City Girl (11 page)

She put it on and surveyed herself in the huge mirror above the vanity. It would have to do, even if it did tend to make her look girlish and immature.

As an afterthought, she reached for her makeup case. A streak of pale cinnamon shadow in the creases of her eyelids, a dab of melon-colored lipstick, and a dash of musky cologne would make her appear a bit older. She took another look, frowned at the long hair hanging to the center of her back, and reached for a brush, some hairpins, and a rubber band.

Deftly she maneuvered her thick mop of hair into a loose ponytail and wound it into a neat bun on top of her head, allowing the tendrils to wisp about her face. There. That was better.

Her watch lay on one of the bedside tables, and she picked it up and fastened it around her wrist. Only half-past eight. She could sit around here for another thirty minutes, or she could go to the kitchen and offer assistance to Lupe. That might perk up Gloria. Maybe it would help convince the girl that she intended to pull her own weight around here. Besides, with an impromptu dinner party in addition to her other chores, Lupe would probably be grateful for the help. She headed outside.

A long, wide dinner table had miraculously appeared in the inner courtyard, complete with pale yellow linen tablecloth, straight-backed vinyl-cushioned chairs, and a beautiful centerprice of freshly cut flowers in a large green bowl. Crystal paused beside the table to smell the flowers. Their heavenly fragrance was provided mainly by tendrils of delicate honeysuckle mingled with the flags and daisies and pale yellow rosebuds.

A portable bar had been provided and sat to one side. Long-stemmed martini glasses were covered over with a snowy white cloth; a frosty silver ice bucket glinted in the shimmer of torchlight. Crystal wondered what these people were like who were coming to dinner here tonight. Would there be a beautiful dinner companion for Garrett? She checked herself and went into the kitchen. It did not matter, she would probably not even see them.

Much to her surprise, the kitchen was calm. Lupe sat upon her stool, sipping a glass of iced tea. Apparently everything was well under control. She had even found time to change into a simple blue-and-white-flowered shift that looked something like a Hawaiian muumuu. Her long dark hair was braided and wrapped neatly about her head.

"Ah, there you are." Lupe signaled for her to sit while she got up and poured another glass of tea. Crystal obediently took a stool at the counter and accepted the glass. It was sugary, and she was accustomed to unsweetened tea, but she said nothing.

"I wasn't sure what to wear," Crystal said.

Lupe reached out and patted her shoulder. "You look very pretty."

Crystal was about to say thank you when the glass door slid back and Garrett entered, resplendent in brown velvet dinner jacket of western cut and cream-colored vest and trousers. The neck of his matching shirt was open and he held a black silk tie in one hand. "Lupe, can you help me with this?" he asked, not bothering to acknowledge Crystal's presence.

With a clucking tongue Lupe heaved herself to her feet and crossed over to him.

He turned up the collar of his shirt and looped the tie around his neck. "I can't ever make this thing look right. I ought to throw it away and buy one of those clip things."

He stood quite still while Lupe deftly made the knot and slipped it into place. She stood back, hands on hips, and nodded her approval. He smiled down at her and leaned in to place a quick kiss on her forehead. Was this the same man who had been so angry earlier in the day?

Crystal's brows rose involuntarily. Maybe Lupe was right. Maybe it would not make any difference to him that his newest employee now occupied the room of his departed wife. He was certainly a changeable person, totally unpredictable, Crystal decided.

As if to confirm that opinion, Garrett turned to her, and after initially smiling, frowned. "I hope there hasn't been a misunderstanding, Miss Gentry. Did you think you would be included in my dinner party?" he questioned bluntly.

Color tinged her cheeks. She should have known better than to wear this dress. Obviously he thought she was inviting herself into his private circle of friends. His tone seemed to question her manners, and that stung. Quickly she lifted her chin and looked away. "No," she managed tersely, "I did not think I would be included in your dinner party. Frankly, I didn't know what to wear, so naturally I chose to look my best." She turned cool green eyes on him, expecting an apology, but he merely returned her gaze, brows arched slightly.

