“I’m not exactly dressed for an outing.”
“The only person you’ll see is me, which is a good thing, because you look like hell and I’m guessing you smell worse.”
She was glad he’d noticed. “Is your truck air-conditioned?”
“Find out for yourself.”
She wasn’t going to pass up a mystery outing so she could hang around here pulling weeds. Still, she took her time meandering toward the truck. As she climbed inside, she noticed a missing dashboard, some odd-looking controls, and a couple of circuit boards mounted in what had once been a glove compartment.
“Don’t touch those wires,” he said as he slid behind the wheel, “unless you want to get electrocuted.”
Naturally, she touched them, which made him surly. “I might have been telling the truth,” he said. “You didn’t know for sure.”
“I like living on the edge. It’s a California thing. Besides, I’ve noticed that ‘truth’ is a flexible word around here.” As he slammed the door, she poked a grimy fingernail toward a series of dials near the steering wheel. “What are those?”
“Controls for a solar-powered air-conditioning system that doesn’t work like I want it to.”
“Great,” she grumbled. “That’s just great.” As he pulled away from the church, she inspected a small screen set between the seats. “What’s this?”
“The prototype for a new kind of navigation system. It’s not working right, either, so keep your mitts off it, too.”
“Is there anything in this truck that does work?”
“I’m pretty happy with my latest hydrogen fuel cell.”
“Solar-powered air-conditioning, navigation systems, hydrogen fuel cells . . . You really have earned your geek blue ribbon.”
“You sure are jealous of productive people.”
“Only because I’m mortal and therefore subject to normal human emotions. Never mind. You wouldn’t understand what that means.”
He smiled and turned out onto the highway.
He was right. The solar air-conditioning system didn’t work very well, but it worked well enough to keep the truck’s cab cooler than the blistering outside temperature. They drove along the river for a few miles without talking. A vineyard gave way to a field of lavender. She tried not to think about the way she’d let him turn her into a gooey mess of moaning need.
He took a sharp left onto a narrow road paved in crumbling asphalt. They bumped past some rocky scrub and rounded a limestone bluff before the landscape opened into an expansive, treeless mesa that rose unnaturally about ten stories higher than the surrounding area. He turned off the ignition and climbed out of the truck. She followed him. “What is this? It looks weird.”
He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets. “You should have seen it five years ago before they capped it.”
“What do you mean ‘capped it’?”
He nodded toward a rusted sign she hadn’t noticed. It hung crookedly between a set of weathered metal posts not far from some abandoned tires. indian grass solid waste landfill. She gazed out over the weeds and scrub. “This was the town dump?”
“Also known as that unspoiled natural area you’re so worried about protecting from development. And it’s not a dump. It’s a landfill.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all.” He launched into a brief but impressive lecture about compacted clay liners, geotextile mats, leachate collection systems, and all the other features that distinguished old-fashioned dumps from modern landfills. It shouldn’t have been interesting, and it probably wouldn’t have been to most people, but this was the kind of thing she’d been studying when she’d dropped out of college her senior year. Or maybe she just wanted to watch the play of expressions on his face and the way his brown hair curled around the edge of his baseball cap.
He gestured toward the open space. “For decades, the county leased this land from the city. Then two years ago the landfill hit capacity and had to be closed permanently. That left us with lost revenue and a hundred and fifty acres of degraded land, plus another hundred acres of buffer. Degraded land, in case you haven’t already figured it out, is land that’s not good for much of anything.”
“Except a golf course?”
“Or a ski resort, which isn’t too practical in central Texas. If a golf course is done right it can offer a lot of natural advantages as a wildlife sanctuary. It’ll also support native plants and improve air quality. It can even moderate temperature. Golf courses can be about more than idiots chasing balls.”
She should have known someone as smart as Ted would have thought about all this, and she felt a little stupid for having been so self-righteous.
He pointed toward some pipes coming out of the ground. “Landfills give off methane, so that has to be monitored. But methane can be captured and used to generate electricity, which we plan to do.”
She gazed up at him from beneath the bill of her baseball cap. “It all sounds a little too good.”
“This is the golf course of the future. We can’t afford to build any more Augusta Nationals, that’s for damn sure. Courses like that are dinosaurs, with their overtreated fairways you can eat off of and manicured roughs sucking up water.”
“Has Spence bought into any of this?”
“Let’s just say that once I started outlining the publicity value of building a truly environmentally sensitive golf course—how important it would make him, and not just in the golfing world—he got very interested.”
She had to admit it was a brilliant strategy. Being heralded as an environmental trailblazer would be fertilizer to Spence’s huge ego. “But I’ve never heard Spence mention any of this.”
“He was too busy looking at your breasts. Which are, by the way, definitely worth looking at.”
“Yeah?” She leaned against the truck’s fender, hips thrust slightly forward, shorts riding low on her hip bones, more than happy to buy a little time to think through what she’d just learned about Ted Beaudine.
“Yeah.” He gave her his best crooked smile, which almost looked genuine.
