Authors: Sherryl Woods
“I’m telling you I don’t know what she wants, boss. She wouldn’t tell me a danged thing. Said it was
personal
.” He mimicked her tone in a way that said he knew all too well that the word meant trouble.
“Okay, Chaney, I’ll take care of it,” a responding voice soothed. This voice, Marilou noted with a prompt and unexpected quickening of her pulse, was low and lazy and midnight seductive. This voice promised adventure and danger in spades. She instinctively grabbed the porch rail and held on.
The man who rounded the corner of the house suited that voice. He was tall and lean, the kind of man who wore jeans and faded plaid shirts and made them look more fashionable than Armani suits. His boots, however, appeared to be every bit as new as the paint on the house. The incongruity intrigued her. She studied him more closely, trying her best not to
stare with her mouth agape. The man was gorgeous, especially to someone to whom the dark, brooding type appealed.
There was a faint hint of Indian ancestry in his coal-black hair and angled features, but it had been tempered along the way. His eyes were a startling, clear blue, and right now they were as cool and distant as a mountain lake hidden amidst pine shadows. He would make a fascinating subject, she thought at once, longing for her camera.
“I understand you’re looking for me,” he said, stopping several yards shy of the porch steps. His expression was wary, his stance forbidding. A less determined woman than Marilou would have taken the hint and scooted right back down the steps and out of his life. Marilou squared her shoulders and smiled, relieved when his features softened ever so slightly. However slight, it was an improvement over the old man’s wary antagonism.
“If you’re Mr. Cal Rivers, I am,” she said.
He nodded, but said nothing to invite further conversation. Southern hospitality, she thought, must stop at the Georgia border. Still, she plunged on.
“Do you have a son?”
“Nope.”
The single word, confirming what she’d already been told, left absolutely no room for doubt. She supposed he certainly ought to know, but it took her aback. “Oh,” she murmured, trying to readjust her thinking.
He grinned at her sudden confusion. “Am I supposed to?”
“Well, yes,” she said, a little awed by the transformation of his harsh features that went with that slow, lazy grin. The devil in that smile could lure a saint to sin. With her inexperience, she’d be no match for it at all. Still, it would be a challenge to capture those quicksilver changes of mood on film. “At least, I thought you would have a son. Maybe the letter’s meant for you instead.”
“What letter?”
There was more wariness than curiosity behind the question, which made her increasingly nervous. She hadn’t expected to feel as if she had to prove something, when she was just out to do a good deed. “The one I found,” she began determinedly. “I work for the post office, you see. The dead letter office in Atlanta, actually. Well, it’s a long story and—”
Suddenly her voice seemed to dry right up under his intense scrutiny. The full force of all that masculine attention was something new and decidedly disconcerting. She found herself rambling, despite her parched throat. “I’m very thirsty. The drive was longer than I expected and I didn’t want to take the time to stop. Then I got lost. Do you suppose I could have a glass of water or something before I tell you the rest?”
“Chaney,” Cal said curtly. The little man who’d been hovering in the background stomped off toward the back of the house. He was muttering under his breath again.
“He doesn’t seem to like visitors,” she observed.
“Chaney is highly suspicious of women who have personal business with me. He figures it’ll disrupt the routine around here. Judging from the last few minutes, I’d say he’s very astute.”
Marilou recognized a criticism when she heard it, but if he’d intended to chase her off with his sharp tongue and cool manner it was just too bad. When she didn’t budge, he said grudgingly, “I suppose you might as well sit until Chaney gets back. You look as if you’ve spent too much time in the sun.”
So much for her tan, she thought ruefully.
Taking his grudging offer at face value, Marilou chose the rocker that was farthest from the beer bottles. His gaze followed her, but he didn’t say a word. The silence, coupled with the thoroughness of his scrutiny, was definitely unnerving. Men didn’t usually look at her like that, as if she were mysterious and fascinating and dangerous. She supposed it made sense in this instance. After all, she had popped up here out of the blue and she still hadn’t explained why she’d come. No wonder the man was staring. It probably wasn’t a bit personal. That realization didn’t stop the fluttering of her pulse, though. With his gaze steady on her, it felt personal. When Chaney came back with a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade, she clung to it, taking a deep swallow. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for adventure after all, not if it involved blatantly masculine men like Cal Rivers.
