Smoketree (9 page)

Elliot Fitch, buttering his toast, was off-handedly interested. “Francesca plays tennis, you know. Maybe sometime you can go against her. ”

Lenore riveted him with a stare. “Who plays tennis?”

“Francesca,” he repeated. He smiled faintly, as if amused by the reception he’d no doubt get. “My companion.”

Lenore leaned forward on her bench. “Is she here? I’ve been
languishing
for an opponent since John and I arrived.”

“She’s sleeping in this morning,” Elliot told her. “Tired from the flight, you know. But I’m quite sure she’ll be interested. I came for the horses; she didn’t, but she plays a mean game of tennis.” He set his toast down carefully. “Shall I tell her to plan on it, then?”

“Do,” Lenore urged. “I’d be delighted to meet her, on the court or off.”

“Speaking of horses,” Elliot said in Harper’s general direction, “I’d sure like to meet one today. Can it be arranged?” Harper nodded over his scrambled eggs. “I’ll set you up right after breakfast, if that sounds good. ”

“It does,” Elliot agreed. “How long can we ride?”

Harper smiled, but it lacked the ironic amusement I’d seen him display with me. “Just about as long as you think you can stand it.” The smile widened almost imperceptibly. “But I think we’d better play it safe today and keep you to an hour. You’ll thank me… in the morning. ”

Elliot grinned. “No doubt I will. Well, perhaps you’ll manage to make me into a decent rider before I go back to New York.”

Harper’s expression was noncommittal, but I spied laughter lurking deep in his eyes. No doubt he was accustomed to Eastern dudes who wanted to play cowboy for a week or two. And no doubt it always amused him.

After breakfast, Brandon—as well as Elliot and Lenore for different reasons—excused himself to change clothes; I wandered out on the porch and dawdled, liking the fresh air and morning sunlight. Cass came out a moment later with both dogs, one a fluffy bluish shepherd type and the other a smooth, sleek, lop-eared male with a long tail and the look of a dingo in his face. They loped off toward the tack room without her, as if knowing where she was bound, but she didn’t follow immediately.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said abruptly. “I was pretty rude.”

I smiled. “No harm done. I understood.”

She raked one hand through her loose, long hair. “Did you?” Then she sighed. “There I go again. Look—” She stopped a moment, leaning one hip against the porch roof upright. “It’s just that I’m not even in your league. Things are hard enough with him… oh, hell.” She gave up in disgust.

“He’s always thought of you as a little sister,” I said calmly.

“You got that right.” She sighed and grinned ruefully. “It’s wishful thinking, I know, but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t give up,” I told her. “Maybe he’s like a mule—you’ve got to hit him between the ears before he’ll pay attention.”

“He got hit between the ears, all right,” Cass sighed. “But it wasn’t me who hit him. ”

“Wait a minute—” But she cut me off with her next question. “Brandon Walkerton’s rich, isn’t he? I mean—he has more to recommend him, doesn’t he?”

“It depends on what sort of references you’re looking for.” I perched myself on the porch railing after making certain it would support my weight. “Cass, Brandon
is
very rich. There’s no denying that. Is that so important to you?”

Color rose in her face. Her chin thrust upward defensively. “What’s wrong with that? It isn’t so bad to want more money than you have.”

“No, of course not. Is that what you want so much, then—to be rich?”

Her smile was more of a grimace. “I wouldn’t mind it. Who would? But no—it’s not all I want out of life.” She lifted her hands expressively and slapped them down against her hips. “Look at me! I already turned down a small fortune.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, there’s some people interested in buying Smoketree.” She said it off-handedly enough, for what I thought was supposed to be a secret. “They said they’d give me money for school and the rodeo circuit if the deal went through. ”

“Give you money?”

“Not for free,” she said wryly. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know all about free lunches.” She grinned briefly. “No. They wanted me to talk Uncle Nathan into selling the ranch.”

I took a careful breath. “But you didn’t accept the offer—”

“Of course not,” she said in irritation. “For one thing, Smoketree isn’t mine to dispose of in any way, shape or form. For another, Uncle Nathan would never sell this place. Not to anyone. ”

Not even to Harper? So, she didn’t know. Or did she? “Well,” I said, “do what you want, just be careful in doing it. I respect your uncle enough to want him happy.”

