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Bowie’s eyebrow went up in an expressive arch, not only at the implication, but at Ted’s frankly insulting way of putting it. His black eyes kindled as he stared at Ted.
“Stop embarrassing my friend,” Mary said with a nervous laugh, nudging Ted. “Come on in and have some champagne and canapés,” she added, taking Gaby away. “You’ll have to overlook Ted. He’s been sampling too much punch,” she added, with a cool smile in her fiancé’s direction.
“That’s what impending marriage does to a man,” Ted replied with just a little too much venom, despite his forced smile. “Why women think all the trimmings are necessary is beyond me. She’s got a house and a man and a good job, but she has to have a wedding ring.”
Mary flushed and got Gaby out onto the balcony. “He doesn’t want to go through with it,” she confessed miserably. “He says that marriage is just a social statement. But my parents don’t feel that way, and neither do his.” Mary fiddled with the soft ruffle at her bodice. “Plus, I’m pregnant,” she whispered.
“Mary!” Gaby said. “Congratulations...!”
“Ted says he doesn’t want the responsibility of a wife and child. But it will just kill my parents if the baby’s born out of wedlock,” she groaned, lifting her eyes to Gaby’s shocked ones.
“Ted will get used to the idea,” Gaby said gently. “And everything will work out just fine.”
Mary laughed coolly. “Will it?” she said. “He’s started talking about that new girl with long hair who’s working with the Sports Editor.” She looked resolute. “If he wants out, he can go and move in with her. My parents said that if I didn’t go through with the wedding, I could come home, and I think I will.” Her face tautened. “I’m going to let him go. I know that’s what he really wants.”
“If it’s what you really want, too,” Gaby replied.
“When you love someone, isn’t that the same thing?” Mary asked with a tired smile. She pressed Gaby’s arm. “Come and have some champagne. And don’t worry about me,” she added when she saw the concern on the other woman’s face. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
Gaby took a glass of champagne punch, but she didn’t touch it. She wandered around, talking halfheartedly to the other guests while her eyes searched for Bowie. She found him, finally, by the picture window, looking bored. Which was odd, because he’d been cornered by one of the prettiest women who worked at the office—Magda Lorne, the Society Editor.
Magda was small and dark and beautiful. Gaby secretly envied her that petite beauty and her success with men. Although there’d never been any friction between them, the sight of her long, red fingernails crawling on Bowie’s sleeves made something explosive stir in Gaby.
She moved toward the two of them, surprised by the expression on Bowie’s tanned face when he looked at her. She was afraid her irritation was showing, and she wasn’t sure she liked that faint pleasure in his smile.
“I wondered where you’d gone,” he murmured as she joined them.
“I was talking to Mary. Hello, Magda,” she said politely.
“Hello. I was just getting to know your stepbrother,” she sighed, her dark eyes flirting with Bowie’s.
“Bowie isn’t my stepbrother,” Gaby said politely, surprised at the anger that remark produced in her. “We aren’t related.”
“Really, dear?” Magda asked. “I didn’t realize. I’m sure you said something about having a big brother...”
“There’s Art,” Gaby said, nodding toward the reporter Magda was currently dangling from her string. “He’s looking this way.”
“Oh, brother,” Magda muttered. Then she forced a smile and glanced up at Bowie. “Perhaps I’ll see you again. I’d love a ride home...”
“I came with Gaby,” Bowie said, his eyes saying more than he did. “I’ll leave with her.”
He never dressed up his words, Gaby mused, watching Magda blush at the bluntness of the remark. She stammered something and beat a path over to Art, who beamed at the sight of her.
“Does she make a habit of that?” Bowie asked as he lit a cigarette.
“Of what?”
“Trying to steal men away from their escorts.”
“She’s very popular...” she began.
“Popular, the devil,” he said with a narrow, half-amused gaze. “She’s a born flirt with acquisitive eyes and an ego that probably has to be fed ten times a day. She’s the type who runs a mile at the first suggestion of intimacy.”
Her eyes studied his face inquisitively. “Magda?” She was surprised because she’d always thought of the other woman as being something of a femme fatale.
“Magda.” He blew out a thin cloud of smoke. “It’s an act, can’t you see? A facade to hide her lack of confidence.”
“Remind me never to try and hide anything from you,” she said with a laugh that hid nervousness. He saw deep.
“And this engagement won’t make it to the altar.” He lifted his cigarette to his mouth again, took a draw, and put it out while Gaby studied him with wide eyes. “He’s cutting at her already. Why? Is she pregnant?”
She gasped.
