Читать книгу New Year's Wedding - Muriel Jensen - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCASSIDY CHAPMAN HELD Grady Nelson’s hand in a death grip as they raced across the tarmac toward her father’s private jet. Footsteps pounded after them.
“Cassie!” a rough male voice shouted from behind them. The rest of what he said was drowned out by the sound of the growling jet, ready for takeoff. The smell of diesel and grass filled the warm, southeast Texas air, making the Christmas carols coming from the terminal some distance away seem out of place.
“Almost there!” Grady encouraged her as they continued to run.
“Thank goodness,” Cassie gasped. “I feel like my feet are wearing through the soles of my shoes.”
“If you weren’t such a celebrity, you wouldn’t have to keep dodging the press.”
They ground to a stop at the steps leading into her father’s plane. The copilot waiting for them directed a passing security guard to stop the pursuing photographer.
“Drew,” she said as she ran past the copilot and up the steps, her small tote bag weighing a ton after that run. “Thanks for being so prompt. But I thought Dad was sending the helicopter.”
“It’s our job to be prompt, Miss Chapman,” he called after her. “Like the Boy Scouts, only we fly. And I was closer than the ’copter.”
The small Gulfstream G450 was luxurious yet comfortingly familiar with its white-and-gold tapestry-covered armchairs around a low table. Several Picasso prints decorated the bulkhead. She’d accompanied her father on business on this plane many times. Flying with him had been part of her therapy. There’d been a point when she’d thought she’d licked all those old problems, but recent events had shaken that belief.
Grady stopped just inside and looked around in apparent astonishment. She hustled him forward so Drew could pull up the steps and close the door. She stowed her bag and took Grady’s from him.
“Ah...” he said, frowning as his eyes went from the Tiffany lamp on the table to the art prints. “I guess we won’t have to worry about legroom.”
“Nice, isn’t it? It’s really hard to fly commercial airlines when you’ve gotten used to this.” She pointed him to the two traditional passenger seats facing forward and put his bag in an overhead bin. “We have to sit here for takeoff,” she said, taking the aisle seat. “Do you mind sitting by the window?” She nudged Grady toward the window seat as she asked the question.
“Happy to.” He sat and buckled his belt, peering out the window, and then looked around, his expression still one of disbelief. She didn’t blame him. He was probably wondering how a trip to spend Christmas with his friend in Texas had turned into a mad chase with her to the central Oregon coastal town where he lived and worked and was a friend of her family’s.
“Are you beginning to regret helping me escape?” she asked, buckling her own belt, the small Chloe suede cross-body bag she still wore across her chest.
“No.” He turned to smile at her. “But I do admit to feeling a long way out of my element. I seldom have reason to fly, much less in a private plane. My life is so much...smaller than this. And I like that.”
Was that a message? she wondered. I rescued you this time, but don’t get used to it. This isn’t going to be one of those cop-rescues-model-in-distress stories with a romance-movie ending.
If so, that was fine with her. She had too much to repair in her life, and that required her complete attention. Like the panic she always felt when flying. And the fact that she may have just killed her career with a major meltdown in the middle of a shoot in Ireland. Both were related to an issue she couldn’t explain, except to wonder if it was left over from her nebulous childhood. She’d done a good job of keeping that to herself, so, to the world at large, she just looked like a white-knuckle flier and to the crew in Ireland, a spoiled brat.
Added to that, she’d been reunited with her siblings after most of a lifetime spent apart, only to have to escape their Texas reunion when the paparazzi appeared.
She’d dreamed of getting her brother and sister back for most of her life. She barely remembered Jack; just an impression of gentleness and a comforting voice.
But she and Corie had corresponded for a while when she was twelve. Then Corie had run away and they’d had little contact since. Until they’d met in Texas.
As though that wasn’t enough to keep a woman up at night, at age twenty-five, she suddenly had this undefined longing nothing seemed to satisfy. It wasn’t related to men because her life was filled with them, and though she enjoyed their friendships, she felt no desire to spend the rest of her life with one. She did not need one more complication. She needed...something.
She patted Grady’s hand where it rested on his knee, just to be able to touch something strong and solid. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as we get to Beggar’s Bay. Your car’s at the Salem airport, right?”
“No. I drove my mother and my aunts to Reno before I flew to Texas. I flew from there to meet Ben and Corie, expecting to fly back to Reno. And then you came along.”