"We are pretty much jeans people around here," he informed flatly, then softened the statement by adding, "I suppose you do things differently in the city." It was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get, and his constant referral to her background was beginning to wear thin.

"Well, I'm afraid this will just have to do," she countered defensively. "Since I don't happen to own a pair of jeans."

He stood looking at her for a moment, jaws clamped, then blinked his eyes once. "Do you mean to tell me that you've come off out here without one stitch of suitable clothing?" he exclaimed, jabbing the air with an index finger.

Crystal's lips tightened. "You hardly gave me time for packing, let alone shopping!" she retorted crisply, inundated with hurt and dismay.

His hands went to his hips, and he blew out a snort of air through flared nostrils. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to take care of it." He sighed resignedly. "In fact, there are a lot of things we will have to take care of. Be in my office by eight in the morning."

"Fine." She nodded tartly. "I'd like to get to work as soon as possible."

Blue eyes flickered momentarily. "Bored already?"

His words cut through her, sharp and acidic, slicing through the hurt into indignant anger just beneath the surface. Determinedly she retained a tight grip on her temper. "The only thing I'm bored with," she enunciated clearly, defiantly, "is this conversation."

She came to her feet, intending to stalk past him through the door and to her room. At that moment the soft gong of the doorbell signaled that his guests had arrived, and Garrett cut her off at the door, stepping past her and hurrying to greet his guests, who were being ushered through the entrance hall at that moment by Gloria.

"Don't mind him, child," Lupe advised comfortingly at Crystal's elbow as the broad back disappeared through the door. "He's gruff like that sometimes, but it means nothing."

Crystal bit back a quick retort. "It's just that he's got such a prejudice against anyone raised in the city," she could not restrain blurting out, stamping her foot. "I don't know why he even offered me this job!"

Lupe's eyes narrowed mysteriously. She seemed to be looking Crystal over, seeking to find something there that she might have missed before. "I have my own ideas on that," she said absently, then gave herself a little shake and inclined her head pleadingly toward Crystal. "Just be patient," she advised. "When he gets used to having you around, he will be different." Her eyes seemed to be trying to convey some silent message of their own. "I'm sure of it," she pronounced solemnly, but Crystal was just as sure that she was wrong. She chose to change the subject.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, almost pleadingly.

"No. Everything is done. Just sit still. When the others come in, you can go into the dining room and eat while Mr. Big Shot there entertains his guests."

She glanced at the courtyard, and Crystal saw her face change from one of comforting friend to one of protective matriarch.

"Now, what's that hussy doing here?" she demanded hotly, and hurried to the glass wall to get a better look at the people gathering there in the courtyard. "That's one gold-digger that just won't be put off!" she spat.

Crystal's curious gaze followed Lupe's scornful one, and her chest tightened at the sight of a tall, elegant blond in a clingy burnt-orange gown. She came forward and wrapped herself around Garrett, one long-nailed bejeweled hand bending his head forward so she could kiss him languidly on the mouth. His hands were at his waist, and the next instant he was pushing her firmly away and striding toward the kitchen door.

Crystal turned away, not wanting to be caught with this inexplicable pain and frustration upon her flushed face. She heard the door slide open and his footsteps as he entered the hushed kitchen.

"What's she doing here?" Lupe wanted to know huffily.

"How do I know?" Garrett growled. "She came with the Meads in their private plane. He said he was bringing guests, but I'd no idea it would be her."

"Ooh! That woman would invite herself to the White House if she knew someone who was going!" Lupe hissed.

Garrett's warm, rumbling chuckle brought Crystal's head around. Her curiosity had been piqued by their disdainful words, and she wondered just who this woman was and why Garrett was so put-out with her.

"Now, Lupe," Garrett warned sternly, "I don't want any scenes. I've got a better idea."

His eyes came to rest on Crystal. She felt the color rise to her cheeks, though she had no inkling as to what was going through that brain of his. It seemed that she had been caught up in one confusing, unexplained episode after another since setting foot in this house.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, "that Crystal might join me tonight as my date."

"Your
what
?"

