Aspen Gold (50 page)

"The ranch. Sadie has a dental appointment this afternoon," he explained. "Laura insists she's too old for a baby-sitter. She probably is, but--I'm not comfortable leaving her home alone."

"You probably never will be." Even as she said that, Kit was thinking to herself that Laura was a problem she hadn't faced yet, one she hadn't wanted to face.

"What brings you to town?" He lifted a hand in farewell to his secretary, then took Kit by the arm and steered her back out the door.

"The heater quit working in the Jeep. The mechanic at the station said it was the thermostat.

Unfortunately, it'll be a couple of hours before he can work on it."

"So you were going to use me to kill some time."

"I thought it was a good idea." She paused, fought off the nervous flutterings in her stomach, and made the plunge. "Do you mind if I go home with you? I can always pick up the Jeep tomorrow."

"Why would I mind?" The look he gave her was slightly puzzled. "You know you can come to Stone Creek anytime. Or--you should know that."

She feigned a sauciness. "I thought it was polite to ask since I'm bumming a ride to get there."

"Polite, is it?" He released a low, throaty chuckle and hugged an arm around her shoulders, walking her to his truck.

Snow fell in light, half hearted swirls during the ride to Stone Creek. After the first few miles they lapsed into silence. Kit found herself staring at the road, conscious of the miles falling away, each one bringing her closer to the ranch.

"I'm afraid," she murmured.

Lost in thought, Bannon didn't

catch her words. "What did you say, Kit?"

"Nothing," she said with a faint shake of her head.

When they reached the ranch house, Bannon held the door open for her. Kit hesitated a split second, then walked in ahead of him, mentally bracing herself. Laura was curled up in a living-room chair, reading a book and absently tugging at a lock of dark hair. She looked up, letting the lock fall back with the rest when she saw her father and Kit.

"Hello, Laura," Kit said in a calm, quiet voice.

"Hello."

"Has Sadie left?" Bannon glanced toward the kitchen.

"About ten minutes ago," she replied, then turned cool eyes on Kit. "There's coffee in the kitchen if you want some."

The tone, the look, the texture. Bannon was sharply reminded of the cold politeness Laura had shown Kit on another occasion, virtually the only time they'd been together without other people around.

She was again giving Kit the same chilly shoulder.

He wanted to shake her and order her to stop treating Kit like that. Laura was too young for some things, but she was too old to be told how to think or what to feel. He had no choice but to stand by helplessly.

"No thanks. I don't think I care for any." Kit wandered over to the sofa and sat down.

She glanced at her hands, then looked up, straight at Laura. "That's a pretty blouse you're wearing. I had a dress once that was almost the same color of blue. I remember it was my favorite. I wore it to a lot of parties."

Laura looked her over. "Were you my age?"

"No, I was older." The corners of her mouth softened a little. "When I was your age, I used to go to my room, shut the door, and pretend I was at a party. I'd put on some music and dance with myself."

"You did?" Laura sat up a little straighter. "I do that sometimes, too. How long did you have to wait before your parents let you go to parties?" She shot a quick look at Bannon, reddening slightly as if she'd forgotten he was there.

"I thought it was forever," Kit recalled with a laugh. "It seemed that long, but it really wasn't."

Laura shoved her book onto the table and folded her legs under her to sit cross-legged as she leaned toward Kit, a look of quickened interest on her face, that cool reserve gone. "The first party you went to--what was it like?"

It was going to be all right. Bannon was stunned by the sudden, immense relief he felt. Before Kit could answer, he said, "While you two have your girltalk, I'm going to check on that sick cow."

"Okay, Dad." Laura barely glanced at him, her attention shifting immediately back to Kit.

"What was it like?"

As he walked out the door, Bannon heard Kit say, "Your father took me. I wore that blue dress I told you about and ..."

He was still smiling when he reached the barn. The cow, as expected, was doing fine. He saddled the buckskin and rode out to make a check of the herd.

shall kiding through the white of the snow on the ground and in the air, he started thinking about Diana. In his mind, again seeing her dark, dramatic face, the laughter that had turned to anger and resentment, hating him and hating herself for the mistake of their marriage, and dying without a kind word for him on her lips.