“Oh. Then I’ll rent a car. But how are you getting the Jeep back?”
“Ben will drive me down to pick it up. It’s not that long a drive from Beggar’s Bay.”
“Good.”
Drew’s voice came over the speaker. “Ready? We’re off to the great Northwest, where we’ll be greeted by—big surprise—wind and rain! Temperature is 42 degrees.”
Cassie braced herself for takeoff. Wind and rain. She could deal with them, of course, but she was a hardcore Riviera rat at heart, not for its elegance and famous visitors, but because she loved blue skies and sunshine dancing on the azure Mediterranean. She closed her eyes, unconsciously tightening her grip on Grady’s hand. The weather was the least of her concerns right now.
* * *
GRADY TURNED AS her fingernails dug into his knuckles, saw that her porcelain profile was set as though she was in pain, and concluded that she didn’t like to fly. Seemed odd, since she must have to do it often. But fear was tough to conquer. He turned his hand to hold hers.
He had to tell himself again that this was really happening to him; he wasn’t dreaming. And while it was true that he didn’t regret a moment of the last few hours, he was seriously out of his comfort zone. As long as she looked desperate and lost, he was carried on the tide of rescue. The cop that lived inside him, that most days defined his very being, would move heaven and earth to get her to safety. Not that the pursuing paparazzi had threatened her with physical harm, but escaping them seemed very important to her, so he would do his utmost to help her.
Otherwise, this kind of opulence made him uncomfortable. He’d never traveled among people who appeared on the covers of magazines, or who could move airplanes around as her father had done. In fact, Grady came from a social circle that believed rich people didn’t live real lives and were, therefore, not real themselves.
He hadn’t learned much about her on just two days’ acquaintance, except that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had long, loosely waving hair like a stream of moonlight, perfect ocean-blue eyes framed by long lashes, and a small feminine nose and chin. Her skin was flawless, a creamy shade of alabaster.
He squeezed her fingers. “You all right?”
Her reply was breathless. “Yeah.”
Obviously not true. He tried to distract her with conversation. “Ever been to Oregon before?”
“I was born there, actually.”
* * *
SHE HAD TO think about something other than her need to scream.
Looking into his eyes did provide a distraction. The irises were blue, a shade paler than hers, with rims around them that looked as though they’d been made with a felt-tipped pen. There was a comforting quiet in them that belied the sharp-witted, quick-thinking way he operated. She guessed that was critical for a cop.
She observed his face with professional interest. He was handsome. Not the kind of handsome she saw every day in the men she modeled with or the actors or other celebrities she’d dated. He was stunningly real, his burnished gold hair without product to thwart its tendency to fall on his forehead. It had no artfully applied highlights and was no thousand-dollar cut. It was simply thick and a little too long all over.
He was focused on her, waiting for her to go on. For a moment she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. Even her encroaching panic had receded a little. Right. Oregon.
“Ah...my sister, Corie, was born there, too. My brother, Jack, was born in California and was just a toddler when our mother moved to Oregon.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Grady had a strong, straight nose, a nice mouth that smiled a lot, and a square jaw with just the suggestion of a cleft. He smiled at her now. “It’s great that you’re all finally together again. Jack’s wanted to find you and Corie so badly.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m still not sure why we left your family behind in Texas when the press descended. I thought celebrities loved publicity.”
She wondered whether or not to tell him about what had happened at the shoot in Ireland but then decided against it. She’d have to explain her backstory and he really didn’t have to know all that.
And everyone was coming home tomorrow to quickly put a wedding together for Corie and Ben, and she wouldn’t cast a pall on that for anything. Besides, she wouldn’t be in Oregon long enough that she even had to explain what had prompted this escape.
So she lied a little. “Publicity, yes. Paparazzi, not so much. I’m so tired of their constant presence. It’s interesting to me that you can get a restraining order against a man who is always in your face or hiding in your bushes, but put a camera in his hand and it’s suddenly a freedom-of-speech matter. When I saw that press caravan pull up in front of Teresa’s...” She hesitated, unable to describe how surprised and horrified she’d been when the press had appeared at the foster home where her sister had spent her teen years and where’d they’d all gathered to spend Christmas. Word must have gotten out about the scene she’d made in Ireland. Though Grady hadn’t known about that, he had seemed to understand her need to get away.
