Legacy of Lies (25 page)

“I'd love to go sailing with you, Dr. Brandford.”

“Averill,” he reminded her with a friendly wink.

He was a very nice, uncomplicated person. And the way he hovered over Eleanor like a dutiful son proved he had a warm and caring nature.

Though she'd vowed never again to get involved with an older man, Alex wondered idly if the good doctor was married. If so, his wife, she decided, was a very lucky woman.

“Averill,” she agreed with a smile.

As she ran upstairs to change into a pair of rubber-soled shoes, for the first time since her arrival in Santa Barbara, Alex was feeling almost lighthearted.

Before they left port, Averill gave Alex a brief lesson on the fundamentals of sailing, and while she tried to keep track of the terms, he might as well have been speaking in Sanskrit.

He laughed when she'd admitted her confusion. “I'd be equally lost if you began talking about dress design,” he assured her. “I figured out buttons and bra hooks when I was a teenager. Other than that, everything else to do with female clothing remains a mystery.”

She knew he was attempting to make her feel less foolish. He succeeded. Alex watched him cast off, maneuvering deftly and confidently around the ropes she knew would have tripped her and sent her flying over the gleaming brass railing.

The sail snapped in the breeze, then billowed, appearing starkly white against the cloudless cerulean sky as he guided the sleek ketch through the channel, out into the sea.

The boat skimmed across the water as Averill followed the jagged shoreline. Up till now, Alexandra's sole boating experience had been a futile attempt to row a cumbersome wooden craft across a Minnesota lake at Girl Scout camp the summer she turned twelve. Back then, all she'd gotten for her laborious efforts were blisters and a lobster red sunburn.

But this was different. This, she mused, as she leaned back and tilted her face up to the California sun, was like flying.

Averill proved to be a wonderful companion, entertaining her with tales of his sailing experiences, including more
than one close call when he'd found himself caught in a sudden squall.

“You don't have to worry,” he assured her when he viewed her worried frown after one such story. “Today's going to be clear sailing. All the way.”

Like Zachary, he managed to appear supremely self-confident without seeming arrogant or egotistical. Reminding herself that one of the reasons she'd taken Averill up on his offer today was to forget about her problems—including those inherent with being in love with a married man—she turned her attention, instead, to the glorious scenery that could have graced the cover of a brochure put out by the Santa Barbara tourist bureau.

Gulls whirled overhead, their strident cries carried off by the ocean wind. Every so often one of them would go hurling downward, disappearing beneath the water, reappearing moments later with a flash of silver in his beak. Long-billed pelicans and wide-winged cormorants skimmed along the surface of the water; sea lions dozed atop sun-warmed rocks.

Averill steered the boat into a sheltered cove, where they sat on the polished teak deck and shared the lunch of cold chicken, pasta salad and crunchy French bread Eleanor's cook had packed into a wicker basket. The doctor's contribution to the picnic was a bottle of Napa Valley chardonnay.

The outing proved even more relaxing than Averill had promised. Alex thoroughly enjoyed the glorious day, the brisk sail, the congenial company.

“Thank you,” she said after they'd returned to the yacht basin. “I had a wonderful time.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His smiling eyes swept over her, taking in her face, flushed prettily from the sun, her sunset-bright hair, which had been whipped into an en
ticing froth by the sea breeze, her long, tanned legs, shown off by her daffodil yellow denim shorts.

“You know,” he said, as he took her hand and helped her off the gently rocking ketch onto the floating dock, “if I were twenty years younger, I'd prove to you that there's a great deal more to life than work.” He shook his head in disbelief. “In my day, a lovely woman like you certainly wouldn't still be running around unclaimed.”

Alex had two choices: she could be irritated by his blatantly chauvinistic statement, or she could take his words as a masculine, if slightly dated, compliment and be flattered. She chose the latter.

“I do hope you're not calling me an old maid,” she said with a light laugh.

“Not at all.” He looked honestly horrified that she might think such a thing.

“Good. That being the case, I should tell you that I don't think you're old at all.” Feeling remarkably carefree, she linked her arm through his. “In fact, next time you're in L.A., I insist you let me reciprocate by taking you out on the town.”

“I'm speaking at a conference in the city next month. Why don't I come down in the ketch? We can sail to Catalina and I'll let you buy me lunch at Las Casitas.”

“It's a date. I've never been to Santa Catalina Island.”

“You haven't?” He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her as if she'd just sprouted a second head. “My prescription for you, Alexandra Lyons, is regular doses of sun and salt air. And I intend to schedule in regular checkups to ensure you're following orders.”

Alex laughed, as she was supposed to. “Yes, Doctor.”

T
he lightened mood instilled by the brisk sail disintegrated when the terrifying dream returned that night. To make matters worse, the next morning Zach arrived at the house to discuss the logistics of the Chicago opening with Eleanor.