She looked at me oddly a moment, then nodded. “I want him happy, too. But I also want
me
happy.”

“And Harper?” I kept my tone neutral. “What does he want?”

“Money,” she said flatly. “But don’t we all?”

The tennis game, even from a distance, sounded competitive. I very nearly went over to watch Brandon and Lenore slamming balls back and forth, then decided to stay right where I was on the porch. Cass had left, so I sat down on the porch swing and lost myself in contemplation of nothing in particular. And then Elliot Fitch’s companion appeared from the direction of the cabins.

She wore a clinging knit sweater and linen trousers that matched the beige of her fingernails. She had innate elegance and style; that much I could tell at once from my experience in the fashion industry. She was a strikingly attractive woman; Italian, I thought, with her dusky olive skin, black hair and eyes, and husky, accented voice.

She gestured toward an orange sling chair to the right of the door. “Do you mind? I will go in for breakfast in a moment, but first I hope you didn’t think me rude last night.”

A delicate gold chain glittered faintly against her throat. Matching earrings gleamed in her shoulder-length hair; she wore a wafer-thin gold watch on her left wrist. I shook my head. “I can use the company.”

“You are kind.” She arranged herself comfortably in the canvas sling. Her faint smile was rueful. “You must excuse me for last night. It was a long flight, and Elliot’s exuberance can be tiring at times.”

She said it with the fondness of a long-time friend, or a lover who is more than a bed-partner. It made the pairing even more incongruous, somehow.

I still sprawled in the swing, moving it idly with one foot pressed against the wooden floorboards. “He seems like a very nice man.”

“Elliot?” She smiled with the same fondness. “Of course. He is sweet. And very good to me.” She laughed softly. “He is exceptionally good company, but then so many people do not realize it. They judge him by what he seems, not by what he is.” Her gaze was level. “Women especially, who overlook his genuine goodness for other considerations.”

“A common enough failing,” I agreed, knowing I had done it often enough.

“I am Francesca,” she said in her husky voice. “Francesca Vanetti. And you, of course, are Kelly Clayton.”

I looked at her sharply. Her tone had been perfectly bland, almost inflectionless, but something flirted with the distracting accent. “I am,” I agreed neutrally.

“We have met,” she said. “In Europe, at least once.” She smiled. “Rome, it was, at the Palazzo San Giorgio. But you would not recall, I know. ” So easily she diffused the apology I had started to make. “One meets so many people under such circumstances… I remember you because of the man you were with.” She made a moue of apology. “You see? I am not different than others. But you were not looking at women either, with him at your side, and I made it my business to acquaint myself with you briefly so I could meet him.” Her smile widened. “All women wanted to meet Tucker Pierce, you know. And you, because you had caught him.”

I recalled the magnificent palazzo and the odd little man who had been such a charming host to a multitude of people. European aristocrats, political exiles, artists, actors, even models. Tucker and I had been there and so, apparently, had Francesca Vanetti.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I know, of course… and I will say nothing more of it. ”

It wasn’t pity I saw, merely an understanding of my position. In that moment I realized she was far more than she pretended to be, and not at all the type to overlook a man like Elliot Fitch with his warmth and genuine enthusiasm.

“He has volunteered your services as a tennis player,” I warned her. “Would you care to meet your prospective opponent?”

Francesca laughed. “Already he keeps me busy while he rides his horses. Ah well, I do enjoy it. And I will meet this opponent after I have eaten. I am starving. ” She rose like a cat unwinding from a relaxing nap, all sinew and grace even in getting up from an awkward position in a canvas sling. “I will see you later, perhaps.”

I spent the rest of the day in delightful indolence, sprawled on a lounge next to the pool with oil spread over my too-pale body, soaking up the sun. Nathan wandered by once and commented it seemed a little cool for sunbathing; his idea of cool and mine were poles apart, since May in Arizona seemed more than adequately warm for such activity. I baked comfortably, drowsing much of the time; the rest of the time I paged through the latest issues of fashion magazines I’d brought with me. Old habits, as they say… even on vacation.