“As I was saying,” she began, rushing now, wanting this over with. “The other day I got this letter. It
had been sent to the wrong address. Palm Tree Lane instead of Palm Lane. I suppose it was a simple enough mistake to make. I still think the mail carrier should have been able to figure it out, but Priscilla says it must have come through on her day off.”
“Priscilla?”
“Your old mail carrier. Anyway, the letter wound up in Atlanta, because there wasn’t any return address, either. That’s what happens when a letter goes astray. It comes to me, or actually to my branch. I guess I should have thrown it out, but I just couldn’t. She sounded so pitiful, you see. I…”
“Slow down,” Cal advised, unexpected amusement again lurking in the depths of his eyes. “This isn’t an emergency.”
“But it could be,” she insisted. “I mean the letter says she’s dying.”
Cal looked startled. Even Chaney seemed taken aback by her announcement. “Who’s dying?” Cal demanded. “What the devil are you talking about, woman?”
“I’m sorry. I should have said right away. It’s your grandmother.”
The words had an incredible effect. His expression, which had been gently tolerant only an instant before, froze into icy disdain. “You have the wrong person,” he said, turning his back on her. The muscles across his shoulders tensed visibly.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said stubbornly, ignoring his reaction. “You did live on Palm Lane, didn’t you?”
When he didn’t answer, she got up and moved until she was standing in his line of vision again. “Didn’t you?” she demanded, catching the brief flash of confusion in his eyes before he shut off any evidence of emotion again.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“Then, see,” she coaxed reasonably, “it has to be you.”
“I’m telling you that I am not the man you’re looking for.”
Marilou lost patience with him. How could anyone be so stubborn and ornery in the face of the evidence? “I don’t know how you can say that, unless you figure that there was another Cal Rivers living in that very house.”
“Lady, I do not have a grandmother.” His voice rose to a defiant roar that carried on the still air.
“Of course you do,” she said impatiently. “Everyone has grandparents.”
“Mine are dead,” he declared with absolutely no emotion. “Gone. I’ve never met any of them.”
“But that’s just it,” she said excitedly. “Something happened a long time ago. I don’t know what exactly, but she’s sorry. Maybe everyone thought it would be better if you just thought she was dead. At any rate, she really wants to make it up to you, and she’s dying. If you don’t hurry, it might be too late.”
“I’m very sorry that this lady, whoever she is, is dying, but it has nothing to do with me.”
Sensing that she was losing, and desperate not to, Marilou took a few steps forward until she was practically
toe-to-toe with him. He looked miserable and uncomfortable, but he didn’t back up when she told him, “It has everything to do with you. Please, you have to see that.”
Cal tried to stare her down, and when that didn’t work, he demanded, “What is this woman’s name?”
“I…I don’t know. It wasn’t on the letter.”
“Then how can you possibly be so certain she’s a relative of mine? Do you think you know more about my family than I do?”
“No, but the letter was addressed to you.”
“Where does this woman live?”
“In Wyoming. I don’t know exactly where. It was postmarked Cheyenne, but it could have come from anywhere around there, I suppose. Mail from a lot of small towns winds up being postmarked from the nearest big city. There wasn’t any street address. That’s why I couldn’t send the letter back to her.”
Even though his anger was daunting, Marilou was watching his face closely. She saw the faint flicker of recognition, when she’d mentioned Wyoming. “I’m right, aren’t I? You did have relatives in Wyoming, didn’t you?”
He gazed off in the distance. “A long time ago, maybe. I don’t know,” he said, his tone distracted. Then his expression turned fierce again. “I think you’d better leave.”
This wasn’t going at all the way she’d anticipated. She felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes and realized she was going to make an even bigger fool
of herself by crying. “I can’t,” she replied softly. “I have to see this through.”
