Scrappy shuffled his feet and an idea flashed through her mind.
“You're coming to the Diamond T with me,” Hoyt stated categorically before she could voice her own idea.
She whirled around to protest, but he was halfway across the room.
“I'll pick you up at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning.” Cassie slumped on the bed. The futility of arguing was as plain as the nose on her face. She wasn't in much of a position to debate the matter, because her purse and everything she owned had burned with the Stardust.
“Well, at least I won't be bumping into him all the time,” she grumbled to herself. “That house of his is big enough for an army to hide in.”
But was it big enough for the two of them?
* * * *
“It's too bad about your car exploding in the alley.” Dixie commiserated with Cassie while she brushed her patient's long silky hair.
“I hope to be able to replace my guitar soon,” Cassie replied, performing her prescribed exercises while she waited for the candy-striper who would take her downstairs.
“Hoyt will probably turn tail and run when he gets a load of his hayseed baggage,” Cassie said. Dixie had loaned her a T-shirt that was several sizes too large and a pair of baggy, patched jeans that she'd cinched around her tiny waist with a borrowed belt.
“All I need to complete this picture is a stalk of wheat hanging out of my teeth and a moonshine bottle slung over my shoulder.” She hooted at her reflection in the mirror and curled her bare toes to emphasize her point
“Honey, you'd look like a million dollars in a burlap bag, and don't you forget it.” Dixie smiled and Cassie realized how much she'd miss the woman's company.
“Well. I came in with nothing, and that's exactly how I'm leaving.” Cassie hugged the nurse. “I'll send these back to you as soon as I can.”
“I assure you from the bottom of my heart that there's no hurry about
that."
Dixie returned the hug.
The teen-aged volunteer who guided the wheelchair into the room stared in amazement as the oddly attired patient plopped down and announced she was ready to leave.
Hoyt was waiting in the hospital lobby. The young nurses bustling by on their way to a coffee break threw flirtatious looks in the direction of the hard male figure in the tailored suit.
“I've signed you out and the car is in front.” He accepted her ridiculous appearance without comment. Cassie was disappointed that he hadn't risen to the bait. She was spoiling for an argument, something to clear the air between them and set the guidelines for their temporary living arrangements.
Suddenly she realized that she was the center of attention. “Why didn't you warn me?” Cassie's eyes flashed black fury as she whirled in the wheelchair and glared at him.
Hoyt leaned over and planted a brotherly kiss on the tip of her nose and she was blinded by the flashbulb of a camera.
“The entertainment editors at both newspapers are friends of mine, and I thought your release would make an interesting item for the fans who have expressed their concern about you,” he explained.
“Can I have your autograph?” A thin woman in a seersucker dress shoved a piece of paper and a pen under Cassie's nose.
Cassie held up her scarred hand and smiled an “I'm sorry.”
“Who's that?” A wiry little man in bib overalls gestured rudely at Cassie with his thumb.
“Don't ask me who she is.” The woman sniffed, shrugged her coat-hanger shoulders, and stuffed the paper and pen into her vinyl purse. “She's sure got a fancy opinion of herself, though. Wouldn't even give me an autograph!”
“You became public property the minute you stepped onstage at the Stardust, so you'd better get used to things like that,” Hoyt whispered when he saw Cassie's outraged expression. “You know what they say: ‘Be careful what you want because you might get it.’ If you can't handle local publicity and the problems that attend it, then you'll really be up a creek if you hit it big.”
“Is it true that you're going to recuperate at the Diamond T, Miss Creighton?” A brisk female reporter stood over Cassie to catch her response.
“Mr. Temple, would you mind kissing Miss Creighton again?” the young photographer asked. Cassie stared into a leering mechanical eye that was waiting to snap the event.
“My pleasure.” Hoyt's mouth grazed her lips this time, and the sensual impact of the close encounter sent shivers up her spine. Cassie twisted her face away to avoid meeting those knowing blue eyes.
“Are there any plans yet for your return to the ‘Dallas Hayride’ TV show?” the reporter queried. “And is there any truth to the rumor that you and Mr. Temple— ”
“That's enough for now.” Hoyt held up his hand and cut off any more questions. “Miss Creighton has survived a harrowing experience, and I'm sure you understand that she's exhausted.”
