Читать книгу Lady With A Past - Ryanne Corey - Страница 9

Could it be the wrong address?

Connor got out of his car and took off his sunglasses, blinking at the modest log cabin set a half mile back from the main road. Granted, it had a Little House on the Prairie kind of appeal—each of the windows had flower boxes crowded with cheerful yellow blooms, the front yard was nicely kept and a thick row of pine trees edged the gravel driveway. A wooded creek cut through the front of the property at an angle, sparkling in the sunset like so many diamonds flowing by. Beyond the house was a weathered red barn and a small pasture where several cows grazed.

It was a nice enough setting, but hardly the sort of place he would have imagined a woman like Glitter Baby would choose as home. Connor had done his homework on his mercurial subject. He knew she had owned luxury apartments both in America and abroad, but never had the time or interest to fully furnish any of them. She seldom stayed in any one place for more than a week at a time, and had often professed herself to feel most at home in four-star hotels.

Still, perhaps this unassuming ranch house was Glitter Baby’s way of hiding in plain sight. Robby at the feed store had given Connor very clear directions to Maxie’s place. It hadn’t been at all difficult obtaining the information; Connor had traded his photograph of Glitter Baby for the address. Fortunately, he had a portfolio of over 200 pictures in his rental car, along with files of dozens of interviews from magazines. He felt he could spare one to enrich Robby’s fantasy life and further his own research.

He returned to his car and coasted slowly down the gravel drive, preferring not to give advance notice of his arrival. The white truck parked in the shade of an aspen tree told him she was home. He didn’t want her bolting out the back before he had a chance to talk to her.

He was surprised at his quietly labored breathing and the erratic rhythm of his heart. He had never found himself quite so fascinated with any of his subjects as he was now. Knowing that he was so affected was unnerving, particularly for a man who had survived repeated sackings by humongous homicidal defensive linemen.

Connor actually had no idea what he would say when he saw her. He didn’t know what to expect, so at this point, he was taking things one step at a time. He couldn’t stop thinking that whatever the next few minutes held for him, good or bad, they would be different from anything he’d ever experienced before.

In the past two years, Maxie had become an avid fan of sunsets. She never missed one if she could help it; possibly because she couldn’t recall actually taking the time to enjoy a sunset in all the years she had modeled. Fluorescent lights had surrounded her day and night, artificial, hot and dry. Photographer’s lights, neon lights in smoke-filled clubs and incessant flashing lights from the ever-present press. Bright, empty and blinding.

But a good sunset…now there was true magic, and something she had never appreciated until moving back to Wyoming. Perched on the top rail of the corral, Maxie studied the world slipping into night with a dreamy intensity. She knew how quickly a brilliant watercolor sunset faded to the comforting blue shadows of night. No two sunsets were alike, but each was a work of art in its own way. How lovely it would be, she thought wistfully, if the world looked at people the same way, knowing each was different and wonderfully unique. Maxie’s eyes had been acclaimed, her cheekbones envied, her haircut widely imitated. And yet, when all was said and done, she had realized, the world knew nothing about her at all. How could they? Maxie had known so little about herself at that point.

She wondered how long it would be before people like Connor Garrett realized Glitter Baby no longer existed. Her demise was the best thing that had ever happened to Maxie Calhoon. No longer was she the neurotic woman who cried over a broken nail or insisted on weighing herself three times a day. These days she couldn’t care less what the scales told her she weighed. Ah, and best of all, food had taken its rightful and revered place in her life, from SpaghettiOs to Lucky Charms to crackers and milk in bed. She ate. She slept. She worked with her hands and her mind and her heart. This journey of finding out who she was was turning out to be the most satisfying trip of her life. Why did that damned Connor Garrett want to ruin it all? Didn’t he have anything better to do than make life miserable for a humble dairy farmer?

She heard footsteps on the gravel, looked over her shoulder and realized she could ask him herself.

