Читать книгу Society Bride - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 10

“Reggie? Kate Fortune calling. It’s been ages since we spoke—how are you?”

“Kate! It has been a long time. How nice to hear from you. I’m doing well. You?”

“Couldn’t be better. Listen, I have to talk to you about Renee.”

“What about Renee?”

“I ran into her this morning, and we had a very interesting conversation.”

“Did she tell you she’s getting married this month? To Lyle Norton, no less?”

“Oh, I can just hear the pride and joy in your voice when you say that, Reggie. Yes, we did discuss the fact that she’s getting married soon.”

“I couldn’t be happier about the arrangement.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet you couldn’t. That Lyle Norton is something, all right. But listen, here’s the thing. Renee looked awfully tired to me so I offered her a place to retreat to for a few days, so she could get a little rest.”

“Retreat to? What do you mean, ‘retreat to?’”

“Just that. A small retreat I have at my disposal, a place where I go for a little while when I need to rest or sort things out.”

“Sort things out?”

“You know…make big decisions, think about the repercussions of my actions, that kind of thing.”

“Think about the reper—”

“And I gave the key to Renee and told her to take a few days off from the wedding plans, so that she could get some rest and clear her head.”

“Clear her—”

“She won’t be gone long. But circumstances being what they were, she had to leave in a hurry.”

“And just what were the circum—”

“So I told her I’d call you and let you know where she is so you wouldn’t be worried.”

“And just where is she?”

“Wyoming.”

“Wyoming?”

“If you need her, call me, and I’ll get in touch with her and tell her to contact you. And don’t worry about her—she’s by no means alone where she is. If she needs anything—anything at all—there’s someone there to take care of her.”

“Kate, what are you up to?”

“Up to? Me? Why, nothing. But just between you and me, Reggie, I think if Faye were alive to see what you’ve done, she’d be appalled.”

“What I’ve done? What are you talking about?”

“Arranging a marriage for your daughter this way. It’s archaic. Faye would have a fit if she were here to see it. She was always such a romantic dear. You were, too, once upon a time. You should be ashamed of yourself now, for making Renee feel as if she has an obligation to marry a man she doesn’t love simply to save a business you’ve managed badly.”

“Kate, this is none of your—”

“Renee will be fine. You needn’t worry. Not about her welfare, at any rate. She’s perfectly safe. She’ll be home in a few days. You have my word. But right now, I think she needs some time to herself. Alone. Well, pretty much alone, anyway.”

“What she needs is—”

“I’ll call her and let her know I spoke to you. Ta ta, Reggie. Do have a nice day.”

With a purr of delight, Kate Fortune dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle, folded her arms over the top of her desk and sighed contentedly. There. Let Reggie Riley stew over that for a few days. See how he liked having control taken out of his hands for a change.

Honestly. Sending your own daughter on a guilt trip and making her feel obligated to marry a man to whom she was completely unsuited—not to mention a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her in return—just so you could save your floundering company. Reggie really should be ashamed of himself. Faye Riley must be spinning in her grave over this one. There was no way Kate could turn her back on something as wrong as all this.

Renee Riley was a sweet, kind child who deserved better. And if Kate had any say in the matter, better was exactly what she was going to get. Thank goodness Kelly had seen fit to tell Kate what was going on.

She glanced at her watch and grinned with much satisfaction. Right about now, Garrett would be outside the main house on the Final Destination, taking care of the numerous afternoon chores that never seemed to end. There was no way he’d be able to hear his telephone ringing. So Kate picked up the phone again and began to punch the first of eleven long-distance numbers that would contact him.

And when his answering machine picked up at the other end, she said, “Oh, Garrett, dear, you know how much I hate to talk to your machine. Ah, well, there’s nothing else for it, I suppose. I’m sorry for calling at the last minute this way, but I’ve been absolutely swamped with work. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sending a friend of mine your way who’ll be staying at the cabin for a few days. I do hope you’ll make her feel welcome. She has some extremely serious life choices to work out….”

“Aunt Kate, I swear to God, I’ll get you for this.”

Garrett Fortune uttered the words aloud—even though there was no one around for miles to hear them—and glared at the answering machine on his desk as if it were to blame for the message he’d just played from his great-aunt. The last thing he wanted or needed was the arrival of some flaky grande dame of Minneapolis society. There was no way he had time to play houseboy to one of Kate’s high-society friends.

He didn’t care if she did own the damned cabin. The ranch was his. He’d received the deed just last week.

Of course, there was nothing he could do about it now, seeing as how the woman would be arriving in…oh, about fifteen minutes.

Extremely difficult life choices, he repeated to himself, disgusted. Yeah, right. The only kind of life choice his great aunt’s friends probably ever had to make was whether to serve bouillabaisse or bisque for an appetizer.

