Aspen Gold (35 page)

With a grin, Garth jerked his head at Max.

"Still the slave driver."

"I noticed." Kit smiled.

"Hey, Garth!" one of the dancers called to him from the stage. "Is that pizza party still on at your place tonight?"

"You bet. We serve from five until ten.

Come anytime, just bring your own beer or wine."

The word pizza sparked an instant memory.

"Does Jenny still make that fabulous pizza with pepperoni and olives and sausage?" That summer ten years ago Kit had stuffed herself on his wife's pizza.

"Are you kidding? It's better than ever."

"Impossible." She waited expectantly for an invitation.

"It's true," he insisted, then moved off with a wave. "See you around, Kit."

"Right." She kept her smile in place, but it was a little forced.

As Garth walked away, she heard the young actress hiss at him, "Why didn't you invite her tonight?"

"Get real, Annie," Garth muttered out of a corner of his mouth. "Kit's moved into the big leagues. She'll be making the scene at Gordon's or Pinons or Syzygy tonight."

"Yeah, Annie," someone else chimed in.

"She's too big to party with peons like us."

"I'm never going to be that way when I make it," the girl declared.

Kit wanted to tell her that maybe she wouldn't have a choice. First you have to be asked. Briefly she toyed with the idea of inviting herself to Garth's place, but she had the distinct feeling it wouldn't be the same. They wouldn't let it be the same.

She told Max good-bye and left to meet Paula.

Sunlight bounced off the chrome bumper of the white Range Rover parked in front of the house, the brilliant flare of light blinding Kit for a fraction of a second as she swung the Jeep into the ranch yard. Instinctively she threw up a shielding hand to block the glare, but the angle was broken by then.

"You have company," Paula observed from the passenger seat.

"It's John." She smiled for the first time since they'd left town as she saw him run lightly down the porch steps to meet them.

He opened the driver's door before she had the Jeep's engine switched off.

"Marvelous timing, John," Paula called across to him. "You can help us carry all my packages in."

"Somehow, in less than three hours, Paula managed to have her hair done and buy out half the stores in Aspen." Kit slung her purse strap over her shoulder and climbed out of the Jeep.

"I don't know how she managed it."

"Practice, my dear Kit. Sheer practice." Paula stepped out and reached back to gather up one of a half dozen shopping bags.

"I'd help you with those, Paula," John said as he cupped his hands over the rounded points of Kit's hips, his gaze moving lazily and possessively over her. "But I'm afraid my hands are full right now."

"Is that a fact?" Kit spread her hands over the front of his heather gray sweater and tipped her head back.

"A most enjoyable fact." He rubbed his mouth over her lips, then came back to take them while his hands glided onto her back, applying enough pressure to align her body with his.

The softness was there, and that unique strength and pliancy only a woman's body possesses.

Her lips were warm against his, almost exotic in flavor, seductive in their willingness to merge with his. She twined her hands around his neck, drawing him closer, her lips parting to invite the meeting and tangling of tongues.

He wanted her. He felt that need expand into more than a mere possession of her body. He wanted to absorb that energy, that verve, that sunny zest for life. He wanted to uncover again that passion that was behind all of it.

Kit pressed closer to him, seeking more contact with the hard warmth of his body, and savoring every sharp sensation. It made her feel warm and loved.

When he drew away, she settled more comfortably against him. "I needed that, John T.," she whispered and brushed her lips over the taut muscle in his neck.

"So did I." Turning, he rubbed the side of his jaw along her hair, breathing in the fragrance she wore that smelled as soft and subtle as an evening breeze. "Nolan and I have to fly back to L.a. and pull together a few things on that end. Throw some things in a suitcase and come with me."

She drew back. "How long will you be gone?"

"Four or five days. A week at the outside."

"It's tempting." She brushed a strand of burnished blond hair off his forehead. "But I have some interviews scheduled and--"

Paula's voice cut in, "I hate to interrupt this intimate little scene, but you're wanted on the phone, Kit."

"Who is it?" John kept his hands locked behind her back.