“You have seen it through,” he countered impatiently. “You’ve done your job. I’m sure the post office will give you your bonus or whatever.”
Marilou was thoroughly insulted that he thought that’s what this was all about. “The post office doesn’t even know I’m here. If they did, they’d probably fire me.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
“I took a vacation to find you.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Chaney muttered, his expression totally agog.
Cal paced, shaking his head. Finally he turned. “Lady, are you nuts?” His tone was suddenly more bemused than furious.
“No, I am not nuts,” she said defensively. “I just happen to care about this.”
“Why? Is there some sort of reward for meddling in things that are none of your concern? I’ll see that you get it.”
“Dammit, this has nothing to do with any reward. It’s about family. What’s more important than that?”
“Money,” he said so promptly it made her blood run cold. He meant it, too. She could tell that. Nothing she was saying about his grandmother seemed to be penetrating that thick skull of his. It was disappointing that a man this gorgeous had to be such an idiot.
Ignoring him, she sank back down in the rocker to think. What the dickens was she supposed to do now? She had thought it was going to be a simple matter
of finding Cal Rivers, explaining about the letter and then walking away. Instead she was faced with a man who wouldn’t even believe that he had a grandmother and, worse, didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
No, she corrected. That wasn’t quite true. There had been that one brief second when he’d revealed a hint of vulnerability, a moment of confusion. Maybe he was afraid for some reason. She studied the unyielding set of his shoulders, the angry scowl on his face. He didn’t look like the sort to be scared of anything short of a raging stampede of horses. More likely, he was an insensitive, uncaring jerk. Not everyone had good in them, despite what she’d been taught.
She ought to leave and let him stay here and get snockered on beer every night. Maybe the beer helped him to live with whatever had made him the cold, uncaring man that he was. It certainly wasn’t up to her to reform him. There probably weren’t enough years left in her lifetime to accomplish that.
Then she thought of the letter in her purse. She owed it to that dear old lady to try harder. Cal Rivers might not be much by her standards, but he was family. And Marilou was the only hope either of them had, the only link. There was an old saying about fools rushing in. Well, she’d already rushed. She might as well stick around for the consequences. If she sat her for a little while, surely something would come to her.
Besides, as she debated whether to go or stay, the clouds had begun building in the west. Fat drops of
rain were already plopping into the dust. She regarded the sudden downpour with a sense of resignation. There was apparently no escape anywhere from these damn April showers.
* * *
“I don’t think she’s planning on leavin’, boss,” Chaney said, his baleful gaze resting on the pretty little redhead who’d plunked herself down in a chair on the porch and was rocking to beat the band.
Cal didn’t think she was going anywhere either. He noted the stubborn set of her chin and the fire in her green eyes and decided he might have miscalculated just the tiniest bit about the pesky woman with her crazy story about a dying grandmother. It wouldn’t be the first time some reporter or gold-digger had used an outrageous tale to get to him. This one was better than most. He’d give her that. She almost had him believing her.
She was also the most stubborn female he’d encountered in some time. He’d attempted to brush her off with a chilly reception and a few intimidating words. Obviously, it was going to take more. He just wasn’t quite sure what would work with a woman who was apparently so dead-sure she was on a mission. Maybe he could cajole her into going with a promise or two. It wouldn’t kill him to fib a little, if it meant dislodging her from that chair and his life.
“Okay,” he said at last, willing himself to look cooperative. “I’m not saying I believe you, but I’m willing to look into it. Leave the letter with me and I’ll check it out.”
The expression she directed at him was very wary. “Check it out how?”
Her persistence almost cost him the tight rein on his temper. “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe I’ll hire a private investigator. Yes,” he said, warming up to the notion. She ought to buy that. “I’ll hire a detective.”
She was shaking her head. “That’s a waste of perfectly good money. I can find her for you in no time and I won’t charge you a penny.”
“Really,” he protested desperately. “That’s not necessary. I can afford it and I really can’t take up any more of your time.”
Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you? You figure I’ll give you the letter and walk out and you’ll tear it up the minute my back is turned.”