Sugar Daddy Page 31

  Hardy appeared unruffled. “Of course he is.”

  Taking Hardy’s hand, Carrington walked her new friend to the door, talking a mile a minute. “…and this is our house, and I’ve got a bedroom upstairs with yellow striped paper on the walls, and that thing right there is a video camera so we can look at people before we decide to let ’em in—”

  “None of it’s ours, baby,” I said uncomfortably. “It’s the Travises’ house.”

  Ignoring me, Carrington pushed the doorbell and mugged for the camera, making Hardy laugh.

  The door opened, and there was Gage, dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt. My pulse rioted as his gaze went first to me, then to my companion.

  “Gage!” Carrington shrieked as if she hadn’t seen him in months. She flew to him and clamped her arms around his waist. “That’s our old friend Hardy—he took us riding, and I was on a black pony named Prince, and I rode like a real cowgirl!”

  Gage smiled down at her, his arm clasping her narrow shoulders securely.

  Glancing at Hardy, I saw the glint of speculation in his eyes. It was something he hadn’t expected, the attachment between my sister and Gage. He extended his hand with an easy smile. “Hardy Cates.”

  “Gage Travis.”

  They shook hands firmly, with a brief, nearly imperceptible contest that ended in a draw. Gage stood with Carrington still hanging around his waist, his face expressionless. I shoved my hands in my pockets. The tiny junctures between my fingers had gone damp. Both men seemed so relaxed, and yet the air was punctured with conflict.

  It was startling to see them together. Hardy had loomed so large in my memory for so long that I was surprised to realize Gage was equally tall, albeit leaner. They were different in almost every way, education, background, experience…Gage, who played by the rules he’d usually had a hand in making, and Hardy, who tossed out the rules like a handful of Texas redbacks if they didn’t suit him. Gage, always the smartest one in the room, and Hardy, who had told me with a deceptively lazy smile that all he had to do was be smarter than the guy he was doing a deal with.

  “Congratulations on the drilling start-up,” Gage said to Hardy. “You’ve had some impressive finds in a short time. High-quality pay reserves, I’ve heard.”

  Hardy smiled and lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “We’ve had some luck.”

  “It takes more than luck.”

  They talked about geochemistry and an analysis of well cuttings, and the difficulty of estimating productive intervals in the field, and then the conversation turned to Gage’s alternative technology company.

  “It’s gotten out you’re working on some new biodiesel,” Hardy said.

  Gage’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “Nothing worth talking about yet.”

  “Not what I heard. Rumor has it you managed to cut down on the NOX emissions…but the biofuel itself is still expensive as hell.” Hardy grinned at him. “Oil’s cheaper.”

  “For now.”

  I knew a little about Gage’s private views on the subject. He and Churchill both agreed the days of cheap oil were almost at an end, and once we reached the supply-demand gap, biofuels would help stave off an economic crisis. Many oil people, friends of the Travises, said it wouldn’t happen for decades and there was plenty of petroleum left. They joked with Gage and said they hoped he wasn’t planning to come out with something to replace petroleum, or they’d hold him responsible for lost business. Gage had told me they were only half joking.

  After minute or two of excruciatingly careful conversation, Hardy glanced at me and murmured, “I’ll head out now.” He nodded to Gage. “Nice to meet you.”

  Gage nodded, turning his attention to Carrington, who was trying to tell him more about the horses.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” I said to Hardy, profoundly relieved the encounter was over.

  As we walked, Hardy put an arm around my shoulders. “I want to see you again,” he said in a low voice.

  “Maybe in a few days.”

  “I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” We stopped at the threshold. Hardy kissed my forehead, and I looked up into his warm blue eyes. “Well,” I said, “the two of you were very civilized.”

  Hardy laughed. “He’d like to rip my head off.” He braced one hand on the doorframe, sobering quickly. “I don’t see you with someone like him. He’s a cold son of a bitch.”

  “Not when you get to know him.”

  Reaching out, Hardy took a lock of my hair and rubbed it gently between his fingers. “I think you could probably thaw out a glacier, honey.” He smiled and let go, walking toward his SUV.

  Feeling tired and bemused, I went in search of Carrington and Gage. I found them in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator and pantry.

  “Hungry?” Gage asked.

  “Starving.”

  He set out a container of pasta salad, and another of strawberries. I found a loaf of French bread and cut a few slices while Carrington brought three plates.

  “Just two,” Gage told her. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Okay. Can I have a cookie?”

  “After lunch.”

  While Carrington got out the napkins, I looked at Gage with a frown. “You’re not staying?”

  He shook his head. “I found out what I needed to know.”

  Mindful of Carrington nearby, I held back my questions until the plates were fixed and set on the table. Gage poured Carrington a glass of milk and set two small cookies on the edge of her plate. “Eat the cookies last, darlin’,” he murmured. She reached up to hug him, then started on her pasta salad.

  Gage gave me an impersonal smile. “Bye, Liberty.”

  “Wait—” I followed him out, pausing only to tell Carrington I’d be right back. I hurried to keep pace with Gage. “You think you’ve got Hardy Cates all figured out after seeing him for five minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your take on him?”