Patrick Rafferty was also out by the pool, though across the water from me. He did not sunbathe, being fully clothed; instead he seemed immersed in manuscript pages. He held a clipboard and a pen, wrestling from time to time with the breeze that threatened to snatch his pages away. He wore sunglasses; prescription, I assumed, since I’d always seen him with his horn-rims on. I couldn’t tell if he noticed me or not. He did not appear to, which was just as well. I was still self-conscious about the purplish scars on my forearms, especially set against skin considered too pale for attractiveness.

But it was a lovely way to spend the afternoon, and by dinnertime I felt baked to the bone. I showered, got dressed and went up to the Lodge to eat. Mexican food tonight: tacos, tostadas, enchiladas and other treats from across the border.

Stuffed full, I sat a while on the porch with Brandon in the swing next to me, and then we went for a walk. It was cool now that the sun had dropped below the horizon, but I wore my tweed jacket and a comfortable sweater. And with Brandon’s left arm draped around my shoulders, I wasn’t cold at all.

We walked up behind the Lodge, following the trail the moonlight illuminated for us. It was a companionable silence we shared, unbroken by small talk or great deliberation; we walked because we wished to, both lost in contemplation, and it wasn’t until I stopped to pull the cuff of one pantleg from my shoe that Brandon spoke at all.

“You
will
be all right.”

I nodded, steadying myself with a hand against his hip. “I will be. It was tough—it still is—but I will be.” I straightened. In the moonlight his face was oddly bare of all pretension. “You miss him too, don’t you?”

His mouth tightened. “Of course I miss him. Tucker and I were good friends,
close
friends—even if we hadn’t seen so much of each other the last couple of years. He was usually on a picture, or visiting you in New York; I was generally off somewhere gallivanting around.” He smiled a trifle ruefully. “We didn’t really work at the friendship. I think we both took it for granted. Only now he’s gone—” He stopped. “I’m sorry. You don’t need reminding. ”

“Sure I do. ” I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and urged him onward again. “We’ll both remember him the way we knew him, and it’ll keep him alive.”

His sigh was deep and ragged. “Hell, Kelly—I didn’t even make it to the funeral.”

“Neither did I,” I said grimly, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt.

He made a dismissive sound. “You were in the hospital.”

“So I was.” We walked on, me aware of the scars on my arms and head and Brandon aware of me. I could feel it radiating from him. And yet I could say nothing to him. There was too much space between us. There was Tucker also, and I had no wish to replace him as yet. Brandon, at times, I hardly knew.

At last he walked me to my cabin. His face was pensive and solemn, and yet as I lifted my head to thank him for the company, he smiled. His hands came down on my shoulders, holding me in one place, and I could feel the warmth and nearness of his big, comforting body.

“There is all the time in the world, Kelly. I understand what you feel. Don’t try to sort everything out at once just for me; it’ll only confuse you further.” One finger slipped up beneath my bangs, tracing the line of the scar. “Just give everything some time, okay? I will.”

“There are a whole lot of people out there who don’t understand that,” I told him. “Men especially.”

“You’ll always be chased,” he promised. “But then, you know that.”

“And I’ll be caught when I want to be,” I agreed. “Not before. Certainly not now.”

He smiled. “You’re not the sort of woman a man likes to see spending time in her own company. Not that I blame them.” His smile broadened into a boyish grin. “I just know how to wait better.”

“And if the waiting comes to nothing?” I wasn’t about to lie to him, lead him on. I could promise Brandon nothing.

“It’s your decision,” he said gently. “You’ll get no pressure from me. And now—I think it’s time for me to go.”

It was a gentle, tender kiss. Not the sort to set bells to ringing or skyrockets exploding. Just something done in friendship and warmth, and it nearly undid me.

It would have been easy to forget he was Brandon, if only for a moment. Darkness had fallen long since; the shadows from the pine copse were secretive and seductive, and he even wore the cologne Tucker had favored. For a moment I pressed myself against him, longing to banish the ghosts once and for all.

But they wouldn’t quite go.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, and walked away.

I watched him leave, bemused by my feelings. I knew he was right. I couldn’t spend my life mourning Tucker, and I didn’t want to be alone. Not forever. But at the moment Tucker was irreplaceable.