New Way to Fly (10 page)

“Edward,” Amanda whispered.

“I'm in New York, at my office, and I assume you're out getting rich and famous,” he went on.

“Just wanted to let you know that I'll be in Austin tomorrow. My plane lands at four o'clock and I expect you to be at the airport showing some enthusiasm for my arrival.”

“Four o'clock,” Amanda repeated, feeling dazed, trying frantically to think through her Friday schedule of appointments.

“I also wanted to warn you,” Edward went on calmly, “that I don't intend to leave Austin without you, Angel. You've proved your point, and I give
you full marks for your intelligence and enterprise. But I need you here to take over as my head buyer. And I need you for other reasons, too,” he added, his voice dropping intimately, taking on a sudden husky inflection that made Amanda shiver.

Oh, God, she thought. Edward…

“So I'll look forward to seeing you, darling,” he concluded briskly, all the disturbing tenderness vanishing from his voice. “We've got a lot to talk about.”

The machine beeped and whirred, and went silent. Amanda stared at the instrument as it rewound, her mind whirling rapidly.

Edward was coming to Austin. Tomorrow at this time he'd be here, back in her life, probably right here in her apartment.

Feeling dazed, Amanda stood in the hallway and looked around her.

At least, she thought with a brief smile, Edward was going to like her apartment. He'd definitely approve of this cool decor, the urban minimalist look that Amanda had first learned from him.

“Forget
cozy,
Angel,” Edward had told her long ago. “We don't strive for a cozy look. We strive for a cool look. We don't want our visitors to feel comfy and at home. We want them to feel a little chilled, and ever so slightly intimidated by our good taste.”

“Why?” Amanda had asked, back in those
bouncy innocent days when she still occasionally questioned Edward's pronouncements.

“Because,” he said, giving her one of his wintry smiles, “that's how we retain the upper hand, my darling. And retaining the upper hand is vital in all relationships. You'll learn that, you sweet child, as you get older and more cynical.”

Edward had certainly retained the upper hand in their relationship. In fact, it wasn't until Amanda had torn herself away from him and begun struggling to make a life of her own that she realized how much influence he'd had over her. The way she dressed, the shows she went to, the furniture she chose, even the friends she associated with, were all selected on the basis of what Edward might think.

And even now, though he was far away in New York, it seemed that his dry wit and impeccable taste still governed most of her decisions.

Amanda wandered through the living room with its pearl-gray carpet and sparse furnishings of charcoal leather and gleaming stainless steel.

“Not cozy, Edward,” she murmured aloud, fingering the black metal stem of a tall floor lamp with a big naked bulb. “Definitely not cozy.”

She switched on the lamp and stood gazing at it, picturing Edward, recalling his fine patrician features, his compact graceful body and elegantly barbered hair.

There'd been a time when just the thought of that handsome aquiline profile could send shivers all through her body, make her feel weak and shaky with desire. Edward Price had always seemed so much older and wiser, so glamorously suave and sophisticated, so much the essence of everything Amanda longed to be.

When he first noticed her, began asking her out, took her to bed and finally invited her to move in with him, Amanda had been utterly swept off her feet. Years later, she'd still remained almost completely captive in the man's spell, his graceful charm and smiling hard-edged power.

But gradually she'd begun to resist that power, to fight the sense of being swallowed up and destroyed by Edward. Finally, in her mid-twenties, Amanda began to fight him as well, making a tentative effort to assert herself and develop her own personality, to create a tiny private world for herself that was separate from Edward's influence.

The ultimate result of that struggle had been the move to Austin. But if she'd hoped for resistance and pleading from Edward Price, Amanda had certainly been disappointed. He had let her go without a fight, because Edward didn't believe in fighting.

“Conflict is so destructive,” he always said. “It puts ugly lines on your face, Angel. Never fight if you can walk away.”

That was Edward's style. He always just walked away. Graceful and unsullied by messy arguments, he moved serenely forth to conquer new fields.

Yet now, incredibly, it seemed that he wanted her back. Amanda crossed the room, still in her lacy bra and panties. She curled up in the cold depths of a gray leather chair and shivered at the touch of the bare metal arms against her flesh.

She'd never expected Edward Price to invite her back into his life. In fact, he'd told her as much.