  “There’s no point in telling you. You’ll say I’m biased.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m biased. I also happen to be right.”

  I stopped him at the front door with a touch on his arm. Gage looked down at the place my fingers had brushed, and slowly his gaze traveled to my face.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  Gage replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think he’s ambitious to the bone, works hard and plays harder. He’s hungry for all the visible signs of success—the cars, the women, the house, the owner’s box at Reliant. I think he’ll throw away every principle he’s got to climb up the ladder. He’ll make and lose a couple of fortunes, and he’ll go through three or four wives. And he wants you because you’re his last hope of keeping it real. But even you wouldn’t be enough.”

  Blinking at the harsh assessment, I wrapped my arms across my front. “You don’t know him. That’s not Hardy.”

  “We’ll see.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d better go back to the kitchen. Carrington’s waiting.”

  “Gage…you’re mad at me, aren’t you? I’m so—”

  “No, Liberty.” His face softened a little. “I’m trying to figure it all out. Just like you.”

  I saw Hardy a few times over the next couple of weeks—a lunch, a dinner, a long walk. Beneath the conversations and silences and reconnecting intimacy, I tried to reconcile the adult Hardy had become with the boy I had known and longed for. It troubled me to realize they weren’t the same…but of course I wasn’t the same either.

  It seemed important to figure out how much of the attraction I felt for Hardy came from now, as opposed to the past. If we had met now, for the first time, as strangers, would I have felt the same about him?

  I couldn’t have said for certain. But Lord, he was charming. He had a way about him, he always had. He made me feel so comfortable, we could talk about anything. Even Gage.

  “Tell me what he’s like,” Hardy said, holding my hand, playing with my f
ingers. “How much of what they say is true?”

  Knowing Gage’s reputation, I shrugged and smiled. “Gage is…accomplished. But he can be intimidating. The problem with Gage is, he always seems to do everything perfectly. People think he’s invulnerable. And he’s very private. It’s not easy to get close to a man like that.”

  “But you have, apparently.”

  I shrugged and smiled. “Sort of. We’d just started to get close…but then…”

  Then Hardy had shown up.

  “What do you know about his company?” he asked casually. “I can’t figure out why a man from a Texas family with connections to big oil is fooling around with fuel cells and biodiesels.”

  I smiled. “That’s Gage for you.” And, with a little prodding, I told him what I knew about the technology Gage’s company was working on. “There’s a huge biofuel deal in the works. He wants to build a blending facility at this huge refinery in Dallas, and they’re going to start mixing biodiesel with all their fuel, and distribute it everywhere in Texas. From what I can tell, the negotiations are pretty intense.” I heard the note of pride in my own voice as I added, “Churchill says only Gage could pull it off.”

  “He must have gotten past some damn big hurdles,” Hardy commented. “In some parts of Houston, just saying the word ‘biodiesel’ will get you shot. Which refinery is it?”

  “Medina.”

  “That’s a big one, all right. Well, for his sake, I hope everything works out.” And, taking my hand, he deftly changed the subject.

  Near the end of the second week, Hardy took me to a supermodern bar that reminded me of a spaceship, the sterile décor backlit with blue and green. The tables were the size of coasters balanced on soda straws. It was the latest place to be seen, and everyone in the bar looked extremely hip, if not exactly comfortable.

  Nursing a Southern Comfort on ice, I glanced around the place and couldn’t help noticing that Hardy was attracting attention from a few women. No surprise there, considering his looks and presence and charm. And as time passed, Hardy would be even more of a catch, more visible in his success.

  I finished my drink and asked for another. I couldn’t seem to relax tonight. As Hardy and I tried to talk over the blare of the live music, all I could think about was that I missed Gage. I hadn’t seen him in a few days. Guiltily I reflected that I had asked a lot of Gage, maybe too much, in asking him to be patient while I tried to figure out my feelings for another man.

  Hardy rubbed his thumb gently over the backs of my knuckles. His voice was soft beneath the biting staccato of the music. “Liberty.” My gaze lifted to his. His eyes glowed an unearthly blue in the artificial light. “Let’s go, honey. It’s time to settle a few things.”

  “Go where?” I asked faintly.

  “Back to my place. We need to talk.”

  I hesitated, swallowed hard, and managed a jerky nod. Hardy had shown me his apartment earlier in the evening—I had opted to meet him there rather than have him pick me up at River Oaks.

  We didn’t talk much as Hardy drove me downtown. But he kept my hand in his. My heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. I wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen, or what I wanted to happen.

  We arrived at the luxury high-rise and Hardy took me up to his apartment, a large space comfortably furnished with leather, hide, and stylish rough-woven fabrics. Wrought-iron lamps with textured parchment shades cast a muted glow through the main room.

  “Want a drink?” he asked.

  I shook my head, knitting my fingers together as I stood near the door. “No, thanks. I had enough at the bar.”

  Smiling quizzically, Hardy came to me and pressed his lips to my temple. “Are you nervous, honey? It’s just me. Your old friend Hardy.”

  I let out a shaky sigh and leaned against him. “Yes. I remember you.”

