One Magic Night (2 page)

His eyes wandered lower, and then he knew this vision didn't really exist. The accident was making him hallucinate. Here, in this tiny upstate town, he had conjured up an unbelievable woman dressed to ride to the hounds. She wore the traditional English hunting regalia, black velvet jacket, a crisp white ruffled shirt, tight-fitting fawn-colored pants that hugged her shapely legs and were tucked into the tops of shiny black boots. The only out-ofplace thing about her was the dust on the gloved hand she extended toward him.

"I've put blocks behind the car. You won't roll back. You're safe now. Can you get out? What about your friend?"

He tore his eyes away from her to look at Deke. Deke sat with his head back, his eyes closed. The color had not come back to his face. Ty shook his head and turned to the woman again to grasp her gloved hand. It was surprisingly firm and strong, the gloved fingers wrapping around his with a tensile grip that startled him.

"Watch your knees," she warned. "You may be a little unsteady. Sometimes the shock is delayed."

Ty was rapidly regaining his ability to think. Briefly, he considered lurching against that trim body with its womanly curves accented in men's garb, but a sharp distaste filled him at the idea. Those clear gray eyes with their look of concern deserved better from him. She was right about one thing, though. His legs were decidedly unsteady.             

Ty gripped her hand and steadied himself by grasping the roof of the car with the other. He shot her a quick glance, expecting a mocking smile, but her face still held nothing but concern. He said, "Thanks for the warning. I didn't expect to feel so blitzed."

"Most people don't," she said calmly.              .

"Does this happen often?" He didn't release his hold on her hand.

"Once a year," she said, lifting a shoulder under the black velvet.

"Once a year?"  He was astounded.  "Why isn’t something done?"

"What do you suggest?" she asked dryly. "Rebuilding the entire town on the top of the hill? There are signs warning trucks to take other routes. That's about all that can be done. The townspeople try to keep alert." She shot him a bland look and pulled her hand free from his grasp, leaving him feeling suddenly chilled. "If people took better care of their cars, we wouldn't need to worry."

A dark tide of color rose under his cheekbones. "I had the brakes checked a couple of months ago."

She shrugged, obviously unwilling to pursue the matter.

Her eyes flickered over him, and he caught that brief flare of feminine interest.  Then, something happened.  The sexual appraisal was damped down sharply, and long caramel-colored eyelashes blocked her eyes from his view. She liked his looks-but she didn't want him to know it. She had withdrawn emotionally, and now she distanced herself physically as well, turning away from him to look up the hill. The sun had dropped lower, and there was a decided chill in the air. "Life is full of things we'd like to change and can't." There was something in her voice, a husky catch that made him think she wasn't talking about the hill.

He watched the fading light play over her face and felt a blazing elation take fire in him just from looking at her. What would happen if he ever touched that cool ivory skin? He'd go up in smoke. "I'd like to thank you, Miss…”

She turned toward him, and every scrap of warmth and concern left her face. Her eyes were icy, chilling the air around him. She had caught the vibration of his interest, and she didn't like it.

"There's no need to thank me."  She pivoted sharply, her boot making a rasping sound on the rough surface of the road. She was going to walk out of his life and he didn't even know who she was. Panicked, he said roughly "I'll need a place to stay for the night.  Any suggestions?”

"There are no motels." The words were crisp. "Try Mrs. Tyler. She runs a boardinghouse just down the street.”

A man's voice called, "Leigh! Darling, are you all right?  Helen told me you were nearly hit."

She had taken a step away from him, but at the sound of that name, Ty fought back the feeling of being punched in the solar plexus and covered the ground between them with two quick movements of his long legs. His hand reached out, grasped the velvet-clad arm. "Were you in that blue car? Dammit. I nearly annihilated you."

She shook her arm, clearly inviting him to release his hold on her. He didn't.  "I heard your horn and slammed on the brakes. You had the good sense to increase your speed. Not many men would have been thinking so clearly."