He could picture his guest already, some high-society matron with overly coiffed hair and overly manicured nails, trailing a half dozen oversize suitcases and at least that many of those irritating undersize dogs in her wake. She’d be suffering from some major trauma—her daughter was marrying a gas pump jockey, for example, or her son had decided to study hairdressing instead of medicine—and she’d be beside herself with self-pity because her life was going to hell in a handbasket. Then she’d start calling Garrett at the main house day and night, as if he were Julie-your-cruise-director and room service at the Ritz-Carlton all rolled into one.

Damn. This was to have been the week Garrett started turning what had always been Kate’s weekend getaway into a working ranch. For too long the Final Destination’s potential had been completely wasted. Hundreds of acres of prime grazing land had provided little more than a beautiful backdrop for a house that had served as a vacation home for the Fortune family and sundry friends.

When Kate had set Garrett up to manage the place a little over a year ago, he’d looked forward to finally having the chance to install all the improvements necessary to make it the working ranch he’d envisioned since he was a kid. But wanting to have a real stake in the operation, Garrett had offered to buy the place from her instead. Kate had agreed to go along with the deal, provided she kept the guest cabin and surrounding property.

And now Garrett was about to see a childhood dream come true. He would make the Final Destination a ranch that could turn a tidy little profit year after year. Eventually, he planned to retire from what was already just part-time legal consulting to run the place full-time. He was itching to get started on his improvements. The last thing he needed this week was a houseguest ruining what little free time he’d planned to give himself.

“Dammit,” he muttered to no one in particular. Then, just for good measure, he kicked the desk.

At least the woman would be staying at the cabin, he thought, which would put a good half mile between them. Maybe he had enough time to rig the telephone so she wouldn’t be able to call the main house during her stay.

The crunch of gravel in the driveway made Garrett’s plan evaporate, and he prepared himself to be overrun by expensive luggage, killer lapdogs and a woman more suited to the Four Seasons Hotel than a Wyoming ranch. But when he opened the front door, what greeted him bore no resemblance to any of his ideas. Because there, against the backdrop of a wide-open sky stained pink and purple and orange in the wake of a setting sun, was a blast from his past he wasn’t likely to forget.

Renee Riley.

Oh, man…

She was standing on the opposite side of a bland, four-door sedan that just screamed rental, reaching into the back seat for something—so she wasn’t paying attention to him. Which was good, because it meant she couldn’t see him gazing at her with what he hated to think was probably a profound, poetic longing.

Damn.

With the spectacular sunset looming behind her and with those riotous curls falling forward, obscuring part of her face, she almost looked like a painting. One of those Pre-Raphaelites he recalled from a humanities prerequisite at college—a lush, rounded woman gathering wheat at dusk. Garrett shook his head to clear it of the odd idea and tried—without much success—to tamp down the heat and desire that jumped to the fore. This was all he needed—Renee Riley as a houseguest.

Kate’s houseguest, he reminded himself. So she was the one who had some serious life choices to work out.

What kind of life choices could a woman that young have to ponder that she would exile herself to the very back of beyond? Because that’s exactly what the Final Destination was. A retreat in the fullest sense of the word, tucked in the middle of nowhere, barely in reach of society. They were on the very edge of available electricity and water, too far out for any kind of decent TV or radio reception. This was a place to do two things—raise cattle and get away from life.

It suited Garrett perfectly.

Renee, however… Well, she didn’t quite seem the exile type. On the contrary, the impression he’d received of her at Mac’s wedding was of a warm, outgoing woman who doubtless made friends faster than most people made messes, someone who thrived in social surroundings.

Even though they’d only spent a short time together, they’d shared a surprisingly meaningful conversation. Among other things. And somehow, in that brief time, Renee had crawled under Garrett’s skin and set up housekeeping there. Over the last three months, no matter how hard he’d tried—and he’d tried awfully damned hard—he hadn’t been able to drive her out of his system. She lingered constantly at the fringes of his thoughts, crept into his brain at the oddest moments and just more or less left him tied in knots.

All because of a few little kisses that had left him thinking, What if…

Which was another thing he wished he could figure the hell out. He’d shared more than a couple of chaste kisses with more than a couple of women, but no encounter he’d ever had with the opposite sex had come close to shaking him up the way a few little pecks with Renee had. There had been nothing to that embrace, he tried to tell himself, not for the first time. Nothing. But it had haunted him like no other experience he’d ever shared with a woman.

It made no sense. She was too young, too naive, too insignificant to have this effect on him. But as she straightened and hauled an oversize tote bag over her shoulder, slinging her hair back in the process, the evening breeze nudged a dark curl over her forehead. And Garrett, God help him, found himself wanting to run to the yard to tuck the errant strand of hair where it belonged.

He just wanted to touch her. Badly. As he’d wanted to touch her for three months. Three long, agonizing months. And now here she was, almost within reach, as if someone were bestowing upon him a wondrous gift. Someplace deep down inside Garrett, a little spark he would have sworn had been doused years ago flickered to life, sputtered a bit, then kindled into a small, fragile flame. And strangely enough, he felt a smile—an honest-to-God genuinely happy smile—curl his lips for the first time in years.