Fire in the Wind (7 page)

He paused. "After the operation—after Jace's death, I bought out my uncle in the trucking firm. He wasn't very imaginative and he wasn't ambitious. The trucking firm made him a nice little income and he would have been satisfied with that."

"I suppose after Jace's death there didn't seem much reason to work hard," she said. Jace had been an only child, she knew, and his mother had left him and his father when he was only a child. It had scarred Jace; she had known that, though he had not said much about it.

"I suppose not," Jake agreed. "After that I bought a trucking firm in Seattle and then a chip-barge outfit in Campbell River.... I was lucky a lot of the time. I've got very diversified interests now."

"Any gold mines?" she asked with a little laugh. Jace had wanted to own a gold mine one day. She looked up, finishing the last of the avocado with an appreciative flick of her tongue over her lips. He was staring at her, and he was suddenly demon-ridden again.

"God, you're just like a cat!" He dragged in a ragged breath. "I've never seen a woman eat the way you do."

His sudden intensity took her aback. "What do you mean?" she faltered.

He said, "Has no man ever told you that you are completely sensuous? Why do you think I can't keep my hands off you?"

"Oh... I...." Vanessa blinked.

"Did you ask if I own any gold mines?" he continued harshly. "I own two, in Northern Ontario—small but promising. Do you want one? I'll give you one if you'll come to bed with me."

The little spoon clattered against china, and then an electric silence settled between them. Jake Conrad's dark eyes watched her intently, unnerving her. Vanessa lost all power of breath and speech. Finally she shook herself and straightened her shoulders.

"You look as though you expect me to consider that suggestion seriously," she said with a faint, catty little laugh she was surprised she could produce.

Jake Conrad inhaled and his eyes lost some of their intensity. But he still watched her. "And won't you?" he queried. "Most women would."

"Most women would
what
?" she snapped.

His lips twitched. "Would consider the proposition seriously," he said slowly, as though he were talking to a child or a half-wit.

A slow anger burned in Vanessa. She wasn't going to take this. She drew a deep breath.

"Look," she said, "I know what you want, and I think I know why. But it's nothing to do with me, so kindly keep your personal demons to yourself. If there was a woman once who thought money was more important than you, then I am sorry for you, but it is manifestly not my fault."

She would have stopped there, but he was looking arrogantly, cynically amused, and unaccountably she wanted to break through his defences, to reach his real emotions, even if only his answering anger.

"However, having seen the kind of women you seem to choose, I must say I'm not surprised. I've never seen anyone more likely than Louisa Hayward to be the kind of woman to choose money over love."

She did not break through. Jake Conrad's cynical smile stretched wider, and his voice when he spoke was triumphant, as though they were debating and she had just lost a point. "The kind of woman you are, in fact?" he said.

"I
beg
your pardon?" Vanessa's anger burned faster.

"Larry Standish was from a very wealthy family, wasn't he? Isn't that why you married him? Jace's father's trucking firm couldn't stand up against the Standish millions."

At that precise moment the quiet waiter appeared at her shoulder with their grilled salmon. Biting back her response was so difficult it was painful. Vanessa clenched her jaw and her hands and breathed deeply as tears started in her eyes. After what seemed an age, the waiter had arranged everything to his satisfaction and disappeared as silently as he had come.

"How dare you!" she hissed at Jake. "How
dare
you!" It was all she could say. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Giving up Jace to marry Larry had been the cruellest sacrifice ever asked of her. To be accused now of having had mercenary motives was almost more than she could bear.

"Isn't it true?" he asked. "It's easy to see you've got more money to spend than the average working girl. That dress you're wearing now has most of the women in the room gnashing their teeth in envy. You didn't get that on your salary, now, did you?"

"This dress is of my design and my execution!" she said hotly, angry because she was making explanations. "As are all the clothes I wear. And the clothes I wear are not enough justification for the hideous accusation you just made to me! Who the devil do you think you are?"

"It's not true?" he asked intently, a startled look coming into his eyes. "I... that's what Jace thought."

"What
Jace
thought? How do you know what Jace thought?" she demanded.

"He told me what he thought," Jake said.

Vanessa stared at him, her eyes wide. "When?" she insisted.

"In the hospital. Before he went in for his operation," Jake replied. "He told me about La—"

She interrupted fiercely, "What's going on here? You told me you found out about my letter after he was dead, when you cleared his belongings out of his hospital room!"

He blinked as though he had lost his bearings for a moment. Then he said hesitantly, "No, I... he didn't show me the letter. He told me you had married someone else. Larry. And he told me why. Later I found the letter."

Vanessa eyed him for a long moment. She was sure he had said... but she couldn't remember the conversation well. She had been too emotionally shaken. It seemed she was always being shaken emotionally while this man was around. She breathed deeply in an effort to calm herself.

"I can't believe that's what he thought," she said, all her anger suddenly dispelled. "Oh, God, I can't believe he died thinking that about me!"

Tears pricked her eyes and she looked down. The sight of the plain oiled pine brought to her mind suddenly the long dining hall at the Standishes, glittering with silver and crystal under a magnificent chandelier.

She wanted to clear herself of the accusation of having sold out to that, she wanted to go back in time and tell Jace it wasn't true... but there was no Jace to tell, only Jake. And it wasn't his fault if he believed what his cousin had told him on his deathbed.

She said, "I never took money from them. I always made my own way. After I married Larry I stayed in college even though they said no matter what happened I'd never have to work again. When Larry got really ill they paid all his hospital and medical fees, but I never took money from them." She looked up at Jake, her eyes unconsciously pleading.

