Winter Roses Part 12

Ivy's face went red with bad temper. "I never took anything of hers. It was the other way around. She could tell a lie to anyone and be believed. It was her greatest talent."

"I guess you were jealous of her, because she was so beautiful," he replied.

"I'm not jealous of people who don't have hearts."

He laughed coldly. "Beauty makes up for character."

"Not in my book."

He moved toward her, noting her quick backward movement. He smiled tauntingly. "Maybe you and me could get together some time. You're not pretty, but you've got spirit."

"I'd rather get together with a snake."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Suit yourself. I guess you'll grow old and die all alone in that hick town you come from." He touched her long, blond hair. "You could have some sweet times if you stayed here with me."

The door flew open and Jerry's face went rigid as the tall, dangerous man saw what Jerry was doing, stalked right up to him, took his hand from Ivy's hair and literally pushed him away.

"Touch her again and I'll break your neck," Stuart said, his whole demeanor threatening.

"Hey, man, I'm cool!" he said, backing even further away with both hands raised, palms out.

The flippant, c.o.c.ksure young man of seconds before was flushed with nerves. Ivy didn't blame him. Stuart in a temper was formidable. He never lost control of himself, but he never flinched when confronted. The meanest of his cowboys walked wide around him on the ranch.

Ivy felt relief surge up inside her. Instinctively she moved closer to Stuart--so close that she could feel his strength and the warmth of his body. His arm slid around her shoulders, holding her near. She felt safe.

"I was just telling Ivy that this stuff is mine," Jerry said, but not in a forceful tone. "My money paid for it."

"And I told him," Ivy replied, "that all I wanted was whatever heirlooms from my family that Rachel kept here. I've got them...three quilts and a photo alb.u.m." She was holding them.

"Ready to go?" Stuart asked her calmly, but his cold eyes were pinning Jerry to the wall.

"Yes," she said.

"All right, then."

She grabbed her purse from the table and went through the doorway. Stuart gave Jerry one last, contemptuous look before he closed the door behind them.

"The drug dealer, I take it?" he asked, relieving Ivy of the quilts.

"Yes. He was being very nasty until you showed up. Thanks for saving me."

He chuckled. "You were doing pretty well on your own, from what I saw." He led the way into the elevator and pressed the b.u.t.ton for the lobby. "At least you won't have to dispose of the apartment and its contents."

"Yes, that's one worry gone." She looked up at him. "He was desperate to find some sort of account book he said Rachel had. He was frantic when he couldn't locate it."

"Did you find it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "There weren't any account books that I could see. He was furious about the jewelry, too," she added.

"He can try to get them back, if he likes. I have some great attorneys."

"I told him they were going back to the millionaire who gave them to her," she replied.

He laughed. "That must have given him hives."

"He was upset. I meant it, though." She grimaced. "But how am I going to find out who he is?"

"I'll take care of that," he said, so easily that Ivy relaxed. "All you have to worry about is the funeral. And I'll help with that."

"You've been so kind," she began.

He held up a hand. "Don't start."

She smiled. "Okay. But thanks, anyway."

"I couldn't leave you to do it alone." He led her out of the elevator when it stopped and out to the limousine, which was waiting for them just beyond the entrance. Stuart motioned to the driver and he pulled out of his parking s.p.a.ce and around to the front of the apartment building.

The quilts were placed in the trunk and Stuart helped Ivy into the limousine.

They went back to the hotel. Ivy felt drained. She hadn't done much at all, but the stress of the situation was wearing on her nerves.

"You can have the master bedroom," he offered. "I'll have the one across the living room..."

"But I don't need all that room," she protested. "Please. I'd really rather have the smaller of the two."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He put her suitcase onto the bed in the smaller room and left her to unpack. "Why don't you lie down and rest for a while? I've got some phone calls to make. Then we'll see about supper."

"I haven't got anything fancy with me," she said as she opened the suitcase. "Oh, no," she muttered, grimacing as she realized that she'd only packed another pair of slacks and two blouses and an extra pair of shoes. She'd forgotten that she was going to spend the night.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't pack a nightgown..."

