Kitabı oku: «Hitched!», sayfa 4
She gasped. “What makes you think I can be bought?”
“You’re out of a job, right? Besides, I don’t want to buy you. I just want to rent you for a little while. What do you say?”
“Give me a minute to think.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “If I do this—and I’m not saying I will—there will be absolutely no sex.”
His expression said he had absolutely no interest in her that way. “No sex. Agreed.”
“Put it in writing.”
“Sorry, no can do. You’ll have to trust me on that.”
“Why should I? Why should you trust me?”
He eyed her solemnly. “Maxine,” he said slowly, “I always go with my first impressions. My first impression of you is that you’re a woman who can be trusted. I liked the way you handled yourself on that airplane and the way you stood up for yourself when we had to share that room. As Great-grandpa Taggart would say, ‘Girl, you got spunk!’”
She couldn’t return that smile. “I suppose your first impressions are always right.”
“I wish. Sometimes you just have to go on faith.” He put out his hand. “Is it a deal?”
She looked at that hand in panic. She’d never bargained for anything like this, but maybe it was a golden opportunity. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and slipped her hand into his for the briefest of shakes.
“Rand Taggart,” she said, “you’re out of your mind—but okay, I’ll go along for the ride. We’ll have to do some homework. I’ll have to know everything there is to know about you.”
“We’ll worry about that later. First we have to get married. It’s supposed to be easy in Mexico, right? Where should we go to?”
“Rosarito Beach,” she said promptly, a plan popping into her head full-blown. “It’s just a few miles south and there’s a wonderful old hotel I…I’ve visited before.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t much matter so long as they did the deed. “Works for me. I’ll rent a car and tell the authorities we won’t be flying out this afternoon with the rest of the hijackees.”
“I’ll call the hotel. I can make reservations and see what’s involved in arranging a wedding.”
Rand nodded, his expression a blank. Was he as shocked as she was to be involved in such a scheme?
WHEN IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, events proceeded with such smoothness that he never did get his bearings.
The drive south on a paved and well-maintained highway passed in a blur. After being welcomed with smiles and champagne at the stately old beachfront hotel, they were escorted upstairs to a lavish suite overseeing a pool, the beach and the ocean. An official-looking gentleman waited for them there. He declared himself to be from the Oficina del Registro Civil, whatever the hell that was, and launched into some long explanation in Spanish.
Maxine translated: “He’d like to see our driver’s licenses…sign here, it means you’ve never been married before—you haven’t, have you?”
“Are you kidding?” Rand signed in his usual slashing letters: Thomas Randall Taggart.
“He’s waiving the blood test,” she translated.
“Blood test!”
“Relax.” She listened, nodded. “He’s arranged for witnesses. We need two apiece.”
“I thought getting married in Mexico was simple,” Rand grumbled. “Sure, anything. Let’s just get this over as fast as we can.”
The preliminaries took longer than the ceremony. Rand didn’t know what he was saying sí to, but he said it just the same. He took some comfort in Maxine’s fluent Spanish; at least one of them would know what the hell had happened.
There was a moment’s confusion when neither could produce a ring, but with shrugs all around, the ceremony proceeded to its logical conclusion…at which point Maxine looked at Rand expectantly.
“What?”
“You can kiss the bride.” She offered her cheek.
He’d be damned if he was going to get married and kiss his bride on the cheek. Grabbing her, he planted his mouth squarely on hers.
And got the shock of his life. Her lips were soft and warm and…dammit, exciting. He jerked back as if stung.
The Mexican official and the four witnesses applauded. Embarrassed because he was such a fraud, Rand belatedly realized that Maxine appeared downright exasperated. She did, however, manage an unconvincing smile.
“Now we have to sign on the dotted line,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No problem.” Hell, no. The deed had been done. He was willing to sign anything they put in front of him.
The official offered a copy of the marriage certificate along with a smile and another burst of incomprehensible Spanish.
“Now what?” Rand automatically turned to Maxine.
“Now you escort everyone to the door, hand the gentleman who performed the ceremony a few hundred dollars and each witness a hundred, say ‘Thank you’ in your barbarous tongue and close the door.”
He could do that.
RAND GREASED the palm of each person passing through the doorway with nods and farewells and congratulations. When everyone was gone, he shut the door, gave Maxine a thumbs-up and crossed to the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket.
