Solitaire (6 page)

Cat eyed him suspiciously, somewhat mollified by his explanation. “I don’t know… Let me think for a moment, Donovan.”

He shrugged shyly. “All I’m asking is to be allowed to help you for eight weeks, Cat. Hey, this isn’t a jail sentence. If you don’t like the place, you can leave. No hard feelings. It’s just that you can’t be by yourself and I have the time plus the room.”

Cat could have cried with frustration, but she had to admit that Slade was right. He had saved her life, and if she hadn’t been so arrogant, she’d have listened to his warning.

“All right, Donovan,” she muttered, “you saved my life. I didn’t realize my mother was going to have an operation so soon.” She rubbed the tears out of her eyes. “I hate feeling like an invalid! I don’t like to be a burden on anyone, especially you. I don’t call getting a crabby, sick mining engineer just payment for all that you’ve done for me.”

His serious face creased in a boyish smile. “I happen to like crabby, sick mining engineers. For the next few months you’re going to rest and get plied with a lot of stories told by one of the best storytellers in west Texas: me. You’re to be a guest at my ranch, Cat. I just hope you like my company as much as I’m going to enjoy yours.”

Cat refused to look at him. “I’m not a small child that needs to be told bedtime stories.”

Slade’s grin was wide, revealing white teeth. “We’ll see,” was all he said. He glanced at his watch. “Time for a nap. You close those beautiful eyes, and I’m going to talk with Dr. Scott about what time we can get you out of this godforsaken cell.”

Cat wrinkled her nose. “Why should I be so anxious to trade one kind of prison for another?”

Slade came around and pressed a quick kiss to her fragrant hair. “It’s really me who is your prisoner.”

“Want to bet?” And yet, another part of her relaxed. If nothing else, the cave-in had taught Cat how alone a person could really be. Slade had reached her during those terrible hours, and her heart knew it even if her mind tried to tell her differently. “Don’t mind me,” she muttered in apology. “I’m not normally this crabby. I do appreciate your offer to take me in.”

Slade enjoyed her pout; her lower lip was full and petulant. The urge to capture her mouth and gentle it beneath his was growing, but Slade gently tucked the desire aside. “I understand your apprehension, Cat. Things have moved mighty fast today. But you sit back and concentrate on getting well. Let me take care of you for a while.”

With a merry look, Slade opened her door. “Rest. You’re getting dark shadows beneath those lovely eyes of yours. Just dream of the Mourning Dove Ranch.”

Cat watched Slade leave, enjoying his irrepressible, little-boy spirit that magically coaxed her out of her darkest moments. She shut her eyes, aware that the monstrous fear she had wanted to bury had miraculously vanished. Was it because of Slade? With a groan, Cat tried to look objectively at her motives for capitulating to him. He had vaguely mentioned discussing a business deal with her when she was better. Cat clung to that bare-branch offering and turned away from other feelings toward him.

Since when had she ever backed down from the demands of life? Only once. When she and geologist Greg Anderson had called off their relationship. But this was different, a voice whispered to Cat. Not only that, she reluctantly conceded, she didn’t have the emotional fortitude it took to wage the necessary battle to get out of Donovan’s clutches. And clutches they were, Cat thought grimly. Or were they? She couldn’t ignore the tender light that burned in his sapphire eyes every time he looked at her. Right now, as never before in her life, Cat needed help from someone other than herself. And Slade had offered that help to her. Instinctively, Cat knew that Slade could help rebuild her strength from the rubble of the mine cave-in.

Chapter Three

W
ell, Cathy, you’re certainly going to be in good hands.” Dr. Scott smiled as he looked through the release forms, while Cat sat patiently on the edge of the bed. With the help of one of the nurses, she had awkwardly pulled on a pair of cinnamon-colored slacks and a white tank top. Maine’s summer weather was usually on the cool side, but at eight o’clock this bright August morning, it was already a sunny seventy degrees.

“We’ll see about that, doctor,” she told him dryly. Cat automatically touched her tightly taped ribs. Two of the lowest had been broken and if the break had been any higher, her breasts would have prevented the elastic torso wrap from being applied.

“Mr. Donovan’s a paramedic, you know,” the physician said, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the last paper.

“Is he?” Cat looked up with interest.

