Sugar Baby. Karen Young

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t know as I’d say that, not just yet,” Wayne drawled, rising from his chair. “You’ve still got a few good years. What are you now, Mack, thirty-nine, forty?”

      “Forty-two last month, Wayne,” Mack said dryly. “And I don’t plan on producing any other heirs. For that, a man needs a wife, and I don’t intend making that mistake again.”

      Wayne shook his head. “That Liz sure did a number on you, didn’t she?”

      “It wasn’t just Liz,” Mack said, wincing as a crash of thunder shook the windowpanes. “We never should have married in the first place. I knew she was out of her element when I brought her to Sugarland. She was a city girl. She was miserable from day one.”

      Wayne gave a snort. “What about her vows? A woman’s supposed to stick with her man.”

      “It was thirteen years ago, Wayne,” Mack said. He took no offense at his friend’s frankness, possibly because Liz’s desertion no longer hurt the way it once had. “It’s in the past.”

      “Not the way I see it.” Wayne clamped his cigar in his mouth. “What with her dumping little Michelle on you after poisoning her against her Louisiana relatives, including you.” He fumbled around, moving things on his desk top, looking for a match. “The woman’s a piece of work, that’s what she is.”

      “She’s a little spoiled,” Mack agreed, heading for the door. “But she’s Victor DeBartolo’s problem now, not mine.”

      Wayne squinted at Mack through a fresh cloud of smoke. “He’s still in Washington, I guess.”

      “You know as well as I do where Vic is. You know everything else.”

      “Good place for him.” Wayne reached for his suit coat and shrugged into it. “Her, too.”

      Mack laughed. “Next time Liz calls, I’ll be sure and mention you send your regards.”

      They went out together, both chuckling.

      At the door, Mack stopped. “One thing you can do for me now, Wayne. I need to get Claire’s luggage, but it’s probably best for somebody besides me to pick it up. If the boy did actually witness something and somebody’s watching the room, I wouldn’t want them to make the connection that Claire and the boy are at Sugarland.”

      Wayne turned to the deputy. “Jerry, call Al and tell him to pick up Claire Woodson’s things at the White Hotel, then tell him Mack will meet him at Melrose Crossing in about thirty minutes to take ‘em off his hands. Tell him to give no information to the hotel.” He looked at Mack. “Thirty minutes ought to do it, huh?”

      “It should. Thanks, Wayne.”

      “No problem.”

      They were walking through the office, when another mighty clap of thunder shook the place. At the door, Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “My Miriam was a redhead, did you know that?”

      Mack clamped his hat on his head, getting ready to make a run for it. “I don’t remember her hair ever being anything but snow-white.”

      “Yeah. Turned that way nearly overnight. She wasn’t a day over forty…She always blamed it on you and Mike.”

      It was still raining, but Mack was smiling as he dashed for his Jeep.

      

      HE DROVE through a steady downpour all the way to Sugarland. Just as Wayne ordered, one of his men was waiting at Melrose Crossing with Claire’s luggage. Not much to it, he thought as he stored a suitcase and an overnight case in the back of the Jeep. If the visit lasted more than a week, she’d probably need to get a few more things.

      He tried to convince himself he didn’t care whether she was there a week or a day.

      As he turned in the curved driveway, the Jeep’s headlights swept over the house. Except for the garage area, which was separate from the main house, the whole place was dark. He stopped the car and got out, heading around to the tailgate. As he pulled it open, he glanced up at the second-story bedroom where Claire and the boy were staying. That, too, was dark. Apparently she wasn’t losing any sleep worrying about her situation. He slammed the tailgate and started up the steps.

      “Is that my luggage?”

      Startled at the sound of her voice, he almost dropped the bags.

      “Sorry, I guess you didn’t see me.”

      “What are you doing out here?” he said. “This is a hell of an electrical storm. You could be struck by lightning.”

      “I couldn’t sleep. And storms have never made me nervous.” She took the overnight case, leaving the larger piece for him to carry. “Thanks for picking this up.”

      He didn’t waste any time getting the door open and urging her inside. There was just enough light to reveal what she was wearing. And how she looked. A big T-shirt and shorts. In the denim dress today, he’d guessed that her legs were fantastic. He’d been right. The only wrong note was her hair. He wondered what it would be like not tied back. Earlier her hair had been pulled back and pinned in some severe-looking twist. Now it was braided, starting at the crown of her head. He imagined her red hair all loose and flowing. He could almost feel his fingers sift through it. He could almost see it spread out and—

      He caught himself up abruptly. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about this woman? He cleared his throat. “I see that you found something to wear.”

      “Michelle generously offered this workout set.” She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to stretch the garment to midthigh. “One size fits all. I was glad for the clothes, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own things.”

      “They couldn’t look any better on you.”

      She was instantly on guard. Like a doe caught in headlights.

      “I’ll just take this on up to my room,” she said, slipping past him to hurry up the stairs.

      Watching her escape—there was no other word for it—he wished he could take back the remark, but the words had been out before he could stop them. Why was she so skittish?

      Frowning, he climbed the stairs himself, but at a pace that gave him time to contemplate the contrasts and complexities of Claire Woodson. There was a remoteness about her that didn’t fit the way he’d thought of her for years. He recalled that night in Houston when she’d been with Carter. Mack remembered her smiling, almost sparkling with emotion as she clung to Carter on the dance floor. And then Carter had spotted him, had made the introductions reluctantly.

      The picture of Claire Woodson as she’d been that night had stayed with Mack. As for this woman with the severe hairdo, the disconcertingly direct gaze, the calm grace and quiet manner, she did not fit that other picture. Just who was the real Claire Woodson?

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE CONTINUING DRONE of a small plane pulled Claire out of a deep sleep. Her subconscious had been aware of the sound for some time, long enough СКАЧАТЬ