She felt a sudden burst of gratitude for this man who’d come with her without question. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”
He stopped her with a shake of his head. “No need. Ben’s been my partner on the force for five years. He’s like a brother to me. Since his family adopted your brother, Jack, and Ben is about to marry your sister on New Year’s Day, I think it makes you and me family—sort of.”
She had to agree. “True, but a thank-you is in order, anyway, because we were all having such a nice Christmas holiday.”
“We were. I’d expected to have a grim Christmas until Ben invited me to Texas.”
She smiled empathetically. “Yes, I heard about your girlfriend. You know, I really can’t believe she left you. Why did she?”
“I guess I just wasn’t the right man for her, after all.” He shrugged. “She didn’t want to talk marriage with me, yet she ran off to marry someone else after knowing him three weeks.”
“Well, then, who needs her? You tell me what you’re looking for in a woman and I will fix you up. I have friends all over the world. You want an heiress? An adventuress? An activist?”
He laughed at her business-like approach to matchmaking. “Thanks, but I’m off women for the moment. Tell me more about you. Ben said you were in Ireland when your father called to tell you your siblings were looking for you.”
She didn’t want to talk about Ireland.
“We were shooting a perfume ad.”
“Corie said you’ve been on every notable designer’s runway and you’re the face of six or seven major ad campaigns. And all that time she’d admired you, she didn’t realize you were her sister.”
“She hadn’t seen me since I was two, except for a photo when I was about twelve. Besides, I go by Chapman, my father’s name, and I had dental surgery to cover a gap between my front teeth when I began to model. You knew our mother had three children from three different men?”
“Ben told me a little about your situation. Must have been hard on everyone.”
“Well, Corie and I were sent to our fathers when our mother went to prison. Jack’s father had died in a plane crash and Ben Palmer was his best friend, so he was adopted by Ben’s parents.”
“That’s a nice note in a sad story.” He shifted in his seat with a sudden smile. “It seems to be turning out well, after all. Back to you. Are you spoiled and demanding? Like, only red M&M’s when you do interviews and only classical music on the sound system when you’re modeling?”
“Of course.” She replied with a straight face. “Except yellow M&M’s rather than red, country-western rather than classical, and only dark-haired men in the shot with me.”
“Because the contrast shows off your golden goddess looks?”
Golden goddess. Was that a compliment, she wondered, or an accusation? She couldn’t tell. “No. Playing the diva is never in the interest of the work. It’s just my personal preference in men.”
“Of course. I presume you have character and spirit standards, as well? Because, you know, hair color doesn’t really tell you anything.”
She ran a smiling look over his old-gold hair and blue eyes. “You come closest to those.”
* * *
UH, OH. He realized it would be wise to withdraw even as he leaned toward her. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected of a fawned-over celebrity. And the moment she’d turned to him for help, he’d run away with her. It was unsettling to know she’d had such an effect on him. He was as fun-loving as the next bachelor, but he wasn’t a thrill-seeker as a rule, or particularly reckless. He’d had a sick father; had to quit school. Life had been hard, but that had made him a practical man. “Well, no man worth his salt—even one with the wrong hair color—can resist a beautiful woman in distress.”
She stared at him an extra minute then pointed at the window to the heavy clouds around them. “I understand it rains all the time in Oregon.”
“Not all the time,” he corrected. “Just October to April, but climate change has made every year less predictable than the one before. Of course, I have only five years of Beggar’s Bay weather history to go by. I’m a transplant from Idaho, and we lived in Europe until I was in high school. My parents taught at American schools there—mostly in Italy and Spain. We went to Paris once, though I don’t remember much about it. But I’ve never been to New York, except at the airport. I’m happy in Beggar’s Bay.”
“I have seen many of the world’s most beautiful places—big cities, natural wonders, postcard views—and they’re a feast for the soul. But the heart needs something else.”
He kept his surprise to himself. The heart? Of course, supermodels had heart. He’d seen her in Texas with her rediscovered family and the children at the foster home in Querida. But this observation seemed to be about something else; something very personal.
“Your heart’s searching for something?”
“Isn’t everyone’s?”
She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, away from him. Hmm. Interesting woman. Impulsive and trusting, but holding a few secrets?