“I thought so,” he mused. “And he feels trapped and wants out. That’s what I mean about marriage, Gaby. People who are sure of what they feel for each other don’t need a trial run.”
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Read people like that.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems to come naturally.” He glanced down at her. “Except with you. Do you know, Gaby, I’ve never been able to read you. I’d hate like hell to play poker with you. You’ve got that kind of face.”
“Oh, I’m an open book,” she said offhandedly.
“No.” He glanced around half irritably. “Have you been here long enough? It’s been over half an hour since we got here.”
He hated parties and dressing up, she knew, and especially when most of the women present were trying to seduce him with their eyes. He had to be the only person in the room who didn’t know how devastatingly handsome he was.
“Yes, I’ve been here long enough,” she agreed. “And I’m rather tired.” It was all catching up with her—the shooting, the news about Aggie’s new man friend, the truth of Mary and Ted’s relationship. She’d never been so depressed.
They excused themselves, wished Ted and Mary happiness with forced smiles, and left.
Bowie parked the car in front of Gaby’s apartment complex and cut the engine. He leaned back in the seat, his hand loosening his tie and unbuttoning his jacket. His head went back with a hard sigh.
“I’ve got to get up in the morning and fly to Canada. Damn it, I hate these trips out of the country,” he said unexpectedly. “I’m getting too old to enjoy them anymore.”
“You aren’t old,” she protested.
“Thirty-six next birthday.” His head turned and his black eyes sought hers in the glaring light from the streetlamps overhead. “Twelve years older than you, cupcake.”
She laughed at the description. “I’m not a cupcake.”
“That’s better. You’ve been gloomy all night.”
“The man they shot was just a boy,” she replied. She leaned back, too, her eyes quiet as they looked through the windshield at the city lights and deserted street. “He had a big family and grew up in the kind of god-awful poverty you read about and wish somebody could do something about. He killed a man and died for twenty stupid dollars, Bowie.”
He stretched, drawing the fabric of his white shirt taut across the firm muscles of his broad chest and flat stomach. “People have died for less. It was his turn.”
“That’s unfeeling,” she accused.
“Is it?” One big arm slid behind her bucket seat and he studied her thoughtfully. “He tried to hold up a store. That was stupid. There are poor people all over the world who live honest lives and made the best of what they have. A man with a gun isn’t going to accomplish a damned thing except his own destruction. That’s basic.”
“It’s still terrible,” she said.
“Why don’t you find something else to do with your life?” he asked. “You’re too soft to be a reporter.”
“What would you suggest I do?” she asked.
“You could come home to Casa Río and help me fight the combine that’s trying to move in next door to us,” he suggested.
“What combine?”
“Some agricultural outfit called Biological Agri-market—Bio-Ag, for short. They’re trying to buy up land in the valley to support a superfarm—the farm of the future, they call it. But I’m afraid that what they’re actually after is a quick profit and some devastating ecological impact.”
“They can’t damage the environment,” she assured him. “First, they have to file an environmental impact statement; then, they have to go through the planning and development commission...”
“Hold it a minute,” he said. “Lassiter doesn’t have a planning commission, and our particular valley isn’t zoned.”
She searched his eyes. “Still, won’t the development have to go through regular channels?”
“If they can get the land,” he agreed. He smiled coolly. “Hell will freeze over before they get any of mine.”
“Then you don’t have a problem.”
“That’s debatable.” He lit a cigarette, cracking a window to let out the smoke. “Some of the town fathers in Lassiter are being courted by the developers. They’re promising jobs and a lavish local economy, and they’re greasing palms right and left.” He smiled at her. “I had a threatening phone call yesterday. The word is that I’m holding up progress single-handedly by refusing to sell land to the development. It seems that Casa Río has the best soil for their purposes.”
“Lassiter could use more jobs, Bowie,” she began slowly. “I know how you feel about the land...”
“Do you?” His voice was like cold steel. “Apaches used to hunt on our range. My great-great-grandfather made one of the first treaties with the Chiricahua Apaches, and there’s a petroglyph that marks the spot where they agreed on it. Cochise camped at one of the river crossings with his people. There was a small fort, and part of the adobe is still standing, where McCaydes helped the Apaches fight off Mexican raiders. There are Hohokam ruins a thousand years old on that land. The Hohokam had a superior civilization that ultimately spawned the Pima and the Tohono O’odham. And the Earps and Doc Holliday rode through on their way to Tombstone. How do you compare that history with a few jobs—jobs that may not even last, for God’s sake, if the developers go bust. And what about the ecology, Gaby?” he persisted, eyes blazing with bad temper. “Imagine all that damned silt pouring into the San Pedro and its tributary near us, when we’re already facing a devastating future. We’ve got the Central Arizona Project and the Salt River Project, and cities are buying ranches all over Arizona for the water rights, but we’ve got to be careful about our water resources, or they may dry up. It’s too risky a venture, despite the potential economic value. What’s worse, I think those Bio-Ag people really have their eyes on our water rights. First in time, first in right, remember? You need easy access to water to farm.”
