your mind after I left you alone with Ryan’s envelope. What was in it, Cara? What was in it that made you change your mind about the inheritance and decide to wait out the settlement of the estate at La Tierra?”
Cara drew her hand away and clutched the napkin in her lap. She was becoming adept at hiding her thoughts, and now a curtain seemed to descend over her features. If Harold probed any further, he might guess at the promise she had made to Ryan. Warmth remained in her eyes, however, and Harold was rewarded with a faint smile. “I’ll have to tell you what I told Mr. Langston, Harold. My reasons are personal. A year will go fast and then I’ll have to impose upon you again by asking that you arrange the sale agreement.”
“Do you…know what you’ll be asking?” Harold inquired blandly, studying her covertly over the rim of his martini glass.
“A reasonable price,” was her evasive answer. “Now tell me, when are you going back to Boston?” The question made her heart move strangely. Harold was her last link with home, with what was familiar and safe. He had been a steady and comforting presence at her side throughout the strain of the last few weeks. To be suddenly without his counsel and support, his easy companionship, would be especially hard after the tragedy of Ryan’s death and the fear of the ordeal ahead.
“Tomorrow morning,” Harold told her reluctantly, reading her thoughts. “Cara. I want you to consider me your friend. You have my card. If for any reason you need me, you’ve only to call. I could not bear to think of your needing help and having no one to turn to. I’m only a return flight away.” He looked at the girl as gravely as he dared. Heaven knew, she was frightened enough for all the composure she was trying to show. “And my dear—” He took her hand into his smooth, comforting one. “If I may offer some advice?”
“Please do,” Cara invited quietly, but her heart fluttered sickeningly at his tone. Into her mind leaped the image of Jeth and the hatred and repugnance that had been in his eyes in the last few moments of their interview. She did not fear anything he could do to her if only he did not prey on the weakness he had discovered, the weakness she had not even known she possessed.
“Then it is this, Cara. Do not love anything while you are out there. No man, woman, or child. No horse or dog—not even an armadillo—” His attempt at humor failed. The beautiful eyes darkened with anxiety, but he pressed on. “Care for nothing or no one through which he can hurt you—” Harold broke off as a waiter appeared to present them with menus.
“You don’t have to go, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Harold sighed. “I have transferred a sum of money to your account on orders from Ryan. No, don’t protest, Cara, and don’t be foolish, either. You’re broke. I know it, and Ryan knew it. You will have no income while you’re in Texas, so don’t let that New England pride of yours prevent you from spending it for the things you need.”
Cara opened the menu. Ryan had thought of everything. Everything but an explanation for why she was here. “I don’t think I’ll have anything but a salad. I seem to have lost my appetite,” she said.
The next morning Cara saw Harold St. Clair off on his return trip to Boston from the huge, modern Metroplex airport that sprawled between Dallas and Fort Worth. As the aircraft lifted off, a bleak depression settled over her, and she clutched even tighter the small box she held. It contained a gold charm in the design of a seagull that Harold had given her just before boarding.
“For luck,” he explained, looking down at the golden head bent in surprised pleasure over the trinket. “You can attach it to that thin gold chain you wear around your neck. If you have any bad moments, just reach up and touch it. I hope it reminds you that you have a friend.”
“Harold—” Words failed her, and so she reached up and
Cara drew her hand away and clutched the napkin in her lap. She was becoming adept at hiding her thoughts, and now a curtain seemed to descend over her features. If Harold probed any further, he might guess at the promise she had made to Ryan. Warmth remained in her eyes, however, and Harold was rewarded with a faint smile. “I’ll have to tell you what I told Mr. Langston, Harold. My reasons are personal. A year will go fast and then I’ll have to impose upon you again by asking that you arrange the sale agreement.”
“Do you…know what you’ll be asking?” Harold inquired blandly, studying her covertly over the rim of his martini glass.
“A reasonable price,” was her evasive answer. “Now tell me, when are you going back to Boston?” The question made her heart move strangely. Harold was her last link with home, with what was familiar and safe. He had been a steady and comforting presence at her side throughout the strain of the last few weeks. To be suddenly without his counsel and support, his easy companionship, would be especially hard after the tragedy of Ryan’s death and the fear of the ordeal ahead.
“Tomorrow morning,” Harold told her reluctantly, reading her thoughts. “Cara. I want you to consider me your friend. You have my card. If for any reason you need me, you’ve only to call. I could not bear to think of your needing help and having no one to turn to. I’m only a return flight away.” He looked at the girl as gravely as he dared. Heaven knew, she was frightened enough for all the composure she was trying to show. “And my dear—” He took her hand into his smooth, comforting one. “If I may offer some advice?”
“Please do,” Cara invited quietly, but her heart fluttered sickeningly at his tone. Into her mind leaped the image of Jeth and the hatred and repugnance that had been in his eyes in the last few moments of their interview. She did not fear anything he could do to her if only he did not prey on the weakness he had discovered, the weakness she had not even known she possessed.
“Then it is this, Cara. Do not love anything while you are out there. No man, woman, or child. No horse or dog—not even an armadillo—” His attempt at humor failed. The beautiful eyes darkened with anxiety, but he pressed on. “Care for nothing or no one through which he can hurt you—” Harold broke off as a waiter appeared to present them with menus.
“You don’t have to go, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Harold sighed. “I have transferred a sum of money to your account on orders from Ryan. No, don’t protest, Cara, and don’t be foolish, either. You’re broke. I know it, and Ryan knew it. You will have no income while you’re in Texas, so don’t let that New England pride of yours prevent you from spending it for the things you need.”
Cara opened the menu. Ryan had thought of everything. Everything but an explanation for why she was here. “I don’t think I’ll have anything but a salad. I seem to have lost my appetite,” she said.
The next morning Cara saw Harold St. Clair off on his return trip to Boston from the huge, modern Metroplex airport that sprawled between Dallas and Fort Worth. As the aircraft lifted off, a bleak depression settled over her, and she clutched even tighter the small box she held. It contained a gold charm in the design of a seagull that Harold had given her just before boarding.
“For luck,” he explained, looking down at the golden head bent in surprised pleasure over the trinket. “You can attach it to that thin gold chain you wear around your neck. If you have any bad moments, just reach up and touch it. I hope it reminds you that you have a friend.”
“Harold—” Words failed her, and so she reached up and
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