He thought of all those Sundays he'd stood at her grave, always silently wishing that one time he would see her in his mind smiling at him in understanding, knowing that he had tried to make her happy. He had tried.

On the heels of thought, he recalled that two days ago, when he had buried his father, he'd recognized a vital part of his past was gone.

Diana was gone, too.

Bannon reined the buckskin in and sat there a minute with the snow all around him, remembering Diana as he wanted to remember her--not when she had died, but when he had first met her--her lips smiling and her eyes sparkling with laughter and promise.

That was the image he carried in his mind when he cantered on to check the herd, the image of her death finally leaving him.

When he returned to the house an hour later, the living room was empty. Laura's book was on the table, but there was no sign of either Laura or Kit. Frowning, Bannon hung up his hat and coat, and called out a faintly worried "Hello? Where is everybody?"

"In here," Kit answered from the kitchen. He found her alone, a recipe book lying open on the table. She greeted him with a careless smile, a quick kiss, and a freshly poured cup of coffee.

"I thought you might need this to thaw out."

"Thanks." He took a sip from it, too aware that Kit was very adept at hiding her feelings to accept her breezy manner at face value. "Where's Laura?"

"Upstairs, looking for her Paula Abdul tape," Kit replied, then paused, her eyes beaming. "She wants me to listen to it while we make some homemade fudge. We decided it was the perfect afternoon to do it."

"It does sound good." Bannon breathed easier again.

Kit picked up the recipe book and held it close to her for a moment. "I think she likes me, Bannon."

"I never doubted that she would."

But Kit had doubted--not Laura, but herself.

Today, she'd found that she could like Laura despite her strong resemblance to Diana. For so long, she'd been bothered by that, worried that she might always resent Laura, that she might always feel awkward and uncomfortable around her. But that wasn't going to be the case. The relief she felt was almost palpable. But she didn't tell Bannon that; it was something she preferred that he didn't know.

Then she realized he was staring at her a little strangely. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he lied and focused on his coffee.

There was something. Looking at Kit, remembering the way he had hurt her, he had instantly thought of Sondra.

Sondra's hand remained on the telephone even after she'd hung up. She sat motionless on the edge of her bed, the black satin sleep mask loosely gripped in her hand, the heavy drapes closed against the brightness of the morning light.

Wide awake, the last remnants of sleep gone, Sondra replayed the conversation she'd just had with Bannon. He was coming over; he wanted to see her, but he hadn't said why. What did it mean? His voice, it had sounded warm, so very sincere.

Remembering that, Sondra smiled and caressed the phone. Bannon wanted to see her. Everything was going to be all right. She'd been upset over Kit Masters for nothing. Grief over his father's death had blinded him, but only temporarily.

He was coming back to her where he had always belonged.

Her lips curved in sublime satisfaction.

There was a light rap on her bedroom door.

Hearing it, Sondra pushed off the bed, suddenly conscious of all she needed to do before Bannon arrived. She barely glanced at Emily Boggs when she walked in.

"Your morning coffee and juice, mum."

"I don't have time to bother with that now."

Sondra waved off the tray the woman carried.

"Set it down somewhere, then strip the bed and put on clean sheets, the Egyptian cotton ones." She crossed to the black marble bathroom.

"When you finish that, go do your shopping."

"But--I did the shopping yesterday, mum,"

Emily reminded her.

"Then take the rest of the day off," Sondra flashed. "I don't care what you do. Just go."

The bathroom door swung shut behind her, leaving Emily Boggs standing there in startled confusion. An instant later she understood. The phone call, the fancy cotton sheets--

Bannon was coming.

A few minutes past nine o'clock, the front-door chimes announced Bannon's arrival. Sondra paused in the living room and pressed a hand against the sudden flutterings in her stomach, then smoothed it over the black silk of her kimono. She wore her hair down, the way Bannon liked it, and only a hint of makeup on her face.