  His arms came around me, and we stayed like that for a long time, standing together, breathing together.

  “Liberty,” he whispered. “I told you once that in my whole life, you’d always be what I wanted most. Remember?”

  I nodded against his shoulder. “The night you left.”

  “I won’t leave you again.” His lips brushed the tender edge of my ear. “I still feel that way, Liberty. I know what I’m asking you to walk away from—but I swear, you would never regret it. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” He touched my jaw with his fingertips, angling my face upward, and his mouth came to mine.

  My balance disintegrated, and I held on to him. His body was hard from years of brutal physical labor, his arms strong and secure. He kissed differently than Gage, more direct, aggressive, without Gage’s erotic stealth and playfulness. He parted my lips and explored slowly, and I kissed him back with mingled guilt and pleasure. His warm hand moved to my breast, fingers lightly following the round contours, pausing at the sensitive tip. I tore my mouth from his with an agitated sound.

  “Hardy, no,” I managed to say, desire forming a hot weight in my stomach. “I can’t.”

  His mouth searched the quivering skin of my throat. “Why not?”

  “I promised Gage—he and I agreed—I wouldn’t do this with you. Not until—”

  “What?” Hardy drew his head back, eyes narrowing. “You don’t owe him that. He doesn’t own you.”

  “It’s not that, it has nothing to do with ownership, it’s just—”

  “Like hell.”

  “I can’t break a promise,” I insisted. “Gage trusts me.”

  Hardy said nothing, only gave me a peculiar look. Something about his silence drew shivers up from beneath my skin. Dragging his hand through his hair, Hardy went to one of the picture windows and stared at the city spread below us. “You sure about that?” he asked finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  He turned to face me, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. “The last couple of times I’ve seen you, I noticed a silver Crown Victoria tailing us. So I got the license plate number and had it checked out. It belongs to a guy who works for a surveillance company.”

  A chill rushed over me. “You think Gage is having me followed?”

  “The car is parked at the end of the street right now.” He gestured for me to come to the window. “See for yourself.”

  I didn’t move. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Liberty,” he said quietly, “you haven’t known the bastard long enough to be sure of what he would or wouldn’t do.”

  I rubbed my prickling upper arms with my hands in a futile attempt to warm myself. I was too stunned to speak.

  “I know you think of the Travises as friends,” I heard Hardy continue in a level tone. “But they’re not, Liberty. You think they’ve done you a favor, taking you and Carrington in? It was no fucking favor. They owe you a hell of a lot more than that.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He crossed the room to me, took me by the shoulders and stared into my bewildered eyes. “You really don’t know, do you? I thought you might at least suspect something.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His mouth was grim. He pulled me to the sofa, and we sat while he gripped my nerveless hands in his. “Your mother had an affair with Churchill Travis. It lasted for years.”

  I tried to swallow. The saliva would hardly go down. “That’s not true,” I whispered.

  “Marva told me. You can ask her yourself. Your mother told her all about it.”

  “Why didn’t Marva say anything to me?”

  “She was afraid for you to know. Afraid for you to get tangled up with the Travises. For all she knew, they might have decided to take Carrington away from you, and you couldn’t have done a damn thing to stop them. Later, when she found out you were working for Churchill, she figured he was trying to make it up to you. She thought it best not to intefere.”

  “You’re not making sense. Why would they have wanted to take Carrington away from me? What could Churchill have—” The blood drained from my face. I stopped an
d covered my mouth with trembling fingers as I understood.

  I heard Hardy’s voice as if from a great distance. “Liberty…who do you think Carrington’s father is?”

  Chapter 24

  I drove away from Hardy’s apartment building, intending to go straight to River Oaks and confront Churchill. I was in more turmoil than I had been at any time since Mama had died. I was strangely calm on the outside, even though my mind and heart were in anarchy. It can’t be true, I thought over and over. I didn’t want it to be true.

  If Churchill was Carrington’s father…I thought about the times we’d been hungry, the hardships, the times she’d asked why she didn’t have a daddy when her friends did. I’d showed her the picture of my father and said, “This is our daddy,” and I’d told her how much he loved her even though he was living in heaven. I thought of the birthdays and holidays, the times she’d been sick, all the things she’d had to do without…

  If Churchill was Carrington’s father, he didn’t owe a damn thing to me. But he owed plenty to her.

  Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself driving up to the gated entrance of the garage at 1800 Main. The security guard asked for my driver’s license, and I hesitated, thinking I should tell him I’d made a mistake, I hadn’t meant to come here. Instead I showed it to him and drove into the residents’ parking section, and stopped the car. I wanted to see Gage. I didn’t even know if he was home.

  My finger was shaking as I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor, a little from fear but mostly from anger. Despite Mexican women’s reputation for having hot tempers, I was pretty mild-mannered most of the time. I didn’t like getting angry, I hated the bitter adrenaline rush that came with it. But at the moment I was ready to explode. I wanted to throw things.

  I went to Gage’s door with long, heel-digging strides, and hammered with a force that bruised my knuckles. When there was no response, I raised my fist to hammer again, and nearly pitched forward as the door was opened.