Well. Not his problem. After the wedding, she’d probably go back to Paris or New York or wherever the next shoot was and it would be as though their paths had never crossed. Just as well.
It was dusk when the pilot’s voice came over the speaker to tell them they were beginning to descend and asking that they fasten their seat belts. She’d been fidgety and restless most of the flight and had just dozed off a few moments before. He reached out to fasten her belt rather than wake her. The small movement woke her. She looked into his eyes and said sleepily, “I didn’t dream this. You are here.” Her grateful look pinned and melted him.
“I am,” he said easily, as though he ran off with supermodels every day.
* * *
DARKNESS HAD FALLEN when they began the drive home in a rented gray pickup he’d thought would handle the road better than the luxury car she’d suggested. It was raining hard, water from the winding, poorly lit road splashing around them.
Cassie imagined tomorrow morning’s articles.
Popular 25-year-old supermodel Cassiopeia, AKA Cassidy Jane Chapman, was killed on Highway 101 on the central Oregon coast when the car in which she was a passenger swerved off the wet road and into a tree. Before the scene in Ireland that might have ended her career, she was the face of Eterna Beauty, Belle Face Pharmaceuticals, Heart and Soul Perfume, as well as many other products. Clothing designer Josephine Bergerac of the award-winning Empress line of eveningwear wept as she told CNN, “There will never be another body like Cassie’s for my clothes. I am done.”
All right, so maybe Josie wouldn’t give up her work if Cassie died, but her friends and family would miss her. Her father would be devastated.
Grady slammed on the brakes as something large with four legs ran across the road just feet in front of them. Water flew around them as he skidded, and they finally came to a stop in the other lane. His bright lights illuminated a break in the trees through which the animal had disappeared. Cassie got a quick impression of a large brown body and a white rump.
“You okay?” he asked, catching her shoulder until she turned toward him. He looked her over.
“Yes.” Her voice was breathless, her heart hammering.
He expelled a breath then checked his rearview mirror as she watched the road for oncoming traffic. They seemed to be alone. Then a smaller version of whatever had raced past them loped across the road and into that break in the trees. This time she saw the first buds of antlers on a beautiful young head.
“I didn’t realize deer were so big,” she said as he turned back into their lane.
“Those were elk,” he replied. “Roosevelt Elk. When a doe goes by, there’s often a young one behind her. The Oregon Coast is full of them.”
“Do you see them in Beggar’s Bay?”
“I do. I live in an A-frame in the woods. They’re a little shy, but they like to eat the salmonberries on the other side of my backyard.”
She, on the other hand, didn’t live anywhere. At least, not tonight. Her hasty departure from Texas had left several details about the next few days unresolved. “When we get to Beggar’s Bay, can you just drop me at a motel, please? I’ll buy you dinner as a thank-you if there’s a restaurant nearby.” She made a face when she heard her own words. “Not that dinner could repay you for helping me.”
He shook his head, dismissing that idea as he turned onto a long, straight stretch of road. “We don’t have a motel. We have a couple of B and Bs, but they’re probably full because of the holidays.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “What about the next town?”
“It’s another ten miles. Why don’t you just stay with me? I have a spare bedroom and a bath. You’ll have privacy until the wedding. You know you’re safe with me because your brother would kill me if I let anything happen to you.” He was quiet for a moment and then he asked, “What are you going to do? I mean, ultimately. You can’t hide from the press forever, and you must have jobs lined up.”
“Workwise, I have a couple of months off, but I promised to do a charity show in early January,” she said. “Maybe I’ll travel around a little after. I’ve worked hard so I could pull together some weeks to relax. Turns out my timing was perfect. Meanwhile, the whole family’s flying home tonight on the red-eye, so it’s possible I can bunk with one of them.” She nodded gratefully. “But I’d appreciate staying at your place tonight if you’re sure it’s all right.”
“I’m sure. Just relax. We’ll be home in half an hour.”
Relaxing didn’t seem to be an option. Used to sitting in the back of a limo or a taxi, she was a little unnerved by the bumpy ride. The in-your-face view from the passenger seat was filled with tall trees and deep darkness, except for the path of his headlights and an occasional light suggesting a house some distance off the highway.
Grady drove with calm competence despite the near accident, and she kept quiet, appreciating his need to concentrate.
