Just Curious (5 page)

“Could you do my hair?” Karen asked shyly.

“Sure. Call in the morning and—”

“No, now. I have to leave on a plane early in the morning.”

Bunny didn't put up with such nonsense. “I have a hungry husband waiting at home, and I've been on my feet for nine hours. You should have come earlier.”

“Could I bribe you with a story? A very, very good story?”

Bunny looked skeptical. “How good a story?”

“You know my gorgeous boss? McAllister Taggert? I'm probably going to have his baby and he's never touched me—nor is he going to.”

Bunny didn't miss a beat as she shoved the key back into the lock. “I predict that that hair of yours is going to take half the night.”

“What about your husband?”

“Let him open his own cans.”

K
AREN SETTLED BACK IN THE WIDE SEAT OF THE AIRPLANE,
business class, and sipped her glass of orange juice. Beside her, McAllister Taggert already had his nose in the papers in his briefcase. Early this morning when she'd arrived at the airport, she was escorted to a lounge that she'd had no idea existed at the Denver airport.

Unobtrusively, she'd taken a chair across from him, and he hadn't bothered to greet her or even look at her. Ten minutes later, idly, he'd glanced up, lost in thought, then back down at his papers. Karen then had the great satisfaction of seeing him pause and look back at her—a long, slow look that went from her head to her toes then back up again.

“You
are
Karen Lawrence, aren't you?” he asked, making her smile, and making her sure that the three hours at Bunny's, with her head covered in foil, her face slathered in mud, then another three hours at home trying on everything in her closet, had been worth it.

He told her he had to work on the trip to Virginia, then looked back down at his papers, but several times he glanced at Karen. All in all, she found those looks quite gratifying.

Now, on the plane, she sat beside him, sipping orange juice and growing more bored by the minute. “Anything I can do to help?” she asked, nodding toward his papers.

He smiled at her in that way men do when they think a
woman is pretty but had somehow managed to be born without a brain. “If I'd brought a computer, you could type for me, but actually, no, I have nothing for you to do. I just have some decisions to make.”

Ah, yes, she thought, Men's Work. “Such as?” she urged.

A slight frown crossed his handsome brow. Obviously he liked his women to remain silent. “Just buying and selling,” he answered quickly, in a tone that was meant to make her stop asking childish questions.

“And exactly what are you considering buying or selling this morning?”

The small frown changed to one that made his brows meet in the middle over the bridge of his nose. Love is such a funny thing, she thought. Had Ray looked at her like that, she would have backed off immediately, but this man did not frighten her a bit.

When he saw that she wasn't going to stop questioning him, he snapped, “I'm thinking of purchasing a small publishing company,” then looked back at his papers.

“Ah,” she said. “Coleman and Brown Press. Bad covers, mostly reprints. A few good books on regional history, but the covers were so bad no one bought the books.”

McAllister looked at her as though she should mind her own business. “If I decide to buy it, I'll hire a new art director who can design good covers.”

“Can't. The publisher is sleeping with her.”

McAllister had just put his glass of orange juice to his lips and at Karen's words he nearly choked. “What?”

“I was curious, so when the publisher's secretary came to deliver the financial sheets to you I asked her to have lunch with me. She told me that the publisher—who is married and has three children—has been having a long-term affair with the art director. If he fires her, she'll blab to his wife—whose family owns the publishing house. It's a very sticky situation.”

Mac blinked at her. “So what do you recommend?” he asked with great sarcasm.

“Buy the house and put some competent people in there, then consolidate several of the small history books into one fat one and sell it as a textbook on Colorado history to the
schools. There's a great deal of money to be made in textbooks.”

For a long moment Mac just looked at her. “And you found out all this because you were curious, right?”

Turning away, Karen looked out the window and knew she'd never missed Ray more than she did in that moment. Ray used to listen to her; he liked her ideas and her input. Unfortunately, she'd found that most men's minds were as closed as this man's.

It wasn't until the plane had taken off and they were cruising that he spoke to her again. “What other things have you looked into?” he asked softly. “Jet engines? Sewage plants? Road building equipment?”

She knew he was being ironic, but at the same time, she could hear that he actually wanted to know. “I'm only interested in the small things, especially the local Denver places.”

“Such as?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Lawson's Department Store,” she answered quickly.

At that he smiled indulgently. “That place is an eyesore to downtown Denver. I already have an excellent offer from Glitter and Sass.”

“Those stores that sell leather and chains?” she asked with a curled lip.

“More like leather and rhinestones.” Leaning back in the seat, he looked at her in speculation. “And who would
you
sell it to?” When she didn't answer, he gave her a little smile. “Come on, don't chicken out on me now. If you're going to tell me how to run my business, don't stop after one suggestion.”

“All right,” she said defiantly. “I'd open a store that sells baby paraphernalia.” At that she expected him to turn away in disgust, but he didn't. He just sat there, patiently waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “In England they have stores called Mothercare that sell everything for babies: maternity wear, strollers, nursery furniture, diapers, the works. In America you have to go to different stores for different items, and when you're eight-months pregnant and your
feet are swollen and you have two other kids, it's not easy schlepping to five different stores trying to get what you need for the baby. I don't know from experience, but it seems that it would be a wonderful convenience to be able to buy everything from one store.”

“And what would you call this store?” he asked quietly.

“Sanctuary?” she answered innocently, making him laugh.

McAllister took a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase and handed it to her. “Here. Write down all you know or think about Coleman and Brown Press. All of it, gossip, everything. I want to know how I can make that place a going concern.”

