Margaret had barely registered his intentions before the whole thing was over. Scowling more furiously than ever, she stepped back quickly. She longed to slap the expression of triumph off his hard face. But at the last instant she reminded herself it would be dangerous to show any sign of a loss of self-control.
"I would appreciate it if you would not do that again," she bit out in a tight voice.
"Have a good flight?" Rafe smiled his thin, faint smile as he started down the corridor.
Margaret recalled belatedly that Rafe was very good at ignoring things he didn't care to deal with at the moment. He was already several feet away, moving in a long, rangy, ground-eating stride. She swore silently as she hurried to catch up with him. Following him was not an easy task dressed as she was in high heels and a turquoise silk suit that had an extremely narrow skirt.
"Good Lord, it's like an oven out here." Margaret gasped as she stepped through the doors of the Tucson airport terminal and into the full, humid warmth of a July day. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and glanced around at her surroundings.
The unrelenting blue of a vast desert sky arched overhead. There wasn't a cloud in sight to offer any relief from the blazing sun. Heat welled up off the pavement and poured down from above. Around her the desert stretched out in all directions, meeting the purple mountains in the distance.
"It's summer in the desert," Rafe pointed out. "What did you expect? You'll get used to it."
"Never in a million years."
"I know it's not Seattle." Rafe led the way to a silver-gray Mercedes parked in the short-term parking lot. "Gets a little warm down here in the summer. But as I said, you get used to it."
"You might be able to get accustomed to it, but I certainly never would." It was a challenge and she knew it.
"Try, Maggie," he advised laconically. "Try real hard. You're going to be here awhile. Might as well learn to enjoy it."
"Threats already, Rafe?"
"No, ma'am. Just a little good advice." He unlocked the passenger door of the Mercedes and held it open for her.
She glared up at him as she slid into the seat. The glare turned to a wince of pain as the sun-heated leather burned through her thin silk suit.
"I'll have the air conditioner going in a minute," Rafe promised. He tossed her bags into the trunk and then got in beside her to start the Mercedes. When the car purred to life he paused for a moment with his big, capable hands on the wheel and looked at Margaret. There was a dark hunger in his eyes but it was overlaid with a cold self-control.
Margaret was grateful for the protection of her sunglasses. "How far is it to your ranch?"
"It's a few miles out of town," he said carelessly, his attention clearly on other things. "You know something? It's hard to believe you're really here. It's about time, lady."
She didn't like the way he said that. "You didn't give me much choice, did you?"
"No."
"I should have known I wasn't going to get an apology out of you."
"For what?"
"For your high-handed, arrogant, overbearing tactics," she snapped, goaded.
"Oh, those. No, you shouldn't expect an apology. I did what I had to do." He put the Mercedes in gear and pulled smoothly out of the lot. "I had to get you down here, Maggie. There wasn't any other way to do it."
"You're wasting your time, Rafe. And please stop calling me Maggie. You gave me your word you'd remember to call me Margaret."
"I said I'd try to remember."
"Try, Rafe," she murmured, mimicking his earlier words. "Try real hard."
Rafe gave her an amused look as he stopped to hand some cash to the gate attendant. "But I've got a lot on my mind these days and the small stuff tends to slip through the cracks."
Her hands clenched in her lap. "That's all I ever was to you, wasn't it, Rafe? Small stuff. Unimportant stuff."
"You're small, all right." His voice had an affectionate, teasing edge to it now as he pulled away from the gate. "But no way are you going to slip through the cracks. Not this time."
"You don't want me back, Rafe."
"No? Why would I go to all the bother of blackmail to get you here if I didn't want you back?"
She frowned. "I've been thinking about that. The only conclusion I can come up with is that in your mind I'm the one who got away. It's true you kicked me out of your life, but when I went without a backward glance and stayed out, your ego took a beating, didn't it?"
"You did a number on my ego, all right," he agreed dryly. "It hasn't been the same since."
