Scout's Honor (20 page)

She read Mitch’s letter a dozen more times,
until she’d worked up an unhealthy amount of self-pity and
self-disgust. Mixing the two in equal parts with the cognac started
the tears rolling again. When she finished the first glass, she
went back to the bar for a refill and decided just to put the
decanter on the desk. That way she wouldn’t have to interrupt her
blue funk again.

Halfway through her second glass she decreed
herself a miserable excuse for a grown-up woman. By her third glass
she was crying for all the brokenhearted lovers in the world, past
and present. Romeo and Juliet, absolutely tragic, she thought,
sniffling, and dabbing at the moisture on her cheeks. Tristan and
Isolde, so romantic. She sighed as a fresh wave of tears ran into
the snifter raised to her lips. She could return to the ranch and
tie a white hankie on the car antenna, the way Isolde had returned
to Tristan with white sails on her ship.

She giggled at the ridiculous comparison.
Then she hiccuped, and hiccuped again. Getting drunk had been a
good idea. She didn’t know why she’d never tried it before. She
felt better and worse at the same time, but more detached, with the
pain floating around her instead of hurting all the way
through.

Yes, she would return to Hot Sulphur Springs
with a white hankie fluttering from her antenna. Very impressive,
she decided. Surely Mitch would forgive her then. She wished the
hiccups would stop. They made it very difficult to cry
romantically. Maybe St. John had a paper bag in his desk. She
wasn’t sure what to do with it if she found one, but she knew paper
bags and hiccups went together like peanut butter and jelly. If she
found a little one she’d blow into it, and if she found a big one
she’d put it over her head. But then she wouldn’t be able to drink
her cognac.

The paper-bag dilemma took on gargantuan
proportions as she riffled through the desk. It even took
precedence over the less-immediate Mitch Summers dilemma. One thing
at a time, she told herself, amazed at how methodically she was
solving her problems. She blew her nose, wiped her tears, and
poured herself another shot before tackling the file drawers in her
search. Moving through
M, N, O, and P,
she didn’t hear the
key turn in the lock or the door open.

“What the hell?” That she heard.

“St. John,” she cried, inordinately glad to
see him. “Oh, St. John, I’m in trouble.”

“You can say that again. What are you
doing?” The question came out on a disbelieving sigh.

Anna returned her gaze to the files. “I’m
looking, looking, you see, for a paper bag, and I’m almost to the
P’s
, and—” Her head snapped up as another man walked into
the room behind St. John.

“Mitch.” She sighed, a weak smile lifting
the corners of her mouth. “Oh, Mitch. I’ve been looking everywhere
for you.”

“I’m under
M.
I think you already
passed me by.” He gave her a crooked smile, but his eyes were
troubled.

Anna suddenly wished she hadn’t drunk quite
as much cognac. She had so much to tell him, and her brain wouldn’t
connect with her mouth the right way. “Oh, Mitch.” She tried to
come up with something new to say, but “Oh, Mitch” was the best she
could do, so she said it again. “Oh, Mitch.”

“Oh, Anna. Oh, Anna.” He actually chuckled
as he walked around the desk to help her in her attempt to stand
up.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and
snuggled her head under his chin. “I love you, Mitch. I love you,
love you. Let’s go to Hong Kong. We never got there before,
remember?”

“I remember,” he said, patting her on the
shoulder.

Why didn’t he hold her? She wanted so badly
to be held. “Can we go there?” she asked, trying not to make too
much of the stiffness of his body.

“You’re drunk, Anna.”

“I know. I’m terribly sorry. It’s just that
when I couldn’t find you—”

“It’s okay. Your brother and I have some
business to take care of now. We’ll talk later, when you know what
you’re saying.” He set her aside and looked at St. John.

“Right.” St. John helped her to a chair and
made a quick phone call. Then he knelt in front of the safe, and
Anna watched as he pulled out a sheaf of papers. A feeling of dread
made her heart sink as he handed them to Mitch. They were the deeds
to the ranch. Mitch hadn’t come for her.

