The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (50 page)

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Authors: Emma Darcy

BOOK: The Collector's Edition Volume 1
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Heat flooded up Beth’s neck and burnt her cheeks at the thought of having last night’s intimacy with him revealed to her aunt. Surely he wouldn’t want that any more than she would. Feeling hopelessly torn by what his presence might mean, she reluctantly faced her aunt.
“It’s Jim Neilson.”
“Jamie?” Amazement, swiftly followed by even keener curiosity. “He’s heading for the house. Well, I’ll be.” A wondering shake of her head. “Why would he be interested in this property?” Her gaze switched to Beth, full of sharp-eyed speculation.
“I have no idea,” Beth said, reaching for a piece of orange cake.
Her appetite was completely gone, but stuffing her mouth seemed to be the most immediate way of evading questions. Impossible to guess what was going on in Jim Neilson’s mind. She didn’t want to think about it. She made a show of concentrating on her notebook and the numbers she’d written down, leaving her aunt to wonder as much as she liked.
The impasse did not last long.
“Well, he didn’t spend much time in the house.”
Beth ignored the remark.
“He’s looking at us, Beth.” Excitement in her voice. Pleasure. Anticipation. “He’s coming over.”
Apprehension crawled down her spine and knotted her stomach. Beth had to look. Jim Neilson was making a beeline for them, leaving no doubt about his intention. His gaze had locked onto hers the moment she’d lifted it to him. She felt her heart being inexorably squeezed.
“He must have recognised you,” Aunty Em cried.
“No.” Beth wrenched her gaze away, fastening it defiantly on her aunt. “I told him who I was. I told him I’d be here for the auction.”
Bewilderment. “Why didn’t you say?”
“His reaction was not exactly positive.” A vast understatement.
“So...he’s had second thoughts.”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
At the hard tone in her voice, her aunt frowned, but Beth didn’t care. Jim Neilson was not going to get to her again. She could match him in the armour-plated department. All the way.
“Beth.” It was a command for her attention, quietly spoken in his deep, sexy voice.
She took her time responding, examining him from the feet up. Black Reeboks. Black jeans—the same pair he’d worn last night? No bulge in his crotch now. A white linen shirt, a collarless design, undoubtedly the product of an expensive label. Tight-lipped mouth—he wasn’t liking this. Eyes smoking with heat.
“Yes?” she replied, arching her eyebrows in mocking inquiry.
“I’d like a private word with you.”
“Oh? Perhaps you didn’t recognise my aunt. Who used to welcome you into her home and feed you up with her freshly baked cakes and cookies.”
The drawled taunt speared burning colour across his cheekbones. He turned stiffly to acknowledge the woman Beth had just identified to him. “Aunty Em. Forgive me. It’s been a long time.” Distant courtesy, forced out.
“Yes, it has.” The agreement came slowly. Aunty Em busily appraised the grown-up version of Jamie in the flesh. “Would you like to sit down with us and have a piece of orange cake?”
“No. Thank you.”
He hated this, Beth thought. Hated being faced with the past. So why had he come?
He turned to her. “You’ve looked through the house?” Privacy, he apparently judged, was no longer necessary.
“Yes.”
“Do you still intend to bid?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
It was none of his business, but she didn’t like him thinking she was crazy. “My father needs it,” she answered curtly.
“The house needs a bulldozer put through it.”
“Thank you for your opinion.”
Her sarcasm sparked a blaze of angry resentment in his eyes. “He’ll never be able to turn this into a profitable farm again.”
“I know that.”
“Then what’s the point, Beth?”
She wasn’t going to explain her father’s state of mind to him. He would probably consider it weak. Her eyes flared defiance of his attitude. “Some people put things behind them. Others don’t. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
They glared at each other, the silence stretching, tension loaded with fury and frustration.
“Where’s your dog, Jamie?” Aunty Em asked.
His head jerked to her, a vexed rejection of the old name written on his face.
“He’s Jim now, Aunty Em,” Beth corrected her dryly.
“Names are neither here nor there,” she said airily. “I want to know where his dog is.”
“I don’t have a dog.” A curt statement, putting an end to the subject.
Aunty Em gave him her knowing, motherly look. “You always had a dog at your heels, Jamie Neilson. Never went anywhere without one.”
“Times change,” he said coldly.