“My editor sent me here to get a story, not the brush-off,” the reporter snapped.
“I'll confirm for you that Miss Creighton will be recuperating at the Diamond T, but we've made no further plans as far as her career is concerned at this point.” He smiled that convincing smile and the hard-boiled woman blushed. “As soon as she's regained her strength, we'll call a press conference at the Diamond T and you can ask questions to your heart's content. How does that sound?”
“It's a deal.” The woman scribbled some notes on her pad and she and the cameraman cleared a path for Hoyt and Cassie.
“That's the nosiest woman I've ever met!” Cassie exclaimed as Hoyt gunned the motor and roared out of the circular drive.
“She's just doing her job,” he said. “By the way, I've made arrangements for you to charge clothes, cosmetics, or anything else you might need. I'd suggest that you take advantage of those arrangements before too long. It wouldn't do for a budding star to be caught in baggy jeans and a T-shirt every time she ventures out.”
Hoyt's Porsche ate up the miles on the northbound Central Expressway, whizzing past gleaming glass skyscrapers and maneuvering easily through the snarled traffic. Soon they were surrounded by the open countryside, colorful in its blanket of bluebonnets, buttercups, and prickly yucca bushes. Cassie tried to relax in the reclining passenger's seat and she hummed along to the catchy new Alabama tune playing on the radio. It was good to leave the dishwater-dull routine of the hospital behind, to be free again.
But was she really free? Cassie glanced sideways to study the chiseled profile silhouetted against a cloudless azure sky. Her good hand closed in a tight fist and she forced herself to look out her own window. A melting desire raced through her veins, but the hollow ache inside her was a throbbing reminder that lust without love was useless, destructive. And Hoyt had made it perfectly clear that he didn't love her. Cassie refused to surrender to the tears gathering in her eyes. If only...
“I really appreciate everything you've done for me.” She felt obligated to fill the empty silence. “I promise that I'll repay every cent you've had to spend.” The hospital had canceled her promissory note at Hoyt's angry insistence, and she hadn't argued the point. As soon as she found employment in Nashville, she would reimburse him.
“There's only one way you can repay me, Cassie. And that's to give me your word that you'll steer clear of Allen Ingram from now on.” Hoyt didn't look away from the highway, but Cassie could swear that she felt his gaze boring through her.
“Why is there so much bad blood between the two of you?”
“I didn't think he'd have the guts to tell you the truth.” Hoyt shook his head in disgust. “I fired Ingram seven years ago. He'd hired on as foreman at the Diamond T and we caught him plumping up the feed bills to the tune of several hundred dollars a month.”
“Well, that certainly explains some of it. But— ”
“You asked me while you were in Intensive Care why Purdy went back to the Stardust the night of the fire. Are you still curious?”
“Of course.”
“Apparently the Stardust had been losing money— a lot of money— over the past few months. Ingram had borrowed to the hilt at the banks, and they wouldn't loan him any more money until he'd picked up his other markers.”
“I knew business was bad, but I didn't think it was that poor. We were busy enough to break even. Our weekend crowds were standing room only.”
“You were busy enough for an honest man to break even, Cassie. But I had Purdy investigated. He didn't lie about being a promoter, just about what it is that he promotes.” Hoyt's voice was light with anger. “Purdy's a bookie, Cassie, and he had his hooks into Ingram for close to a hundred thousand dollars.”
Cassie whistled in amazement. “I can't even picture what an amount like that would look like!” Poor Allen, she thought. No wonder he'd turned to the bottle. “What did that have to do with the fire, though?”
“Plenty, as it turns out Your contract was Ingram's collateral. When you refused to sign with Purdy, he went to the Stardust that night to collect in cash.” Hoyt slid a glance in her direction. “The arson squad went over that place with a fine-tooth comb. Ingram must have panicked, because there's evidence that the fire was deliberately set. Insurance money will retire a lot of debts, Cassie— even illegal ones.”
If Hoyt had slapped her, she couldn't have been more astounded. “He bet against my future!”
“I should never have let you stay on with that crook.” Hoyt shook his head, blaming himself for her near catastrophe. “But you were so damned bent on doing things your way— ”
“I could have died in that fire!” Her pity for Allen dissolved rapidly in the heat of her angry realization.