“I don't beg, Angel, and I don't follow. If you want to come back, let me know. Otherwise, have a nice life, my sweet girl.”

And now he was coming to see her. He'd even broken down sufficiently to admit that he
needed
her, both in his business and in his bed.

Amanda shivered again, wishing there were a soft cushion somewhere in the room that she could hug for comfort. But the whole apartment was spare and elegant, devoid of any superfluous touches like cushions and knitted afghans that could detract from the classic beauty of chrome and leather.

“Cozy might be nice, actually,” she muttered aloud, her blue eyes rebellious. “In fact, I could definitely stand a little touch of cozy, right at this minute.”

Suddenly she remembered her dinner date. Edward's message had driven Brock Munroe com
pletely from her mind, but now he was back, his tanned face hovering at the edge of her consciousness, regarding her with a teasing sardonic grin.

Amanda flushed with irritation and got up quickly, wondering if she could phone him and cancel their evening. Probably not, she decided. Even if she caught him at home, he'd likely be outside somewhere on his ranch, doing whatever cowboys did in the late afternoon.

Besides, when she thought about cancelling the dinner date she felt a puzzling stab of disappointment that surprised her. Surely she wasn't looking
forward
to having dinner with that man? Especially when the love of her life was due to arrive within twenty-four hours?

I just need something to get me through the evening,
Amanda told herself firmly.
Something to fill in the time till Edward gets here. And it might as well be Brock Munroe, since Bev's out of town….

She got up and walked quickly back through the apartment, heading for her bedroom. As she went, Amanda looked around and felt her rebellion slowly ebbing away.

She was glad she'd decorated her apartment like this. Edward was going to be seeing it tomorrow, and he would be so impressed.

“T
HIS IS SUCH
a marvelous steak,” Amanda said after swallowing a vigorous mouthful. “It just melts in my mouth. Is yours good?”

Brock nodded and smiled across the table at her. He liked women who enjoyed their food, who didn't pick and poke and nibble. And in spite of her dainty appearance, Amanda Walker had tucked into her steak and baked potato with the enthusiasm of a ranch hand.

Amanda caught his glance and smiled back, her eyes shining like blue stars in the muted glow of the candle between them. “I know I'm eating like a pig,” she said cheerfully. “But I didn't have time for lunch, and I'm just starved.”

“I love it,” Brock said sincerely. “I love watching you eat. Nobody but Alvin enjoys food that much.”

“Alvin?” she asked, sipping from her crystal wineglass.

“My dog,” Brock said. “He's one of a kind. In fact, I can't describe him, so you'll just have to pay me a visit sometime and meet him for yourself.”

She fell silent, looking down at her plate while Brock continued to gaze at her.

Amanda seemed different tonight, awkward and a little constrained, as if she had something on her mind. Her manner toward Brock was subtly altered, too. Throughout the evening she appeared to alternate between holding him at arm's length and wanting to confide in him. She seemed alarmed and uneasy whenever he hinted at the possibility of further contact between them.

Brock felt an upsurge of tenderness, realizing that despite her glamorous appearance and calm poised manner, Amanda Walker was probably a rather lonely person. She never mentioned any close relationships, other than her old college friendship with Beverly Townsend. And she sounded a little wistful when she talked about Beverly and her boyfriend, Jeff Harris.

He studied her bent head with its glossy cap of clipped dark hair, her lovely complexion and the fine delicate structure of her face and neck.

She wore an outfit completely different from the jaunty suit he'd seen earlier. Tonight her dress was a soft blue wool, exactly the color of her eyes and exquisitely tailored with clean flowing lines, a wide grey leather belt at the slim waistline and a prim high neck that made her look more enticing than ever.

“Do you have family, Amanda?” Brock asked
abruptly. “Anybody around here who's close to you?”

She shook her head. “My parents live in Dallas,” she said. “My younger sister, too. And I have an older brother out in California who's a stockbroker.”

“Middle-child syndrome,” Brock said with a teasing grin. “No wonder you have such a drive to succeed.”

She looked at him in surprise, then grinned back. “You could be right,” she said.

“Were your parents really rich?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Amanda said, digging into her baked potato again. “They're both teachers,” she added, “but my mother didn't work after we were born.”

