Читать книгу To Love a Stallion - Deborah Mello Fletcher - Страница 9

“Seventy-five percent of all new businesses fail in the first five years,” Eden Briscoe was saying just as the telephone began to ring.

Marah rolled her light eyes toward the ceiling as she reached for the telephone receiver. “And where did you get those statistics?” she asked as the phone rang for the second time, vibrating against the palm of her hand.

Eden pointed to one of the many business start-up books lying atop the new oak desk. Before she could say anything else, Marah picked up the call.

“Thank you for calling The Post Club!” she chimed sweetly, her professional tone just shy of seductive. “This is Marah.”

“Hello, this is Marah. This is your big sister!” The voice on the other end laughed warmly. “I was just calling to check up on you. Wanted to make sure you’re not storming any business meetings this morning.”

“You’re so funny, Marla. What did you really call for?”

“I just wanted to make sure you and Eden remember that we’re all having dinner at the house with daddy this week. I think something’s up. He’s reminded me three times this morning and he said a friend of his will be joining us.”

“It’s probably that Juanita woman. Did you know about her?”

Marla went quiet on the other end.

Marah’s expression was incredulous. “You knew and didn’t tell us?” she exclaimed loudly, catching Eden’s eye.

“Well, I wasn’t sure, but I know the two of them have been spending a lot of time talking back and forth on the telephone. I just thought maybe it might have been about the ranch,” Marla said.

Marah shook her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Marah. You can be so dramatic sometimes.”

Marah bristled. “Here,” she said, tossing the phone to Eden. “Talk to your sister. I’m not speaking to her anymore.”

Eden pulled the receiver to her ear and said hello. The duo chatted briefly as Marah pretended to pout from her desk on the other side of the room. Eden laughed, her gaze skating from Marah down to her desk and back again. When all was said and done, she nodded as if Marla could see her through the telephone. She then heaved a deep sigh. “All right. Well, I’ll see what I can do with her before then.”

“It’s always a pleasure, big sister. Tell my twin I said behave and we will see you two soon,” Marla concluded before disconnecting the line.

Eden dropped the receiver back onto the hook.

“What was that all about?” Marah asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Eden shook her head. “Nothing yet. Your sister was just trying to help, is all.”

Marah nodded and laughed. “She’s your sister, too.”

“That has yet to be proven.”

“Where does that leave me then?”

Eden shrugged. “In the same boat with your look-alike.”

Marah shook her head as Eden changed the subject.

“Marla’s concerned about how you’re going to act when we meet Daddy’s friend.”

“Did you know about that woman, too?”

“Marla told me that he was becoming friendly with someone. I didn’t know anything else.”

“And neither one of you told me?”

“Marah, you always blow things out of proportion. We didn’t know if anything was happening between them or not and we were waiting for Daddy to say something. Now that he is, we should all support him.”

“I’m not supporting that, Eden.”

“Why? Don’t you want Daddy to be happy?”

“Do you really think some other woman can make Daddy as happy as our mother did?”

Eden blew a deep sigh. “I think Daddy has the right to decide that for himself. I also think that he should be able to trust that his daughters are going to let him decide what’s best for him.”

“I’m sure she’s a very nice person, Eden. But I don’t need a new mother. And neither do you and Marla. I bet this plan to sell our home is all her idea. She’s probably scheming Daddy along with the rest of them.”

“Just try to be nice, Marah. Okay?”

Marah shrugged her shoulders, pushing her thin frame skyward. “Whatever. I don’t want to discuss this anymore,” she said, no longer pouting for pretend.

“Fine. So, what’s first on the agenda today?” Eden asked

Looking down to her watch, Marah took a swift inhale. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on it. You’re doing the Marvin Wheeler Show this afternoon so you need to get over to the radio station.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re better at that sort of thing than I am.”

Eden looked stunned, her mouth hung open. She stared at her sister. “I swear!” she finally exclaimed, rising from her seat. “Do you know the failure rate for businesses that aren’t organized?”

“We’re organized. And I made the executive decision that you’re doing promotion this week. So get moving. I’m meeting with John Stallion at three.”

Eden raised a curious eyebrow. “So what’s that about?”

“I just want him to get a taste of the ranch from my perspective.”

Her sister shook her head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you, Marah?”

“No, and I’m thinking that a distraction or two might be all we need to get them Stallions looking for land elsewhere. Besides, what do they want ours for? Like Dallas needs another skyscraper,” Marah said facetiously.

Eden grabbed for her leather handbag off the top of the desk, her head waving from side to side. “Just try not to hurt the man, Marah.”