She thought,
let him tell me he lied. Let him tell me Jace never thought that....

"Is that what he believed, really believed, about me?" she asked.

His voice was harsh. "Jace probably thought a hundred different things. What difference does it make whether he had the right reason or not? The hard fact was that you jilted him without a word of explanation. What do you care what explanation he dreamed up for himself? What difference does it make to you?"

"It makes a difference," Vanessa said doggedly. "I didn't tell him the reason because he didn't ask. If he'd—"

She broke off because Jake was laughing, a mirthless incredulous laugh. "He didn't ask? What room did you give him to ask?" he demanded harshly. "I told you, you were already married by the time—" He broke off. "You're a woman who demands a lot from a man, obviously. You want a man to keep coming at you while you're saying no, is that it? Is that what I should have done tonight? Made love to you in spite of yourself?"

She gasped under the force of his attack. "No!" she said angrily.

"No, eh?" He looked unconvinced. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Because I don't like shrinking violets and I don't much care for rape. When you come to my bed I want you willing—just remember that. The blame for any wasted time will be at your door, not mine."

Vanessa sat stunned. "You must be out of your mind," she said coldly. "Believe me, I will not be coming to your bed, willingly or otherwise." And in that moment she believed it.

Jake shrugged lightly. "Fine," he said. "Nobody wins them all. Let's eat the salmon before it gets cold." He changed the subject then with admirable ease. His voice was cool, detached, as though she were no more to him than a casual conquest he could easily do without. But his eyes held another expression, one she could not read—and she knew that somehow, somewhere, Jake Conrad was lying to her.

* * *

He drove her through Stanley Park before taking her back to the hotel, and the magic stillness of the tall Douglas firs enveloped them in the quietly purring car till she could hardly believe she was in a city.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, and Jake pulled the car over and stopped.

"Would you like to walk for a few minutes?" he asked. "There's a very pretty pond just over there."

"At one in the morning?" she asked. "Is it safe?"

He laughed. "This is Vancouver, Vanessa. The population is barely one million. No one's going to jump us. Come on." He climbed out of the car and walked around toward her door, but she got out by herself and joined him. She breathed deeply in the night air, revelling in the stillness, the peace that surrounded them.

Brrrh, brrrh.

Vanessa jumped and reached instinctively for Jake's strong arm. "What was that?" she whispered hoarsely.

He laughed down at her. "Relax," he said. "It was a frog over on Lost Lagoon. Where we are heading." Suddenly there was a chorus of frog noises so loud it made her laugh. She took Jake's arm, feeling perfectly easy. After he had forgotten his demons tonight, he had been a fascinating companion.

"What a serenade!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad I'm not a lady frog expected to fall for that racket!"

"If you were a lady frog," he said softly, "You'd be swooning and falling off your lily pad right now."

"The croaking is that good?" she asked, smiling.

"I'm no expert on the quality of the croaking," Jake replied. "But there's no reason to think you'd be less responsive as a lady frog than you are as a woman."

Her stomach fluttered at the tone in his voice. The night was too softly cool, the stars too bright, the setting too romantic. She wanted to ask him why he was so sure she was responsive, but that way lay danger. She searched her brain for a safe subject.

"Lost Lagoon," he said, as the path emerged from thick trees at the edge of a small lake, still and perfect in the night. Vanessa sighed in delight.

"There's a paved path around the circumference," Jake said. "It would take about twenty minutes to walk it. How are your shoes?"

"Not up to it, I'm afraid," Vanessa said regretfully, lifting a delicately strapped foot for his view. She would have liked the walk. "It's very beautiful, Jake. I wish...." She stopped.

"It's much more prosaic by daylight," Jake said. "But perhaps you'd like to come back on the weekend when the trade show's finished? It's quite a famous bird sanctuary."

Vanessa bit her lip. She would have liked that, too. "I'm flying home first thing Saturday morning," she said.

His arm tightened for a moment around her waist. "Well, then, let's walk a little now. Who knows when you'll get another chance to see it?" Any regret in his voice was impersonal, so she must have mistaken that momentary tightening of his fingers.

They were passed by a pair of midnight joggers, sex indeterminate in the darkness, and this evidence of the park's safety bemused her.

"Canada's a very safe country, isn't it?" she asked. "Jace always said so."

"No country is as peaceful or as safe from vandals as it was ten years ago," he said quietly. "But we fare pretty well."

"Is it because of your gun-control laws?"

"Partly, I suppose," he replied. "A lot of the reason is historical. We didn't have the lawless opening of the West that you had south of the border. In Canada the settlers moved west accompanied by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police—in those days they were called the Northwest Mounted Police. They were pretty impressive in maintaining law and order. We mostly didn't massacre the tribes or fight wars with them. We made treaties instead. That doesn't mean they weren't ripped off," he said parenthetically. "Just that it was done in a peaceful lawful manner."

"And you think that makes a difference today?" she asked in surprise. "The way the West was settled?"

"Canadians had different heroes," Jake said. "In the States you were glorifying the Fastest Gun in the West, the rugged individual who didn't knuckle under to anything or anyone, including the law. Canadians, on the other hand, had heroes like Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, who kept drunken prospectors in line, whose great deed was the victory of law and order over lawlessness."

Vanessa found herself charmed by this insight. "Was Sergeant Preston of the Yukon
your
hero?" she asked.

"I had the best collection of Sergeant Preston comic books in three blocks," he said. "Instead of practising my quick draw I used to practise saying, 'Well, King, looks like this case is...
closed',
in what I thought was a suitably heroic voice."