At which point Maxine aimed a forefinger at his sleek back, cocked her thumb and silently mouthed a single word: Gotcha!
CHAPTER FOUR
SOME WEDDING NIGHT.
Maxi stole a glance at her handsome “husband.” He leaned against the wrought-iron balcony just beyond the open French doors, staring across moonlit water as if he could see forever.
When in actual fact he couldn’t see anything. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here with the one woman in the world devoted to bringing him down.
“More champagne?”
He turned so unexpectedly that she jumped in surprise. “Sure.” She held out her empty crystal flute. “Why not? After all, I don’t get married every day.”
“You’re mad at me.” He crossed with a natural grace to the hammered-silver ice bucket. For a big man—more than six feet tall and broad-shouldered—he moved with surprising ease. He picked up the bottle and examined the label. “Why?”
She should keep her mouth shut but decided against it. After all, she’d be “living” with this guy for the foreseeable future and the “Meek Minnie” act was hard to maintain. “Because you kissed me,” she said. “You had no right to do that, especially after we agreed there’d be no sex.”
He laughed and started toward her. “That wasn’t sex. That wasn’t even close to sex.”
Then why had she been thunderstruck the instant his lips touched hers? Why had she felt all kinds of unwelcome physical sensations?
With unfriendly eyes, she accepted the glass of wine he offered. Fortified by a drink, she said, “You had no right to touch me.”
“You’re wrong.” He sat down on a white brocaded ottoman, so close his knees nearly brushed hers. “Get used to it, Maxine.”
“I will not!” She took a defiant sip of champagne. “Why should I?”
“Because we made a deal. If we’re going to convince anyone that this is real, I’ll have to touch you once in a while.” His broad mobile mouth curved up at the corners in a devilish grin. “We just got married. If I never lay a hand on you, what will everyone think?”
“Probably the truth—that we’re faking it.”
“In which case I won’t get my inheritance and you won’t get your money.”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t doing this for the money but couldn’t without tipping him off. “Okay,” she conceded, her tone cross. “Just don’t forget we’re talking public. In private, touch me and you die.”
He looked at her as if she were a deluded child. “No problem,” he said much too cheerfully. “You’re not my type.” He yawned, lending emphasis to what was essentially an insult.
Giving her knee a friendly pat, he rose and wandered back outside onto the balcony, leaving her to seethe alone. Of course she wasn’t his type. In this getup, she wasn’t anybody’s type, which was the point of it for a woman who made her living as a model for Violet’s Advantage, the fast-rising Los Angeles lingerie company. No way would she be able to do what had to be done if she had to spend every moment fighting him off.
For the truth was, Maxi didn’t get on that airplane and settle into the seat next to Rand Taggart’s by accident. There was no job in San Antonio. She’d simply been wishing to strike up a conversation with him in the hope of hearing something—anything—she could use against him. She’d even stolen his briefcase in the hope of finding something incriminating.
What she’d found was a few personal items: some kind of funny key, a few magazines—nothing to help her cause. She’d felt guilty dumping them all in a handy trash bin at the Platillo Volante airport, but not guilty enough to be deterred. Maxi was on a mission.
Staring at his silhouette, she brooded over her champagne. This man had turned her life upside down when he’d involved her older sister, Helen, in an embezzlement and money-laundering scheme. Because of him, Helen was incarcerated in a Chicago jail. Maxi wouldn’t rest until her sister was vindicated and justice had triumphed.
Helen’s arrest had been an awful shock. Maxi had immediately walked out on a modeling assignment to fly from L.A. to Chicago and her sister’s side. There Helen had told her tale of woe:
She’d already been working for several years as executive secretary to Bill Overton, president and CEO of Coconutty, manufacturer of health concoctions and suntan products based on coconut oil, when he’d set out to raise money to take his company into Internet marketing. That was when his old college roommate, Rand Taggart, had arrived on the scene as a potential investor.
Rand seemed like a terrific guy, Helen had said darkly, until you got to know him. In truth, he was a rich and ruthless playboy with no concern for anybody else.
Maxi’s suspicions were immediately aroused. “Was there something going on between you and this Rand Taggart?” she’d asked.
Helen paled. “No! How can you even suggest such a thing?”
“Because I know you, Helen. There’s always a man. Did he sweep you off your feet, use you and leave you holding the bag?”
