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Instead, she reasserted her smile. “You can take my mind off what I’m missing.”
She waited for him to give her his number, but it didn’t happen. He merely slid into his expensive car, shaking his head, muttering, “Incredible.”
Maybe he’d forgotten to return the gesture in kind, but it didn’t matter. Him not being attracted to her wasn’t even a possibility. Men loved her as much as she loved them.
She sighed as he drove away. He’d call, all right. Not that she’d be waiting.
Life had too much to offer for her to be lounging by the phone.
Damned long legs.
As Max Cantrell drove down Logan Street, back to his estate, he tried to cleanse all impure thoughts from his mind.
Gams. A French starlet mouth pouted with red lipstick. A svelte figure covered by an elegant black-and-white dress suit. An Audrey Hepburn half smile and sunglasses covering a face with high cheekbones and pale skin, making him itch to see what she really looked like beneath the shade of her glamorous hat.
Where had Jinni Fairchild come from, for God’s sake? Did New York really grow women who were that out of the ordinary?
For about the thirteenth time since leaving the parking lot, he looked at her name and number, clutched in the same hand that guided his steering wheel. He’d thought about throwing it out the window, but Max didn’t take too kindly to anyone—even himself—ruining the beauty of the fence-studded grass, the pines and cottonwoods lining a stream that ran parallel to a massive iron gate that announced his driveway.
In the distance, the Crazy Mountains loomed over the top of his mansion, a Tuscan-styled wonder of architecture with its multileveled, beige-bricked pile of rooms resembling a quaint, meandering village he’d visited in Italy during his honeymoon. He’d been such a damned sucker for romance when he’d built it. Eloise, his ex-wife, had requested the style, back when she’d almost loved him.
Ah, what good did it do to think about Eloise, especially now, after she’d left him and their now fourteen-year-old son, Michael, so many years ago?
Max crumpled Jinni’s number, letting it fall from his fingers to the carpeted floor of the Benz. He didn’t need to bother with another woman. Even one whose attractive figure had just about socked him in the gut with all the inactive hormones he’d been keeping under his thumb.
Max sped up his driveway, zipping past the twenty head of cattle, the few ranch-hand houses he kept on his artesian well-irrigated ninety acres. It was almost as if he was driving like a demon to get away from MonMart and the confrontation he’d had with that crazy New York woman.
Hell, he’d even jumped straight into his car, deciding to forget his plans to pick up some steaks for dinner. Running into that lady inside the store would’ve sent him over the edge for certain, and the last thing he needed was more grief in his life.
After parking the Benz in his spacious garage between the Rolls-Royce and the Hummer, Max headed into his mansion through the massive, echoing kitchen.
“Hello, sir,” said Bently. His right-hand man—one of the reasons Max had become a multimillionaire by the age of thirty—was garbed in a full-length apron, slicing vegetables at the enormous cutting block in the room’s center. “No steaks tonight?”
“Bently, I am not a sir. Not even when I’m seventy will I be a sir. What’s cooking?”
“Vegetables julienne, sir.” The elderly man’s mustache, which he’d spent years growing, was waxed up into slim handlebars, defying the laws of gravity. “MonMart is rarely out of meat, so I assume something hindered your steak hunt?”
Talking about that woman was out of the question. He wouldn’t do it. “Where’s Michael?”
“In the driving simulator room.” Chop, chop, chop. “I suppose we shall merely pretend to eat a good portion of beef tonight, then?”
“How clever you are, Bently, especially in light of my brother’s invisibility rumors.”
“An old man knows when you’re distracted. Even when you were a young boy I could determine your moods. For example, when that reporter—Brittney Anthony, I believe it was—wrote about you in Time, hailing you as a child prodigy, it bothered you. Sullen for weeks, you were, sitting in your room, staring at the blank walls. When I asked, you told me you didn’t like to be labeled. You only wanted to go about your business and solve the world’s overpopulation problems using that special form of calculus I taught you. Noble child, if I do say so myself.”