“They do.” Em gave slow agreement, her keen brown eyes probing and questioning before she added, “I usually find that people don’t.”
She was wrong, Beth thought. Jim Neilson was living proof of radical change.
He shrugged. “I have no room in my life for a dog.”
“There are some things you shouldn’t throw out with the bathwater,” Aunty Em advised quietly. “A companion you can trust. One who loves with unquestioning devotion.”
His jaw tightened. He inclined his head in mocking homage to her opinion, then pointedly returned his attention to Beth.
“You could have told me who you were,” he said, accusation implicit in his tone. “At any time you could have told me.”
And stopped him. That was what was burning up his guts, the fact she’d given him enough rope to hang himself with instead of letting him know her place in his life.
“Are you blaming me for the man you are?” she asked.
“What have
you
become, Beth?” he challenged, his eyes searing hers with the knowledge of how she’d acted when trying to draw him out.
She was no longer the innocent child he’d known. That was true enough. She shrugged and drawled, “Just someone who lost the plot. I guess it comes from dreaming too much.”
He nodded towards the house. “Another dream?”
“Yes.”
“So be it, then.”
He delivered those words as though washing his hands of her. He gave her no time for a comeback, either. With a curt nod at Aunty Em, he turned and strode towards the house.
The air around them slowly cleared of electricity, leaving Beth oddly deflated. She forced a bright air of having washed her hands of him.
“We’d better pack up our picnic, Aunty Em. The auction will start soon.”
“Yes,” she agreed absent-mindedly, still looking after Jim Neilson. “I wonder if he’ll bid.”
Beth laughed derisively. “What for? To put a bulldozer through the place and raze it to the ground? Wipe out a few more memories?”
Her aunt gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Very interesting,” she murmured, then busied herself storing everything in the picnic basket.
Beth didn’t ask what was so interesting. She fiercely wished the auction was over, that this day was over, She didn’t want to see Jim Neilson again as long as she lived. It was pride that had brought him here. He wanted to shift blame for his behaviour onto her. She’d pricked his precious self-image, and he was smarting.
Nothing but pride.
C
HAIRS had been placed on the western veranda. Beth and her aunt settled in the fourth row, wanting to watch the action as well as be part of it once the bidding began. Jim Neilson was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, Beth was acutely aware he was still somewhere in the vicinity—the black Porsche hadn’t gone—and was probably waiting to see the result of the auction.
It filled her with angry resentment. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? There was no point to his hanging around. He’d said what he’d come to say, hadn’t he? She certainly didn’t need—or want—the distraction of his presence.
She felt wretchedly on edge as the introductory formalities were dealt with. When the auctioneer invited someone to start the bidding, her mouth was too dry to utter anything intelligible. On hearing two other people bid, she realised there was no desperate hurry to become involved.
She listened while struggling to attain the casual and relaxed attitude displayed by the other bidders, all of them men. Their faces gave nothing away. She had no idea if they were serious contenders or people out for a bargain if it went that way.
Bidders dropped out as the price rose. With a shake of their heads or a shrug of the shoulders they turned aside to murmur to their companions. Two stood firm and carried on, one of them with the darkly tanned, weathered look of a farmer, the other a short, fat, red-faced man with carbuncles on the back of his neck.
The farmer suddenly gave up. With a shock, Beth realised she had to speak now. Her bid came out in an eager rush, and she flushed, knowing she had revealed her inexperience. Her competitor raised the figure in a matter-of-fact tone. Beth calmed herself as best she could and bid again in a crisper, more businesslike voice.
Each time her competitor spoke, she waited several moments, then raised his bid, desperately hoping he would think better of making the purchase. She didn’t know what his limit was, but hers was fast approaching. Beth couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She willed him to give up. He didn’t. His next response was the same as all the others, deadpan, remorseless, killing her hopes and killing them quickly.
There was no room left to manoeuvre. She would have one more bid, and then, on the increments that had been used so far, her opponent would bid the figure that was her limit. If only she had entered the bidding one round earlier, the situation would have been reversed. It was unthinkable, unbearable that this man could buy the property on what was
her
limit.
She didn’t want him to have it. This place belonged to her family. Her father’s soul was in this land, this house. If the carbuncle man bought it, he would think like Jim Neilson and bring in a bulldozer. She was sure he would. He wouldn’t place any value on a broken old house that meant nothing to him.