Karen used all her strength to keep from smiling, but it was no use. She had a feeling he'd never before asked a woman her opinion of what he should buy or sell. His branch of Montgomery-Taggert was very small, and he had a few women executives, but everyone knew that McAllister Taggert was a law unto himself. He infuriated people in his employ by his stubborn insistence on doing things his own way. It further infuriated them that he was pretty much always right.

But now he was asking
her
opinion! “Aye, aye, sir,” Karen said mockingly as she started to write, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see just a bit of a smile playing about his lips.

*   *   *

If Karen thought she was going to get any warmth out of Taggert, the notion was short-lived, for what time during the flight he didn't have his nose buried in papers, he was on the telephone. He ate with one hand, papers in the other. When they landed at Dulles Airport, outside D.C., he handed her three one-hundred-dollar bills, said, “Green hanging,” then nodded toward the baggage carousel. Karen was tempted to give the porter one bill as a tip, but instead, she paid the five dollars out of her own pocket, then tried to find Taggert. He found her, rental car keys in his hand, and quickly, they went outside into the crisp, cold air to the car.

Once inside the warmth of the car, it felt almost intimate
to be alone with him and she looked about for something to say. “If I'm to pretend to be your fiancée, shouldn't I know something about you?”

“What do you want to know?” he asked in a way that made Karen give him a look of disgust.

“Nothing really. I'm sure that knowing you are rich is enough for any woman.”

Karen had expected the jab to make him laugh or respond sarcastically, but it didn't. Instead, he just looked straight ahead, his brow creased in concentration. For the rest of the drive, Karen didn't bother to talk. She decided if anyone asked why she was planning to marry M.J. Taggert, she'd say, “Alimony.”

He drove them through the highways of Virginia to Alexandria, then through wooded countryside, past beautiful houses until he reached a graveled road and made a sharp right. Minutes later a house came into view and it was the place where all little girls dreamed of spending Christmas: three stories, tall pillars in front, perfectly spaced windows. She half expected George and Martha Washington to greet them.

The front lawn and what she could see of the rolling gardens in the back were alive with people playing touch football, gathering armloads of wood, or just strolling. And there seemed to be children everywhere.

The moment the car was spotted, what seemed to be a herd of people descended on them, opening the door and pulling Karen out. They introduced themselves as Laura and Deborah and Larry and Dave and—

One very good looking man grabbed her and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Oh!” was all Karen could say as she stared at him.

“I'm Steve,” he offered in explanation. “The bridegroom? Didn't Mac tell you about me?”

Karen didn't think about what she was saying. “Taggert never speaks to me unless he wants something,” she blurted, then stared wide-eyed. These people were his friends, what would they think of her!?

To Karen's consternation, they burst into laughter.

“Mac, at last you found a woman who knows the true
you,” Steve yelled across the roof of the car as he put one arm around Karen's shoulders, then a pretty woman put another arm around her, and they led her into the house, all of them laughing.

They led her past heavenly rooms with huge fireplaces that blazed cheerfully, then up a grand staircase, down two halls to a wide white door. Steve opened it. “He's all yours,” he said, laughing, then pushed her inside and closed the door behind her.

Taggert was in the room, their suitcases were already placed on luggage racks, and there was only one bed. “There's been a mistake,” Karen said.

Mac frowned down at the bed. “I've already tried to rectify this, but it's impossible. The house is full. Every bed, cot, and couch is already assigned. Look,” he said, frowning, “if you're afraid I'm going to attack you in the night, I can see if a hotel room can be found for you.”

There was something about his attitude that always seemed to rub her the wrong way. “At least with a full house if I scream, I'll be heard.”

He gave her a little half-smile then started unbuttoning his shirt. “I need to take a shower. The wedding rehearsal is in an hour.” He was looking at her as though he expected her to be a heroine from a Regency romance and flee the room in fear at the very thought of a man undressing. But she wasn't going to let him intimidate her. “Please don't steam up the mirror,” she said, chin in the air, then turned away as though sharing a room with a strange man was of no consequence to her.

With a bit of a chuckle, he went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar for the steam to escape.

When he was out of sight, Karen let her breath escape and her shoulders relax. The room was lovely, all green silk and Federal furniture, and as she heard the shower running, she happily unpacked suitcases. It wasn't until she was finished that she realized that, out of habit, she'd unpacked Taggert's case too. As she put his shoes in the closet next to hers, Karen almost burst into tears. It had been so long since a man's shoes had been next to her own.

When she turned, Taggert was standing there, his hair
wet, his big body encased in a terry-cloth robe, and he was watching her.

“I, ah, I didn't mean to unpack your case, but, uh … Habit,” she finally managed to say before escaping into the bathroom and firmly closing the door behind her.

She took as long as she dared in the bathroom and was very pleased to see that he was gone when she reentered the room. After dressing as quickly as she could, she left the bedroom and ran down the stairs to join the rest of the wedding party, who were piling into cars headed to the church for the rehearsal.

All the way to the church, her annoyance toward Taggert built. If she was supposed to be his fiancée, shouldn't he be showing her some consideration? Instead, he dropped her at the front door and expected her to find her own way among strangers. No wonder so many women refused to marry him, she thought. They were all obviously women of sense and intelligence.

At the church the rehearsal went off smoothly until at the end, when Taggert was to be the first to start down the aisle. He was to walk to the center, offer his arm to Karen, then walk with her out of the church. Maybe he hadn't heard what was said, but whatever his excuse, he walked to the center of the aisle, then started down alone, without Karen.

It was too much for her. “You know how Taggert is,” she said, “he thinks he can partner himself.”

Everyone in the church burst into laughter, and Taggert, turning, saw his mistake. With a great show of gallantry, he returned, bowed, and offered his arm to Karen.

“Getting me back for all those weekends of typing?” he said under his breath.