"Is that all?" He pursed his lips, letting his eyes slide down her body. "I can take care of that. You get some rest. I'll be back in a little while. Don't answer the door," he added firmly. He didn't add why. He was sure the tabloids would pick up the story, and some enterprising reporter could easily find out that Ivy was in town to see to her sister's burial arrangements. He didn't want Ivy bothered.

"I won't answer the door." She wanted to offer to give him some money to get her a nightgown, but she didn't have it. The airfare and taxis had almost bankrupted her.

He was gone before she could even make the offer. She kicked off her shoes and put the open suitcase on the folding rack. Then she sank down onto the comfortable bed, in her clothes. She didn't mean to doze off, but she did. The long day had finally caught up with her.

She woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She started sitting up even before she opened her eyes, and a deep, masculine chuckle broke the silence.

"That's exactly how I react to fresh coffee when I've been asleep," he murmured, standing over her with a cup and saucer. The cup was steaming. He handed it to her. "Careful, it's hot."

She smiled drowsily as she took it. The color told her that he'd poured cream in it. He'd remembered that she only liked cream in her coffee. It was flattering. It was exciting. So was the way he was looking at her.

"Hungry?"

"I could eat," she replied.

"I had room service send up a platter of cold cuts," he told her. "Come on in when you're ready."

She took a minute to bathe her face and put her hair back up neatly before she joined him in the suite's living room. The table held a platter of raw vegetables with several dips, as well as cold meats, breads and condiments.

"Have a plate." He offered her one. "I like a steak and salad, but it's too late in the day for a heavy meal. Especially for you," he added, studying her. "You need sleep."

She grimaced. "I haven't really slept since this happened," she confessed. "I always knew Rachel could overdose. But she'd been using drugs for years without any drastic consequences."

"Anyone can take too many pills," he said, "and die without meaning to."

"Yes, like Hayes Carson's brother did," she remarked. "Hayes still isn't over that, and it's been years since his brother died."

He didn't like the reference to Hayes, and it showed. He didn't answer her. He loaded a plate and sat down with his own cup of coffee.

She sat at the table alone, nibbling on food she didn't taste. He was more taciturn than usual. She wondered why the mention of Hayes set him off like that. Perhaps they'd been rivals for a woman's affection. Or maybe it was just because he didn't want to see his sister get serious about Hayes.

"He's not a bad person," she ventured.

He glowered at her. "Did I say that he was?"

"You can't tell Merrie who to date," she pointed out.

He looked totally surprised. "Merrie?"

"She and Carson are friends," she persisted. "That doesn't mean that she wants to marry him."

He didn't answer. He frowned thoughtfully and sipped coffee.

She didn't understand his odd behavior. She finished her food and her coffee. She was worn-out, and the ordeal wasn't over. She still had the cremation ahead of her. There was something else, too. She would be truly alone in the world now. The thought depressed her.

"Are you going to call that man about the jewelry Rachel had?" she asked.

He nodded. "Tomorrow. We'll get everything else arranged then as well." His eyes narrowed. "I'm curious about that ledger Rachel's boyfriend mentioned."

"Me, too," she said wearily. "If he wants it that bad, it must have something to do with his clients."

He didn't say anything immediately. He looked thoughtful, and concerned. "I've heard it mentioned that Rachel knew where to buy drugs in Jacobsville. We both know that it's been a hub for illicit drug trafficking in the past. It still is." He frowned. "That ledger might have some incriminating evidence in it, and not just about Rachel's boyfriend." He stared at her. "You don't have any idea what it looks like?"

She shook her head. "I didn't ask. He was being obnoxious." She smoothed back her hair. "I wish I could feel something," she said dully. "I'm sorry she died that way, but we were never close. She did everything she could to ruin my reputation. I used to think we might grow closer as we aged, but she only got more insulting."

"Rachel liked living high," he said. "She didn't care how she achieved status."

There was something in his tone that made her curious. "She was in your cla.s.s in high school, wasn't she?"

"Yes." His dark eyes narrowed. "She made a play for me. I put her down. She was vengeful, and you and Merrie were best friends."

That explained why Rachel had suddenly turned against Ivy; she thought Ivy's friends.h.i.+p with Merrie gave her access to Stuart. If Rachel had wanted Stuart, it must have galled her that Ivy was welcome in his house. Rachel might even have guessed how Ivy felt about him, which would have given her a motive to try to convince Stuart that Ivy was promiscuous.