Marah feigned ignorance. “Whatever do you mean, sister dear?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t make Daddy mad, Marah.”

Marah sucked her teeth. “I’m just going to run a little interference that’s all, Eden.” She glanced at her watch a second time. “You better run or you’re definitely going to be late.”

Heading for the door, Eden tossed her sister a look over her shoulder. “Just for the record, I get to be the executive next week. You just remember that,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Marah winked. “That’s a deal. Go get ’em!” she said, laughing. She watched as Eden swept out of the small office, muttering under her breath the whole time.

Following Eden into the interior of the club’s intimate front lounge, Marah’s gaze swept around the room, admiring the newly renovated space. The Post Club had been their brainchild. The concept had come when the two of them were mulling over the fact that neither had a man or even the prospect of a man in her life. Marah remembered the moment as if it had happened just last night instead of four years ago. Marla had just married Michael Baron, her high school honey. Marah and Eden had been sitting in the den of their family home, bedecked in emerald-green satin bridesmaid’s gowns bemoaning their woes into flutes of very expensive 1995 Dom Pérignon Rosé.

Eden had just come out of a bad relationship. Marah hadn’t had a relationship for so long it was as if she’d not known what one was. The two had laughed and cried, happy about Marla’s joy and dismayed by their own situations.

“We should start our own dating consulting service,” Marah had said in jest.

“We could do that,” Eden had responded. “Maybe it would solve our own personal problems and help a few other women out along the way.”

From that moment on the idea had evolved, starting with the letter-writing service—where they offered men and women help in reviving the ancient art of penning love letters—and then expanding into a service that connected letter writers, one with the other. Before either of them knew it, with some hundred-plus love connections made, twenty-seven marriages and twelve babies produced from the unions, they’d outgrown Eden’s dining room table and were in need of larger space to expand their services. It hadn’t helped that during that time Eden had met Jack Waller. When the two married, Eden and Jack were happy to run the business out of their new house.

That’s when Marah came up with The Post Club, a private lounge where the privileged few could meet, greet and take their seduction skills to a whole new level. Leasing the pricey loft space in downtown Dallas had been their father’s idea, Edward Briscoe’s many business connections affording them first dibs on the prime real estate. Located on the twenty-fourth floor, the plush accommodations gave them an expansive view of shiny, new Dallas, with upscale restaurants, shops and one gorgeous glass-and-steel tower after another. Marah loved that she could stand in the center of the room and see the Fairmont Hotel, the Dallas Museum of Art, Lincoln Plaza and the Trammell Crow Center through the expanse of glass that walled the interior space. What she loved more was being just minutes away from the family ranch with its rustic down-home feel. For her there was great beauty in being able to leave one world for a whole other as the moment moved her.

However, with everything they’d been able to accomplish, Marah herself had not made a love connection of her own. Four years later and she still rarely had a date worth talking about. A fact that her sisters and father were fond of reminding her of.

The telephone ringing pulled at her attention as she engaged the Bluetooth headset she had clipped behind her ear.

“Thank you for calling The Post Club! This is Marah.”

A man’s deep voice resonated on the other end. “Marah, hello. This is Victor Tomes. How are you?”

Marah bristled, a chill rolling up her spin. She forced herself to smile. “Very well, thank you, Victor. How about yourself?”

“I need some help, Marah. I’m taking a close friend to Paris with me for the weekend and I want to send her something special.”

“How special is special?” Marah asked, an annoyed expression crossing her face.

“Just enough to pique her interest for the weekend, but not too over-the-top in case I get tired of her by Monday,” the man replied nonchalantly.

Marah shook her head. Some men made her sick, she thought to herself. “Do you want a full-fledged letter or just a simple note card?’ she asked, trying to hide the annoyance that had risen in her tone.

“Do you have something in between?”

“I think I can come up with something for you. And I think a bouquet of fresh flowers would be appropriate, as well.”

“I can do roses.”

“No, definitely not roses. Roses are very personal. They signify long-term relationship.”

“Oh, heck no!” the man exclaimed. “That is surely not the message I want to send.”

“Well, I suggest something exotic, instead. Birds of paradise, I think. They’ll show intrigue and seduction.”

Marah could sense the man nodding over the other end. “You know best,” he said, his enthusiasm seeping over the phone line. “You have my credit card number on file. Just charge me, please. And send the card and flowers to my office. They’re for my secretary, Pamela.”

“Pamela?” Marah shook her head. Just last month Pamela had been calling on Victor’s behalf. Calling to order love letters for some woman in London and another in Memphis. The man clearly got around. “I’ll take care of everything,” she concluded, her head waving from side to side in disgust.