"Is that what this is all about? Revenge?" She shivered, remembering what Jack Moorcroft had said. Cassidy is out for blood.
"I would do a lot of things for revenge under certain circumstances," Rafe said, "but getting married isn't one of them. I'm not masochistic. Don't make any mistake about it, Maggie. I brought you down here to give myself some time to undue the damage that got done last year."
"The damage is irreparable."
"No, it's not. We're going to put that mess behind us and get on with our lives."
"I have been getting on with my life," she pointed out. "Very nicely, thank you. I've been quite happy this past year."
"Lucky you. I've been to hell and back."
She sucked in her breath. "Rafe, please, don't say things like that. We both know you're not the type to pine for a woman, especially one you think betrayed you. You're far more likely to look for a way to reap some vengeance against her. And I suspect that's exactly what you're doing by going after my father's firm."
"I'm not going after it. Your dad wants to sell to me. It's a profitable operation that will fit in well with the other businesses Cassidy and Company runs, so I'm taking a serious look at it. That's all there is to it."
"I don't believe that."
"I know. That's why you're here, isn't it? To rescue Connor from my clutches. You might be able to do that, Maggie, but I doubt you'll get him out of my mother's hands. Wait until you see them together. They're made for each other."
"It's all part of some plot you've cooked up, Rafe. Why don't you tell me what you're really after?"
"You're beginning to sound paranoid, honey."
"I'm not paranoid, I'm careful."
He smiled fleetingly at that. "No, Maggie, you're not careful. If you were careful, you wouldn't be here."
Margaret took refuge in silence for the next several miles. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and stared out the window at the arid landscape as she tried desperately to think. She had been struggling to put together some sort of battle plan ever since she had accepted the inevitability of this trip. But she was still very uncertain of what to do now that she was here. Part of the problem was that she could not be sure of what Rafe was really up to.
She did not believe for a moment that he wanted to marry her. But it was entirely possible he wanted to seduce her so that he could have the satisfaction of punishing her for her so-called betrayal.
Then, too, there was Moorcroft to consider. She didn't care what happened to Jack or his firm but she had to wonder if Rafe intended to use her in some scheme to get even with his rival.
Finally there was the business of her father getting involved with Beverly Cassidy and planning to sell Lark Engineering to Rafe.
No doubt about it, the situation was complicated and potentially dangerous.
A typical Rafe Cassidy operation, Margaret thought.
3
« ^ »
"This your home, Rafe?" Margaret watched in amazement as the main buildings of the Cassidy Ranch came into view.
Set in the foothills with a sweeping view of Tucson in the distance, the ranch was an impressive sight. At the end of a long, winding drive was a graceful house done in the classic Spanish Colonial style. The walls had the look of warm, earth-toned adobe and the roof was red tile. Lush greenery surrounded the place, a welcome antidote to the rugged desert landscape. Low, white, modern-looking barns, white fences and gree
n pastures spread out from the house. Margaret could see horses in the fields.
"Things were a little rushed during that two-month period after we met," Rafe reminded her coolly. "There wasn't time to get you down here to see the place before you… left me."
"You mean before you threw me out of your life."
Rafe drew a breath. "It was an argument, Maggie. A bad one. I lost my temper and said a lot of things I didn't mean."
"Oh, you meant them, all right. Where are the cows?" Margaret added in mild curiosity. "Shouldn't there be cows on a ranch like this?"
"This time of year the cattle are scattered all to hell and gone up in the foothills," Rafe said impatiently.
"Why so many horses? They don't look like quarter horses."
"They aren't. They're Arabians. We breed them. Some of the best in the world. The profit margin is a lot more reliable than cattle. In fact, I'm thinking of getting out of the cattle business altogether."
"Well, that figures. I don't see you getting involved in anything that doesn't show an excellent profit margin. Have you considered chickens?"
"Chickens?" His expression was a mask of outrage, the sort of outrage only a true cattleman could manage.