Helen looked evasive. “I don’t have to answer that. Please, Maxi, just stay out of this. I don’t need or want your help.”
“I can’t stay out of it. You’re my sister and I love you. First, I’m going to pay your bail. Then we can decide what to do next.”
Helen shook her head. “No! Go back to L.A. and don’t get involved. Bill—Mr. Overton will take care of me.”
“But hasn’t he disappeared? Aren’t the police hunting for him, not Rand Taggart?”
“Only because the police are in cahoots with Rand Taggart. He’s done everything in his power to make us appear guilty, but Mr. Overton and I are innocent. Rand is the real crook—you wouldn’t believe all the schemes and scams he’s involved in! Mr. Overton has to be free to gather evidence to clear us because nobody else is going to.”
“What specifically are you accused of?” Maxi asked.
Helen looked disgusted. “They say I couriered stolen money to the Caribbean. Do you believe it? Sure, I’ve vacationed in the islands a few times, but so have thousands of other Chicagoans. That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“I believe you, Helen, but maybe your boss isn’t as honest.”
“Isn’t it proof of his innocence that he’s retained his own lawyer, R. Renwood Keever, to defend me? He sent word, Maxi. I’m to sit tight until he can clear me or raise bail.”
“But—but—” Maxi stammered. “I can’t leave you in here and just go on with my life.”
“You’ve got to.” Helen’s mouth tightened. “You’re out of your depth, Maxi. Mr. Overton is my only hope and I’m going to do exactly what he says.”
“Then maybe there’s some way I can find out what this Taggart person is up to, or at least—”
“For the last time, stay out of it!” Helen’s eyes flashed and her mantle of persecution fell away. “The best thing you can do for me is nothing.”
Helen had asked for the only thing Maxi couldn’t give. If she couldn’t bail her sister out, maybe she could help clear her. But how?
A meeting with Helen’s attorney had provided an unexpected answer. R. Renwood Keever had waved a leather passport case beneath her nose while reporting that Rand Taggart was about to flee the scene of his perfidy.
“The man thinks of nothing but himself,” Keever had declared indignantly. “He came here to my office, looking for trouble and making all kinds of threats against my client, Mr. Overton. Then he announced he was leaving town, but he’d be back, which I took as a threat. When I mentioned your sister, he said, ‘And your point is?’ If professional ethics didn’t demand that I return these documents to him…”
Maxi’s pulse quickened. “Is his passport in there?”
“Yes, and an airline ticket—apparently fell out of his pocket when he stomped out of here. Like I have time to do him favors—”
“Let me. Do you know where he’s staying?”
“Yes, but—”
She snatched the case from his wavering hand, her heart pounding so she thought he might hear it. “Consider it done.”
Her opinion of Attorney Keever was not high, but at least he was on the correct side in this matter. “Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’ll take care of everything. Goodbye, and thank you for all you’re doing for my sister….”
Outside on the sidewalk, she’d opened the passport case with trembling hands. An incredibly handsome man stared back at her from a cheap passport photo. Poor Helen! No wonder she’d gone gaga over this guy.
Then Maxi had turned to the ticket: an Alar Airlines direct flight to San Antonio.
She’d booked the seat next to his out of pure desperation. She wanted to see, in the flesh, the man who’d wreaked havoc with Helen’s life. Maybe she could strike up a conversation, even uncover some clue. If he thought she was just a fellow traveler, he might give something away—mightn’t he?
Unfortunately, she had no practice or even talent for ferreting out information from someone who chose not to be ferreted. Nevertheless she must try. Certain that Maxi Rafferty wouldn’t get anything out of Rand Taggart beyond the usual pass, she’d decided to call upon her alter ego, plain Maxine Rafferty.
But first she had to call her agent, Ron Walters, who freaked when she told him she was flying to Texas. She’d already missed one modeling date and if she wasn’t back by Monday—
Like she cared. Modeling was a job, not her life, and she was getting tired of all the hassle anyway. She’d saved practically every penny she’d ever made, so if the gravy train ran off the tracks tomorrow, as she fully expected it would, she’d shed not a single tear.
She did care that Rand Taggart was so damn cagey. All that time together on the plane, all that stress, and he’d never uttered a word about Coconutty or anything connected to it. All he’d said was that he “didn’t have access to the majority of his funds at the moment.” Yeah, like he’d stolen his own money and that of many others, but all those lovely tax-free dollars were hidden away because the heat was on and would be for who knew how long.
