Twist of Fate (14 page)

“It is true,” he gritted. “You want proof? Only a fool who had no concept of the reality of the business world would have come down to Tucson and tried to beat me out of what I wanted with a deck of marked cards. And only an even bigger fool would have given me a lecture about changing my ways after she'd tried to cheat me.”

Hannah had all she could do not to show how badly she was starting to bleed from the wounds he was inflicting. With all the dignity she could muster she reached for her cane and got to her feet.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“Back to the cottage,” she said quietly. “I didn't invite you to Seattle and I didn't invite you along on this trip. You have an incredible amount of nerve to sit there and chew me out for the quality of my advice. If you don't want it, you shouldn't keep hounding me for it.”

Unsteadily she started across the plank floor. Her leg was throbbing now. Before she reached the door Gideon was at her side, taking her arm. In his hand he carried his own paper bag plus the package she had left behind.

“You didn't invite me to Seattle and you didn't invite me to Santa Inez but you sure as hell invited me into your bed,” he muttered.

“I don't recall issuing the invitation.”

“Then you've got a poor memory, lady.”

Hannah was incensed. “Gideon, I think this
relationship
of ours has about run its course. It's obvious you're anxious to get back to the big showdown in Tucson. Don't let me stop you.”

“I'm not going anywhere for another four days.”

They were out on the sidewalk now, heading toward the jeep. The dissolving thunderclouds were reflecting the light of the setting sun in a magnificent sweep of burnt gold and peach. The breathtaking sunsets were as common to Santa Inez as the afternoon showers. Beyond the harbor the sea heaved gently under the receding line of rain.

“Gideon, I don't see any reason to spend four more days together. Not if you're going to spend them gnawing on me. This is my vacation and my cottage but this is not exactly my idea of a good time. I won't let you ruin…” Her knee gave slightly as she swung herself into the front seat of the jeep.

Automatically Gideon reached out to steady her. The package with the rolled map in it started to slip. He caught it just before it dropped into the swirling water of the gutter.

“What the hell's this?” He examined the curled sheet of paper.

“A souvenir. Here, I'll take it.” Hannah made a grab for it and missed.

“Looks like a map.” Retaining his hold on it Gideon walked around the front of the little four-wheel drive vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat. He sat behind the wheel and unrolled the chart. He spread it out carefully against the wheel and sat studying it for a long moment. Eventually he looked at Hannah. “You don't collect charts and maps.”

“Gideon…”

“You bought this for me, didn't you?”

“Sometimes,” Hannah said dryly, “I tend to act impulsively.”

“Regretting this impulse?”

“Let's just say I am now thinking of having the map laminated. I can use it on my kitchen table.”

“Like hell.” Something flickered in his eyes as he leaned across the gearshift and caught her chin in his fingers. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She said nothing, searching his face in silence.

“You're right about one thing,” Gideon said.

“What's that?”

“I have no right to chew you into bits and pieces every time you offer some advice. The truth is, I want you to go on offering it.”

Hannah shook her head. “Why?”

“Because I haven't got anyone else I can talk to the way I do to you.” He rerolled the gift with great care and stashed it safely behind the seat. Then he twisted the keys in the ignition. “I like it when you try to tell me what to do.”

“I doubt that.” Hannah braced her hand on the side of the windshield as the jeep darted out into the disorganized traffic of Santa Inez's main thoroughfare. Two taxis honked loudly as Gideon cut them off but there was no real malice in the sound. It was more an acknowledgement that the pink-fringed jeep had won the small contest.

“It's true, you know,” Gideon insisted above the noise of the traffic and the engine. “I do like it.”

“There must be any number of people who would be quite happy to tell you what to do and where to go.”

“Ah, but they all have axes to grind, preferably into my skull. I can't trust their advice.” He grinned, his mood changing abruptly as he drove. The wind caught his hair, ruffling it.

“What makes you think my advice is so damned altruistic?” Hannah challenged.

“You've already learned the hard way that you can't manipulate me. But you still let me into your bed and you still hand out the advice. Must be out of pure, altruistic motives. You're sweet, Hannah. Gentle. Kind.”

“Sweet, gentle, and kind are insults, coming from you. They make me sound weak, silly, and vulnerable.”

“You are definitely not weak or silly. Just a little out of your depth when you start trying to tell me how to run my business.”

“Do me a favor. The next time you're trying to come up with some compliments, keep them to yourself.”

His grin broadened as he slanted a glance at her. “In addition to sweet, gentle, and kind you have the sexiest little ass I've ever seen.”

“I can't tell you what your admiration means to me.”

He laughed, his good mood fully restored. “Thanks for the maps, Hannah,” he said again. “Both of them. I'll take good care of them.”

“Hey, where are we going?” she demanded as he turned off the main road and started inland. The narrow track that bisected the island was known, appropriately enough, as the mountain road. It crossed Santa Inez at the island's highest point.

“To dinner. Remember that old plantation we read about? The one up on the mountain that's been turned into a hotel?”

“I remember.”

“It's supposed to have great conch chowder.”

“Is this a peace offering?”

“Honey, we're not at war.”