"Maury."

"Kit will call him back."

"Tell him I'll be right there." She reproved John with a look and reached back to pull at his wrists and separate his hands.

"Forget Maury," John said as Paula went back inside. "Come to L.a. with me. I want to introduce you to Sid Graham with--"

"No." She kissed him hard and quick to shut him up. "Subject closed. Now let me go so I can find out what he wants." With deliberate reluctance, he released her. Kit took a step toward the house, then stopped when he didn't follow her. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Nolan's waiting for me at the airport."

He turned abruptly and walked to the Range Rover. "I'll call you."

He knew he sounded angry. Damn it, he was angry. Her blind loyalty to that Rose character was stupid. Noble but stupid. Why wouldn't she listen to him? He was trying to help. Why couldn't she see that?

He threw the vehicle into reverse and jammed his foot on the accelerator, spinning tires and spraying gravel as he wheeled out of the ranch yard onto the lane.

Watching the dust and gravel fly when he pulled out, Kit pushed a hand through her hair, suddenly tired, irritated, and tense all at the same time. She didn't understand what had happened to all the pleasure she'd felt moments ago.

She sighed and climbed the porch steps. At the moment she didn't really care what Maury wanted.

"Why haven't you called me? You could check in with me once in a while. Let me know what's going on. How did the interview with People go?"

"Fine." Kit sat down on the arm of the sofa.

"What kind of questions did they ask? Did they say when the piece would run?"

"I didn't think to ask," she admitted.

"I'll find out. Now don't forget you've got that reporter from the Denver paper coming out on Saturday and some gal with the Aspen--"

"I've got it all marked down, Maury.

We went over it before you left. Remember?"

"I remember. I'm just making sure you do.

All this publicity is starting to pay off, Kit.

I'm getting scripts sent to me every day for you to read. I've got a bundle here ready to go out to you today. Mark my words, Kit, I'll have another movie deal sewed up for you before you start shooting this one. People are talking about you in this town.

The right people."

"That's wonderful." She smiled automatically and twisted the telephone cord round and round her finger.

"You don't sound enthused," Maury accused.

"I am." She let go of the cord, letting it spring away. "Come on, Maury, you of all people know how much I love acting." That part, at least, was true. It was the rest--the press, the prejudice, the pushing and pulling, the politics

--that she didn't like.

"And you're a natural at it, too. I've been telling everybody that and they're finally listening. But I knew we'd do it. I've believed in you all along the way." He rattled on for a few more minutes, then ended with, "I expect you to call me and let me know how those interviews go--and what you think of the scripts after you read them."

"I will."

"Got to go. Some guy from Paramount is on the other line. Didn't I tell you I'd make you a star?" he said and hung up.

END OF VOLUME II

ASPEN GOLD

A Novel

by

Janet Dailey

Volume III of Three Volumes

Pages i-ii and 471-711

This braille title was originally produced for and is made available with the cooperation and permission of The Library of Congress.

Produced in braille by Braille International, Inc., 3142 S.e. Jay Street, Stuart,

Florida 34997 Telephone number

(800(336-3142

Copyright 1991 by Janet Dailey

All rights reserved.

ASPEN GOLD

17 (continued)

During the next few days Kit managed to stay busy. Deliberately. She didn't want idle time to think--or time to delve into the reasons why she didn't.

Cross-legged, she sat on the floor in front of the oak gun cabinet and dragged out the magazines stuffed on the shelves, mixed in with boxes of ammunition, gun cleaning equipment, oily rags, hunting knives, and an assortment of unrelated items like empty gum wrappers.

She briefly wondered how her father had ever found anything in this chaos. But others had wondered the same thing when they saw her closets.

She tossed a three-year-old copy of Outdoor Life onto the growing pile of magazines beside her. A pair of dirty socks fell out from between the pages.

"I'll bet he never even missed them," she murmured and moved them to the mound of musty rags, taking care not to breathe in too deeply.