"Sure. Red meat is out, Rafe. Haven't you been following the latest health advice? Chicken, fish and vegetables are in. Oh, and turkeys. You might try raising turkeys. I understand they're not real bright so you should be able to figure out a way to round them up and brand them if you feel you must maintain the old traditions."
"Forget chickens and forget turkeys," he growled.
"All right. I imagine the real basis for the family fortune is Cassidy and Company anyway, isn't it? You rustle companies now instead of cattle."
Rafe slanted her a brief, annoyed glance as he parked the Mercedes. "You're determined to make this difficult, aren't you?"
"As difficult as I can," she assured him as she opened her own car door and got out. "Where is my father?"
"Probably out by the pool. That's where I left him when I went to get you." Rafe got out of the Mercedes just as a young man wearing a striped shirt and black jeans came around the corner of the house. "Tom, this is Maggie Lark. Maggie, this is Tom. He takes care of the house gardens and a lot of other odds and ends around here. Tom, grab the lady's luggage, will you? It goes into the south guest bedroom."
"Sure thing, Rafe. Afternoon, Miss Lark. We've been expecting you. Have a good trip?"
"Fine, thank you, Tom." Margaret smiled coolly at him. "Where is the pool?"
Tom looked surprised. "The pool? Out in the patio. Straight through the house. But don't you want to settle into your room first? Maybe change your clothes?" He eyed her silk suit dubiously.
"I want to see my father first. This is a business trip as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Business." Tom was obviously baffled by that statement. "Like I said, right through the middle of the house."
Margaret did not wait for Rafe to do the honors. She felt his sardonic gaze on her as she turned and strode straight toward the wide, dark wooden door of the Spanish-style home. She opened it and found herself in a cool, tiled hall. The air-conditioning felt wonderful. She took off her sunglasses and glanced around with unwilling curiosity.
This was Rafe's hideaway, she knew, the Cassidy family ranch. He had mentioned it once or twice during the brief time she had been dating him. It was the place he came to when the pressure of his fast-track life-style occasionally caught up with him. That wasn't often. Rafe's stamina was legendary.
The Southwestern style of the outside of Rafe's home had been carried on inside. Soft earthtones, terra cotta, peach and pale turquoise dominated. Here and there was a shot of black in the form of a vase or a lamp. Heavily beamed ceilings and rugs with geometric Indian designs woven into them gave a rustic effect that was also surprisingly gracious.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one entire wall of the long living room Margaret could see the pool. It occupied the center of a beautifully landscaped courtyard that was enclosed by the four wings of the house. Two figures were seated under an umbrella, a pitcher of tea on the table between them. Connor Lark and Beverly Cassidy were laughing in delight over some private joke.
Margaret watched the couple for a moment, uncertainty seizing her insides. Her father looked happy—happier than she had ever seen him since her mother died several years ago. She sensed suddenly that her mission to rescue him was going to be difficult to carry out.
"What's the matter, Maggie? Afraid it's not going to be so simple after all?" Rafe asked as he walked into the hall behind her. "I told you they were made for each other."
She glanced back at him, her eyes narrowing. "Hard to imagine you as a matchmaker, Rafe."
"You think I arranged for them to fall for each other just to make it easier to get my hands on Lark Engineering?" He sounded amused. "I'm good, Maggie, but I'm not that good. I take full responsibility for introducing them. After that, they did it all by themselves."
"You think you're very clever, don't you?"
"If I were really clever, we wouldn't have wasted a year of our lives apart. Look, Maggie, do everyone a favor and don't take your father's relationship with my mother as a personal threat, okay? The fact that he fell in love with her doesn't translate directly into a betrayal of you. It's not like your father has gone over to the enemy camp."
Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse as the shot went home. A part of her had been viewing the situation in exactly that light, she acknowledged privately. It was irrational but the feeling was there on some level. "My father was already halfway into the enemy camp before he met your mother. He took to you right from the start, didn't he?"