“I’m all sweaty,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
“Perfect.” She wanted to shatter that cool confidence, rattle him like he rattled her, so she pulled off her cap, grabbed the ragged hem of her too-tight cropped T-shirt, and whipped it over her head. “I’m the answer to your hound-dog dreams, big boy. Sex without all the messy emotional crap you hate.”
He took in the navy demi-bra that clung damply to her skin. “What man doesn’t?”
“But you really hate it.” She let her shirt drop to the ground. “You’re an emotional-sidelines kind of guy. Not that I’m complaining about last night. Absolutely not.” Shut up, she told herself. Just shut up.
One eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Then why does it sound that way?”
“Does it? Sorry. You are who you are. Take off your pants.”
“No.”
She’d sidetracked him with her big mouth. And, really, what did she have to complain about? “I’ve never known a guy so anxious to keep his clothes on. What’s with you, anyway?”
The man who was never defensive lashed out. “Do you have a problem with last night that I’m not aware of? You weren’t satisfied?”
“How could I not have been satisfied? You should market what you know about the female body. I swear you took me on that rocket ride to the stars at least three times.”
“Six.”
He’d been counting. She wasn’t surprised. But she was crazy. Why else would she insult the only lover she’d ever known who cared more about her pleasure than his own? She needed to see a therapist.
“Six?” She quickly reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. Holding her hands over the cups, she let the straps slip down her shoulders. “Then you’d better take it easy on me today.”
Lust trumped his indignation. “Or maybe I just need to take a little more time with you.”
“Oh, God, n
o.” She groaned.
But she’d challenged his legendary lovemaking skills, and a look of grim determination had settled over his features. With one long stride, he covered the distance remaining between them. The next thing she knew, her bra was on the ground and her breasts were in his hands. There, on the perimeter of the landfill, with decades of garbage decomposing in compacted cells, with methane meters sniffing the air and toxic leachate trickling through underground pipes, Ted Beaudine pulled out all the stops.
Not even last night’s slow torture could have prepared her for today’s meticulously calculated torment. She should have known better than to have even hinted that she wasn’t completely satisfied, because now he was determined to make her eat her words. He bit the dragon on her bottom as he leaned down to pull off her shorts and panties. He bent her and turned her. He stroked, caressed, and explored with his deft inventor’s fingers. Once again, she was at his mercy. She’d need shackles and handcuffs if she ever intended to take over control from this man.
While the hot Texas sun beat down on them, his clothes disappeared. Sweat slicked his back, and twin furrows creased his forehead as he ignored the urgent demands of his own body to earn an A-plus in inciting hers. She wanted to scream at him to let go and enjoy, but she was too busy screaming her other demands.
He threw open the door of the cab, lifted her limp body onto the seat, and propped her legs wide. Keeping his own feet on the ground, he toyed and tormented, using his fingers as sweet weapons of invasion. Naturally, one orgasm wasn’t good enough for him, and when she shattered, he pulled her from the cab and pressed her front-first against the side of the truck. The heated metal acted like a sex toy against her already provoked nipples as he played with her from behind. Finally, he turned her and started all over again.
By the time he entered her, she’d lost count of her orgasms, although she was sure he hadn’t. He held her against the side of the truck with seeming ease, her legs wrapped around his waist, her bottom in the palms of his hands. Supporting her weight couldn’t have been comfortable for him, but he showed no signs of strain.
His strokes were deep and controlled, her comfort paramount, even as he arched his neck, turned his face to the sun, and found his own release.
,
What more could any woman want in a lover? All the way back home, she asked herself that question. He was spontaneous, generous, inventive. He had a great body, and he smelled fantastic. He was absolutely perfect. Except for that emotional hole inside him.
He’d been prepared to marry Lucy and spend the rest of his life with her, but her desertion didn’t seem to have made even a ripple in his daily existence. Something to remember if she ever found herself entertaining the vaguest notion of a more permanent future together. The only thing Ted felt deeply was his sense of responsibility.
As he turned into the lane that led to the church, he started fiddling with one of the truck’s mystery controls. She suspected he was waiting for his report card as a lover, and how could she give him anything but an A-plus? Her lingering disappointment was her problem, not his. Only a total bitch would dump on a guy who did everything—almost everything—right.
“You’re a great lover, Ted. Really.” She smiled, meaning every word.
He glanced over at her, his expression stony. “Why would you tell me that?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.”
She should have kept her mouth shut because golden storm signals flashed in his eyes. “I don’t need your damned gratitude.”
“I just meant . . . It was amazing.” But she was only making things worse, and the way his knuckles tightened on the worn steering wheel proved that all those people who claimed nothing ever upset Ted Beaudine clearly didn’t know what they were talking about.
“I was there, remember?” His words were metal shards.
“Absolutely,” she said. “How could I forget?”
He slammed on his brakes. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m just tired. Forget I said anything.”
“I damned sure will.” He reached across her and shoved open the passenger door.
Since her attempt to be conciliatory had failed dismally, she reverted to her true personality. “I’m taking a shower, and you’re not invited in. As a matter of fact, don’t ever touch me again.”
“Why would I want to?” he shot back. “Some women are too damned much trouble.”
She sighed, more disgusted with herself than with him. “I know.”