“Yes, a very capable one. I’ve given him a list of all the prescriptions you might need, Cathy. He’s going to be watching you rather closely for the next couple of weeks because of your head injury. Let him know if you ever get dizzy.”

Dizzy? The first time she’d sat up, she’d nearly keeled over. If it hadn’t been for Slade’s quick action, she would have fallen off the bed. At first, Cat had retreated from his watchfulness; she was unused to being confined by an ailing body and resented being taken care of. But after three days, Slade had remained his cheerful, positive self and Cat had had to beg him not to tell any more jokes. She had feared she would laugh out loud, and that awful, ripping pain would take her breath away. Slade’s normally ebullient personality had sobered slightly, then shifted into a new gear–that of charming conversationalist.

A nurse arrived with the wheelchair for Cat’s ride to the front doors of the hospital. “The dizziness may or may not be permanent,” Dr. Scott warned, helping her into the chair. “The next two weeks will tell us quite a lot. Off you go, now. I understand you’ve an air trip ahead. Mr. Donovan’s quite a good pilot.”

Cat couldn’t resist a smile. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, I saw his flight logbook sitting with some other items. Being a pilot myself, I got him talking. He’s not only multiengine rated, he’s up on all the instrumentation demands, too. Judging from the hours he’s flown, I’ll lay you odds he flies around the world. He certainly has a lot of stories to tell.”

“Slade Donovan is a born storyteller, I suspect. Thank you, doctor, for everything.”

“Have a good flight, Cathy. We’ll be eager to hear how you’re progressing.”

At the curbside outside the hospital, the nurse eased the wheelchair to a halt. Slade was waiting next to the rental car for her. He was dressed in a freshly pressed blue shirt with epaulets on each shoulder. The shirt matched the color of his eyes, Cat thought. She had to stop herself from staring as if she were a gawky teenager instead of a woman older than thirty. His hair was dark and shining from a recent shower, his skin smooth of the stubble that always gave him a five o’clock shadow by four o’clock.

As Cat took his large hand and stood up, she suddenly saw Slade in a new light. His touch, as always, sent a warm rush through her. He had brought sunshine to her during her recent exile to Hades. She closed her eyes, allowing a fleeting feeling of dizziness to pass. Slade, observing her hesitation, moved closer to her left side, in case she should fall. Cat opened her eyes and raised her face to the sun.

“Do you know how good it feels to be outside again?” she asked, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spoken like a true tunneler,” Slade replied. His fingers tightened on her elbow. “Ready? I’ve got Maggie all fueled and waiting.”

“Maggie?” Cat looked up at Slade tentatively.

Slade helped her into the front seat of the rental car and then shut the door. “Yeah, Maggie’s my twin-engine Cessna. And she’s as pretty as her name.”

The sun shone warmly through the windows and a fragrant scent of pine drifted in, making the day magical for Cat. As Slade eased into the car, he flashed her a heart-stopping smile. “You’ll like Maggie. She’s built like a sleek greyhound. Red and white, lean and mean.”

“The way you like your women, Donovan?” Now why had she made that remark? He had looked absolutely elated, as if flying were going to release him from his captive state on earth. Cat felt like a genuine wet blanket, but Donovan cheerfully snapped the safety belt across his lap and chest.

“Jealousy will get you nowhere. Maggie’s big-hearted enough to embrace both of us. Now, young lady, we’ve got a light westerly wind and clear skies waiting for us. Ready?”

Yes, she was ready, Cat realized. Perhaps it was partly relief that they were putting miles between her and the mine that had almost claimed her life, but another part of her was ready for a new adventure. Cat closed her eyes, allowing the wind to flow across her, moving her hair languidly against her temple and neck. Slade’s hand settled momentarily on her own.

“Okay?”

The concern in his voice soothed her. “I’m fine. Just enjoying my freedom, Donovan.”

There was hurt evident in his voice. “My friends call me Slade.”

Cat opened her eyes and studied his clean profile, from his straight brows to his finely shaped nose and mobile mouth. “After all we’ve been through together, I guess friend is a good word to use for us.”

His hand left her fingers and he concentrated on his driving. Friend was only one term he applied to Cat. He also wanted to explore other possibilities. She affected him as no woman ever had before. “Friends,” Slade murmured. “That’s a good place for us to start.”

“I hope you have a lot of patience,” she warned, feeling suddenly awkward.