Bently went back to his culinary tasks. “It never hurts to ask if something’s eating at my employer.”
Uh-uh. He wasn’t going to say a word about legs or sultry voices or…
“I got tangled up with this woman today at MonMart’s parking lot.” Max grabbed a shred of carrot from Bently’s growing pile.
“That’s all?”
“Hey,” Max said, putting back the vegetable after absently inspecting it, “don’t take that tone.”
“What tone, sir?”
“That yippee-he’s-interested-in-a-woman tone. Because it’s no big deal. Is that clear?”
Bently tightened his lips, his mustache quivering. “Sharply.”
“It’s just…” Max walked by the island, lightly slapping at the tiles with a fist. “It’s just that she screeched into the parking place I wanted and acted like it was no big to-do.”
“Shocking times in Rumor.”
“Tell me about it. A stranger, taking over the town. Next thing you know, she’ll be nosing in on Guy and making things worse than they already are. She was asking questions about him, you know, wondering about the so-called murders, digging into my business. I don’t take kindly to being inspected and analyzed.”
“Everyone has questions.”
From above their heads, a thump sounded, just as if a heavy weight had been dropped on the floor.
Bently clicked his tongue. “Raccoons?”
“Please, not another thing to deal with. If it’s not my software company, it’s Michael. If it’s not Guy and his disappearing act, it’s—” He cut himself off before he could say something stupid like, “beautiful strangers in movie-star dress suits and pumps.”
As Bently crossed to the stove, he said, “Don’t concern yourself. Those sounds have been escalating for the past couple of weeks. I’ll get to it.”
Oil sizzled in a sautée pan, sending the aroma of garlic through the room.
“Thanks, Bently.” Max started to leave. “Sorry about the steaks.”
“We’ve got red snapper waiting in the wings.”
Max grinned at the older man, then left, knowing he’d lucked out when his parents had hired Bently to tutor him as a five-year-old. Regular schooling hadn’t been challenging enough for Max and Guy, so with Bently’s guidance, they’d explored new academic territories, conquered new ideas. Even when he’d reached the age of twenty, riding the beginning wave of software companies, Bently had advised him, encouraged him.
Damn, he only wished the old man had all the answers. When it came to Michael, Max had no clue how to handle matters.
He passed through the parlor, passed a couple of game rooms with different virtual reality set-ups housed in them, passed his in-home movie theater, passed his train room, with old memorabilia and photos of railway wrecks.
Finally, he reached the driving simulator, where the teenage Michael sat behind the wheel of a car shell, driving over a computer-generated road.
Max switched off the mechanism, a prototype his company was developing to train drivers. The censure earned one of his son’s practiced glowers.
“I was almost done with this scenario, Dad.”
“When did I say you were allowed back on any of the games?”
Michael hefted out a dramatic sigh. “In another two weeks.”
“And why?”
“God, like we need to go through this again?”
Max’s temper crept over his sight, straining it. “Evidently, we do.”
“Jeez.” The teenager paused, probably knowing that he was singeing his father’s nerves. “Strike one—I sneaked into Uncle Guy’s house even though it’s been taped off by the police and off-limits. Strike two—I sneaked in said house because I wanted to catch a smoke.”
“Even though Rumor came this close to being wiped out by a wildfire.” Max quelled his nerves, telling himself that his son’s close relationship with Guy didn’t factor into his frustration. Just because Max and Michael had nothing in common and were constantly at each other’s throats didn’t mean Guy had stolen Michael’s affection.
The teen rolled his eyes. “And strike three—I’m your victim of the week and have to suffer the consequences.”
“That’s enough.” He hoped he didn’t sound too weary. He really wasn’t up for another confrontation today. “I don’t want to catch you playing around with the simulators.”
Michael got out of the device, tugging a baseball cap backward over his dark hair. “The simulator’s gonna make me a kickin’ driver when I take my test. It gives me practice. I don’t see why you won’t let me use it.”
“You’re so deprived, Michael. Deal with it.”