“An old-fashioned girl,” Brock observed.

Amanda shook her head and paused to swallow, then took a sip of water. “Not really. My mother would have loved to work, because she always wanted a really nice home and a kind of elegant life-style. But my brother and I were born fairly close together, and then my sister came along and she was born with spina bifida…do you know what that is?”

Brock nodded. “I know all kinds of stuff, Amanda,” he told her gravely. “I read all the time.”

She nodded again, her cheeks flushing a little. “Well, my sister needed constant care when she was little, so Mom couldn't go back to work. She always tried so hard,” Amanda said with a small wistful
smile, her blue eyes faraway. “She played classical music on the stereo at mealtimes and set the table with real linen, tried so hard to maintain a certain standard even without money. But it was such a struggle.”

Brock looked thoughtfully at the lovely face across from him, wondering at the forces and influences that had shaped this woman.

“How is she now?” he asked finally. “Your sister, I mean.”

“Oh, Sarah's fine. She's done far, far better than anybody ever expected. She's still in a wheelchair, but she lives in a little apartment with a friend, and she's almost fully independent. She's going to college in Dallas.”

“Good for her,” Brock said warmly. “I love to hear things like that.”

Amanda smiled back at him. Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Amanda's smile faded and she looked down, then picked up her fork again, her hand trembling slightly.

Brock watched her in thoughtful silence. “How about your mother?” he asked. “Did she finally go back to work and buy all the nice things she craved?”

Amanda shook her head. “I really thought she would, once she was free of her responsibilities. But you know, while Sarah was growing up my mother got involved in a lot of activities for disabled chil
dren and their families. And now, when she'd finally be able to do anything she wanted, she's busy with volunteer work just about full-time.”

“So she never got the crystal chandeliers,” Brock commented.

Amanda glanced at him with that same wide-eyed startled expression she seemed to have whenever he showed any kind of insight or sensitivity.

“No,” she said slowly. “Mama never did get all those luxuries she craved. But it doesn't seem to matter anymore.”

“Except to you, maybe,” Brock said. “You're the one who still wants the crystal chandeliers, aren't you, Amanda?”

She toyed with the sprig of parsley at the edge of her plate, her face thoughtful and still. “I guess I do,” she said finally. “It always hurt me so much, seeing my mother sacrifice and do without, knowing how she longed for the nice things she couldn't afford. All the time I was growing up, I told myself I'd never be like that. I wasn't going to spend my life yearning for things and not having them.”

“So you went to New York.”

“As soon as I graduated,” Amanda said. “I was going to make a big splash in the fashion industry, and get rich and famous. But you know what? It wasn't that easy,” she added, giving him a cheerful self-deprecating grin that made him want to gather her in his arms and kiss that sweet curving mouth.

“Why not?” Brock asked, forcing himself to sound casual.

Amanda shrugged. “Well, I was too small for modeling, and not creative enough for design. All I had was a kind of instinct for the right look, so I moved up through all the different levels of retail sales and finally got to be assistant buyer.”

“Why did you leave, after getting that far?”

She shrugged and looked down at her plate again. Brock watched her curiously, surprised by her reaction.

“Amanda?” he prodded gently.

“Well,” she began with some reluctance, “I got into a relationship with a co-worker, and after a few years it wasn't really…going anywhere, you know? I wasn't even sure it was good for me. I felt stale and discouraged, and I wanted some kind of personal challenge. So I finally decided to come back to Texas and go into business for myself.”

“How the hell could he let you go?” Brock asked abruptly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“This co-worker. The guy you had the relationship with. You were together for years and then he just let you walk away without putting up a fight?”

Amanda nodded. “He doesn't believe in fighting. He always said that if I wanted to leave, that was my business, and if I ever wanted to come back, he'd be glad to see me.”

Brock gazed at her in stunned amazement, then shook his head slowly. “I can't believe it,” he said at last. “I can't believe any man who had someone like you would just let her go. If that was me, I'd move heaven and earth to hang on to her.”

Amanda gave him a wistful gratified look, then shook her head. “Maybe I'm not all that terrific when you get to know me,” she said. “Besides, it wasn't a great relationship for either of us at the time. He's ten years older than me, for one thing. I felt stifled by him, and I think he was a little bored by me.”

