Rivals (47 page)

“It's good to see you again, Ms. Bennett. Please have a seat.” Karl Bronsky was a freckle-faced man in his midforties with mild eyes and a habit of nodding with each spurt of talk, as he did now. “The traffic on the Bay Bridge must have been murder. It always is on a Friday, with everybody racing to get out of the city for the weekend.”

“It was.” But she wasn't interested in wasting time exchanging pleasantries about the traffic or the weather. “When I talked to you this morning, you indicated you had finished your review of the plans I left with you.”

“I did.” Again there was that sharp nod of his head as he circled back around his desk.

“What did you think of them?”

“What did I think? I think it's one helluva ambitious project—if you'll pardon my language—the kind every engineer dreams about being a part of.”

“Then…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “…you didn't see any flaw in them.”

“You have to understand, Ms. Bennett, these are in the preliminary stage. They aren't finished working drawings. Which isn't to say a lot of thought hasn't gone into them. Obviously it has. In my opinion, it's definitely a viable project.”

“I see.” She tried not to let her disappointment show.

“Now you asked me specifically to look at the plans for the dam.” He began going through the stack of rolled blueprints and drawings on his desk. “As you know, none of these contains the name of the firm responsible for drawing up the plans—or any reference to its location.”

“I know.” She'd made certain all such references were removed before she'd given them to him for review. She hadn't wanted to run the risk that someone in Thurgood Engineering might know someone with the engineering firm Chance had used. Fields of business tended to be small worlds, and she didn't want word accidentally getting back that she was in possession of these plans.

“Anyway, I don't know who engineered the plans on the dam, but he seems to be a highly competent individual—or group of individuals.” He unrolled one of the sets and anchored the corners down with a paperweight, pencil holder, stapler, and desk pen set. “As a matter of fact, I only question him on one area. Which isn't to say I think he's wrong. It's impossible to second-guess somebody when you aren't in possession of all the facts.”

“What did you question?” Flame noticed that he'd unrolled the overall site plan.

He leaned over it, a faintly puzzled look clouding his sunny freckles. “You did say that you owned this valley and these people had come to you with the proposition for this massive project.”

“Yes.”

“The thing I can't figure out—at least not without more information—is why they chose this particular site for the dam and why they would want to flood the entire valley.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to check the sudden leap of hope, reminding herself it was too premature. “Where else could they build it?”

“Again, you have to recognize, Ms. Bennett, that I haven't seen the actual site. I'm just going by these plans. But when I look at this, the most logical location for the dam would seem to be this neck of hills here—” He pointed it out to her on the plan. “—well north of the present site. Which would leave this entire south section of the valley intact.”

Which was also where the house and all the ranch buildings were located, Flame realized. She stared at the map, too stunned for an instant to react.

“Think of the golf course and country club that could be built in this valley—and what a complement it would be to the rest of the development. It would definitely be an improvement over that rolling dervish of a course they show winding through the hills now.” He raced on with his thoughts. “Naturally, it would change the shape of the lake—send it into this valley to the northwest. To me that would be a better location for the marina and hotel with these hills sheltering it from high winds. Changing the dam site opens up a whole new set of options. You could put in a landing strip for private aircraft, and, Lord knows, a development like this is going to attract the kind of people who have their own planes. The way it stands now, you'd have to flatten a hill to put an airstrip in, and cost-wise it probably wouldn't be feasible.”

“Then, why—” But she knew why. Chance hated Morgan's Walk. He wanted to destroy it. He wanted it at the bottom of the lake.

Karl Bronsky straightened, regret bringing two thin lines to his forehead. “I shouldn't have gone on like that. Again, I have to stress that the engineer who did this work and chose this site over the one I suggested may have very sound reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Test borings could have shown him that this location wouldn't support a dam without costly subshoring. Maybe here he can anchor it to bedrock for a fraction of the money.” He shrugged, indicating a multitude of possibilities. “Without inspecting the site and doing the necessary tests, I'm only guessing, Ms. Bennett.”

“Mr. Bronsky.” She spoke slowly, playing with all the possibilities in her mind, even the outrageous ones. “Is it possible that sometime within the next two weeks you could fly to Oklahoma with me and look at the property yourself?”

“Oklahoma—is that where it is?” he said, then breathed in deeply, considering her suggestion with obvious interest. “I suppose I could arrange my schedule to free up a couple of days.”

“Good, because I'd like to know if it's absolutely necessary for all of my land to be flooded.” She smiled faintly. “It's not that I don't trust the work of this engineer. I'd just like a second opinion.”

“I don't blame you. In fact, it's probably the smart thing to do.”

The traffic light ahead turned red and the limousine eased to a smooth stop at the crosswalk. From the rear seat, Flame watched as a cable car clanged across the intersection. Idly, her glance swung to Malcom's driver, Arthur, separated from the rear passenger area by a sliding glass partition. He'd turned the radio to an easy-listening station and the soothing music of an old André Previn tune came softly over the stereo speakers.

Turning her head on the back rest, she looked at Malcom and smiled faintly. “If I closed my eyes, I think I could fall asleep.”

The cleft in his chin deepened slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I thought you had.”

“After that marvelous lunch, can you blame me?” Her smile widened, but the wonderfully lethargic feeling remained, making her feel all lazy and replete. “Right now it wouldn't take much persuasion to turn me into an advocate of siestas.”

With customary keenness his gaze examined her face. “You do look tired.”

She didn't deny that she was. “I've been on the go constantly for the last ten days trying to get everything caught up so I can leave tomorrow for Tulsa. This is the first time I've been able to sit back and truly relax in days—and I have you to thank for it.”

“Tulsa. That's Stuart territory you know,” he challenged, closely watching her reaction to Chance's name.

