"I will kill her," he muttered. "I will absolutely kill her."
He marched away from Chantal, abandoning her as if he'd forgotten she was present. She watched—fascinated and agog—as he stormed over to Amy Dane. He looked like a tornado approaching.
Chantal had never seen him exhibit much emotion. He was always on an even keel. Never exuberant. Never sad or weary. Just constantly the same: sardonic, sarcastic, slightly bored. She didn't know he was capable of getting this angry, but Ms. Dane was too stupid to realize that she should be afraid.
"Hello Rick, David, Dustin," she said, grinning.
"What are you doing?" He was so furious, he was practically wheezing.
"We're protesting your plans for Gold Creek."
"How dare you embarrass me like this," he hissed.
"How else can we convince you that you shouldn't sell out to Chad Paltrow?" She pointed to her companions. "These are my sisters, Jess and Jen."
"Hello," they chimed together, and one of them added, "I met you last night."
He was at Ms. Dane's house? When he'd walked out on Chantal, he'd gone to visit Amy Dane?
Chantal felt as if steam was coming out of her ears.
"And this," Ms. Dane continued, "is Marge Beasley. You remember who she is, don't you?"
"Thank you for giving me my job back." Ms. Beasley scowled at Dustin, her lips pursed with disdain. "Now man-up and leave our town alone. We were fine for a whole century when you Merriweathers ignored us."
Clearly, Dustin wanted to shout at them or shake somebody, but how could you yell at an old lady and some kids?
He flashed a tight smile at the ragtag group. "Would you excuse us for a minute? I need to talk to Amy."
"I don't have anything to say to you," she declared.
"Well,
I
have a few things to say to you." He took her picket sign and handed it to one of her sisters. Then he clasped Ms. Dane's arm and led her away.
"You're a bully," she charged.
"You don't know the half of it," he choked out.
She struggled and dragged her feet, but she couldn't slow him down. He proceeded to the corner and pushed her against the brick wall of the hotel, a palm on either side so she couldn't escape.
He was much taller than she was, and as he loomed over her, the air seemed to sizzle from his being so close to her. Any second, Chantal expected him to press himself to the exasperating woman as if they were…lovers. As if they were sexually involved. Were they?
When Chantal had first seen Ms. Dane in the restaurant, she'd leveled an absurd charge about Dustin, intimating that he was sneaking around on Chantal while she'd loitered—bored out of her mind—in her hotel room. Had Dane meant he'd been with her?
Chantal had discounted Dane's remark, but she couldn't discount it now. There was a chemistry between Dustin and Amy Dane that was potent and electric and completely visible to anyone who bothered to notice.
They were having a heated, whispered discussion, and Chantal tried to read their lips, but she kept getting distracted by their body language. If Dustin had leaned down and kissed Amy Dane, Chantal wouldn't have been surprised in the least.
"You are insane," Dustin vigorously complained.
"No more than you are," Ms. Dane replied.
"I warned you to stop harping about this."
"I guess I didn't listen." Ms. Dane smiled a pert, obnoxious smile that brought a dimple to her cheek. "You poor baby. Don't you hate it when a woman refuses to obey your every command?"
How did she speak to him like that and get away with it? If Chantal ever uttered a word that was even remotely similar, she'd never hear from Dustin again.
He straightened and glared down at Dane, and he looked as if he was debating whether to hug her or spank her. Then he whipped away, grabbed her, and escorted her to her sisters.
"Amy has decided," he advised them, "that the picket is over."
"I have not," Ms. Dane insisted.
"She has," Dustin repeated.
Chantal thought Ms. Dane might argue, but she simply shrugged. "He's leaving anyway, so there's no reason to continue. We made our point."
"Are you angry with us?" one of the girls asked. "Amy figured you might be."
"No, I'm not angry with
you
." He shifted his irate gaze to Ms. Dane. "Now your sister? She's crazy, and she drives me nuts with her ridiculous stunts. She needs to knock it off."
"Don't feel bad that she doesn't listen to you," the girl said. "She never does what we tell her, either."
"I can believe it."
He gathered up their signs, went over to the SUV, and tossed them in the backseat on top of Chantal's suitcases.
He gestured to Chantal as if she was a pet dog, urging her to climb in. Chantal skirted the irritating group, slid into the passenger seat, and slammed the door as hard as she could. Even though it was shut tight, she was able to hear Ms. Dane simper, "Your girlfriend is really pretty. Is she nice?"
Chantal was certain she'd been insulted, and she nearly leapt out to give the little urchin a piece of her mind, but she didn't. She braced, expecting Dustin to defend her, to put Dane in her place, but he didn't.
"Goodbye, Amy," was his sole comment.
"Remember what I told you about my scarf," she said. "If you come back to Gold Creek, you have to return it to me. It's just small town manners."
The scarf? The ugly scarf on his neck was hers
? Chantal wanted to strangle both of them.
"I'm throwing it in the garbage at the first opportunity," he childishly spat, but he didn't take it off.
He rounded the SUV and yanked open the driver's side door.
"You have a temper," Ms. Dane hurled as a final taunt.
"It only flares when I'm speaking to lunatics."
"You're not quite as handsome when you're angry."
"And you're not quite as interesting now that I've learned you're a complete whacko."
He jumped into the car and slammed the door much harder than Chantal had. He gunned the motor, and they sped off, and he was silent and raging the entire way to Denver.
* * *
"She was pestering Merriweather," Chad hissed. "Again!"
"He's a grown man," Pamela calmly replied. "I'm sure he'll survive."