She put in what would be her last bid. As though coming from a well-drilled martinet, the response, as with every other time, was immediate and resolute. Her heart sank. She had calculated that amount to the very last cent. She couldn’t go higher, and yet the forces compelling her to go on were so strong they were irresistible. If she made one more bid, it could be the clincher.
Aunty Em leaned over and whispered, “Go again. I’ve got a little nest egg.”
The auctioneer was looking at her.
Aunty Em squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Beth gave it one last shot, willing it to be the winning bid.
It wasn’t.
The carbuncle man topped it.
Her aunt gave a sad shake of her head. Beth swallowed, her mind racing wildly to find ways and means, yet sanity insisted it would be totally foolhardy to go on. Limits were limits. Getting into hopeless debt had lost this farm in the first place. What good would it do to place herself and her father in that position again?
She slumped in her chair, defeated and drowning in disappointment. However unfair it seemed to her that someone else was buying the property, she had to accept it. The chance was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The auctioneer started his wind-up patter. As expected, there were no more bids. The gavel fell for the first time. It fell a second time. It was on its downward swing for the third and final time when...
“Five thousand more.”
Jim Neilson’s voice!
Shocked, Beth spun around in her chair. She wasn’t the only one startled, either. There was a general shifting, every head turning to see who had entered the bidding at this late stage.
He was leaning against a veranda post at the back of the gathering, looking relaxed and easy, uncaring of the interest he’d drawn. If anything, he exuded boredom with the proceedings. Only the derisive glint in his eyes as he briefly met Beth’s stunned look revealed a sense of purpose. For the rest, he was poker-faced.
Beth swung to watch the carbuncle man, who must have thought the property was in his pocket. Unaccountably, her heart was pounding. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen, but there was a dreadful fascination in seeing who would come out the winner.
The man who’d bested her was disturbed by this new development, eyeing Jim Neilson as though he was a snake in the grass. Impossible to know if he connected his new competitor to the black Porsche, but even in the lazy stance by the veranda post, there was an air of command, the air of a person who got what he wanted.
Reluctant to give up, Beth’s opponent increased the bid by two thousand, testing the waters.
“Another five,” came the casual response, as though the amount meant absolutely nothing to Jim Neilson. It seeded the impression he could just as easily have said ten or twenty, and would, if that’s what it took to secure the deal.
The carbuncle man grimaced and shook his head at the auctioneer, indicating withdrawal. If he wasn’t financially beaten, he was certainly psychologically beaten, Beth thought, getting a glimpse of how formidable Jim Neilson must be in business dealings. A sleek shark, moving in and hitting hard when least expected.
She shivered at the image. The realisation struck her. It was precisely what he had done last night, moving in unexpectedly, then raising the level of the encounter with mind-boggling increments—the swift sweep out of the gallery, the kiss by the car, his boldness in the elevator. Winning was definitely Jim Neilson’s game. But what did he anticipate winning by buying this property?
Beth sat burning with frustration as the auctioneer wound up the sale. She didn’t want to speak to Jim Neilson again, but she had to know what he intended to do with the farm. He couldn’t actually want it.
The people around her started moving, ready to leave now the action was over. Jim Neilson was conferring with the auctioneer, no doubt discussing the formal paperwork to seal the deal. She should have been doing that, Beth thought, tasting the bitterness of defeat again. It drove her to her feet, unable to bear watching any more.
She managed a twisted smile for her aunt, who looked at her with a slightly befuddled air. “Thanks for trying to help, Aunty Em. Let’s get moving now.”
“Don’t you think we should wait?” She gestured towards the auctioneer’s table.
“Not here,” Beth said decisively, aware that her aunt was entertaining questions about Jim Neilson’s intentions, too.
“As you like, dear.” The concession was quick, making Beth wonder if her tension was obvious to all eyes.
Jim Neilson didn’t so much as glance in their direction as they made their way past the rows of chairs to the end of the veranda. Beth was glad to turn the corner and put him out of sight. It disturbed her that she felt so strongly linked to him.
The carbuncle man was holding forth to an associate by the front steps. “The man’s a fool. It’s not worth that much. He hasn’t got a hope in hell of turning it over for a profit.”
Money, Beth thought in disgust. A property investor out to make a quick buck. Her feeling about him had been right. He saw this land as a commodity, nothing else.
