Mad About The Man (13 page)

"
The wind could be catching it,
"
Char added, but made no move to check. The bell rang again, and again. She held up her fingers and counted silently.
"
Would that be in or out?
"

Gaby screwed up her eyes.
"
In or out?
"

"
If it isn
'
t the wind. There can
'
t be
that
many customers lined up in the shop.
"

Another ring.

"
You
have
to go,
"
Gaby said.

"
It could be a kid just opening and closing the door for the hell of it.
"

"
Hello!
"
A familiar male voice echoed along the passageway from the shop.
"
Gaby? You forgot some
thing.
"

She pressed her hands to her middle and whispered,
"
I
'
m going to have to face him, aren
'
t I?
"

Char picked up an ostrich feather and nodded.
"
The sooner the better.
"

With a final glare in her assistant
'
s direction, Gaby marched from the workroom and into the shop
…
and stopped.

"
You forgot your hat,
"
Jacques said, holding it out.

Gaby glanced briefly at him, then she stared at an amazing display of roses in crystal vases that caught sunlight through the windows.
"
Where did those come from?
"
Prisms of colored light flashed from the crystal.

"
I brought them.
"

Dozens and dozens of red roses with frosty white centers.
"
Why?
"

"
Take your hat. Hats look very good on you. Have I told you that?
"

"
No,
"
she said shortly, taking the black straw and tossing it onto a head form.
"
Thanks.
"

A scuffing noise heralded Char
'
s appearance.
"
I need to step out and—
"
She stopped in midsentence and her mouth remained open.
"
Wow. Are we opening a florist
'
s shop?
"

"
They
'
re a gift for Gaby,
"
Jacques said.
"
You must be Char. Mae mentioned you.
"

"
She did?
"
Char came farther into the shop and appeared even more entranced by Jacques than the roses.
"
Mae
'
s a great little girl. I never had kids, but if I had I
'
d have wanted them to be just like her.
"

"
Bright,
"
Jacques said, bestowing a dazzling smile—the kind of bone-to-jelly smile only he could bestow—upon Char.
"
And a pretty thing, too. Like her mother.
"

Gaby swallowed and willed away any blush that might be marshaling forces. She failed. Her face throbbed.

"
Yes,
"
Char said and sat on the black cane chair.
"
Gaby is beautiful, isn
'
t she? Everyone
thinks
so. I
never met a red-blooded man who co
uld look at Gaby and not want…
well, we both know what I mean.
"

"
We certainly do,
"
Jacques agreed, turning his attention to Gaby. The smile softened, became lazy, sensual.
"
Gaby already knows what
I
want.
"

This was
too
much.
"
Why did you bring all these?
"
She swept a hand in the direction of the roses.
"
Why? I thought you were angry with me.
"

"
I ordered the roses before you decided to make a career out of disagreeing with me.
"

Gaby snorted.
"
Naturally. You wouldn
'
t buy roses for someone who didn
'
t agree with you, would you?
"

"
You bet I wouldn
'
t.
"
His mouth tightened into a tough line.

"
You
'
re the kind of man who brings roses home to his wife when he wants something.
"

"
Does that have a particular meaning?
"
he asked, so sweetly she smarted.

"
You know what I mean.
"

"
Te
ll
me.
"

"
Sex,
"
Char announced.
"
She means that some men bring incentives—
"

"
Char!
"
Gaby turned her back on both of them.

A scuffling followed.
"
Well,
"
Char said.
"
If you don
'
t need me for a while…
See you shortly.
"

Gaby listened to Char
'
s departing footsteps with something like dread. The silence that closed in felt electrically sharp.

Jacques cleared his throat.
"
I want you to have the roses, Gaby.
"

"
I
'
m sorry you wasted your money.
"

"
Couldn
'
t we try to start over?
"

She faced him.

"
Let
'
s put all the hard feelings behind us,
"
he said.
"
I think I know what
'
s bothering you and I
'
ve already thought of a way to put it right.
"

When he looked like that: sincere, intensely concerned and good-looking enough to melt the soles of her feet, Gaby couldn
'
t hold on to her irritation.
"
What do you think is bothering me?
"
He understood, actually comprehended that she was hesitant to let go with him because—

"
You
'
re ambitious in your way,
"
Jacques said.
"
It
'
s been wrong of me to assume that because you
'
re in business in a very small way and in a place like Goldstrike, you don
'
t want to be successful.
"
Disappointment outweighed frustration—almost. Jacques crossed his arms.
"
If I
'
d been paying enough attention I
'
d have realized that your competitiveness is one of the things that attracts me to you. You
'
re a strong woman.
"

She had no idea where this was heading.

"
The contract to make baseball caps must be a big deal to you. I should be able to put myself in your place and see how big. Will you forgive me on that one?
"

Gaby couldn
'
t form a single word.

Jacques nodded and bowed his head.
"
I knew you were the kind of woman who didn
'
t bear grudges. The point is—and I see it now—that you don
'
t like the idea of doing the preliminary work, then watching it taken out of your hands when the demand gets really big. Am I right?
"

"
A man of vision,
"
she said, very softly.

For an instant he appeared baffled. Then he grinned.
"
Subtle. That
'
s something else I like—your sense of humor. Anyway, I
'
ve worked it all out. It must be as obvious to you as it is to me that you won
'
t be able to handle the mass production past a certain stage. Am I right?
"

Fascinated, Gaby nodded slowly.