He was walking towards the corral in a crimson haze of late-afternoon sunlight. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his sneakers kicked up little clouds of dust as he walked. Creating disturbances, it seemed, came naturally to Connor Garrett. The baseball cap was missing and his longish golden-brown hair moved over his forehead with the restless evening breeze. His head was tilted quizzically as he approached, his bright-eyed gaze never leaving her face. And Boo, that traitorous canine, was bobbing along beside him like a drooling, furry welcome committee.

No place to hide, Maxie thought miserably. Which left her no alternative but to bluff. She climbed off the fence, slapping her palms clean on her jeans. “Well, this here’s a surprise,” she drawled. “I didn’t expect to see you again. You lost, or somethin’?”

“Save the country-girl accent,” Connor suggested. “It’s overdone, anyway. You forgot your fertilizer, Maxie. Young Robby at the feed store gave me your address, so I thought I’d bring it out to you. I put it on your porch.”

“Such a good Samaritan.” Maxie forced a tight smile. “And what did you give young Robby in exchange for my address?”

“A picture,” he said softly, “of you.”

In truth, Connor thought it a miracle he could make any sound at all. He’d stood face-to-face with any number of celebrities, had wined and dined them and cheerfully pushed the necessary buttons to get a good story. This was different. Connor couldn’t quite get away from the fact that he was a fully functioning male and she was…hell, she was Glitter Baby.

Two years, he realized, had changed her in remarkable ways…and yet not at all. Her eyes, completely free of makeup, were intensely violet against her sun-browned skin. Her shoulder-length hair, glossy brown with deep auburn highlights, had been freed from its ponytail and washed over her shoulders in no particular style. The impossibly generous shape of her dusky rose lips had inspired many a male fantasy, an understandable reaction. Connor was somewhat inspired himself at the moment. How on earth had this unforgettable lady escaped recognition? Was everyone in this town blind?

Maxie watched him with the cool composure of one who was used to being the focus of attention. “Your mother should have taught you better manners. It’s rude to stare.”

“My mother was a politician’s wife. She paid people to stare at her. It made her very happy. Besides, it couldn’t bother you too much. You spent eight extremely profitable years being stared at.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

Connor grinned, admiring her pluck. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“You poor confused man. Do you have a short-term memory problem? How old are you, forty-five or so? That’s quite young to be going senile.”

“Thirty-four,” Connor corrected. “And I still have all my own teeth, too.”

Maxie shrugged. “You look much older in person than on television.”

“You know who I am?” Pleased, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and began rocking back and forth on the heels of his sneakers. “I’m flattered. Why didn’t you say something when I met you at the feed store?”

“I said I knew who you were, Mr. Garrett,” Maxie retorted. “I didn’t say I was a fan. Thank you for delivering my fertilizer. Having said that, I’m now going to walk you to your car and wave enthusiastically while you drive away.”

“I’m beginning to feel unwanted.” Connor lagged behind as she marched towards the house, a blissful smile on his face as he thoroughly appreciated the indignant rhythm of her rounded derriere. “We need to talk. Can’t you spare me a minute? I promise, it could be well worth your while.”

“My mother told me never to talk to strangers. You’re very strange, therefore I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Now who’s being rude? I’ve done nothing to—” He gave a low whistle. “Will you look at that? Holy cow…!”

Ever mindful of her Holsteins’ health, Maxie stopped and looked back. Connor Garrett was down on his haunches in front of the vegetable garden in the side yard. Boo had crouched down likewise, his head tilted inquisitively. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her patience wearing thin.

He looked up at her, his finger jabbing in the direction of the cabbages. “I just saw a rabbit.”

“And your point is?”

“It had bent ears,” Connor stressed. “Like they were broken or something. I swear, it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. He just ducked under the cabbages.”

Maxine rolled her eyes. “His ears are supposed to look like that. That’s Harvey. He’s a lop-eared rabbit. He lives in the garden and helps me eat the produce. You don’t get out to the country much, do you?”

Connor stood up, a wave of color rising in his face. “Hey, very few of my acquaintances keep rabbits as pets, bent-eared or otherwise. When I saw him, I thought the poor guy was crippled or something. Why the name Harvey?”