Of course he needed his great-grandfather’s bequest!
It took a cool customer to sit back calmly while armed hijackers spread fear and panic. If that little girl hadn’t been in danger, Maxi doubted he would ever have acted. Even then, he’d gone to great lengths to avoid attention. This was distinctly unguy-like, in her experience.
He wanted to avoid the spotlight for nefarious reasons, she was sure of it. But should she have gone this far to find out what they might be?
He interrupted her thoughts by turning back inside, all rumpled male beauty with unbuttoned collar and shirttail hanging out of his trousers. For an instant she almost wished they’d met under other circumstances…
She cut off that line of thought double-quick. She wasn’t here to sleep with the enemy or even to get friendly; she was here to clear her sister’s name. To do that, she’d somehow wound up in this place she’d so enjoyed during a photo shoot a couple of years ago.
Lingerie modeled on beautiful sandy beaches…everyone fawning over the models, while margaritas flowed like water…
Rand Taggart yawned and stretched, the soft blue shirt stretching tight across his chest.
“I’m whipped,” he sighed. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent minute’s rest since we left Chicago.”
She just looked at him, thinking, Why are you telling me this?
“You’re sitting on my bed,” he elaborated.
She glanced at the pale-gray goose-down sofa on which she sat.
He nodded. “I’m giving you the bedroom.”
“You take it,” she decided. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet. I’ll sleep out here.”
“Are you sure?” Another prodigious yawn overtook him.
“I’m sure.”
She watched him wander off toward the bedroom, footsteps dragging. Sighing, she settled back on the sofa with her champagne.
This wasn’t even close to the way she’d dreamed of spending her wedding night, but at least the setting was right. This suite was fabulous, not new, but so classy and sophisticated with its green-and-white decor that she just wanted to sink into it and not come up. The champagne was right; the gentle breeze ruffling sheer balcony curtains was right.
Everything else was wrong. Rand Taggart was not the man of her dreams, wouldn’t have been even if she didn’t know what she knew about him. When the time was right, she would set her sights on a sensible, hardworking, professional man: doctor, lawyer, merchant chief, something along those lines.
Meanwhile she’d turned her attention to earning a living, leaving little time for romance. Strike that, she corrected herself. Rising, she walked outside onto the balcony, wanting to see what he’d seen. In her type of work, guys didn’t romance her—they hit on her. Just because they could view her whenever they wanted to in her underwear—make that Violet’s Advantage lingerie—they seemed to think she owed them something.
At least Rand hadn’t come on to her, which both pleased and annoyed her. She didn’t want him to see through her deception, but she didn’t enjoy being overlooked like some wallflower, either. She’d fallen into modeling without ever expecting it to last, since, as her mother had always taught her, “Pretty is as pretty does.”
But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy occasional male appreciation. How would Rand react if she did masterful things with hair and makeup, put on something clingy and revealing—
Forget it. Finishing the last drops of champagne, she leaned her elbows on the iron railing with a sigh. She was an honest person involved in a dishonest undertaking. She was in over her head, but she had no choice but to go forward.
She owed her sister too much to take the easy way out.
MAXINE LOOKED different in her sleep.
Softer. Prettier. Sweeter. Somehow almost…desirable.
Rand shook his head in amazement. He was seeing things that weren’t there. This was Maxine Rafferty—make that Taggart, Maxine Taggart—not some sex kitten.
A soft knock brought him swinging toward the door. He’d phoned for coffee and breakfast from the bedroom and didn’t want the waiter to awaken her. Too late. She sat up abruptly, obviously groggy, and shoved a hand through her tousled hair.
She had slept fully dressed. What the hell?
“What is it?” She glanced around in drowsy confusion.
“Breakfast.”
“Oh, Lord, don’t open that door until I get out of here!” Leaping from the bed, she fled toward the second bathroom, where she’d undoubtedly stashed her things.
Feeling like a jerk for sleeping so well and so long in the bed while she struggled with the couch, he tipped the waiter and pulled the cart inside himself. By the time she reappeared, he had everything set up and waiting on the balcony.
He gestured. “Desayuno,” he said grandly.
She laughed. With her hair combed back and her glasses firmly in place, she resembled her sensible self again. “You really should learn a little more Spanish.”
“Why, when I have you to translate?” He held a chair for her.