"What did you say?" Paula lounged on the sofa, a beauty mask hardening on her face, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel, one shapely knee poking through the folds of her turquoise satin robe. She ran an emery board over the tip of a nail while her knee swayed to the slow tempo of a bluesy jazz song on the tape deck.

Deciding the socks were better forgotten, Kit said instead, "I was thinking I should bundle these magazines up and take them to a recycling center

--if there is one locally. It looks like Dad saved every magazine for the last three years."

"Is there anything worth looking at there?"

"Not unless you're into Field and Stream or Hunter's Digest." Kit smiled at the incongruous image in her mind of Paula Grant leafing through the pages of a hunting magazine.

"Hardly," she murmured in a voice as dry as the stiffening mask on her face.

"Did Chip say where he was taking you to dinner tonight?" She tugged at a magazine jammed in a corner and a whole stack tumbled out. She wrinkled her nose at the new mess and said grimly,

"Probably Gordon's or Pinons." In the next second she was irritated with herself for remembering the restaurants Garth had mentioned.

"No." Someone knocked at the door, the series of sharp raps drawing a gasp from Paula and a panicked "Oh my God, someone's here."

She flew off the sofa and dashed madly for the stairs, one hand holding the towel on her head and the other clutching the front of her robe closed.

Kit rolled to her feet and stepped over the scattered piles on the floor, then waited a beat to let Paula slip out of sight before crossing to the door.

The man on the porch turned when she opened it, a stranger somewhere in his late thirties, dressed in dark khaki slacks, sneakers, and a flannel-backed jacket. His mouth curved in what passed for a pleasant smile, but the sweep of his glance was definitely appraising and analytical.

"You're Kit Masters," he said.

She glanced past him at the rental car parked in front of the house, then back to him. "I am, yes." She smiled politely, then noticed the spiral-bound notebook sticking out of his jacket pocket and a bulge that looked suspiciously like a tape recorder.

"I'm Clancy Phillips."

"You're a reporter, aren't you?" She had a feeling she was rapidly getting to the point where she could smell them.

"Free-lance." He nodded, his eyes watching her closely, no doubt filing away details

--like her mussed hair and minimum of makeup.

"Did Maury send you?" Kit frowned, certain there was nothing in her notes about this.

"Maury Rose is your agent, isn't he?"

"Yes--"

"Look--if I've caught you at a bad time, I can come back."

"No, that's okay." She shook her head, preferring to get the interview over with. "It's just that either Maury didn't mention anything to me or I forgot you were coming today." She opened the door wider and stepped back. "Please come in. And please excuse the mess."

"No problem."

Within minutes, Kit was curled up in her father's favorite chair, the tape recorder on the table beside her, and Clancy Phillips opposite her on the sofa. The interview began typically enough with general questions about her background, then progressed to the subject of the movie--and John Travis.

"Care to comment on your affair with John Travis?" he asked with a taunting gleam in his eyes.

Kit laughed quite convincingly. "So now we're having an affair, are we?"

"A hot one, from what I've heard."

"Do you always believe what you hear?" she mocked lightly.

"You have been out with him numerous times. Surely you aren't trying to deny that?"

"Of course not," she replied and left it at that.

"Tell me, what's it like to date a male sex symbol?"

"John thinks of himself as an actor."

"He may, but half the female population in this country think he's a hunk. Didn't Robin Leach call him "America's hottest sex-throb?"'"

"I think he did." She was becoming irritated with this whole line of questioning, but she was too skilled to let it show. Play the role--that was the key to interviews.

"Does it bother you when you're out with him and other women flirt and make various attempts to get his attention?"

"Why should it?"

"A lot of women would be jealous."

"I'm not a lot of women. I'm me."

"Then that's not the cause of your fight, I take it."

"Our fight?" Kit repeated in a blank voice. "What fight?"

"Are you saying you and John Travis aren't having any problems? That you haven't been fighting?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." She dropped the role. "What ever made you think we were?"

He shrugged vaguely. "You did fly out here with Travis, stayed in his house, then ...

abruptly moved out here. Now he's in L.a.

and you're not."