“You’re my girl, Marah,” the man responded before ending the call.

“Thank the good Lord I’m not close to being your girl,” she said out loud as the call clicked off in her ear.

Marah heaved a deep sigh. She still had errands to run before her meeting with John Stallion. There were also a million things she needed to do to prep for the week. There was the Art of Fellatio class she was expected to teach, then later in the week they were hosting a speed dating night—forty men and forty women had already signed up to do three-minute, round-robin dates in hopes of meeting the perfect partner. There were two letter-writing seminars and a weekend retreat on the Nuances of Seduction as well. It was a good thing she was going to be busy, Marah thought as she headed for the exit, because she needed anything and everything she could find to keep her mind off her father, his new girlfriend and that man.

Edward was giving instructions to one of the ranch hands when Marah sauntered to his side in the middle of a regulation-sized dressage arena. The needed repairs on the stadium fences in the jumping arena were finally being completed and Marah blew a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to make a complaint about it again. Her father winked in her direction as he finished his conversation and sent the hired help on his way.

“What brings you out here this afternoon?” Edward asked as they made their way in the direction of the stables.

“I’m meeting John Stallion.”

He cut an eye in her direction, then nodded slowly. “He’s a good man, John is.”

“So you’ve said before.”

“Have I?”

Marah chuckled. “You know you have.”

Her father laughed with her. “So what are you two meeting about?”

“The ranch.”

Her father paused and Marah took advantage of the moment to try and plead her case.

“Daddy, he’s coming here because I’m hoping to convince him not to buy this ranch. We don’t need a new mall down here and this is our home. I don’t think you realize just yet what you’ll be losing.”

Edward stopped short, tossing Marah a look she couldn’t read, his expression one she’d not seen before. He studied her momentarily before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Your mother loved this ranch. She devoted her whole life to this place. I loved your mother and so I devoted my whole life to her and what she wanted.” The man blew a deep sigh before continuing. “I’m tired, munchkin. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t have any more of myself to give to this ranch and I don’t feel like I have to do it anymore now that your mother is gone.”

“But, Daddy…”

“But nothing. This part of my life is over. You might not like it but you’re going to have to accept it. I’m selling this ranch and if it’s not to the Stallions, then it will be to someone else. This place was your mother’s dream, Marah. I’m ready to go live my own dreams.”

“And do your dreams include that woman?” Marah asked, snapping unnecessarily.

“Watch you tone, young lady,” Edward admonished. “You ain’t that grown.”

Marah dropped her gaze to the ground, contrition spreading across her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant. And yes, my dreams now include Juanita. She’s very special to me. And I hope that you and your sisters will make a genuine effort to get to know her.”

Marah suddenly felt like she wanted to cry but she didn’t, willing the flush of saline not to fall from her eyes. Her father reached out a callused palm and lightly caressed the side of her face.

“Munchkin, your mother would be proud of you and she would want you to make your own dreams. Your mother loved life. She lived a good one. She would want you to do the same thing.”

Without another word, Edward left her standing alone. From his stall, Brutus whinnied for her attention, moving to nuzzle her arm with his nose as she drew closer to him. Reaching into her pocket, Marah pulled out a small red apple and passed it to the animal, brushing her palm against his head as she did. “This isn’t right,” she whispered out loud, thinking only the horse would hear her. “This just isn’t right, Brutus.”

“What’s not right?” John interrupted, easing his way inside.

Marah jumped, startled by his arrival. He was a few minutes early and she hadn’t been prepared to see him so soon. She shook her head. “Nothing. How are you?” she asked, fighting to put a smile on her face.

The man nodded. “I’m well, thank you.”

Marah nodded with him as she appraised his attire. “I should have forewarned you,” she said casually as she admired the designer suit and expensive shoes that blessed his broad frame. “We don’t usually wear our dress suits out here in the yard.”

John laughed. “I guess I am a little overdressed,” he said, admiring the fit of her tight jeans and plaid shirt. “I wasn’t expecting to get my hands dirty, though.”

“You have to get your hands dirty to appreciate this place,” Marah said, passing him a five-prong pitchfork as she grabbed another for herself.

The man grinned. “Is this some kind of test, Marah?”

“Not at all,” she said pointing him in the direction of an end stall. “The stables need cleaning and I figured we could get the job done and talk at the same time.”

John looked down to his leather shoes, his head still waving from side to side as he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Whatever it takes,” he said easily, moving to the area she’d pointed him to. “So, how often do you have to do this?” he asked.