Reckless Promise (10 page)

They weren't talking about her. The scene in
her cabin hadn't gone like that. And if Mac had run uphill from the
house, these people must be in the cabins clear on the other side
of the lodge from hers.

Mac apparently had had a busy night. Clearly
he hadn't spent the night pacing the floor reliving every second of
their—interaction—as she had.

Maybe he regretted the things he'd said and
had returned to the wrong cabin. Even as a jolt of pleasure punched
through her, she lectured herself: no more Mac fantasies. None.

Mac and Tom came in together, through the
door marked Private. Mac's gaze zeroed in on her and her heart
stuttered. Tom started toward her, but the other guests clustered
around him like pigeons sighting a bag of peanuts.

Footsteps scuffled in the hall. She glanced
up in time to see the deputy shoving a vaguely familiar looking man
in handcuffs toward the door. Something about the way he
moved...she'd swear that he'd been the intruder in her cabin.

"Gage has a few questions for you," Mac said
and led her out of the room.

The deputy waited for her on the front
porch.

"Where's—is that Brad?" Poppy began as soon
as introductions were out of the way.

"Yep. Got him handcuffed in my car," Gage
said. "Mac's been telling me about the incident in your cabin last
night. Can you identify him as the intruder?"

"He's about the same size." Even in
her...well, abstracted state last night, she'd automatically
observed, looked for something that might identify the man. As
though he were a field specimen. She closed her eyes and called up
the details. "About five foot eleven. Shorter than Mac, slightly
built. Dark hair, no clothes." Tell-tale heat in her cheeks gave
evidence of her blush. "And something on his right thigh, right up
at the top, a dark smudge that might have been a tattoo," she
finished.

Gage and Mac smiled with satisfaction. "Good
job," Gage said. "Alice said he'd threatened her when she fired
him. Likely he was looking for a little revenge. You can rest easy
now. I'll take care of him." He smiled at Poppy, touched two
fingers to his hat, and sprang down the steps to his car.

She shot a nervous glance at Mac. His gaze
focused on her like a laser, his mouth a grim slash, the farthest
thing she could imagine from the soft, coaxing mouth that had
covered hers. After the things he had said last night, he surely
didn't think he could intimidate her further. Anger burned away her
nervousness and she returned his volcanic glare. "What?"

He sighed. For a long minute, she thought he
wouldn't answer. Then he leaned forward and lifted her chin so she
couldn't look away. "It seems like I'm always apologizing to you,"
he said. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry for all
the things I said last night."

She shook his hand away. "Really," she said
in her best haughty Boston matriarch tone.

"If anything had happened to you, I'd never
forgive myself."

"Fine. I wouldn't either. So what?"

"So Brad was—"

"In my bed last night. Without my knowledge
or consent."

He didn't meet her gaze, just took her hand.
"Yeah. And he visited a couple of other cabins later."

"I see." She snatched her hand away. "Since
he visited other cabins without an invitation, you decided you
could believe me when I said I didn't have a date with him? How
nice of you."

"He took money and jewelry from a couple of
other cabins." His eyes went bleak and he reached for her hand
again. "I don't think he wanted jewelry from you."

"Just because he was naked in my bed? Good
deduction, Sherlock."

"Dammit, Poppy, cut me a little slack here. I
wasn't thinking too clearly right then. I'm apologizing. Brad's in
jail, but we'll have someone patrolling at night anyway. What more
can I do?"

Touch me. Put your hands on me again.
"Nothing. Apology accepted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like
breakfast." She turned away from him. He took her arm in a
no-nonsense grip that said she wouldn't get away unless she lopped
off the arm. She shrugged and let him lead her to the dining
room.

He almost shoved her into a chair. "Sit. I'll
get your breakfast."

She sat, mainly because her knees had started
to quiver. Darn it, men didn't order her around. She was a
kick-butt kind of woman.

Professionally. She sighed.
Personally...well, on the bright side, she wasn't exactly a wimpy
marshmallow. On the not-so-bright side, she didn't really have a
personal life, so it was hard to say. Which left her sitting here
like a well-trained dog.

