Page 10 of Prime Time

“I wonder why,” he mused aloud. “You know, sometimes men who travel a lot choose that kind of work because they’re unhappy at home. Is this some kind of guilt trip you’ve laid on yourself? You made your husband unhappy, so he went down to Central America and got himself killed, and now you’re trying to make it up to him by following in his footsteps?”

He was so close to the truth that she felt she had been pierced by a spear of conscience and was dying a slow, agonizing death. But as with all wounded animals, she bristled with defiance. “How dare you say such a thing to me. You know nothing about Robert, about me. You—”

“I know all about you. You’re an overbearing, overambitious female with an inflated ego because you happen to be better looking than most.” He whipped the car off the road onto the shoulder and braked jarringly behind her car. She reached for the door handle, but his hand shot across her chest to trap her wrist in an iron grip. His face was close to hers as he bent over her. His voice was a harsh rasp.

“Don’t think because you’ve got a beautiful face, and great legs, and breasts that dare a man to touch them that I don’t know you’re as hard

as nails. Your skin may be warm and soft, but you’re a block of ice on the inside. I know your type well, Andy Malone. You’ll castrate any man stupid enough to give you the chance. I’m not that stupid. So while you’re doing these damn interviews stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. Now that we understand each other, maybe we’ll be able to tolerate each other.”

He released her hand and opened the door, shoving it wide. She jerked free of his pressing weight against her side and stepped out onto the hot pavement. She slammed the door behind her, then stood in impotent rage as his tires squealed away in a shower of gravel, leaving her in a cloud of white, powdery dust.

Ten minutes later she was met at the front door of the house by a woman who could only be Gracie. Apparently Lyon had had enough decency to alert both the housekeeper and the guard at the gate that she would be arriving within minutes.

“You look like you need to freshen up before lunch,” Gracie said commiseratingly. “It’s so hot out, isn’t it? Come on upstairs and I’ll show you to your room. I’ve never seen the general so excited. He told me to roll out the red carpet. You’ve been given the largest bedroom upstairs, except for Lyon’s, of course.”

Gracie Halstead, as she introduced herself, was ample of bosom and thick in the waist. Her grey hair and happy, round face gave her a maternal aspect, as did her coddling mannerisms. “Here we are,” she said, opening the door to an airy room filled with antique furniture and bright sunlight.

The room faced the south side of the house. Rolling hills reached out to the horizon. Whiteface Hereford cattle grazed in the lush pastures. Through the nearest pasture a river wound its way across the Ratliff property. Graceful cypress trees with their feathery foliage and twisted, rope-like trunks lined the banks of the river.

“That’s the Guadalupe you’re looking at.”

“It’s beautiful here,” Andy said, meaning to include everything, the view, the room, the house.

“Yep. I’ve lived here since General Ratliff built this house soon after the war. I never tire of looking at the view. Did you see the pool? The general says you’re to use any and all of the facilities while you’re here.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Lyon brought up your bags.” She nodded toward the luggage that Andy imagined had been thumped unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor.

“Yes. Kind of him.” Her sarcasm escaped Gracie.

“I’ll get back downstairs now and hustle up some lunch. The bathroom’s through there.” She indicated a door. “I outfitted it, but if I missed something, you come to the top of the stairs and holler real loud.”

Andy laughed. “Okay.”

Gracie smiled, crossing her arms over her stomach, tilting her head to one side, and appraising Andy from the top of her head to her feet. Obviously she liked what she saw. “I think the general was right. I think it’s going to be … interesting having you here.” Before Andy could puzzle out that enigmatic statement, Gracie went on to say, “Lunch is at noon.”

Then she was gone and Andy was alone. She stripped out of the wrinkled suit that until this morning had been fresh from the dry cleaners. She shook it free of what dust she could, muttering aspersions on the character of Lyon Ratliff.

After a quick, refreshing shower in the beautiful bathroom, which was decorated in shades of yellow and butterscotch, she dressed in a casual skirt and polo shirt.

She took her hairbrush to the window and took down her hair. As she gazed at the scenery from her vantage point on the second floor Lyon came around the side of the garage. He joined Mr. Houghton, who was kneeling in the flower beds, still planting the new shrubbery.

The hairbrush was held motionless above her head as Lyon pulled his shirttail from the waistband of his jeans and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. He peeled the shirt away from his chest and shoulders, and then hung it on the lowest branch of a pecan tree. Absorbed as he was in his conversation with Mr. Houghton, his motions were natural and unaffected, yet executed as though they were steps in a seductive ballet.

Andy’s hand covered her breast lest her heart burst through. Her speculations on what lay beneath Lyon’s shirt hadn’t prepared her for seeing it in the flesh. His shoulders were wide and rippled with lean muscles as he picked up the handles of a wheelbarrow and pushed it forward several yards. His chest was matted with dark, crisp hair that fanned out over the upper part of his torso and tapered to a sleek arrow that disappeared into his jeans. Andy’s stomach did an erratic dance when he idly scratched at a rib with his long slender fingers.

He laughed at something Mr. Houghton said and she was struck by how white his teeth looked against his dark face. The corners of his eyes crinkled into a humorous expression she’d never seen before. She had only seen him angry and insulting, hateful and vehement.

No. There was one other way she had seen him. Suggestive and insolent.

Checking her watch, she stepped away from the window and put the forgotten hairbrush aside. Apparently Lyon wasn’t coming in to lunch.

He didn’t, but Andy enjoyed the green salad Gracie had made for her. It was heaped with grated cheese and cold sliced turkey.

“You look like you eat a lot of salads,” the housekeeper observed. “And that’s all right at lunch, but I’m going to see to it personally that you’re fattened up while you’re here.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble for me. You’ll have your hands full when my crew arrives. We’ll create chaos in your spotless, serene house. I can only promise you that we’ll try to be as unobtrusive and neat as possible.”

---