The Rivals (13 page)

He turned his back and walked a few steps away to speak quietly into the phone. “I'm sorry I haven't called to update you. No, I don't think I'll be back on Monday for dinner. Please give them my apologies. I can't talk right now. I'll call you later tonight.”

He closed the flip phone and turned to face Libby.

Her face had paled, but as he met her gaze, a blush rose on her cheeks. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Jocelyn Montrose.”

Libby frowned. “Giselle's sister? Why would she be calling you?”

“We've been…She's been acting as my hostess since Giselle died. Lately we've been…dating.”

“You're dating your late wife's sister?”

Libby's look was incredulous, and Clay could hardly blame her. He hadn't expected Jocelyn to end up helping him out with the political entertaining that was a necessary part of his job. But she'd been living with her father in Washington when Giselle died. He'd leaned hard on his sister-in-law in those first few weeks after Giselle's death, when he'd fallen apart. She'd been a great comfort. After that, it had seemed natural to call Jocelyn when he needed a companion for political dinners.

There was no denying she would make the perfect political wife. When her father had been ambassador to France, she'd often presided at his dinner table. Not only was she beautiful, but Jocelyn knew how to dress so she always looked her best. No matter how harried people around her got, she remained the picture of calm composure.

Beauty, tact, kindness—it was hard to believe one woman could possess so many good qualities. Clay knew she must have flaws, but so far he hadn't discovered any. Except that she was his late wife's sister, and no more likely to be comfortable in the wilds of South Texas than Giselle had been.

That was the only reason—the main reason—he hadn't moved in the direction Jocelyn seemed to be leading him. That is, toward the altar. But he hadn't discounted the possibility of marriage to her, either. He was still riding the fence, waiting for something to push him one way or the other.

If Kate hadn't disappeared, he wouldn't be here now, his insides twisted by feelings for the woman standing before him that he'd stuffed away nearly twenty years ago and kept a tight lid on ever since. And then he realized he might not be the only one who was dating someone else.

“Been seeing anyone lately?” he asked.

“Not recently.”

“I'm surprised,” he said.

“Why is that?”

He shrugged rather than say what he was thinking. The truth was, he couldn't imagine why any man wouldn't snap her up. She wasn't classically beautiful. Her eyes were too far apart and her mouth was too large. But her eyes, a bright sky blue, were always filled with emotion, her curly blond hair wrapped like silk around his fingers and her mouth could curve into the most enticing smile he'd ever seen.

“I think you'd better go,” she said. “I'll call you if I hear anything.”

“I'll keep my cell phone handy,” he said. But he didn't move. He just stood there staring at her.

Clay wanted to cross the chasm that separated them, to pick up where they'd left off a lifetime ago. But he was afraid. Not of her father, but of what would happen if he gave her his heart and then lost her again.

It had been bad enough watching Giselle's body being eaten away until her skin was thin parchment over bones. But Giselle hadn't been his soul mate. Although a part of him had died with her, he'd been able to keep on living. He'd been able to think about the future. He'd been able to imagine his life in the years ahead.

Losing Libby the first time had nearly killed him. He didn't think he could survive it again.

Sometimes discretion
was
the better part of valor.

“Good night, Libby,” he said.

“Good night, Clay.”

He didn't go near her as he made his way to the door. She didn't see him out. He was in the car before he admitted that he'd rather have spent the evening talking with her than be anywhere else.

Then he remembered there was somewhere else he could go—needed to go.

He had an invitation from Niles Taylor to a party at a house on Bear Island. He had to stop at Forgotten Valley to change his clothes and he might as well see if Drew wanted to join him.

“Hey, Drew, you here?” he called as he stepped inside the back door of the ranch house.

“Yo,” Drew called back. He trotted down the hall dressed in sweatpants, a long john shirt and socks. “Any news?”

Clay shook his head. “Niles Taylor invited me to a party on Bear Island. Want to come?”