Gaby studied him quietly. She knew he was a tireless worker for historic preservation. “You’re very knowledgeable,” she remarked.
“It’s an interest of mine. I’m a builder,” he reminded her. “I have to know a lot about the environment and the ecology to be responsible. I don’t want to leave behind a legacy of ruined land for quick gain. There are too many people doing that already—throwing up buildings for a profit without considering how much damage they’re doing to the local ecology.”
“I had to learn about some of that for stories I’ve done,” she replied.
“Silt from irresponsible building practices fills up rivers and streams. That has impact not only on our water resources, but on wildlife, and even the quality of life along those rivers and streams,” he replied. “It’s a subject worth talking about. We’ve been lucky here in Arizona. We have legislators who were looking out for our water rights years before it was a popular subject. We’ve done things to ensure a future water supply. Other states haven’t been quite as responsible, and they may suffer for it someday.”
“But you don’t want developers on Casa Río land,” she said.
“That’s it in a nutshell. Threats notwithstanding, I won’t let Casa Río be used to make money for greedy outsiders.”
“How do you know they’re greedy?” she asked.
“How do you know they’re not?” he shot back.
She gave up. It was impossible to hope for more than a draw when she fought verbally with Bowie. “Stalemate,” she murmured humorously. “I won’t fight with you. I’m too tired.”
“You’re still coming home to watch Aggie for me?” he persisted.
“Yes. If you think it’s necessary.” She paused with her hand on the door handle, oddly reluctant to go inside. “Bowie, you don’t really think her friend is a gold digger, do you?”
“I don’t know, Gaby. Until I do, I have to assume that he is. I don’t want Aggie hurt.”
She smiled at him gently. “Why do you call her Aggie, instead of mother?” she asked.
“She’s never been quite motherly to me,” he replied with a narrow smile. “Even if she has to you.”
There was a faint bitterness in his deep voice.
Time to go, quick, she thought. She clutched her purse. “I had a good time. Thanks for taking me to Mary and Ted’s party.”
“My pleasure.” He was still staring at her, much too closely. “What day are you going down to Casa Río?”
“Probably Tuesday,” she said. “I’ve got a big political interview Monday afternoon. When does Aggie get there?”
“Tuesday night.”
“See?” She smiled. “Perfect timing.”
“For God’s sake, don’t leave them alone for a second.” Instead of frightening her, his irritated expression delighted her. It was nice to know that Bowie was human, after all. At times, he seemed rather impervious to emotion. He was very much a cool, intimidating stranger to Gaby—or he had been, until tonight. She’d learned a lot about him, and she liked what she’d found out.
“Which one of them do you propose that I sleep with?” she asked.
He was still deep in thought. He glanced at her. “Hmmmmm?” he asked absently.
She leaned closer. “Do you want me to bunk down with Aggie, or her new beau?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “Just don’t leave them alone together for long.”
“I’ll do my best. But they’re both adults.
“I realize that. But he could take over Casa Río. It’s happened before in second marriages. He could wind up with everything Aggie owns, and throw her to the dogs to boot! And if he did it in the right way,” he added with an intent stare, “we wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.”
“I see what you mean,” she murmured. “Well, I’ll do what I can. But he may turn out to be a nice man, you know.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “How is it that you don’t trust people, but you never seem to expect the worst until you’re confronted with it?”
She shrugged. “It’s a knack. Like your uncanny ability to read people’s minds. Thank God I’m not on your wavelength.” She grinned. “I don’t want you wandering around in my brain.”
“Don’t you?” He reached out and touched her high coiffure, very gently. “I don’t like your hair up like that. I like it long and loose. You’re too young to walk around like a matron, Gaby—and much too pretty.”
She flushed. The touch of his hand on her hair was electric. “I’m...not pretty,” she stammered, and tried to laugh.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” He dropped his hand and chuckled as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth to finish it and put it out. “When I get that trite, it’s time to go to bed. I’m sleepier than I realized.”
“Do you have to drive all the way back to Tucson tonight?” she asked, concerned.