Talk about changeable! Only a few minutes earlier he had rather cruelly reminded her that she was overdressed to dine with the help, which was to be her assigned place. And now he was asking her to be his date to dinner! It was ridiculous, utterly incomprehensible, so totally out of the question she could not even believe he was serious.

"You heard me," he returned evenly. "I want you to join me for dinner. You are dressed for it, after all."

Crystal's head began to shake in utter amazement. He took it for a refusal, and his face colored visibly.

"Look," he said tightly, "that woman out there has been trying to get her hooks in me for months. I've tried to tell her that I'm not interested, but she doesn't want to get my message. The last time she was here, she came in uninvited and broke up another dinner party I was having. She tried to pretend she was my date for the evening, and I had to go along with her, but afterward I made it a point not to call her. All I'm doing is turning the tables on her."

When she continued to hesitate, he snorted impatiently, "What would you have me do? March out there and demand that she leave me alone?"

Crystal did not know what to say. She had already formed a dislike for that blonde, whoever she was, but that did not make up for the way he had insulted her earlier, or for his high-handed manner now.

Garrett addressed himself to the big woman across the counter from Crystal.

"Lupe, will you see to our guests, please? Tell them I'll be along shortly. And, Lupe, try to be civil."

The big woman scowled, but she went out obediently to do as she had been told. When she was gone, he turned back to Crystal.

"I can always make it an order," he said bluntly.

She shot him a disbelieving look, but knew immediately that he meant it. The sharp line of his jaw was stern. The cold blue eyes stared back, implacable and hard.

"You can't make me go out there and pretend to be your date!" she snapped.

"Can't I?" Fine dark brows rose in challenge. "It's a long walk back to Dallas."

He was threatening to put her out of his house! Rage boiled up in Crystal. Who did this man think he was anyway?

"You are vile, Mr. Dean," she enunciated calmly, but her insides twisted and turned in outrage and shock.

"When I have to be, Miss Gentry." An odd, almost sad parody of a smile twisted his sculptured lips.

Crystal would have gladly slapped the smile from his face then, but her mind was working along strangely logical pathways. There was no choice, really. None. She was stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere, a prisoner of sorts. She had no money, no real friends, no place to go if he should actually throw her out, and at the moment, she believed he would.

Silent, challenging, he slid the door back and stepped aside, bowing slightly at the waist. Resigned to the role he forced upon her, Crystal climbed down off her stool. He inclined his head, signaling for her to precede him out into the courtyard. Imperiously she gathered up her skirts and slid past him out into the cool shadows of the archway.

The stillness of the courtyard contrasted sharply with the rage broiling inside of her. Their guests lolled about on small divans, sipping from drinks provided by Lupe. There were three couples, all of them looking slightly uncomfortable in the absence of their host.

Garrett took her arm just above the elbow. "Smile," he hissed beneath his breath.

She looked up, green eyes popping with defiance. "Am I under orders to be happy about this?" she whispered through clenched teeth.

"You're under orders to act like you enjoy my company whether you do or not," came the threatening rumble. He escorted her from the shadows into the soft flicker of torchlight.

Crystal pasted a plastic smile across her face and steeled herself for an uncomfortable evening. They reached the little group of people as the gentlemen came to their feet. They were a fancy lot, dressed to the teeth in evening finery. The blonde chilled her with a contemptuous stare over the rim of her glass. Crystal felt awkward and out-of-step, underdressed, tacky, and very, very nervous. For just a fraction of a second she thought about bolting and running to her room.

As if reading her thoughts, Garrett slipped an arm around her, his big hand biting into her waist. Her skin felt hot where he touched her, and she sensed the color rising to her cheeks.

"Folks, this is Miss Crystal Gentry, my date for this evening."

A murmur of greeting went around the group, and Garrett proceeded with the introductions. "Crystal, this is Ernest Mead and his lovely wife, Janette."

The Meads each nodded graciously. Through her fog, Crystal noticed an odd little smile toying with the corners of Ernest Mead's puffy mouth. He was a stout man with a mane of unruly gray hair. A thin, pale woman stood at his elbow and nodded solemnly.