The headlights finally picked out a sign that read Welcome to Beggar’s Bay. Population 8,912.
The edge of town was heavily forested, but lights and signs of habitation began to thicken. Finally they drove through three blocks of a brightly lit downtown. He turned up a road and pointed past her to a construction site where a three-story building was going up. “That’s the assisted-living facility your brother Jack’s wife, Sarah, is heading up. I’m just another mile this way.”
Lights became spotty again and trees crowded the road.
He eventually turned up a side road for a short distance, then into the driveway of a tall, brightly lit A-frame house. It was trimmed in Christmas lights. She smiled in surprise. “When you said an A-frame, I imagined something simpler. The lights are beautiful.”
Grady’s home had a rustic façade with a central fieldstone chimney and high, wide, wedge-shaped windows on either side. Stilts supported a wraparound deck and, to the left of the house, terraced bricks held large pots with green plants.
“I got it for a steal when I moved here. It had been vacant for a year and a half, and the owner was anxious to get out from under two mortgages. I didn’t get a tree up before I went to Texas.”
He groaned as he pulled in beside a red-and-white Mini Cooper. “My mother’s here.” He turned off the car and gave Cassie a rueful smile. “I was hoping she’d still be in Reno. She’ll want to know all about you.”
Cassie smiled. “That’s okay. I have nothing to hide.” Mostly. She unbuckled her belt with a philosophical shrug. “While my father is kind and caring, he’s made poor choices in women in the past. I imagine that’s how I was born. It’ll be nice to meet a real mother.”
“Yeah.” His tone was doubtful. “You’re such an innocent, Cassie,” he teased, then frowned at the simple dress she wore. “I don’t suppose you have rain gear in your luggage?”
“I don’t. I was expecting to stay in sunny Texas. But I’ll be fine. It’s not that far to the front door, is it?” She peered through the windshield. “Where is the front door?”
“Halfway back on the left side. Just run for the shelter of the deck overhang. Here.” He yanked off the white cotton sweater he wore and held it over her head. She put her arms into the sleeves and he pulled it down. “It isn’t too much protection, but better than nothing.”
She was surrounded by the scent of male and something dry and spicy with a suggestion of pine. The cotton was warm from his body. “Thank you,” she said. He let himself out of the truck.
The rain was torrential—and cold. It struck her face and bare legs when she hesitated to get her bearings. Grady caught her hand and pulled her with him as he ran for the shelter of the overhang. She blinked against raindrops and followed, slowing as he did halfway up the walkway at the side of the house. A door flew open.
Cassie caught a glimpse of a woman in the doorway who was probably in her late fifties. She was wearing a beige turtleneck sweater and dark blue pants. She held the door open as Grady passed her in a rain-soaked T-shirt.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, pulling Cassie inside.
“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.” Cassie smiled into the woman’s suspicious expression as she tripped in after Grady.
Grady’s mother had permed gray hair without much style, brown eyes and a slightly pointy nose and chin. Her skin was beautiful and only lightly lined around her eyes.
“Hello,” she replied, frowning at the large sweater she must know to be her son’s. Then her eyes went to Cassie’s face—and stopped—and widened. She finally said in a stricken whisper, “Oh! My! God!”
They were in a sort of foyer. Cassie looked worriedly at Grady.
“You’re not, are you?” his mother asked Cassie. She stepped a little closer, staring at her, closed her eyes and then opened them again.
Cassie wasn’t as used to this kind of reaction as someone might think. In most situations, she was surrounded by other celebrities, famous—or notorious. She refused to shrink away.
“You are!” Grady’s mother answered her own question.
Grady kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mom, this is Cassidy Chapman. Her sister, Corie, is marrying Ben on New Year’s Day, so she’s come to the wedding. Cassie, this is my mother, Diane Nelson.” Then he took Cassie’s arm and led her through a doorway into a bright kitchen decorated in blue and white.
Grady’s mother followed. “Thank God you made coffee, Mom,” Grady said as he went to the coffeepot on the counter. Cassie turned to face his mother, guessing by her grim expression that something bad was coming. She braced herself.
“You’ve recovered quickly from your nervous breakdown,” Diane said. As Cassie stared at her in disbelief, she added, “The screaming scene you made at that Irish mansion was on SAN—Stars at Night—just a few hours ago. Somebody took a cell phone video.”