“I’m a big Jimmy Stewart fan.”

“So why didn’t you name it Jimmy Stewart?”

“Didn’t you ever see the play Harvey? Or the movie? Jimmy Stewart had this imaginary rabbit—” She broke off abruptly. Connor Garrett was the enemy, and it wouldn’t be smart to strike up any sort of friendship. “Never mind, Mr. Garrett. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk about my rabbit.”

“Not really. Why won’t you call me Connor?”

She gave him a killer smile, a weapon left over from her life in the fast lane. “I treat all people of your advanced age with respect, Mr. Garrett. Let’s get moving. It’s getting cold out here and you’re keeping me from my dinner.”

Connor dropped in behind her again, making a soft “meow” sound deep in his throat. She glared at him over her shoulder, but kept walking. Connor’s low-slung canary-yellow rental car looked quite ridiculous next to her rugged power-wagon. It also appeared…locked. With the keys in the ignition.

“Are you kidding me?” Maxie walked around the car, trying both doors. “What kind of idiot locks his keys in the car?”

“I resent that,” Connor said in an injured tone. “Are you implying I did it on purpose? You have a definite ego problem if you think I want your story that bad.”

“What about the sunroof? Maybe we could slide it—”

Connor tried to look suitably mournful. It was difficult, considering he was enjoying himself enormously. “The sunroof doesn’t work. It’s broken. I plan on giving that rental company a piece of my mind when I return the car. I was assured this car was in perfect working—”

“Oh, shut up.” She stared at him, murder in her violet eyes. “You probably worked this whole thing out in advance. Locked the keys in the car, glued the sunroof closed—”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Besides, you told me to shut up.” Connor tried both doors himself, grunting as if exerting great effort. “Well, this is a stroke of poor luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.”

“I’ll have to call a locksmith. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

Maxie was getting a migraine, her first in two years. “I’ll tell you something, Garrett. Even if I was your missing model, which I’m not, I would never, ever, ever consent to an interview with a sneaky, opportunistic, underhanded, oily—”

“Oily?” Sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded Connor could live with. Oily was a slur on his personal hygiene. “That was below the belt, Ms. Calhoon. You know, I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to come out here. If I could get in my car, I’d say good riddance and leave this very minute.”

Maxie deeply regretted never training Boo to kill on command. How could so much go so wrong in such a short period of time? Life had been so wonderfully uncomplicated when she’d walked into Howdy-Do Farm & Feed that morning. She’d just come from the bank and felt optimistic about her loan. Knowing both she and her cows would have money for food during the coming winter was a tremendous relief. She’d stopped at the donut shop and enjoyed the best apple fritter of her life. She was a contented woman.

And then Connor Garrett had stuck that lousy photograph under her nose and the bubble had burst.

“I don’t like you,” she told Connor succinctly, eyes narrowed. “You have no redeeming qualities.”

“You don’t know me yet,” Connor pointed out. “It’s much too soon to make a judgment call.”

“Believe me, I know you as well as I’m going to.”

He gave her a slow smile, a light of challenge in his dark eyes. “Wanna bet?”

While Maxie fortified herself with a Twinkie, Connor called a locksmith, but had to leave a message on his voice mail. When he hung up the phone, he looked at Maxie’s stormy expression and shrugged helplessly. “What am I supposed to do? Is it my fault he’s the only locksmith in Oakley? I’m sure he’ll get back to me as soon as possible.” Then, glancing beyond the kitchen window, he said, “I suppose I could wait outside. It looks like it might start raining again, but I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Why don’t I just wait on the porch swing? With any luck, the locksmith will get the message before I freeze to death. I’ll just leave you in peace, all right? I don’t want to be a bother….”

His wounded-puppy-dog act had no effect on Maxie. Still chewing, she shepherded Connor to the front door, pulling an afghan off the sofa along the way. “How considerate of you. Here, take this blanket. Wrap up snug and tight, and you probably won’t freeze to death.”

The glint of humor in Connor’s expression faded abruptly. “The hell you say! You actually expect me to wait outside?”