The question to be answered was how Jim Neilson saw it. From his earlier stated opinions, there seemed no reason for him to pay more than the property was worth in land value. There had to be some motive behind his acquiring a farm he couldn’t possibly want.
Beth chewed over this until they were clear of the neglected garden. “What do you think, Aunty Em?” she asked, tormented into seeking another perception of Jim Neilson’s decisive action.
“I think we should have a cup of coffee. I packed a second thermos. And there’s plenty of cake left.”
“I meant about the outcome of the auction.”
“Well, dear, I don’t know what went on between you and Jamie last night....” She paused to give Beth an arch look.
Beth chose not to enlighten her.
“But from what I heard and observed in your exchange with him earlier this afternoon—” a self-conscious flush swept up Beth’s neck “—I think he bought the farm for you.”
The flush turned into a painful burn. “I couldn’t accept it from him.” The words shot out of her mouth with vehement emphasis.
Aunty Em made no comment, leaving Beth to stew over her response as they walked to the car.
It was voiced now, the thought that had been knocking at her mind from the moment Jim Neilson had made his first bid. Beth hadn’t wanted to admit it. If it was true, he was continuing the mental fight, turning the tables on her, giving her the dream he was capable of delivering.
And maybe—just maybe—if she’d stopped him last night with the truth of who she was... No, she couldn’t concede he would have been different. He might have made a superficial effort to be nice to her, but it wouldn’t have changed the man inside.
He didn’t like being put in the wrong. Pride, that was it. So he hadn’t lived up to his word in one area. With what he had achieved, he could compensate by handing her something else, balance the ledger with his damned chequebook. But there was no heart in money. No soul. It was a commodity he had in plenty. No pain to use it.
Beth was seething with these thoughts as her aunt busied herself with the picnic basket. When she was handed a cup of coffee, she took it absent-mindedly, murmuring an automatic thanks. She shook her head at the offering of cake. Impossible to eat with her stomach in knots.
Cars were starting to leave.
Beth sneaked a look at the house. A man was stacking the portable chairs on the veranda, loading them into a pick-up truck. Behind him a group of people remained around the auctioneer’s table.
“Perhaps you could work out a deal with Jamie.”
“Deal?” Beth repeated, looking blankly at her aunt.
“Terms by which you can manage to pay back the money.”
“I don’t want any favours from him, Aunty Em,” Beth said harshly.
She earned a long, soul-searching look from her aunt. “Do you want the farm, Beth?” she asked quietly.
“You know I do.” She gestured helplessness with her dilemma.
“I’ve always thought pride costs more than it’s worth. People lose things they really want through pride. Then they rue it for the rest of their lives.”
Beth frowned, inwardly recoiling from acknowledging her aunt’s wisdom, yet unable to dismiss the truth in it. Reluctantly she said, “It would mean owing him.”
A wry shrug. “Perhaps Jamie feels he owes you.”
Having voiced this thought, her aunt turned aside to gaze at the creek as she munched on a piece of cake, leaving Beth to ponder the situation further.
Pride. His, hers...
Shouldn’t her father’s need override both?
She drank her coffee as she tried to get her priorities straightened out. Her mind was still darting through a mass of warring emotions when she flicked another glance at the house and caught sight of Jim Neilson at the top of the front steps, looking directly at her.
The sense of being stripped naked again by him stirred internal mayhem. It was as though she felt the powerful force of his mind, the absolute self-assurance of being in command, ready to dictate his terms. Her heart kicked into a faster beat to accommodate the need for more oxygen to the brain. Her mind fiercely challenged his to one hell of a fight.
He moved down the steps in a leisurely stroll, knowing there was no hurry. She was waiting for him. Another battleground, and he had the territory she wanted. The controlling hand. It emanated from him so strongly, Beth knew she was not mistaken.
So much for any feeling that he owed her something, she thought in savage derision. Aunty Em’s thinking was influenced by her memories of Jamie. She didn’t know this man, hadn’t experienced him as Beth had. There was no quarter given by Jim Neilson.
“Have you finished your coffee, dear?” Aunty Em inquired.
“Yes.”
Beth wrenched her gaze off her deadly antagonist to hand over her empty cup. She watched her aunt pack and close the picnic basket. They could go right now, leave Jim Neilson to an empty victory. Just get in the car and go. If the carbuncle man had won the auction, they’d be doing precisely that, not waiting for Jim Neilson’s next move.

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