She sat down and reached for the coffeepot. “Mmm, this smells heavenly. A lot of my friends are tea drinkers but nothing beats a good cup of coffee in the morning.”
“That’s how all us Taggarts feel. You’ll fit right in.” He took his own place. “Thom T. used to say tea drinkers were a bunch of sissies.”
“Your great-grandpa sounds like quite a man.”
Rand smiled. “He was. The old guy was doing his damnedest to reach a hundred, but he missed it by ten days. I couldn’t believe it.” He shook his head at the memory of his father’s phone call. He’d never heard Jesse Taggart so broken up. “I thought he’d live forever,” he added softly.
“I wish I’d known him.”
The sincerity in her tone earned her a sharp glance. That had sounded almost…wifely. “You won’t be able to meet him, but you’ll get to see him in action.”
Her eyebrows rose above the glasses. “Are we talking séance?” She lifted the silver lid from her plate and looked down with approval at a steaming plate of shredded beef with chopped onions, peppers and tomatoes mixed with scrambled eggs and topped with melting cheese and a red sauce.
“We’re talking film,” he said. “Thom T. videotaped his will. I’ve never seen it myself, but maybe I’m ready to do that now. Enough years have passed…” He trailed off. It had been cowardly of him to skip the “reading” of Thom T.’s will, but at the time, he didn’t think he could have handled it.
“I see.” She plucked a hot tortilla from the basket. “So what’s our next move?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve decided to do this the easy way, if there is such a thing.”
“Meaning?”
“As much as I hate to, I’ve got to trot you and the marriage license out for inspection. We’ll start with my uncle Trey and aunt Rachel. They’ll be infinitely easier to convince than my parents or Uncle Boone and Aunt Kit.”
“You have funny names in your family.” She tore off a piece of tortilla. “Jesse, Boone—”
“Funnier than you realize. My dad’s full name is Jesse James Taggart and his brother is Daniel Boone Taggart. Thom T. used to get all bent out of shape when people called attention to their names. Said they were all named for grand-uncles and great-great-grandpas and who knows who all.”
“You believe that? Sounds to me like someone just had a sense of humor.”
“Could be.” He picked up his fork. “But I believed him.”
“How about this uncle Trey? Someone in your family was named ‘three’?”
He grinned. “You’re close. Trey represents a long-lost branch of the family. His full name is Thomas Trenton Taggart Smith—three Ts, get it? He grew up in foster homes and on the streets and didn’t even know he was a Taggart until Thom T. hunted him down and dragged him kicking and screaming to Texas.”
“I sense a story there.”
“Quite a story. Trey was a movie stuntman back then. Today he’s a second-unit director in Hollywood, and handles action sequences for some really big flicks. He’s led a different kind of life and he’s a lot more laid-back than my dad or Boone.”
“What about his wife?”
“Aunt Rachel was the Showdown town librarian—Showdown’s a little old Texas burg near the Rocking T Ranch. She already had a son when Trey came to town. Now they’ve got sixteen-year-old twin boys, too.”
Maxine groaned. “How will I ever keep everyone straight?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he advised. “When you meet them, it’ll all straighten out for you.”
“Do Uncle Trey and Aunt Rachel live in Hollywood?”
“In the Valley. We’ll fly to L.A. and rent a car.”
“Today?” She looked almost frightened, as if this were all happening too fast.
Which, of course, it was. “If we can get out,” he said. “We’ll drive to the Tijuana airport and see what it takes to get past the authorities.” He made a face. “Nobody was too crazy about us taking this little side trip instead of flying out yesterday with everybody else.”
Her forehead creased in a disapproving frown. “You didn’t tell me that.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you. Who cares whether they approve of our plans or not. It’s none of their damn business what we do.”
She didn’t look convinced but let the subject drop. “I need to do some shopping.”
“I assumed you would.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a woman. Women always need to do some shopping. I learned that at my mother’s knee.”
“If that’s how you feel about it—”
“Maxine, lighten up!” He leaned forward to pat her arm, which she quickly pulled away. She was tense, way too tense. “This is never going to work if we examine every word we say in case some offense was intended. We’ll stop on our way out of town, okay?”
“Okay.” She had the good grace to look ashamed of herself.
“We’ll ask at the desk if there’s a place—”
“I know a place,” she said. At his incredulous glance, she added, “Well, I do. I’ve been to Rosarito before on a sort of…a working vacation, I guess you could call it.”