He wasn't thinking clearly at the moment. Right now, his thoughts were a muddle. That cool, unwillingly given bit of praise stirred his senses, and that wasn't the only thing about her that disturbed him. Her perfume drifted to his nose, and the closeness of that enticing curve of breast to his fingers invited him to brush his knuckles over the rounded firmness of her. Bluntly, not thinking, only wanting her confirmation, he said, "You're Leigh Carlow."

He saw the emotions flash in her eyes in rapid succession, the disbelief, the withdrawal, and finally, the contempt. She made a sound in her throat and pulled at her arm just as the man who had called ran panting up the hill toward them. Despite his hold on her arm, she had herself in superb control and her voice stayed on that same low, beautifully husky but feminine pitch. "My stepfather warned me you were coming." She took a breath, as if she had been running. "If you write one word about me, I'll sue you for defamation of character and libel, and anything else that comes to mind. Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal, Miss Carlow." He held her arm for a moment longer, watching temper turn her eyes to molten silver. He wondered what color those eyes were when she was making love. He dropped her arm and gave her a mocking bow of his dark head. They were behind the car now, and he saw how she had propped cement blocks behind each wheel. Where had she got them from? How had she carried them there so quickly? "Thank you for the cement blocks. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

Her mouth twisted.  "That's not possible, Mr. Writer

Producer, whoever you are. As soon as you get your car fixed, you'd better leave Springwater."

His mouth lifted in a mocking smile. "Is that a threat?"

She gave a short, unamused laugh. "It's a simple fact.  There's no reason for you to stay."

Before he could reply, the man who had called moments ago huffed up beside them. He was dressed in a hunting outfit, too, but his hair was silver gray, and his body thick with middle age, and he looked more incongruent than ever standing beside the slim woman who wore the same clothes with such style and grace. The pair of half glasses perched on his nose underlined the difference in their ages. He peered over these at Leigh. "Darling, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Hunt." She extended her hand to him as she had to Ty, and Hunt took it with a proprietorial air. Hell, that man was old enough to be her father.

He gave Ty a curious look, and Ty seized on the man's interest to say, "Leigh."

She turned back, her eyes glacial. "What do you want?"

There was a question. "Where am I going to find this Mrs. Tyler?"

Her companion gave her a half-shocked, half-amused look. "Darling, you're not fobbing him off on Lelia Tyler, are you? The place you stay is much nicer. And Viola Hendricks's second-floor apartment is vacant; you told me that yourself, just the other day."

Leigh Carlow's face was pale, but she said in a careful, controlled tone, "Mrs. Tyler is close."

Hunt turned to Ty. "Don't listen to her," he said expansively. "Viola Hendricks has a nice old house that sits beside the creek, and she's an immaculate housekeeper. Just go up this road and tum where the sign says
Springwater Creek Public
Fishing.
It's a brick house with a glassed-in front porch and green shutters. Sign in front says Rooms for Rent. You can't miss it."

Ty looked at Leigh Carlow and saw the tightening of that attractive mouth. "Thank you, Mr.-"

"Beatty, Hunt Beatty.”  The man released Leigh's hand and offered his to Ty. "Ty Rundell," Ty said softly, his eyes flickering over them both, watching the darkening of her pupils at the sound of his name.

"You know Leigh."

"We were just-introducing ourselves," his smile played over her cool face, "when you arrived. I was expressing my gratitude to Miss Carlow for her help."

Hunt Beatty threw a careless arm over Leigh's shoulder, and Ty felt an overwhelming urge to remove it. "Leigh's a very cool-headed woman. Handy to have around."

"I should imagine," Ty drawled.

"What happened?" The groaned words came from inside the car. "What hit me?"  Deke Slayton appeared at the edge of the car, holding his head. "I feel as if I've been on a twelve-day drunk." He staggered forward, then leaned back against the car.

Almost at once, Leigh was beside him, a cool hand on his head. "You must have fainted."

Deke groaned and lifted his head to look first at her, then at Ty. "Don't tell anyone back at the lot this happened. I feel as if I've been hit by a ten-ton truck.”