"He thought I'd make you a good husband. He was right."
"Oh, yes, he thought you were the ideal husband for me. A genuine cowboy. The son he'd never had, or something along those lines I imagine. I swear, if he'd had the power to arrange the marriage, I think he would have done it. Lark Engineering would have been my dowry."
"There is something to be said for arranged marriages, isn't there?"
"This is not a joke, Rafe."
"So Connor and I get along." Rafe leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "So what?"
Margaret smiled grimly. "Well, at least I've got one person on my side."
"Who?" His eyes were taunting.
"Your mother. She must have been enormously relieved when you threw me out of your life last year."
The lines of his face hardened. "Don't count on it. And stop saying I threw you out."
"That's what happened."
"It was your damn pride that screwed everything up, and you know it. If you'd had the grace to admit you were wrong a year ago, we could have worked things out."
"I wasn't wrong. I did what I had to do. If you'd had the decency not to use me in your campaign to beat Moorcroft to Spencer in the first place, the entire situation would never have developed."
Rafe swore softly and then straightened away from the wall as Tom approached with the luggage. "Go say hello to your father, Maggie."
Feeling a little more cheerful because it seemed like she'd just won that round, Maggie crossed the living room and opened one of the glass doors. Her father looked up as she stepped onto the patio.
"Maggie, my girl, you're here. It's about time. Come on over and have some tea. Bev and I've been waitin' for you to come rescue me from Cassidy's clutches. Good to see you, girl, good to see you. Been a while since we talked."
"We could have had a nice long talk if you'd bothered to answer the phone when I called down here to see what was going on."
"Now, Maggie, girl, don't go gettin' on your high horse. I only did what I thought was best. You know that."
It was impossible to hold on to her anger when her father looked at her with such delight. Margaret saw the relaxed good humor in his eyes and she sighed inwardly. No question about it, her father was here of his own free will.
&nb
sp; Connor Lark was a big man, almost as big as Rafe, and he was built like a mountain. There was a hint of a belly cantilevered out over the waistband of his swimming trunks, but he still looked very solid. His black hair had long since turned silver and his aqua eyes, so like her own, were as lively as ever.
Margaret's mother had always claimed he was a diamond in the rough whom she'd had to spend a great deal of time polishing. Connor always claimed she'd enjoyed every minute of the task and Margaret knew she had. From a desperately poor background as a rancher, Connor had risen to become a self-made entrepreneur who had built Lark Engineering into a thriving modern business.
"Well, Dad. Looks like you're enjoying the process of selling out." Margaret smiled affectionately at her father and then turned a slightly wary smile on the attractive woman who sat on the other side of the table. "Hello, Bev. Nice to see you again."
Rafe's mother was a trim, energetic-looking woman who was approximately the same age as Connor, although she looked younger. Her short, well-styled hair was the color of fine champagne. She was wearing a black-and-white swimsuit cover-up and a pair of leather sandals that projected an image of subtle elegance, even though they constituted sportswear. Bev's expression was gracious but her pale gray eyes held the same hint of wariness Margaret knew were in her own.
"Hello, Margaret. I'm pleased to see you again."
Margaret leaned down to kiss her father's cheek, thinking that she and Bev were both good at social lies. She was well aware she had not made a particularly good impression on Beverly Cassidy on the one occasion they had met last year. There was an excellent reason for that. Bev Cassidy had not considered Margaret a good candidate as a wife for her one and only son. Margaret tended to agree with her.
"Do sit down, Margaret," Bev said, reaching for the pitcher of iced tea and pouring her guest a glass. "You must be exhausted from your trip. Your father and I just finished a swim. After you've said hello you must go and put on your suit. I'm sure a dip in the pool will feel good." She turned her welcoming smile on her son as Rafe came through the glass doors and followed Margaret to the shaded loungers. "Oh, there you are, Rafe. Iced tea?"