"She was picketing at the hotel! It was the last thing he saw as he drove out of town."
Pamela tamped down a grin and peered out the side window of the car to hide her expression. She was glad that Amy was brave enough to put Merriweather's nose out of joint. Few people would dare, but Amy had managed it, and Pamela was delighted to know that he'd been offended.
She'd suffered through the supper with Dustin Merriweather and his rude, beautiful mistress, Chantal, and she wouldn't give two cents for either of them.
Chantal was a conceited witch, feeling herself too marvelous to carry on even minimal conversation with Pamela whom she'd obviously deemed too lowly for courtesy.
As to Dustin Merriweather, he was rude, too, and obnoxious in his belief that, socially, he was far above Pamela and Chad and shouldn't have to fraternize with them. Chad was so set on himself, so used to being the center of attention, that he hadn't noticed Merriweather's condescension. But Pamela had noticed.
She'd spent her life trying to fit in around snobs like Chantal and Dustin Merriweather, and occasionally, she wondered why she bothered. They were all so shallow, but then, so was she. In their view, wealth was what conferred status, and while she'd flirted on the edge of several men's fortunes, she'd never gleaned any significant cash for herself. She had a small insurance trust fund from Husband #3 and that was it.
She wasn't getting any younger, and sometimes, she worried that Chad might be her last chance for financial stability. The prospect was so darned depressing!
They pulled up in front of the diner where she was meeting Amy for morning coffee. Chad reached in his coat, retrieved an envelope, and handed it to Pamela.
"Give this to Amy," he said.
"What is it?"
"It's money so she can take the twins and move away."
"How much is in there?"
"A thousand bucks."
Pamela nearly scoffed. A person wouldn't get far on a thousand dollars, but Chad was clueless about the lives of normal people. He'd have no idea that you couldn't uproot, then replant yourself on such a paltry amount.
"I heard that the new owner at the newspaper reopened it," Pamela told him. "If she's back at work, she won't agree to leave."
"Dustin Merriweather is the new owner."
"Oh."
"Her job there is just one more way for her to aggravate him. It's one more way for her to screw up my real estate deal. The paper only has a couple of employees; I can't figure out why he kept her on."
"She's reliable."
"Reliable? Are you kidding me? She's a trouble-maker and an idiot."
No, she's not,
Pamela murmured to herself.
She was proud of Amy, proud of her independence, proud of how she wasn't afraid of anything. As opposed to her mother, Amy was able to support herself without needing some man to cough up cash for the rent.
"I've got Merriweather's phone number," Chad mused. "Maybe I'll call him and see if he'd fire her. He can't be any happier about her antics than I am."
"She's harmless, Chad."
"No, she's not. She's a menace." He pointed to the diner. "Now march in there and set her straight—so I don't have to."
Pamela forced a smile and slipped out of the car. Chad raced off, and she watched until his taillights disappeared at the top of the hill. Then she turned to go inside, but Amy was exiting, her parka zipped against the cold.
Pamela frowned. "I thought we were having coffee."
"I thought we were, too, but I'm not in the mood for any of your craziness today. I was having heart palpitations just from thinking about talking to you."
"Well, that was…rude."
"Yes, it was."
Amy didn't apologize but started down the sidewalk. Pamela dawdled for a moment, then chased after her.
"Amy!" she snapped.
Her daughter whipped around. "What?"
They were on a corner where the old buildings made a wind tunnel. The frigid air curled Pamela's toes and had her eyes watering, reminding her of how much she hated the mountains, the altitude, the constant weather.
She'd been trying to convince Chad that they should head to Vegas or Mexico, but he refused to discuss it until after the sale with Merriweather was finalized.
"Chad asked me to mention a few things."
"What are they?"
"He's angry over your behavior toward Dustin Merriweather."
"I'm sure this will come as a huge surprise to you, Pam, but Chad's opinions don't matter to me."
"You can't keep aggravating the two of them."
"Why not?"
"They're rich and powerful, Amy. You don't realize how easily they're annoyed—or how viciously they might push back."
"What can they do to me that they haven't already done? Close down the paper and throw me out of work? Toss me out of my apartment? I'm looking for another job, and I'll lose my apartment despite what I do or don't do to Dustin Merriweather."
"If you continue to upset Merriweather, then Chad will be upset, too."
"Why would I care if Chad is upset?" Amy studied Pamela with disdain. "Oh, I get it. If I bug Merriweather too much, Chad will take it out on
you
."
"I simply don't know how you can stand all this conflict."
"I'm not having any conflict. What are you telling me? Are you telling me that you and Chad are having a tough time? Well, he's an asshole and always will be an asshole, and I can't help you with that."
She tried to walk on again, and Pamela stamped her foot like a petulant child.
"Amy!"
"What is it? Would you just say what you came to say? Has it ever occurred to you that I might be unhappy today? That I might be upset or feeling low? That things might not be so great for me right now? Why does it always have to be about you?"
Pamela pulled the envelope from her purse. "Chad wanted you to have this."
"What is it?"
"It's some money. He decided it would be better for everybody if you left town."
"Left…Gold Creek?"
"Yes."
"To go where?"
"Anywhere but here. You can't hang around and ruin this deal."
Amy scoffed. "He actually thinks I have some power over Dustin Merriweather? That is too hilarious to be true."
"You have to quit fighting them. You can't win."
"I'm not doing it to
win
. I'm doing it so Dustin Merriweather knows there are people in the world who don't worship him. Chad doesn't enter into the equation."