Hannah thought about that. “I'd hate to be in the way if we were.”

 

T
WO HOURS LATER
Hannah was forced to concede that the “peace offering” had worked. By the time she had dined on conch chowder, lobster, and a heavenly coconut-and-pineapple pie she was willing to let bygones be bygones.

From the veranda of what had once been a plantation home back in the days when the island had been rich in cane and cotton, dinner guests could look out on the town and its harbor far below. Trickling down the hillside to the sea were scattered bits and pieces of gleaming gems, the lights of homes built along the mountain road. Many belonged to those living out their dream of retiring to an island as Elizabeth Nord had done. Most of those born on Santa Inez preferred to live in town where it was easier to participate in the casual round of community life. The locals took the breathtaking sea views for granted. Only the expatriates demanded beachfront or hillside property.

On the drive back down the mountain after dinner, Gideon made a few of the short, pithy comments he reserved for other drivers on the narrow roads, but his general mood remained complacent. Hannah felt relaxed and happy once more. She could almost ignore the twists and turns of the route down the mountain. Gideon's driving was smooth and competent. Whatever had been making him restless earlier in the day seemed to have faded into the background.

Four more days to go.

“I don't suppose you feel like packing one more carton of books tonight?” Hannah asked as she entered the living room of her aunt's house. “We're almost done.”

“Not especially. But I wouldn't mind having a brandy and sitting on the sofa while I watch you work.”

“You're too good to me.”

“I'm glad you realize it.” He headed for the kitchen.

Hannah walked over to the one set of bookshelves that had not yet been denuded. Cartons of materials, all precisely wrapped and labeled, were neatly stacked to the left of the door. The neatness of both packaging and labeling was one of Gideon's chief contributions to the effort. Hannah had discovered early on that his handwriting was a good deal better than her own. It was probably a legacy of his early interest in maps, she had decided. Or perhaps the precision and control of it were simply a reflection of his character.

Idly she plucked one of a series of slim, black, leather-bound volumes off the bottom shelf, opening it at random. Her aunt's now-familiar handwriting covered the pages.

“Gideon?”

“Yeah?” Glasses clinked in the kitchen.

“I think I've found something interesting.”

“You're always finding something interesting.” He gave her an indulgent smile as he came through the door bearing the snifters of brandy.

“I'm serious. This looks like a journal. It goes back to the very beginning of her career. Back to when she was a grad student.” Hannah dropped cross-legged to the floor, spread the book on her lap, and scanned the pages with deepening interest. “This is going to be where the good stuff is. I know it. These are her personal journals and observations of her early studies. Not her formal papers and notes.”

“What do you mean ‘good stuff'?” He sprawled on the sofa, watching her. “Sex?”

“You've got a one-track mind.”

“It wasn't me who was planning to write the sleazy best-seller exposing her aunt's exploration of bizarre sexual customs.”

Hannah frowned over one of the pages. “Well, I may have to tone down the lesbian angle. Too bad. That would have been good for sales.”

“Your aunt was straight after all?”

“There's definitely a man hanging around here at the beginning of her career. A ‘Dear Roddy.'”

Gideon exposed his teeth. “Roddy?”

“No worse than ‘Giddy.'”

“You ever call me that and you'll find yourself over my knee.”

Hannah smiled, her eyes never leaving the page. “We haven't tried it that way yet. Might be interesting.”

“Interesting for me. Uncomfortable for you. What's with Dear Roddy?”

“Looks like he was a year or two ahead of her in his studies. Went with her on this field trip to research a Southwestern Indian tribe.”

“Does it look like they shared the same field tent?”

Hannah chuckled. “Nothing that indiscreet. But it's obvious she was very excited both about the study and about Dear Roddy. Listen to this:

Gideon swirled the brandy in his glass. “So what's so important about the women's vocabulary?”

Hannah drummed her fingers on her knee, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, take
mauve
.”

“You take it. I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.”

“Exactly. Why wouldn't you touch it?”

Gideon narrowed his eyes. “It's a silly word. A word for dress designers and fashion freaks and a few other groups I won't mention.”

“What other groups?”

“All right, all right. It's a woman's word.”

Hannah grinned. “Now you've got it. Big, tough, macho types such as yourself wouldn't think of using a word like mauve or taupe.”

“No reason to use them,” he grumbled into the brandy.

“Are you kidding? Without them you can't begin to describe certain shades of purple or brown nearly as accurately as I can.”

“There is no need to describe those particular shades of purple or brown,” Gideon stated with absolute certainty.

“Face it, Gideon. Without the word
mauve
in your vocabulary, you're limited when it comes to describing colors. I could give you an example of other words you probably wouldn't use because they seem silly and female to you. But by using them I can communicate much more precisely with my women friends or with an interior designer, for that matter. The drawback to my using them is that it might make me sound like a woman.”

“You are a woman.”

“Very observant. Given that fact and knowing nothing can change it, why should I deprive myself of the word?” Hannah went back to the page she was studying. “Actually, this was a very astute observation on my aunt's part. She made these notes before the war, you know. Before linguistic analysis was as advanced as it is today.”