“It was your idea, Mr. Garrett,” Maxie said cheerfully. “I’ll turn on the porch light so you won’t be scared of the mutant rabbits. Bye-bye.”

“Wait just a damn min—”

She shut the door on his protest without even the tiniest qualm of conscience. Then with an evil smile she turned on the porch light as promised. She knew how happy all the mosquitoes in a five-mile radius would be to have fresh meat on the porch.

She went back to the kitchen, choosing a juicy red apple from her fruit basket on the table. As she crunched on it, she found left-over roast chicken in the fridge and popped it into the microwave. She noticed the wind was turning rather fierce outside, rattling the kitchen windows in their frames.

What a shame, she thought. This would certainly ruin the last of her petunias in the garden.

She took her dinner back to the living room and flicked on the television. She always looked forward to Friday nights. There was a wonderful show on cable called A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian. It was very educational.

She had a pad of paper and pencil standing by in case she wanted to take notes. Tonight’s episode dealt with “The Lurking Peril of Brucellosis.”

And speaking of lurking perils…. For the first timesince shoving Connor out the door, she glanced outside. There he was, huddled on the swing, the afghan pulled up to his eyeballs. He caught her eye and lifted the tips of his fingers far enough over the edge of the afghan to give a pathetic little wave. His new tangled dreadlocks gave evidence of the night wind’s ferocity.

Maxie pulled a face as she heard the first drops of rain on her tin roof. Darn. Even she couldn’t leave the man out in a rainstorm. She had a hard enough time leaving her cows outside during poor weather.

Scowling, she gestured for him to come inside. He hopped off the swing with the speed of a naughty little boy who’d been forced to sit in a corner, dashing across the porch and inside with the blanket held over his head. A freezing spray of rain and wind came inside with him.

“It’s l-l-like a hurricane out there.” His lips were frozen, the color faded to an interesting pale blue. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Of course I’m not happy,” Maxie replied. “I hate to see any animal suffer.” Then, grudgingly, she gave up her place on the couch. “Sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

Connor burrowed into the sofa cushions, staring at the plate of chicken bones on the coffee table. “You had chicken.”

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“I love chicken.”

“I ate it all.”

“Of course you did,” he muttered.

Maxie glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t worry about feeding me. I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

She took a deep breath. “You do like playing the martyr, don’t you? How on earth did a delicate soul like yourself ever survive playing professional football?”

He brightened considerably. “You watched me play pro football?”

“Never. I just heard somewhere you played football before you became a reporter.”

“Well, I didn’t play much,” he admitted. “Two games and I was out for the count. I blew out my knee when—”

“Do you want something to eat or not?” Sitting there on the sofa with his wet mop of hair, melting brown eyes and touching tale of woe, he was almost endearing. Maxie couldn’t afford to feel sympathetic. “If you’re really hungry, I’ll fix you a plate of…something.”

He smiled weakly. “Before you go…would you mind covering me with the blanket? I’m still a little chilled.”

“Fine.” She whipped the blanket out of his fingers, spreading it over him. “There we go, Mr. Garrett. All tucked in, nice and cozy. Is there anything else I can get for you? A hot-water bottle? Earmuffs? Perhaps a mustard poultice?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any brandy, would you?”

“Brandy? I can barely afford hay for my cows!”

“Don’t get all prickly on me,” he said. “You’re probably tired. When you’re well-rested, I’m sure you have a very nice personality.”

“Nope,” she retorted, heading for the kitchen. “This is as good as I get.”

“And that’s good enough,” Connor murmured. He nearly snapped his neck following her exit. She had the most provocative sway to her hips, languid and sassy at the same time. He could just imagine her strutting the runway in a wispy dress that began late and ended early, her luscious hips rolling like thick honey, violet eyes half-closed, that swollen, edible mouth painted the sumptuous color of late-summer roses….

He grew conscious of a heated tightening in his groin. He tugged the blanket away from his body, sucking in a deep breath of air. For a man who’d just spent an hour in the deep freeze, he was suddenly and suffocatingly hot.