"
Right. But that isn
'
t going to matter because there
'
s a way for you to go right on getting a good, big piece of the action.
"

"
And everyone wants a piece of your action,
"
Gaby said, almost to herself. Camilla Roberts
'
s face flashed again.
"
That must get quite tiresome.
"

Jacques shrugged.
"
That
'
s business.
"

Which, by extension, meant that she was just business—with the added possibility of a few fringe benefits for Jacques Ledan.

"
Don
'
t give any of this another thought. I
'
m going to take care of you. Can you guess how?
"

Gaby shook her head.

"
You
'
re going to become the exclusive outlet for Go for the Gold in Goldstrike souvenirs. Right here in this little shop.
"
Enthusiasm radiated from his broad gesture.
"
Gaby, not one GFTG rain poncho, GFTG stuffed animal, coloring book or T-shirt
…
.and certainly not one baseball cap will ever be sold that doesn
'
t come from Gaby
'
s little shop!
"

She shook her head again, very, very slowly.
"
You
'
re kidding.
"

"
I knew this was the answer.
"
He pulled a rose from its vase and handed it to Gaby.
"
Here
'
s to a great partnership. We
'
re going to paint that logo right on your window—Go
for the Gold in Goldstrike. Of
ficial Souvenir Outlet.
"

Gaby remembered to breathe again.
"
And there
'
ll be a rainbow, of course,
"
she croaked.

"
That
'
s the girl! The biggest rainbow you ever saw.
"

10

F
ar below, on the road winding through the hills
toward La Place, a brief flash of light pierced the gray afternoon.

Slouched in his favorite chair near the study windows, Jacques let his
newspaper fall to the floor. A
heavy sky pressed down upon the hilltops as far as he could see, yet a b
reak in the cloud had allowed
sunlight to catch a car windshield.

"
You aren
'
t going to believe this,
"
Bart had told him on the phone, sounding excited.
"
Stay put until I get there.
"

Jacques had no doubt it was Bart
'
s Porsche that approached. The road ended at La Place and no one, else was expected. The prospect of a dose of Stanly enthusiasm sent Jacques
'
s already sagging mood
earthward.

There were times when a man deserved to be alone with his depression.

Gaby had told him to go to hell.
"
There
'
s the door,
"
had been her exact words.

And he
'
d been so reasonable.

And she
'
d thrown his understanding and generosity in his face
…
with no explanation.

He got up and stood close to the glass. The study, cantilevered from the back of the main house, ov
er
hung a steep hillside cloaked with blue oaks.

Gaby would like this house—maybe even more than he did.
"
Black Jacques
"
had been the nickname of his twenties, and the notion that he was silent, dark and complicated hung on in some quarters. No one really knew him, damn it. Sure he could be difficult, but at some levels he was traditional, conservative even. Gaby McGregor could never, under any circumstances, be described as traditional or conservative.

That
'
s why she
'
d like La Place more than he did— if he could ever get her here. This house
deserved
a woman who appreciated the spectacularly unusual.

Gaby and the word spectacular fitted together perfectly.

What the hell
did
she want from him?

He confronted the issue he
'
d been skirting: what did
he
want from her?

Loud barking from the other side of the house meant his dog had heard the distant approach of an engine.

Jacques buttoned his trailing denim shirt and set off through corridors lined with blond paneling all the way to vaulted ceilings.

Spike—all fifteen pounds of her—took one look at Jacques and subsided into a doleful, dark-eyed heap on the floor by the front door.

"
That
'
s the girl,
"
Jacques said.
"
We understand each other perfectly, don
'
t we?
"

Spike heaved a huge sigh. A mutt with gray fur, skinny legs and a tail like a battle flag, the dog
'
s most endearing quality was an unerring ability to judge her master
'
s moods…
and adopt them.

Jacques opened the door as the silver Porsche
swung into a circular courtyard built at the center of the buildings comprising La Place.

The car shot around the fountains with Bart
'
s customary reckless style and slid to a halt. The passenger door opened to reveal Rita, dressed for a Saturday afternoon in a basic black jumpsuit.

"
Boy, are you going to hate this,
"
she said, an expression of deep gloom on her face.

Bart arrived beside her before she could stand up.
"
We made an agreement, sweetheart,
"
he said, gal
lantly offering a hand.
"
I do the subject lead-in and you clean up as necessary. Right?
"

She ignored his hand and emerged to stand in front of Jacques.
"
Right. But, boy, are you going to hate this, Jacques.
"

"
Great,
"
he said, standing back to let her pass.
"
I can hardly wait.
"

Bart slapped Jacques on the back, shot him a sympathetic grimace and followed Rita into the house. Whining softly, Spike fell in at Jacques
'
s heel. Rita marched directly into the sun room and settled herself in a swinging rattan chair suspended from a crossbeam.
"
Why is that animal moaning?
"
she asked, eyeing the culprit with disdain.

Jacques stooped and Spike vaulted into his arms.
"
She
'
s very sensitive—like me.
"

"
Let
'
s get this over with,
"
Rita said to Bart, studying apparently perfect fingernails.
"
The sooner he knows, the sooner we
'
ll know just how much damage we
'
ll need to patch up.
"

"
You promised you
'
d let me do this, sweetheart.
"

Jacques looked from Bart to Rita, expecting her to tell her supposed rival to cut out the
"
sweethearts
"
and quit telling her what to do.