He pointed one long finger in the general direction of her head. “You’d better be ready at seven on Friday night because that’s when I’m picking you up. And don’t expect to see me before then because I have business in Santa Fe. And I’m not calling, either. I have more important things to do than argue with a crazy woman.”
“Forget about Friday. I told you I didn’t want to spend any more time with the Skipjacks . . . or with you.” She hopped out of the truck, but her still wobbly legs gave her an awkward landing.
“You tell me a lot of bullshit,” he retorted. “I’ve yet to pay attention to any of it.” He slammed the door in her face, the ignition roared, and he was off in a cloud of stardust.
She recovered her balance and turned to the steps. They both knew she’d rather spend an evening with the Skipjacks than stare at the walls of her too-silent church. And despite what they’d each just said, they both also knew this affair was far from over.
The next two days were busy ones at the club. Word of Spence’s infatuation with her had spread since Shelby’s party, and her tips picked up as the golfers realized she might influence the plumbing king. Even Kayla’s father, Bruce, slipped her a dollar. She thanked them for their generosity and reminded them to recycle their bottles and cans. They told her she was welcome and reminded her that people were watching her every move.
On Thursday, the boxes she’d asked her parents’ housekeeper to pack up arrived from L.A. She traveled too much to have an elaborate wardrobe, and she also tended to give things away, but she needed her shoes. Even more important, she needed the big plastic bin that contained the spoils of her travels—the beads, amulets, and coins, many of them antiquities, that she’d picked up all over the world.
Ted didn’t call from Santa Fe, but she hadn’t expected him to. Still, she missed seeing him, and her heart gave a crazy little hiccup when he and Kenny stopped at her cart on Friday afternoon midway through their round. Kenny told her Spence and Sunny had just gotten back from Indianapolis and they’d be at the Roustabout that night for dinner. She told Ted she’d drive herself, so he needn’t pick her up. He didn’t like that, but he also didn’t want an argument in front of Kenny, so he sauntered over to the ball washer, jammed in his pristine Titleist Pro V1, and pumped the handle far more vigorously than he needed to.
As he teed off, the morning sunlight washed him in gold, but at least the birds stayed quiet. Did he ever lose control? She tried to imagine a dark turbulence roiling beneath his easy polish. Occasionally, she even thought she caught a glimpse of vulnerability when his lazy smile took a second too long to form or a flicker of weariness shadowed his eyes. But those impressions faded as quickly as they appeared, leaving his shiny surface intact.
,
Meg was the last to arrive at the Roustabout. She’d chosen the black-and-white Miu Miu mini from the resale shop, along with an acid yellow tank and one of her favorite pair of shoes, elaborately beaded and embroidered pink canvas platform sandals. But as she made her way to the table, her resale skirt drew more attention than her fabulous shoes.
In addition to Ted and the Skipjacks, all the Travelers and their spouses had gathered around the big wooden table: Torie and Dexter, Emma and Kenny, Warren Traveler and Shelby. Sunny had positioned herself to Ted’s right where she could better demand his undivided attention. As Meg approached, he took in her mini, then gave her a pointed look that she interpreted as a command to sit on his other side. She’d been more
than clear about hiding their affair, and she wedged a chair between Torie and Shelby, directly across the table from Emma.
The easy affection between Torie, Emma, and Shelby made her miss her own friends. Where was Lucy now and how was she getting along? As for the others . . . She’d been dodging phone calls from Georgie, April, and Sasha for weeks, unwilling to let any of her accomplished friends know how perilous her situation was, but since they were used to the way she dropped out of sight, her lack of response didn’t seem to have raised any alarms.
The wily Traveler family flattered the Skipjacks outrageously. Shelby asked detailed questions about Viceroy’s new product line, Torie lavished Sunny with compliments about her shiny dark hair and classic wardrobe choices, Kenny pointed out the strengths of Spence’s putting game. The atmosphere was congenial, almost relaxing, right up to the moment Meg made the mistake of addressing Kenny’s wife as “Emma.”
One by one, all the locals at the table fell silent. “What did I do?” she said as they turned to stare at her. “She told me to call her Emma.”
Emma grabbed her wineglass and drained it.
“It’s just not done,” Shelby Traveler replied, her mouth pinching with disapproval.
Emma’s husband shook his head. “Never. Not even by me. At least not as long as she’s got her clothes on.”
“Bad manners,” Torie added with a swish of her long dark hair.
“Disrespectful,” her father, Warren, agreed.
Ted kicked back in his chair and regarded her gravely. “I’d have thought by now you’d know better than to insult somebody you barely know.”
Emma slowly lowered her head and banged her forehead against the table three times.
Kenny rubbed his wife’s back and smiled. Amusement danced in Ted’s eyes.
Meg had distinctly heard both Sunny and Spence refer to Kenny’s wife as Emma, but she knew it would be useless to point that out. “Deepest apologies, Lady Emma,” she drawled. “I hope I get a last meal before the beheading.”
Torie sniffed. “No need to be sarcastic.”
Emma gazed across the table at Meg. “They can’t help themselves. Really.”