"So she set out to make you think I was running wild," she guessed.

He grimaced. "Yes, she did. I'm sorry to say she might have succeeded, except that Merrie knew you and defended you."

She smiled. "Merrie was always more like a sister to me than Rachel ever was."

"She likes you, too." He got up. "Bed. You need rest."

She hesitated.

He guessed why and chuckled. "I didn't forget." He produced a bag from Macy's and handed it to her. "Sleep well."

"I'll pay you back," she said with determination.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Good night."

"Good night." She hesitated at the door to her room. "Stuart...thanks. For everything."

"You'd do the same for anyone who needed help," he replied easily.

She smiled. "I guess so."

She went into her room and closed the door. When she opened the bag, she caught her breath. He'd purchased a gown and peignoir set for her. The gown was pale lemon silk with white lace trim, ankle-length, with a dipping bodice and spaghetti straps. The peignoir had long sleeves and repeated the pattern of the gown. She'd sighed over similar styles in Macy's herself and dreamed of owning something so beautiful. It was even prettier than the set Merrie had loaned her that long-ago night. She'd never have been able to afford something like this on her budget. She didn't know how she was going to repay Stuart for it, but she had to. She couldn't let him buy something so intimate for her.

She put on the ensemble and brushed out her blond hair so that it haloed around her shoulders and down her back. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised at how sensual she looked. That was a laugh. What she knew about men would fit on the back of an envelope.

She climbed into bed and turned out the light. She wished she had something to read. She wasn't even sleepy. Her mind went back to the sight of Rachel in the morgue. She forced the memory out and replaced it with lines from a book she'd read about meteorites. That amused her and she laughed to herself. Stuart probably didn't know how fascinated she was about the s.p.a.ce rocks, or that she was constantly borrowing books from the library about their structure. She loved rocks. She had boxes of them at her apartment. Everyone teased her about their number and variety. She was forever looking for anything unusual. Once she walked right out into a plowed field to search for meteorites and came away with projectile points instead. Merrie said she should be studying archaeology, and Ivy had replied that chance would be a fine thing.

Even if she didn't study it formally, she knew quite a lot about the subject. Everyone should have a hobby, after all.

She closed her eyes and thought about the projectile points. She'd taken them to a professor of anthropology at the community college, who'd surprised her by dating them at somewhere around six thousand years old. It had never occurred to her that they were more than a hundred years old. That prompted her to get more books from the library about projectile points. She was surprised to learn that you could date them by their shape and the material from which they were made.

She thought back to the summer she was eighteen. Stuart had been out on the ranch with his cowboys rounding up the bulls, to move them to greener pastures. She'd watched him stand up in the saddle and ride like the wind. The picture had stayed with her when he'd come in for lunch. He had seen her rapt attention as he'd swung down out of the saddle with lazy grace.

He'd looked at her in a curious way, his pale eyes glittering. "Staring at me like that will get you in trouble," he'd said in a deep, slow tone.

She'd laughed nervously. "Sorry. I love to watch you ride," she'd added. "I've never seen anybody look so much at home in the saddle."

He'd given her a strange look. "I did rodeo for several years when I was in my teens," he'd said.

"No wonder you make it look so easy."

He'd reached out and touched her soft hair. His eyes had been intent on her face, and he hadn't smiled. Some odd magnetism had linked them at that moment, so that she could hardly breathe. Even now, almost three years later, she could still feel the pure intensity of that look he gave her. It was when she'd realized how she was starting to feel about him.

For just a few seconds, his pale eyes had dropped to her soft mouth and lingered until she flushed. She waited, breathless, for his head to bend. And it had started to. Then one of the cowboys had called to him. He'd walked away as if nothing at all had happened. After that, he'd avoided Ivy. Right up until that fateful night she'd spent with Merrie in a borrowed lemon-colored gown...

Somewhere music was playing softly. Perhaps Stuart had the radio on in the adjoining part of the suite. It was sweet music, sultry and slow. As she listened to it, she began to drift away.

She was a little girl again, running out through the fields around the house where she'd grown up. She was wearing jeans and an old white s.h.i.+rt and, as usual, she searched for unusual rocks.

Behind her, Rachel was dancing around in a full white gown and high heeled shoes, singing off-key and stumbling around.