“Anyone I know going to be there?”

“Know any politicians? Oh, yeah, and Niles will have some pretty girls there.”

“You're the only politician I care to know,” Drew said. “And I'm not in the mood for games of seduction. Think I'll spend the evening here. Besides, someone might call about Kate.”

Clay felt a spurt of guilt. Shouldn't he be sitting here on his hands waiting for the phone to ring? He knew he'd go crazy if he didn't have something to distract him. He was terrified. And terrified to admit how scared he was of what might have happened to his daughter. “I know it's a long shot,” he said. “But I'm hoping someone will approach me tonight and ask for a political favor in exchange for releasing Kate.”

“You're right,” Drew said. “It's a helluva long shot. But who knows? It could happen.”

Clay took the time to change into a suit, knotted a rep-striped tie and grabbed his black cashmere topcoat. Even in a place as casual as Jackson, the politicians wore suits. Western suits, sometimes. But suits.

On his way out, he passed Drew in the kitchen nuking a cup of coffee in the microwave. “I won't be late,” he said.

“I'm not your mom. Stay out as late as you like.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I don't understand why you'd leave Libby sitting home alone to go to some political cocktail party,” Drew said angrily.

“I don't understand why you'd leave a perfectly good job in Houston to hide out here,” Clay shot back.

“It's none of your business,” Drew retorted.

“Back at you,” Clay said.

Drew snorted. Then laughed. “God, we're in bad shape. Have a good time. Kiss a pretty girl for me.”

“Come along and kiss your own pretty girl.”

Drew shook his head. “The only girl I want to kiss is—”

“Back in Houston,” Clay finished for him.

“That isn't what I was going to say.”

Clay lifted an interested brow. “Really? Must be the detective then.”

Drew made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and shot it. “Bingo.”

“So, why are you sitting here?”

“Believe it or not, she's on duty. I called her house and her daughter said she was working another shift for some poor schmoe whose wife is having a baby.”

Clay didn't think any man whose wife was giving him a child would think of himself as a “poor schmoe.” When he'd married Giselle he'd hoped desperately for a child, until they'd discovered that she couldn't have babies. They'd considered adoption, but before they'd gotten around to it, Giselle had gotten sick. Then it had been out of the question.

He only had one child. And she was missing.

He needed a drink. Several drinks. And the company of men who wouldn't know to ask him whether he'd heard any news about his missing daughter. “I'm out of here,” he said.

“Stay in touch,” Drew said.

Clay patted the cell phone on his hip. “Yeah.”

Clay had once considered buying a house on Bear Island. The lots were large—forty acres—and there were enough ponds around that a pair of trumpeter swans had taken up permanent residence. Buck-and-rail fences lined the properties. The cypress trees grew tall and the aspen made it a magnificent, golden place to be in the fall.

In the days before the town had decided to take an environmental stand, the homes had grown as large as twelve thousand square feet. Small by Hollywood standards, maybe, but most of the people who could afford enormous homes in Jackson only lived in them a week or two a year.

The town had put an eight-thousand-square-foot limit on new construction, but Clay was pretty sure, as he gazed at the lighted mansion at the end of a long drive, that this one fell under the old rule. He passed a guesthouse that was four times as large as Libby's cabin.

A beautiful young woman wearing a low-cut aqua cocktail dress and a dazzling smile answered the elaborate chime that served as a doorbell and led him into a room thick with cigar smoke, hearty laughter and glazed eyes.

He found himself facing Niles Taylor. The Texas oilman slapped him on the back and asked, “What'll you have?”

“Scotch. Neat,” Clay replied.

Niles called the order to a bartender dressed in a tux without the jacket, who poured Clay's drink. “There are a few folks here I think you know,” Niles said.

Clay took the drink Niles handed him and turned to greet the senior senator and three congressmen from Texas.

“Gentlemen, look who's joined us,” Niles said. He smiled broadly at Clay and announced, “I give you the next governor of Texas.”