“Bored?” Brock asked in disbelief. “By
you?
”

Amanda gave him another of those little sad smiles. “Look,” she said abruptly, “I'm not nearly as fascinating as you seem to think I am. To Edward, I was just a clumsy country girl who had to be taught the proper ways to speak and behave. I think that part was kind of a challenge for him, but once he had me all polished, I wasn't really interesting anymore.”

“A classic Pygmalion,” Brock commented, then grinned at her reaction. “Amanda,” he said gently, “could you please try not to look so amazed whenever I say anything a tiny bit intelligent? It's not all that flattering, you know.”

Amanda flushed painfully. “Sorry,” she whispered, trying to smile. “I know how rude it is of me. It's just that I never expected…”

“I know,” Brock said, waving his hand casually. “No need to be embarrassed. I'm just a rough ol' cowboy who doesn't even own a decent suit, and it's understandable that you'd have some stereotyped idea of what I'm like. But,” he added gently, “like I told you before, even cowboys can read and think, Amanda. In fact, there's lots of time to read during those cold rainy winter evenings on the ranch.”

She was silent throughout this little speech, sipping her wine thoughtfully and giving the waiter a polite smile when he set a plate of chocolate layer cake in front of her.

“Wow,” Brock said with warm admiration, watching her pick up her fork. “Dessert, too. What a woman.”

Amanda giggled. “You're so different from Edward,” she said. “He hated watching me eat. He always complained that it was embarrassing to dine out with a lumberjack.”

“You're kidding.”

Amanda shook her head, then took a bite of the cake. “Oh, Brock, this is
wonderful!
You wouldn't believe how delicious it tastes. Come on, order a slice for yourself.”

The waiter reappeared as soon as she spoke, casting Brock a questioning glance while he removed a basket containing an uneaten slice of garlic toast.

Brock grinned and shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe
just some lime sherbet, please. Amanda, you're a genuine marvel.”

He watched her enjoyment of the rich dessert, delighting in her beauty but irritated by what she'd told him about her lover.

“Dining out with a
lumberjack,
” he muttered at last, unable to contain himself. “What a thing to say to a woman like you.”

Amanda set down her fork and looked thoughtfully at the man across the table. She hesitated, sipped her coffee, then apparently made up her mind to confide in him.

“He's coming,” she said abruptly.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Edward. He's coming here tomorrow to see me. He left a message on my machine this afternoon.”

Brock felt a brief chill, and then a spreading heaviness that he was afraid to analyze. “No kidding,” he said lightly. “Are you excited about that?”

“I don't know,” Amanda murmured, her head bent so he couldn't see her eyes. “I mean,” she added, glancing up briefly, “of course it'll be nice to see him again after all this time, and hear all the news from the city. I'm just not sure if I want to…”

“What?” Brock prompted when she hesitated. “You're not sure if you want to do what?”

“Start all over again,” Amanda said quietly, her fingers tracing the outline of her cup handle. “I don't even know if we can.”

Of course you can't,
Brock wanted to shout.
Especially with a guy who calls you a lumberjack because you have a healthy appetite. You left him once, don't let him back into your life. Keep yourself free, girl.

But he knew it would be unwise to voice these opinions. Instead he eased the conversation into safer territory, entertaining her with a long funny story about Alvin's morbid fear of cats.

Amanda laughed aloud, her lovely face so animated that once again Brock had to fight a strong impulse to reach across the linen-covered table and gather her into his arms.

“I'd love to meet Alvin,” she said. “He certainly does sound like a true original.”

“Oh, Lord, I hope so,” Brock said fervently. “I'd hate to think there might be another Alvin running around out there somewhere.”

Amanda chuckled again and paused to sip her coffee. “How big is your ranch?” she asked after a moment's silence. “Is it like the Double C?”

Brock grinned. “Not yet. I've got some work to do before I get to that stage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, I've only got about half as much land.”

“How much is that? I mean, Beverly's told me how many acres they have at the Circle T but I can never really visualize how much land an acre is.”

“Well,” Brock told her, “six hundred and forty acres make one square mile. So with five and a half thousand, my ranch totals close to nine square miles. The Double C has almost twice that much land.”