She needed to think, to sort this thing out.
The harder she tried to focus her thoughts the more addled they
became, until a knock sounded on the door and a shot of alarm
cleared her brain for an instant.

St. John opened the door. Joe, his head
bartender, was standing on the other side. “Would you please take
Ms. Lange home?” St. John said. “We’ll check the liquor order when
you get back.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Lange.” The bartender turned
to Anna and offered his arm. “Ms. Lange?”

She pushed herself deeper into the chair and
grasped both arms. “I don’t want to go home, St. John. I want to
stay with Mitch,” she mumbled, knowing she sounded absurd and that
she wasn’t in any condition to change matters. Why, oh, why, had
she drunk so much?

“Go home, Anna,” Mitch said. “I’ll see you
later.”

Faced with his implacable stance, she
reluctantly took the bartender’s arm, but not before asking,
“Promise?”

“Promise,” he replied. His slight smile
failed to warm her heart or increase her confidence.

* * *

The drive home was a blur of confusion.
Mitch’s actions signaled a loss of love Anna refused to accept. She
must have misunderstood, but they could talk it all out this
evening. Everything would work out for the best. She just had to
believe in Mitch, in love. And she had to sober up.

Sobering up proved to be the biggest
challenge she’d faced all day. Hot coffee and a cold shower woke
her up, but failed to erase the muddle surrounding her mind. Her
day was going from bad to worse, because with clarity came the
undeniable conviction that she’d made a complete and total fool of
herself. Mitch hadn’t fallen in love with a fool, but he might have
fallen out of love with one.

She needed to whip herself into shape. Hair,
nails, facial, the works. Like a general preparing for battle, she
swallowed a couple of aspirins and faced her less-than-glamorous
reflection in the bathroom mirror. Buck up, baby. You can do it,
she told herself with more conviction than she actually felt. She
opened her bag of tricks and started laying her weapons on the
counter. What Mother Nature couldn’t fix with the time she had left
Anna would either gloss over, cover up, or shade into being.

A hot bath and shampoo later, she began the
real job of putting together the Anna Lange recognized around the
world, the knock-your-socks-off Anna Lange.

Dusk had softened the ocean view from her
bedroom window by the time she slipped into the midnight-blue satin
gown. The dress was another carefully calculated move. Smiling, she
remembered the effect it had had on Mitch the first night she’d met
him, and she needed every ace she could get her hands on now. She
zipped it up in back, then smoothed the gown over her hips, tucking
each fold into place. All dressed up and no place to go, she
thought, finally allowing herself to worry about Mitch’s failure to
call.

She spent a nervous fifteen minutes pacing
the house before deciding to take matters in hand. As she’d
figured, Mitch had checked into the Colonial, but he wasn’t in his
room. She paced for another fifteen minutes, then grabbed her purse
and headed for Runner’s Cay. Waiting time was over, and if he’d run
out on her he was in for a big surprise, because she’d be on the
next plane to Denver. Mitch Summers wouldn’t go down in her memory
as the one she let get away.

Anna left her car with the valet and breezed
into the casino with a look that said she didn’t have a care in the
world. False bravado had carried her through many a sticky
situation before, and she didn’t hesitate to use it this time.
Shoulders straight, head back, she walked confidently across the
tiled foyer into the gambling rooms.

As she neared the bar, she saw him. Sitting
on the last stool in front of the open french doors, shoulders
slumped, both arms resting on the bar, his hands loosely holding a
highball glass, was Mitch. Her heart did a flip and her stomach
tightened. He was wearing the worn tuxedo that set him apart from
all the other well-dressed players, adding to the air of lonely
dejection emanating from him.

She approached him cautiously, wanting to
say the right words, to lift his spirits and touch his heart with
her first move. The importance of their meeting slowed her steps
even more. Her gaze roamed over his lean profile and the
sandy-brown hair brushing against the winged and frayed collar of
his shirt.

Standing silently beside him, she waited
until he cocked his head and caught sight of her out of the corner
of his eye. She smiled, a little sadly, then reached out and
trailed her fingers down the side of his face and around the back
of his neck. She pulled him closer until their lips met in the
sweetest of kisses. Slowly he turned on his barstool, bringing her
between his legs and wrapping his hands around her waist. The kiss
deepened in drawn-out stages as they lingered on each nuance of
rediscovery. Both of her hands tangled in his hair, caressing its
silky texture.