Tom came in and took the chair next to hers,
leaning toward her as though he were magnetized. "Poppy," he said,
and made it sound as delighted as if he hadn't seen her in
years.

Mac scowled.

She frowned.

"Dammit, play up," Tom muttered.
"Please."

He sounded so desperate that she fluttered
her eyelashes at him. Mac dumped a spoonful of scrambled eggs too
close to the edge of her plate. They hit the floor with a gentle
squish.

Alice joined Mac at the buffet table. She
said something Poppy couldn't hear, and they both glared at her.
Poppy leaned closer to Tom. "Smile. You're on Candid Camera."

"You were going to tell me about the Duke and
Duchess of Windsor and the three bears," Tom said in an intimate
near-whisper.

"Very good," Poppy said with approval. "That
got your wife's attention." Unfortunately, Mac had noticed also.
His glare almost fried her where she sat.

"The Duke and Duchess," Tom prompted.

Poppy gave him her most enchanting smile, the
one she'd practiced for her Other Woman role. "The Duchess
complained that the press followed them constantly, and if they
looked anything but blissful, there would be rumors of a split. So
when they ran out of things to talk about in public, she would lean
close and whisper fairy tales in his ear, and he'd look and sound
fascinated. "'Once upon a time there were three bears who lived in
a cottage in the woods,' she'd say. And he'd answer, 'Really? By
George!' 'And one day a little girl came to the front door.'
'Darling, that's fabulous!' and so on. Kept the paparazzi fooled
for years."

Tom threw back his head and laughed.

"Don't overdo it."

"Don't overdo what?" Mac materialized at
Poppy's side.

"Telling tall tales," Poppy answered without
missing a beat. "I just asked Tom how you happened to name this
place the Montana Blue." She put one hand on Tom's arm and looked
up at him through her lashes.

Mac set a plate in front of her. She smiled
and said, "Coffee?" He turned back to the buffet. She watched the
muscle in his jaw clench, but he went. She swallowed a smile and
gazed up at Tom. "So tell me about the name," she said in a soft
voice, pursing her lips like a kiss on the 'so.'

Tom smiled. "You are good," he said with real
admiration, and gazed into her eyes. "You look like you're
whispering indecent suggestions."

"What can I say? Of course I'm good," she
told him with an X-rated little smile. "Now lean down a little bit
and speak very softly right in my ear."

"Mac and Alice's great grandfather
homesteaded the place. Their grandfather worked it all his life,
and then their dad gambled it away."

"Remember not to look so serious. Wiggle an
eyebrow or wink or something."

Tom produced a credible leer. "Luckily, the
three of us were able to buy it back before developers got hold of
it. Pure blind luck and Mac's business smarts."

Mac came back with her coffee and sat next to
Alice, who watched Tom with a thundercloud expression that mirrored
Mac's.

"How fascinating," Poppy cooed to Tom. "A
family legend."

"Yeah, but it's my family," Mac said. "Once
upon a time—"

"By George," Tom said, and winked at
Poppy.

She giggled, a burst of real enjoyment. Mac
glared at her. She swallowed the laughter and forced herself to
look serious. "Sorry." She didn't dare glance at Tom.

"Once upon a time," Mac said, "my great
grandfather was about to lose the ranch after most of his stock
didn't make it through a bad winter. When he wanted to give up, my
great grandmother hitched a team to the buckboard and told him not
to be such a wimp. He could get himself in the wagon and help, or
he could stay there and feel sorry for himself, but she was going
to do something about their problem."

She raised her eyebrows. "Assertive."

"And impossible to resist, apparently. She
drove up to a big sapphire claim on the Missouri and sweet-talked
the miner into letting them work for him and take half of
everything they found." He shook his head. "Hard to believe the
miner went for it, but they got enough to save the ranch. Great
Granddad kept a few of the stones as a reminder."

"The cabinet in the other room?"

"Yep. That's when the ranch got the name
Montana Blue. And they, as the saying goes, lived happily ever
after."

"That's lovely." She sighed. "Romantic."

"Maybe. Or maybe she wanted glittery stones
and a more exciting life. Even great grandmothers can be suckers
for wealth." The twist of his mouth didn't bode well for any woman
dumb enough to be in his life.