Watching Zach and Miranda was like watching a Tennessee Williams play. Miranda, who seemed in no hurry to return to her work at the London Lord's, was her typical theatrical self, ensuring her place at center stage, while Zach glowered and remained silent.

As if conjured up by some special-effects department in the sky, a storm front coincided with Zach's arrival, driving away the benevolent sunshine with wind gusts, pelting rain and fog.

When Miranda cursed viciously at yet another servant for some minor imagined transgression, Alex decided that rain or no rain, she had to escape.

She went out to the six-car garage and took the Mercedes two-seater Eleanor had generously made available to her during her stay. She drove past the Montecito Country
Club, continuing on through the center of town to the coast, passing by sandy East Beach, where the usual weekend arts-and-crafts show had been rained out.

She passed Stearns Wharf—which Averill had told her was the oldest operating wharf on the West Coast—and the yacht harbor, where she was tempted to stop and see if the doctor was working on his ketch, as he was every other weekend he wasn't sailing. She felt an overwhelming urge for some easy, uncomplicated companionship.

Worried that after his remarks about her lack of dating he might think she'd set her sights on him, Alex stopped, instead, at the breakwater and walked along the half-mile manmade marvel, attempting to work off her anxiety.

She stood at the end of the breakwater for a long time, watching the white-capped waves roll in and thinking of Zach. Sea mist dampened her face and went unnoticed.

For whatever reason—Alex knew it wasn't love—Zach appeared determined to make the best of his marriage. Which meant he was off-limits.

Averill was right about one thing: she'd been living unnaturally. It was time she started dating again, if for no other reason than to get on with her life. She'd come a long way from the naive young acolyte who'd let Debord steal her designs, then throw her away as if she were a stale croissant left over from breakfast.

She was an Emmy-winning designer, dammit! She had a fulfilling, glamorous career, and thanks to Eleanor Lord, she was a businesswoman with her first licensing agreement. The thing to do, Alex told herself firmly, was to quit mooning over a man she could not have and get on with her life. It was time, past time, that she put the man out of her mind!

Which wouldn't be all that easy to do, considering the fact that they still had to work together on the Blue Bayou
project. But she'd already accomplished so much, had come so far. Her mother had always assured her that she could do anything she put her mind to. So, from now on, she would simply put her mind to burying whatever feelings she had for Zach deep inside her.

The wind picked up and the temperature dropped, causing Alex to realize she'd been standing out in the rain for a very long time. Shivering, she headed back for the car.

Not yet ready to return to the estate, she continued her drive through the fog-draped Santa Ynez Mountains. With the heater going full blast, she warmed up quickly. She tuned the radio to a rock station; the windshield wipers added a
swish-swish-swish
counterpoint to Bruce Springsteen's driving beat.

For a long time, as she maneuvered the car around the curves, she continued to give herself a stern pep talk. “Zach? Zach who? Oh, Zachary Deveraux,
that
Zach. He's only a business associate. Nothing more.”

She could tell herself that all day. And all night. But more than an hour later, after she'd made a U-turn in the middle of the road and headed back down the mountainside toward the Montecito estate, Alex realized it was folly to keep lying to herself.

The frightening truth was that despite all her good intentions and stalwart resolutions, if Zach ever wanted her, she would give herself to him.

Immersed in her tumultuous thoughts, she hadn't noticed that the little sports car had begun to pick up more speed than was prudent, given the slick conditions of the road.

Alex pumped the brake lightly. When it failed to gain purchase, she tried again. Nothing.

Again, harder.

Again, nothing.

Risking putting the car into a deadly skid, she pushed
the brake pedal all the way to the floor. Instead of coming to a screeching halt or even slowing down, the car picked up speed.

Trying to remain calm, Alex downshifted, which, considering the steep grade she was descending, proved ineffectual. The engine whined as misty trees sped past the windows.

Now she was scared. Leaning forward, she hung on to the wheel with both hands, trying to steer around the treacherous wet curves. Time slowed. She wondered if her life would begin flashing before her eyes.

Alex sincerely hoped not; seeing through the slanting rain was hard enough without having to watch a rerun of past mistakes.

Unfamiliar with the mountains and having paid scant attention to her surroundings earlier, she had no idea how far she still had to go before reaching level ground. As she sped past a side road leading to a winery, she hoped the wild ride would be over soon.

It was. But not in the way she'd hoped. As the car raced around a snakelike series of curves, the tires hit a particularly wet patch of roadway and began to hydroplane. The rear of the car fishtailed, sending her off the pavement, over an embankment, where the front end of the Mercedes settled with a great sucking sound into the mud.

Alex was thrown forward, but her seat belt held, keeping her safe. Safe, she determined once she could breath again. But lost. And the rain was still coming down.