Slade pinned her with an intense look. “Why?”

“Because I’m not myself, Slade. I’m jumpy and I snap when I don’t mean to.”

He smiled. “Lady, I’ve been snapped at by the best of them. I regard our two-month vacation at my ranch as just one more adventure.”

“Normally I’d agree with you. But I’m afraid you’re getting the raw end of this deal, Slade. I’ll give you one more chance to back off from your offer to let me use your ranch as my hospital for two months.”

The road spilled out of the small town, a narrow gray asphalt ribbon among the pine-clad hills. “Not on your life, Cat. I like a woman who has wanderlust in her soul!”

A smile shadowed Cat’s mouth as she met Slade’s merry glance. “Folks like us have it in their blood, don’t we? What’s so surprising about finding someone like yourself?”

“You try so hard to hide what’s deep inside you, Cat Kincaid. I keep trying to figure out who closed you up like a book under lock and key. But I know you’re not like those rocks I hunt, without feeling.” He laughed, a deep, resonant laugh. “You’re like an elusive emerald: hard to find, dangerous to extract and fragile when being cut and polished into a gem.”

Cat felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “It’s the nature of my work that makes me quiet. You’re a geologist, you should know that.”

Slade knew, but he couldn’t resist teasing her. She responded so quickly to the slightest amount of goading. He really shouldn’t, because she was far from well and Dr. Scott had warned him about overtaxing Cat. “I know what you’re saying, Cat, but I like to see that green fire leap into your eyes. I’ll let you off the hook, though. Dr. Scott gave me a stern lecture about not picking on you…for now.”

Cat closed her eyes, resting comfortably despite the tightness of the rib wrap. “That’s big of you,” she parried. “I suppose I ought to count my lucky stars for the reprieve.”

“It’s going to be a short one,” he warned, shooting her a mischievous look.

Cat smiled. She knew he was baiting her again. He’s good for me, she suddenly realized. But if the big, arrogant Texan knew that, he’d gloat. “What kind of pilot are you?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I got my license at Disneyland. Does that impress you?”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat but she squelched it, trying to avoid the subsequent pain. “You’re so full of baloney. Come on, level with me.”

“And if I did, would it make any difference?”

“My level of comfort would increase markedly if I knew more of your nefarious credentials.” She suspected his credentials were far from nefarious, but enjoyed turning the tables on him for a change.

Slade appeared momentarily wounded. “Well, I have exactly 3,212 hours on my multiengine and I.F.R. ratings and have been qualified in twelve different aircraft during my short experience of flying.”

“My comfort level is increasing,” she admitted with a smile.

“Let’s see. What else? The pilot is thirty-five, six feet four inches tall, single, roguishly handsome, makes a decent living, doesn’t have any outstanding debts to speak of and currently is unattached.” He looked squarely at her. “How’s your comfort level now?”

“It just nosedived.”

“Oh.”

“I’d have felt better if you’d told me that you’ve flown around the world and are an excellent navigator.”

“Well, I’m that, too.”

“But for some reason, you thought your personal stats would be of more interest to me?”

“I don’t want you to worry that you’d be a third wheel at the Mourning Dove Ranch. You’re lucky–you’ll be the only woman there besides Pilar, my manager’s wife.”

“Somehow, I don’t quite know if that’s lucky or unlucky, Donovan.”

He grinned. “It’s definitely lucky, Ms. Kincaid. Wait and see.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Your choice. Which do you want it to be?”

“You’re impossible, Slade, certifiably impossible.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. But then, because of my impossible qualities, I did discover a couple of gem deposits over in Brazil.” His voice grew softer. “Ever heard of the El Camino Mine, Ms. Kincaid?”

Cat blinked. The El Camino Mine had been splashed across all the mining and geology magazines two years earlier. It was, according to most geologists, one of the finest tourmaline discoveries in the world. The quality of the precious stones was almost flawless, and had sent excitement through the gem community. One fine deposit of watermelon tourmaline had set everyone on their ears. The pink stones without fractures were as rare as emeralds without flaws. She saw Slade’s smile widen.

“Don’t tell me…wait…you discovered that deposit! That’s where I’ve heard your name before.” Her thumping heart underscored her awe. “I almost ended up working at that site,” Cat added in disbelief.