Finally he lifted his head and searched her
face with the eyes she longed to gaze into for the rest of her
life. Soft eyes, eyes that didn’t hide behind inherent
mistrust.

“Why did you leave me?” he asked. His hands
tightened around her waist, letting her know he wouldn’t let her go
this time.

She could have let him off easily, could
have concocted a story he would have bought, but she wanted
honesty, however painful. “Because you lied,” she answered.

He nodded once, admitting his mistake
without explanation. “Why did you come to find me tonight?”

“Because I love you,” she said simply. Then
she brushed her thumb along his cheek. “Why did you come back to
Nassau?”

His gaze shifted from her eyes, and an arrow
of fear shot straight down her insides. She had left herself wide
open, laid her cards on the table, and it was too late to pull
back.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
The silence lasted an eternity before he spoke. “I spent three days
in the mountains after you left. Three days of proving to myself I
could live without you. And . . .” He
shook his head slowly from side to side. “I almost did it, Anna.
Almost figured out a way to make the pain of losing you
bearable.”

Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, a
lump hardened in her throat, and she felt as if her whole world
hung on the meaning of
almost
.

He raised his head, and the bleakness of his
memories was etched in the depths of his eyes.

“You broke my heart, lady. And to top it
off, your brother still had the deeds to my ranch. That’s when I
got mad, mad at myself for being a fool, mad at you for throwing
away what we had.”

“I’m sorry, Mitch,” she whispered, her own
heart breaking as she started to step away. She had lost, and she
had to get out of there before she dissolved in tears.

But Mitch tightened his hold, one hand
pressing her close, the other trailing up to her neck and bringing
her head to his. She felt a lone tear track along her face from
behind her tightly closed eyes. He caught it with his mouth and
softly brushed his lips up to her ear.

“I love you, Anna.” His voice was a husky
breath. “And even the pain and the anger weren’t enough to keep me
away. When I saw you in St. John’s office, my gut twisted with
wanting you, wanting to hold you . . . love you . . . just talk to
you.”

His mouth was doing crazy things to the nape
of her neck and she never wanted it to end, but even in her relief
the tears kept flowing. Somehow this man had broken down all her
barriers, pulled out all her emotional stops, leaving her
vulnerable and ready for his love.

His mouth came back to her lips, branding
her with a kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”

With his arm wrapped securely around her
waist, he led her out the French doors to the veranda. In the dark
quiet of the Bahamian night he backed her into the privacy of a
lonely corner and unleashed the aching passion smoldering between
them. He kissed her with an intensity that stopped her tears and
left only thoughts of making love filling her mind.

His tongue flicked across her mouth, teasing
and playing, drawing her desire to the surface. His breath became
more ragged with each tender foray, his muscles tightening every
place she touched him—and touch she did, every angle, every sweet,
sensual region she remembered.

“Anna . . .” His voice caught as she ran her
hand beneath his shirt. “We . . . uh, need to go someplace.”

“I’ve got the key to a suite on the third
floor,” she whispered against his neck.

“Elevator?”

“Back stairs.”

“Let’s go.”

When the door of the suite shut behind them,
Mitch pulled her into his arms and hugged her, wrapping her in his
warmth and love. Then a soft chuckle tickled her bare shoulder as
he nuzzled her tawny skin.

“Ah, Anna. A great mystery is about to
unfold. What is holding up this dress?”

“I think I’ll let you figure that one out
for yourself, scout.” She kicked off her heels and drew him toward
the bedroom, a smile curving her lips.

Later, when the moon was high and a silvery
stream of light played shadows across the bed, Mitch propped
himself up on the pillows and took her hand in his. He entwined
their fingers, then raised their hands to his mouth and opened the
palms. A soft kiss close to her thumb preceded his words.

“I don’t know how we’re going to pull this
off, Anna, but I’m going to give it everything I’ve got. Which
isn’t much. Which is most of the problem.”