Aglow with anticipation, she crossed to the door and opened it wide. "Good morning," she said in a throaty voice.

"Morning." His glance skipped over her, not lingering the way she'd wanted it to, as he stepped in and swept off his hat, running ruffling fingers through his dark hair. "Sorry I'm late. I had to drop Laura off at Buffy's and I forgot how heavy the traffic can be on winter weekends."

"It's a mess, isn't it?" she commiserated and pushed the door shut. "Let me take that." She reached for his hat, moving closer and tilting her head back, expecting his kiss.

Instead he handed over his hat and proceeded to shrug out of his coat. Sondra drew back, uncertainty flickering through her and giving rise to that old suspicion. Then he gave her his coat and she saw the bareness of his ring hand.

"You're not wearing your wedding ring," she murmured, her heart, her spirits, everything soaring.

"I thought it was time I took it off," he said.

"It's long past time, Bannon. You should have done it years ago."

"Maybe. But I guess it took the death of my father to make me realize it was time to let go of the past." His sober expression stopped her from going into his arms the way she wanted to.

For now it was enough that Diana no longer had a hold on him, it was enough that he was here, with her. The celebration, like the loving, could come later when she'd made him more at ease with his decision.

Hastily Sondra hung up his hat and coat and came back, taking his arm and leading him into the living room. "This has been a difficult time for you. I know that," she said in a soothing voice.

"Let me get you something. A cup of coffee, maybe."

"Coffee sounds fine."

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable while I bring the coffee in." With a graceful lift of her hand, she directed him to an overstuffed sofa, explaining, "Emily is off doing the household shopping and I'm fending for myself this morning."

But Bannon didn't take a seat.

Sondra found him standing in front of the room's glass wall, staring at the mountain vista, when she came back with the serving tray. Placing it on the lacquered cocktail table, she perched on the edge of the sofa and proceeded to fill two cups with coffee.

"I take it Laura is spending the day with Buffy," she remarked as Bannon moved away from the view to join her.

"Yes. They're going skiing at Buttermilk." Taking the cup, he avoided the empty sofa cushion beside her and walked over to a gilded chair. "It worked out well considering I needed to spend some time in the office today."

"You don't usually work on Saturdays,"

Sondra said, then remembered. "That's right.

Agnes mentioned the judge refused to grant a postponement on the Malvern case.

It's on the docket for next week, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Jury selection starts Monday. The trial will probably take most of the week."

"It's being tried in Denver, isn't it? What about Laura? You know I'd love to have her stay with me while you're gone."

"Thanks, but I'll be able to make it back most nights." He seemed tense, his expression grim, not softening as it usually did when she mentioned Laura. Something was bothering him.

Sondra fell silent, confident Bannon would tell her. As expected, the lull didn't last long. "We've been friends a long time," he began.

"More than friends, Bannon," she corrected, giving him a warm and smooth smile.

"True." He looked at her. "That's what makes this so hard, I guess. But I don't want you to find out from someone else. I let that happen once before and I'm not going to do it this time."

"You sound serious." She stiffened, not liking the sound of this.

"I am. I intend to ask Kit to marry me.

I love her ..."

Sondra went to ice, freezing out the rest of his words. She'd heard all she needed to hear. After all this time--after all she'd done for him--he wanted to marry someone else.

What had ever made her think Bannon was different? He was like all men. He'd used her; he'd made a fool of her. Did he really think she was going to let him get away with that?

"Sondra? Are you all right?" His voice, heavy with concern, finally penetrated.

"As if you care." Her lips curled back on the words. She was standing, though she had no memory of rising from the sofa.

Bannon was beside her. "Damn it, I do care, Sondra," he insisted, his hand lifting toward her.

She recoiled from it. "You've said your little piece, now go." She looked at him, her eyes cold, killing.

Bannon drew back, his gaze narrowing, a frown creasing his forehead. He hesitated a moment more, then turned and walked away. Watching him, Sondra vowed he would pay for this--he and that little Hollywood slut.

She went to her room and closed the door.