Cursing in a way that even Miranda might have admired, had Zach's wife been unfortunate enough to be out in such horrid weather, Alex managed to push open the door. And then, as the skies opened up still more she began to walk.

Although the winery tasting room was closed, Alex was fortunate to find an employee taking inventory. The young
man let her in, retrieved a handful of paper towels from the rest room and, while she called the house to explain about the accident and to request that one of the servants come retrieve her, poured her a very large and very tasty glass of estate-bottled
pinot noir.

Since she hadn't eaten anything but a grapefruit and a cup of coffee at breakfast time, which was, she realized, glancing down with surprise at her water-fogged watch, more than eight hours ago, the smooth, ruby red wine went straight to her head, creating a comfortable glow. Indeed, the feeling was so pleasurable, she didn't refuse a refill.

Thirty minutes later, Zach arrived, looking every bit as foreboding and dangerous as the weather.

“I didn't ask Eleanor to send you.” Alex blinked with surprise at the sight of Zach practically filling the tasting room doorway.

“I volunteered.”

“Oh.” While far from drunk, Alex was relaxed enough to be able to ignore his lambent fury. “Well, it was certainly nice of you to come out in the rain this way.”

“You can thank me later.” He pulled a bill from his wallet and tossed it onto the oak bar.

The young man pushed the money back. “It's on the house. My pleasure.”

He was talking to Zach, but his gaze was on Alex.

“Zach, this is Steve,” Alex said with remarkable cheer, considering the events of the past hour. “Steve, this is Zachary. My, uh, business associate.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said without so much as a glance Zach's way.

Seeing Alex through the other man's eyes, observing the familiar aching on his young face, irritated the hell out of Zach.

“Mrs. Lord appreciates you helping her houseguest,” he
muttered. He took hold of Alex's arm and yanked her off the bar stool. He also left the bill where it was.

“Come back some time when you're not in such a hurry,” Steve called out after them. Zach knew damn well the irritatingly good-looking Steve was not talking to him.

“Thank you, I'll do that,” Alex said. Her sunny smile, as Zach dragged her across the wooden floor, could have banished all the rain clouds overhead.

“Wasn't he nice?” Alex asked as they drove away from the winery in Zach's Jag.

“A real prince,” Zach muttered. “You certainly didn't waste any time making another conquest.”

“What?” Alex glanced toward his rigid profile. “What are you talking about?”

“First you have Averill practically tripping all over himself to take you sailing, and now your new little friend Steve—the guy reminded me of my old hunting dog, Duke, slobbering over a juicy steak bone. By the time you leave town, you'll probably have every male within a thirty-mile radius of Santa Barbara lusting after you.”

Was he actually jealous? The idea was both surprising and encouraging. “That's not a very nice thing to say.”

“In case you haven't noticed, sweetheart, I'm not exactly in a very nice mood. Have you noticed how fate keeps decreeing I step in and rescue you from your own stupidity? Kinda makes you wonder what I must've done in a past life to deserve such lousy karma, doesn't it?”

So much for encouraging. The warm glow instilled by the wine was shot to smithereens by his gritty tone and unkind words. Refusing to respond, Alex folded her arms and pretended avid interest in the scenery flashing by the passenger window.

Neither one of them spoke for a long time. Finally Zach said, “I arranged for a tow truck to pick up the Mercedes.”

“Thank you,” she answered stonily, still refusing to look at him.

“In case you're interested, it's not that banged up.”

“Oh, I'm so glad,” she said on a burst of honest relief. “I was afraid I'd totaled Eleanor's car.”

“If you were so concerned about the damn car, you shouldn't have been driving so fast. Christ, Alex, don't you have any more sense than to speed on a wet highway in the rain?”

“Speeding? You think I was speeding?”

“If you'd been driving at a halfway prudent speed, you wouldn't have gone off the road,” he said with the unwavering logic she usually admired.

She gave an unladylike snort. “Gee, you've got a helluva lot of faith in me.”

“You're not exactly a model of restraint, sweetheart.”

Alex knew he didn't mean the term as an endearment. “I am, too!”

Didn't he realize how much restraint it had taken her not to pull out all the stops and seduce him?

Most of the time, Alex didn't think it would be all that difficult to lure Zachary into her frustratingly lonely bed; at other times, such as now, she almost got the impression that he didn't like her at all.

And women were supposed to be the changeable ones, she thought darkly. Men might not suffer PMS, but they damn well had their own share of mood swings, nevertheless.

He brought the car to a halt at a four-way stop. “Honey, you wouldn't even know how to spell restraint.”

That did it. To hear such a disparaging tone from the man she loved was the last straw in a very trying day.

“Go to hell.” Unfastening her seat belt with trembling fingers, she opened the door and began walking angrily down the road.