Michael’s black hair—so much like his own—escaped the hat and flopped over one blue eye. His baggy jeans and flannel shirt hung from a lanky frame, making Max think that the boy hadn’t reached his full height—or temperament—yet.
The teenager said, “You’re right. This punishment stinks up the ying yang. Ever since Mom left—”
“You were four, Michael. Don’t bring this up again—”
“—you’ve been in a bad mood.”
Neither of them said a word for a second.
Max ran a hand through his hair, thinking that there was a good reason it’d sprouted more gray this past year. He couldn’t do anything right by Michael, especially when it came to women. Whenever he brought one home, his son inevitably found a way to alienate her and Max.
No wonder he hadn’t gone on a date in months. Who needed the grief?
“You’re right,” said Max, bitterness getting the best of him. “Maybe you know what’s best.”
The words went unspoken between them, as they had for years. Max had fouled up one marriage and messed up his relationship with Michael.
Maybe his son did know more than he did.
“This is bull,” said the teen, rushing out of the room.
“Where’re you going?”
Without looking back, Michael said, “To Grandma’s. You can’t hound me there.”
Hound him?
Max let him go. At least he’d be in a safe place tonight, not puffing on cigarettes in houses that were being watched by the police or getting into even more trouble.
He waited until he thought he heard footsteps. Then a door slammed.
Life was the pits. First Guy, then Michael….
God, he hoped his younger brother was okay, hoped that these invisibility rumors were only that. Rumors.
And he didn’t even want to think about the possibility that Guy had murdered his wife and Morris Templeton, her lover.
Damn. He should have more faith in his brother. He couldn’t have murdered anyone. Could he?
Max left the auto simulation room, trudging down to the kitchen, where Bently was putting the finishing touches on dinner.
“Sorry, chum, I’ve got to blow off some steam,” Max said.
Bently held a platter of garnished red snapper. “We all need to decompress sometime, sir.”
“Will you do me a favor? Call my mom’s to see that Michael is staying over? He’ll pitch a fit if he finds out that I’m the one checking up on him.”
“Certainly. And how about dinner?”
Max smiled at the older man’s concern for the commonplace. “I’ll grab something at Joe’s Bar.”
“Oh.” Bently sniffed. “The dive.”
“It’ll erase memories of a bad day, Bently. And as for the food, why don’t you go ahead and call that lady friend of yours. Share a romantic meal.”
Bently cocked an eyebrow. “Sound advice. Phone when you require a ride home. Please.”
“I will.”
With that, he rushed out of his mansion, intent on wallowing in cheap beer and even cheaper company.
Chapter Two
When Jinni pulled the Honda into her sister’s driveway, she vowed that she would somehow, some way, get another car. What kind of woman could retain any sense of class in a vehicle that staggered down the road like a drunk weaving through the aisles of a society wedding?
Not her.
She shook out her legs after alighting from the Fantasyland carriage—flippancy seemed an effective way of dealing with the vehicle problem—and stretched her arms toward the sky, grinning at the always-amusing quaintness of her sister’s home. White siding with dark trim on the shutters and window boxes. A dark cedar shake roof. A jaunty, serene yard, its lawn decorated with trees and flower beds.
Jinni thought it looked like a doll house with rancher flair. Par for the course in Rumor.
She unloaded groceries from the cramped back seat, her hormones still singing from her encounter with Mr. Tall and Mysterious. Had he called yet? Maybe she shouldn’t seem too excited, just in case Val was in a pensive mood, as she’d been so often lately.
As she strolled into the house and set the groceries on the kitchen counter, she noticed that all the lights were off. Doffing her hat and glasses while moving into the family room, she found Val, staring out the window into the backyard, where a deer had wandered.
Jinni’s heart clenched as she watched her sister, the soft hue of twilight shining over Val’s light brown hair and reflective countenance.
Thirty-five years old.
For the first time in her life, Jinni felt no control over a situation. She couldn’t find the words to comfort.