“Maybe someday you’ll come back just for the fun of it,” he said. “I’ve been to Cancún and Acapulco, but I’ve got to say, this place appeals to me more. It’s quieter and more…real.”
She nodded. “The funny thing is, when I came here before, I thought what a wonderful place this would be for a honeymoon. I never dreamed that someday…”
Their glances met and something clicked, some unspoken acknowledgment that life really was what happened while you were busy making other plans.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING to get that one.”
Maxi continued to admire the white cotton nightie frosted with lace at the high neckline and the wrists. “I certainly am. I love it.”
“It looks like something a nun would wear.” Rand held out a long, tiered and brightly embroidered dress. “I like this one.”
“To sleep in?” Maxi carried her choice to the cash register at one end of the overflowing counter.
“Of course not, but—”
“I need a nightgown, Rand.” Desperately. She’d slept in her clothing last night because the nightgown in her bag had come from Violet’s collection and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She might not be Rand’s type, but that nightgown sure would be.
“You need this, too.” He tossed the dress on top of her selections and smiled broadly at the curious dark-eyed teenager waiting for their money. “You take Visa, I hope?”
“Sí, señor.”
“I can pay—” Maxi stopped short. He should pay for these things, of course. She added a belated, “Thank you.”
“And this.” Rand held out a small silver circle. “I’m sorry it’s not diamonds, but under the circumstances…”
Her heart gave a funny little lurch when she heard that cliché about diamonds. Glancing up, she caught an almost tender expression on his face. “I don’t need a ring,” she said, her voice husky.
“Of course you do. We should have had it for the ceremony, but better late than never. Put out your hand so we can see if it fits.”
She could hardly bring herself to comply with his very reasonable request. So far this all seemed like a dream, but a ring, even a cheap little silver band from a hole-in-the-wall shop in Mexico, carried with it a certain reality she couldn’t ignore.
“Please, Maxine.”
Holding her breath, she extended her left hand slowly. He slipped the ring over the third finger, halting at the knuckle. “With this ring,” he murmured, then slid it into place.
She’d been blindsided. What an awful thing to say! He had no right to joke about something as important as marriage and its symbols. For two cents, she’d give him a tongue-lashing he wouldn’t soon forget—
If he hadn’t already turned back to the counter to offer his credit card. She was stuck with this ring. She glared down at it, such a perfect fit that it might have been made for her.
She pressed her lips together. Someday she’d have the pleasure of snatching this ring off and flinging it in his face.
But not today. Today they had a lot of territory to cover.
Unfortunately they hit a snag at Tijuana International Airport. As the last passengers from the ill-fated Alar Airlines plane to leave Mexico, they had “a lot of ’splainin’ to do,” as the scowling policeman pointed out. Although their stories never varied, he still didn’t seem convinced until Maxine burst into tears and declared herself mortified to be spending her first full day of married life in an airport being grilled by the policía.
“That was a stroke of genius,” Rand commended her fifteen minutes later while he buckled himself into his seat for the short flight north.
She grinned. “Since it worked, I agree. Once he saw our marriage license he was a different man.”
“You hang on to that license,” he ordered. “We’ll have to show it around a lot in the next couple of weeks.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Wise guy.” But he gave her a friendly smile, gratified that she was smart enough to see a loophole and grab it. Leaning back in his seat, he sighed. “We’re getting out of Mexico a lot later than I expected. We’d better spend the night in a hotel in Los Angeles and call Trey and Rachel in the morning.”
“All right.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about what you mentioned earlier today. They really sound like the odd couple.”
“How so?”
“You said he was a movie stuntman and she was a librarian. If that’s not odd, I don’t know what is.”
“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted. “They’ve just always been part of my family. I was about six or seven when they got married, so I never questioned it. Still…”
She perked up. “Still what?”
“Mom told me once that Trey and Rachel had a hard time getting together. Rachel thought he was a conniving con man, and fought tooth and nail to keep Thom T. away from him and vice versa.”
Maxine smiled. “I’ll bet Trey figured Rachel was a small-town prude.”
“Lucky guess.” He returned her dazzling smile.
“They say opposites attract. In their case, opposites fell in love and it lasted.”
“Lucky them,” Rand said, but he was thinking Go figure and eyeing Maxine with considerable doubt about the “opposites attract” theory.
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