Flame smiled with a degree of cool unconcern. “He doesn't have an exclusive on it, Malcom.”

“Do you intend to see him while you're there?” he asked, aware that she'd met with him before.

“Possibly.” Although she had agreed to see Chance, that didn't mean she would. She'd canceled meetings with him before. “It depends on my schedule. There are a lot of legal matters that I need to clear up regarding the settlement of Hattie's estate—documents to be signed, that sort of thing.”

She didn't mention that the engineer Karl Bronsky would be flying the day after she arrived to meet with her and look over Morgan's Walk, specifically the proposed dam site and his alternative. She had yet to confide in Malcom the reasons behind her split with Chance or the battle ahead of her to prevent Chance from acquiring control of the land he'd married her to get.

Malcom frowned thoughtfully, his gaze narrowing. “I don't understand why you see him when you keep saying you're through with him.”

She smiled away his remark, a playfully chiding light entering her eyes. “You make it sound as if he's been my constant companion, Malcom. I've only met him twice. And contrary to recent rumors, there is no reconciliation in the works.”

There wasn't a trace of doubt in her voice. Was she over him? Malcom wondered. It was true she no longer reacted hostilely to the mere mention of Stuart, but a vindictive gleam appeared in her eyes each time his name was brought up.

The traffic light turned green and the limousine rolled forward with little sensation of motion to its passengers. “How long will you be in Tulsa?”

“Just over the weekend. I'll be back the first of the week.” She glanced at him curiously. “Why?”

“I was wondering what your plans are now that you've become a woman of property and independent means.” He smiled to conceal the fact that he didn't like the idea of Flame going to Tulsa, even for a brief time—any more than he liked the idea that she might be meeting Stuart while she was there. “Is this preliminary to a permanent move?”

The possibility she might move out of easy reach…beyond his influence…had concerned him ever since she'd told him about her inheritance of a large ranching estate in Oklahoma.

“
Modestly
independent means,” she corrected lightly. “Certainly not enough to induce me to resign from the agency.”

“Good.” Malcom smiled in disguised relief. “That means I won't have to work with a new account executive.”

She gave him a look of mock reproval. “Next, you'll be trying to convince me you're only interested in my mind.”

“I admit your company is mentally stimulating,” he replied, matching her bantering tone, then paused, letting his gaze travel slowly down her curved figure. “Unfortunately I haven't had the opportunity to discover how stimulating you can be in…other ways.”

She released an earthy laugh. “You never give up, do you, Malcom? If persistence was a virtue, you'd be the most virtuous man I know.”

His smile widened. “It's called wearing down the opposition.”

“You're definitely an expert at the game,” Flame declared, a hint of amusement remaining in her voice.

His look grew serious and wanting. “Does that mean I'm finally making progress?”

She started to deny that, then paused to look at him, suddenly recalling how comfortable and at ease she had been with him these last two hours. Wasn't that rare—as rare as the heady excitement she'd known with Chance?

Giving him the most honest answer she could, she said, “I don't know, Malcom.”

He said nothing to that, simply took her hand and lifted it up to press a kiss in its palm as the limousine came to a stop in front of the agency's building. Arthur stepped out and opened the passenger door for her, extending a hand to help her out. She withdrew her fingers from Malcom's grasp and climbed out of the car, then turned back.

“Thank you for lunch…and for your company, Malcom.”

“We'll talk again next week after you get back from Tulsa,” he promised, the possessive light in his gray eyes even bolder than before.

Slowly and thoughtfully, Flame turned and walked to the building's entrance.

33

S
unday
morning, Flame walked the freckle-faced Karl Bronsky to the front door of Morgan's Walk, his preliminary inspections of the land completed. Charlie Rainwater waited outside to drive him to the airport.

“Thanks again for the hospitality,” he said. “I didn't mean to impose.”

“You didn't,” she assured him. “We'll talk when I get back to San Francisco.”

“Right.” Then he was out the door.

Flushed with a feeling of victory, Flame closed the door behind him and turned, barely able to contain her excitement. Then she saw Maxine standing in the foyer watching her.

“Is Mr. Bronsky leaving already?” The housekeeper frowned.

“Yes.” She was instantly alert, recalling the foreman's warning that Hattie had long doubted Maxine's loyalty. According to him, she'd never made it a secret that her sympathies were with Chance. If there was any leak at Morgan's Walk, the housekeeper was the likely source. “Charlie's taking him to the airport to catch his flight.”

“It seems to me it was hardly worth his time to fly out here,” the woman declared. “The two of you arrive in time for supper last night, then he takes off with Charlie first thing this morning and stays gone most of the day. He couldn't have spent more than an hour with you. That's a funny way to treat your host, if you ask me.”

“Karl's a city boy. He's never been on a working ranch before and he was fascinated by it. Maybe he always dreamed of being a cowboy when he grew up.” Flame shrugged to indicate her lack of concern.

“What does he do for a living?” Maxine asked curiously.

“What does anybody do who lives in a city? He works in an office surrounded by four walls.”

If Maxine noticed her avoidance of a direct answer, she gave no sign of it. “Ben's waiting in the library to see you.”

“Will you bring—”

“I already took him a pot of coffee, and I included an extra cup for you.”

“Thank you, Maxine. That will be all.” With long, swinging strides, Flame crossed the foyer and walked down the hall to the library, her spirits lifting again with that inner sense of triumph.

She entered the library, then turned, with hardly a break in motion, and drew the pocket doors closed. A fire blazed in the hearth, the cheery crackle of its flames matching her ebullient mood as she crossed to the desk. Ben Canon sat behind it, his diminutive frame dwarfed even more by its massive size. She stopped short when she saw the coffee tray and the spread of legal papers before him.

“The plans. Where are they?”