Tom grinned at Poppy. "Mac is way too
cynical."

She believed that without any trouble.

"You finished?" Tom asked. "Come on, I'll
show you the famous sapphires." He stood and held out a hand to
her.

She put her hand in his, rose, and left the
room without looking at either Mac or Alice. She didn't have to
look. Disapproval and dislike washed around her, as tangible as
horse apples in the corral. She leaned close to Tom to murmur in
his ear.

Mac stood so fast his chair hit the ground
and Alice must not have been much slower, because when Tom stopped
in front of the first cabinet and flicked on the lights, they were
right there, crowding Poppy away from him.

She peeked over Alice's shoulder. Tiny
spotlights picked out a collection of glassy pebbles, some only
faintly colored, others brighter. Blue, green, pink, yellow,
orange, and clear, they sat on mirrored shelves that increased the
dazzle.

"Montana sapphires," Tom said. "Just as they
come from the ground. And these," he lit the next display, "are
what they look like after they've been cut."

Poppy edged around him to see better. The cut
stones were all blue, ranging from a subtle, pale grayed blue to
deep, rich sapphire. Round, oval, even a heart-shaped one, they
sparkled like a king's treasure. Gorgeous, but even if she were the
kind of woman to go overboard for glitz and glitter, she wouldn't
let herself get lost in the display with Alice staring at her.
Waiting for her to drool, or beg for one, probably.

"Mrs. Hamilton was asking about the sapphires
too," Alice said. She smiled and waved at the woman, who had just
shepherded Mikey through the front door, motioning her to join
them.

Mikey ran across the room and grabbed Tom
around the knees babbling about riding and how brave he was
and—

Didn't the kid ever stop for breath? Poppy
glanced at Alice, whose expression had gone soft and yearning. She
gave Alice points for defusing the flirting. No one could be
seductive with that little dynamo around.

"Mikey. Stop." His mother detached him from
Tom's legs and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Tom. I'll
try to unwind him before the ride. But tell me about the
sapphires."

Mac smiled at her, a warm grin totally unlike
the mocking one he'd directed at Poppy. The smile transformed his
face and sent Poppy's will power puddling in the pit of her
stomach. "They're mined here in western Montana. They're nice, but
some of the sapphires from the central part of the state rival the
best in the world."

He recounted the story again for Mrs.
Hamilton. Alice glared at Poppy. Tom looked bored. Poppy watched
Mac. Her palms tingled with the memory of last night, of having her
hands all over his body. Her breath came short when she thought
about the way he'd taken her hand and put it...

Eventually Mrs. Hamilton dragged Mikey off to
breakfast, and Tom turned to Poppy. He assumed the expression of a
man seeing his first beer of the day and leaned toward her. "You
ready for a riding lesson?"

Mac and Alice stood close together, a team,
and glared.

"Of course."

"Great. See you at the corral in about
fifteen." Tom left without looking at Alice, whistling a cheery
chorus of I Can't Wait.

Chapter 6

Poppy didn't want to look at Alice. Instead,
she leaned closer to the dazzle of sapphires, but the mirrors
reflected Alice's wide, tear-shiny eyes and she couldn't
concentrate. Why in God's name did Tom insist on making his wife
jealous?

Mac pushed past her into the hall, his
expression grim. She followed. Slowly. And leaned against the porch
rail to let her breathing steady. She had to convince Tom to stop
before this emotional powder keg exploded.

Tom and Mac came around the side of the
building and strode off toward the barn. She watched without paying
attention, her whole focus on ways of ending this mess.

Alice came out on to the porch. "Admiring the
view?"

"Mm-hmm." She should let Alice see her
staring at Tom, but couldn't take her gaze off Mac.

"You should have let Tom or me know about the
man in your cabin last night," Alice said. "Even if he didn't
bother you, he might have hurt one of the other guests."

"He bothered me." She gritted her teeth and
kept her gaze on Mac's loose-limbed saunter. At least watching Mac
walk kept her head spinning too much to deal with minor annoyances,
like Alice sniping at her. Like how mad the sniping made her. Like
the guilt that swamped her when she thought about what it took to
make a perfect hostess like Alice be rude to a guest.