitch. I love him very, very much.”

Someone at the ski area told Anna how to
locate another instructor, but the instructor couldn’t help her
find Mitch. Apparently, no one had seen him since he and Peter had
missed an organizational meeting two days before. Panic was
beginning to overwhelm her.

She hung up the phone, her hand lingering on
the receiver in the hope that she’d come up with another idea.

She picked up the phone again to call St.
John, then replaced it. She would have better luck if she went to
the casino. Tracking down St. John while he was working would take
more time than getting to Runner’s Cay. Besides, she wasn’t in the
mood to be stuck on hold.

The question “Where was Mitch?” stayed in
her mind all the way to Runner’s Cay. She raced through the
half-empty gambling rooms, headed for St. John’s office. She
knocked once, and when she didn’t get an answer, used her key.
Flipping on his desk lamp, she checked his calendar and found it
empty of afternoon appointments. Then she caught sight of an
envelope with her name on it lying on the suede blotter. Curious,
she picked it up. There was no return address, and the postmark was
three days old. A confused frown passed over her face. She’d talked
to St. John last night. He hadn’t mentioned any mail.

She used his sterling-silver letter opener
and slit the top of the envelope. As she unfolded the piece of
notebook paper, a mixture of excitement and fear coursed through
her. No one but Mitch would use lined notebook paper. Only one
sentence was scrawled across the middle of the page.

She read the words over and over, until
tears spilled onto her cheeks and she couldn’t see them any more.
She didn’t need to see them, for the single sentence was painfully
easy to memorize—“Was it so easy to leave me?”

The image of Mitch writing those words
twisted around her heart like a vise, and she whispered her answer
to the lonely room. “No, scout.”

Clutching the letter to her breast, she
walked over to St. John’s bar and poured herself a cognac. She
stopped at the usual amount, then tipped the decanter to make it a
double shot. Tears and liquor, she thought. What had become of her?
A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, sophisticated lady.
Sophisticated, lonely, heartbroken lady. Her options were fading
faster than snow in June, and getting drunk was looking better and
better.

She went back to the desk, settling into the
wing chair and propping her feet on the windowsill behind the desk.
It made a cozy, private corner for her to drown her sorrows in, her
back to the room, the leather wings of the chair encompassing her
body and hiding her from view.