“A warrant has been issued charging Ingram and his snake-oil salesman with arson and attempted murder. I don't think either one of them will be out on the streets for some time to come.”
Hoyt guided the Porsche through the tall gates and up the long driveway, and she realized that she would be entering his home for the very first time. She wiped her palms nervously on the rough denim of her borrowed jeans and winced when the newly regenerated skin of her injured hand brushed against the rough material.
She stiffened, knowing that she wouldn't fit in, wondering what Hoyt's father would think of his dragging home a penniless singer who owed them more than she might ever be worth. The elegant ranch only served to point up the sharp contrasts between them. “I— I don't want... ”
Hoyt's grip on her arm was firm when he helped her out of the car. Cassie forced herself to match his air of assurance.
Someday she would have a solid mahogany door like this, to... oh, and magnolias and crepe myrtle trees along the walk. Cassie made quick mental notes and tucked them away for future reference.
“Do you suppose we're in time for lunch?” She squared her narrow shoulders and tilted her chin defiantly. If this wasn't rags to riches, then the Brothers Grimm didn't write fairy tales. “I'm starved.”
Hoyt paused in the doorway and turned his head, his gaze roaming over the soft curves that refused to remain hidden beneath the baggy backwoods outfit that Cassie wore. Violet bled into blue as a grin parted the lips that she hated herself for wanting to kiss.
“I think we can manage to rustle up something to eat.” All that was missing was the looking-glass frame as Cassie stepped over the threshold and her bare feet met the polished parquet floor.
She couldn't be positive, but it sounded like Hoyt muttered, “After you, Alice,” before he followed her into wonderland.
Chapter 9
Warm yellow sunshine splashed through the lightly draped windows, enticing her to wake up and welcome the new day. Cassie peeked out of one eye, reluctant to abandon her dreams but determined to remember why she was floating on this canopied island of luxury in the middle of a sea of lush carpet the shade of pink tea roses.
She pointed her toes and stretched the sleep out of her slender body. The memory of her arrival at the Diamond T yesterday returned with a sly smile. She'd never forget the shocked expression that had crossed the maid's face when she was introduced to the barefoot, black-haired gypsy in baggy trousers.
“Mrs. Morton will show you to your room.” Mischief had played hopscotch on Hoyt's handsome face, skipping from the upturned corners of his mouth to settle in his amused cobalt blue eyes.
Cassie hadn't marshaled her courage in vain. Mrs. Morton's prim lips had settled into a tight line as her thin body stiffened under her proper gray uniform.
“Certainly, Mr. Temple. Will the— uh— young lady be staying for lunch?” The maid had tiptoed through her inquiry as gingerly as if she were crossing a cow pasture.
“Miss Creighton will be here for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for some time to come.” Hoyt dismissed the women and turned to rifle through the mail that was neatly stacked on the Pembroke table in the foyer.
Cassie and Mrs. Morton sized one another up, both of them wary of trespassing in forbidden territory.
“Well, don't just stand there gaping at her.” Hoyt tossed the mail onto the table. “Take her upstairs so she can change her clothes. I don't know about the two of you, but I've got work to do.”
“Of course,” the housekeeper sniffed. “Follow me, Miss Creighton.”
This morning, deeply pitched masculine voices riding on the delicious dawn breezes drifted through the open window to pique Cassie's curiosity. She slipped out from under the downy comforter and dashed across the room to see what had prompted this early morning bustle.
Wearing those same work clothes that had been his range rig in Coyote Bend, Hoyt towered over a handful of squint-eyed, bowlegged cowboys. He issued orders in that tyrannical manner that had so often chafed her hide. Cassie curled her toes in the softly spun carpet, pulled the billowing drapes farther away from the window, and crossed her arms on the sill so she would have a better view.
A short puncher whose face was speckled with peach fuzz that wouldn't require regular shaving for a while caught the unusual commotion at the upstairs window. When the young blond hand shifted his gaze from Hoyt to Cassie, his face was plastered with the silliest grin that she'd ever seen.
Hoyt picked that inopportune moment to glance up from the notebook he held in his hand.