"Shock," Leigh said succinctly. "Some people take things harder than others." She gave Ty an icy look and turned away. "Hunt, we'll be late for the party."

Hunt Beatty's full cheeks filled with color. "It hardly seems in good taste to go away and just leave them like this." He gave Ty a quick, guilty look.

Ty stepped next to Deke and lifted one of Deke’s arms over his own shoulder, facing the other couple, surreptitiously giving Deke a light kidney punch that made him sag against Ty in surprise. "He's all right," Ty said, gripping Deke in warning, keeping his voice expressionless, his face stoic in the best piece of acting he'd done in a long time. "He'll be able to walk…eventually."

Beatty took the bait. "Leigh, they've had a bad scare. We can run them up to Viola's in your car; it’ll only take a minute."

Ty gave her full marks for poise. She didn't betray a thing; not a movement of her mouth or a flicker of her eyes gave her away. "Yes, of course."

She pivoted easily in her riding boots and strode down the hill ahead of them, leaving Beatty to help Ty half carry a dazed Deke down the incline.

Hunt insisted they wait until Ty brought their luggage. Ty propped Deke against Leigh's blue car, made the return trip, collected their bags, and locked the crippled car. Seated in the backseat of Leigh's blue Omni with Deke, Ty heard her say something to Hunt Beatty, but he didn't catch her words. Beside him, Deke muttered, "What the hell is going on? Why the rabbit punch?"

"Just keep quiet and look sick," Ty ordered in a low undertone.

"No problem." Deke groaned and closed his eyes.

Viola Hendricks reminded Ty of a friendly snapping turtle with her hunched shoulders and bright dark eyes. Her snow-white hair was styled in tight little ringlets that seemed to spring up from her head instead of grow out of it, "You can have the one on the second floor," she said after a quick cursory glance over Ty’s jacket and shoes. He had no doubt she could have told him the price of both within five dollars. "Just got the place cleaned today."

Hunt Beatty insisted on helping them carry their luggage in, but now, probably because of that low-voiced remark of Leigh's, he seemed anxious to leave them. Leigh had remained in the car, with the motor running for a quick getaway, Ty thought, his mouth twisting in unconscious reaction.

Mrs. Hendricks gave Ty a quick, assessing look. "Can you climb the stairs?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, knowing that she had reacted to his grimace brought on by the thought of Leigh's dislike for him. Country people watched you too damn closely. They didn't just let their eyes drift over you and quickly look away like people in the city did. He had to remember that. He picked up his bag and followed Deke up the stairs.

By eleven o'clock Leigh was ready to leave the gym with its mass of churning teenage life and go home. Kevin Clark had spilled his punch on Jennifer Redfern's antebellum dress, sending her weeping into the ladies' room. By the time Leigh managed to sponge off the red stain and return Jennifer to a red-faced Kevin, Leigh was convinced that the music would, in another instant, render her completely deaf.  Melting pools of ice cream and cake on flimsy paper plates sat around on the floor under the folding chairs. For something to do, she began to pick them up. Her stomach had been strangely queasy this evening. Maybe it was the close call she'd had.  Her eyes darkened as she remembered. Resolutely, she pushed his attractive face from her thoughts,

Had she really believed having a costume party to encourage her students to research different people in history and their clothes a good idea? She ought to have her head looked at. What had seemed like a marvelous idea in September had become an October nightmare.

She sighed and walked across the hall to dump her unsightly collection of soupy paper plates into a plastic barrel. To be fair, some of her students had done a marvelous job of re-creating period pieces of clothing. A pioneer woman danced with a Greek-toga clad senator, who kept losing his sheet off one shoulder; a Scarlett O'Hara danced with a Rhett Butler, who had found a fake mustache from somewhere; and a Native American chief in authentic war paint was doing the Watusi with Cleopatra. There was even a young couple from Star Trek wearing tights, their tunics marked with the insignia of Star Fleet.