“That announcement is premature,” Clay said automatically.

“No need for modesty, Clay,” Niles said. “You're among friends. We all want to see you make that move to Austin.”

Clay spent the next two hours meeting an array of party movers and shakers, Niles always at his side greasing the wheels, making certain Clay never had to speak his ambition aloud. He'd learned over the years not to take more than a sip of any drink and to surreptitiously set the glass down. But at least three an hour were being slipped into his hand, and he was feeling light-headed.

He'd hoped someone would approach him about Kate, but it hadn't happened. And the longer he was in Niles's company, the more ridiculous it seemed to imagine the jovial politician involved in a kidnapping.

It was time to leave while he could still make it on his own two feet. “I've got to take off,” he said.

“It's the shank of the evening,” Niles replied. “You haven't met everyone yet.” The Texas oilman pulled him along to another room to meet a cluster of his cronies, other oilmen from Texas with money to contribute to his campaign.

Clay suddenly realized that several of these men belonged to the oil consortium his office was investigating. He would have to be careful to watch what he said. It was often impossible to avoid fraternizing with the enemy in Washington circles, but it was wise to keep your hand on your wallet while you did.

He waited warily to see whether one of them would broach the subject of his investigation of the consortium. But they were either too cautious—or too shrewd—to mention it.

“That drink of yours needs refreshing,” Niles said, and signaled the bartender for another drink.

Clay's glance followed Niles's hand and became riveted on a woman who stood at the bar in a stunning, form-fitting backless red dress. He sucked in his breath when the young woman turned around and he saw how very beautiful she was, dark-eyed and dusky-skinned and voluptuous. Then he realized the bartender had handed her his drink to deliver to him.

She kept her eyes fixed on the crystal glass, carrying it with both hands, as though it were nitro that might explode if jostled.

“Japan always needs more oil,” Niles said to one of his cronies, momentarily distracting Clay's gaze from the girl. When she reached his side, Niles slid his arm around her bare shoulder and said, “This is Natalie. She's been wanting to meet you all evening. Natalie, this is Mr. Blackthorne.”

Clay thought the girl looked young enough to be his daughter. She also looked nervous, understandable in a crowd of less-than-sober men. “It's nice to meet you, Natalie,” he said, reaching out to take his drink from her.

“Mucho gusto, señor,”
Natalie replied, barely touching his fingers as she made the exchange and then putting both hands behind her back.

Clay shot a questioning look at Niles.

“She doesn't speak a word of English,” Niles said. “Not even
no,
” he added with a salacious grin. “If you know what I mean.”

Clay felt sick. More than half the cowhands on his father's South Texas ranch had been Mexican, and he'd learned Spanish right along with English when he was growing up. In Spanish, he asked the young woman if she was all right.

She glanced at Niles before she replied that she was fine.

Clay didn't know why he didn't take her at her word. Maybe it was the quick glance she took over her shoulder toward a man in the corner after she answered. Maybe it was the knowledge that his own daughter might be in a compromising situation somewhere and need to rely on the kindness of some stranger.

“Why don't you and I step away where it's not so crowded, so we can talk?” Clay said, as he slid the girl's arm through his own. He wanted to get her somewhere she would feel safe enough to tell him whether she really was all right.

“Now you're talking,” Niles said, winking at Clay.

When Clay tried to lead the girl toward the brightly lit kitchen, she resisted.

“I cannot,” she said.

“You can't leave?” he asked. “Why not?”

“I cannot,” she insisted.

She glanced over her shoulder again, and Clay looked to see whom she might be trying to find. The man he'd seen in the corner was gone, and nobody looked like they had any particular interest in the girl.

“Do you have a boyfriend here?” he asked, wondering if that might be her problem.

“No,” she said.

“Would you like to go home?” he asked.

She shot him a look that told him that was exactly what she wanted. And then shot another look around the room.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.