Sweet Talk Page 2

  She slanted a glance at him over her right shoulder. “Yes, I am. Good night.”

  She had succeeded in putting him down once again, and it didn’t help that he’d been right about her apparently irrevocable attitude toward him.

  “Val,” he said quietly, “I only want to talk for a minute.” He saw that his plea didn’t move her, but he still held his breath until she spoke.

  “I can’t,” she said coolly, politely. “Sorry, but the Worths are waiting in their car for me.”

  She left him standing there with a taken-aback look on his handsome face, which she dismissed with an annoyed toss of her head. He wasn’t stupid, so why didn’t he take the not-so-subtle hints she dropped every time they ran into each other? She hadn’t known he would be at the wedding. Since he wasn’t a close friend of Jinni’s, he must be Max’s business associate. Max, she knew from Jinni, had invited a few business buddies to the affair, the few who lived in the area.

  Hell, maybe they played golf together. How would she know?

  Val put Reed Kingsley out of her mind and walked to the Worths’ car. As far as she was concerned, the evening was over. Jinni was married and her life with Max had already begun. It was a lovely thought, even if she didn’t want the same thing for herself, Val conceded as she got into the car.

  While Jim and Estelle took Val home, Reed, driving with a frown on his face, made a left on Main and considered stopping in at Joe’s Bar, or maybe even pushing the envelope by going out to Beauties and the Beat strip joint. He nixed that idea almost at once; he would like some female company, but not with the gals who danced half-naked at the joint.

  “Damn,” he mumbled. This thing with Valerie Fairchild had crept up on him when he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t quite place the first time he’d seen her as a beautiful, sexy, desirable woman, but that seemingly irrevocable opinion had taken root without conscious direction from his brain. Now, it had grown into something that, considering Val’s constant rejection, he’d be better off without.

  The whole thing perplexed him. He had never been one to lose sleep over sex or romance or any other type of male-female relationship. He liked women—women of all ages, for that matter—and they liked him.

  Except for Val. Why didn’t she like him? Why, of all the women he knew, was she the one that had finally gotten under his skin? Was it because she played so hard to get?

  “She’s not playing at all,” he muttered. “There’s the problem.” Rumor was a gossipy little town, and there was not one speck of gossip about Val and men, not old gossip, not new gossip. He’d wondered if her sexual preferences were with her own gender, but there wasn’t any gossip about that, either. No, she was heterosexual, strikingly beautiful even if she did very little to enhance her looks, and simply didn’t like him. She might be the one woman in his personal history who had truly gotten under his skin, but it was damn obvious that he hadn’t gotten under hers.

  Wasn’t it time he called it quits? He’d had enough of Val’s polite disregard of his very existence. There certainly was no shortage of available women in the area, and spinning his wheels over one who couldn’t care less was utter nonsense. With that decision made, he told himself he already felt better.

  But obviously he’d been driving on automatic pilot—his mind a million miles away—because he was long past The Getaway, a spa on the outskirts of town, before he realized that he’d left Rumor and Joe’s Bar in the dust. Fine, he thought. He didn’t want to drop into Joe’s, anyway. Making a U-turn, he drove back down Main to Kingsley Avenue and swung a right.

  He was going home, and the whole damn town would be old and gray before he turned himself inside out to get Val Fairchild’s attention again.

  Weatherwise, it was an incredible November. One perfect day rolled into another and another, each with brilliant sunshine and air so clear that whenever Val looked off into the distance, she felt the lovely, if unrealistic, sensation of limitless vision.

  Bright, flaming colors had replaced the dark greens of the trees and bushes, and the unique smell of fall seemed to permeate Val’s every cell. The residents of Rumor, Montana, had been enjoying the pleasures of a storybook, picture-perfect Indian summer for more than two months now.

  People Val knew kept saying it wouldn’t last, but they had started saying that in September and had repeated it almost constantly throughout October. Val took it a day at a time. It couldn’t last forever and no one with a lick of good sense really wanted it to. Last winter’s drought had been the underlying cause of the summer’s awful forest fire starting on Logan’s Hill, and locals shuddered whenever someone mentioned that terrifying ordeal.

  It was behind them now, but the barren, blackened hill, once so green and vibrant, was a strong reminder of the critical importance of a wet winter. It was really just a matter of time, people said with a nervous glance after praising the glorious weather of the day, as if to appease any bad-luck spirits that might be hovering in the immediate vicinity. After all, the long-range weather forecasters had predicted a hard winter, hadn’t they? One of these mornings, someone would always say, the town would wake up to snow, or at least to a drenching rainfall.

  It was neither snowing nor raining when Val awoke the morning of November 4; sunshine peeked through the slats of the vertical blinds at her bedroom windows, creating long, thin lines on the far wall. She opened her eyes and lay there thinking. Today was Election Day and she was going to vote if it killed her.

  It wouldn’t, of course, no more than her being part of Jinni’s wedding had. Other than that one fleeting weak spell, she had come through it like a trooper. Still, she hadn’t been really active since she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The whole thing had been a physically and emotionally draining ordeal, from the initial diagnosis to the day she’d heard her oncologist say, “There is no longer any sign of cancer, Valerie.”

  She had been trying very hard to believe it was true, trying almost desperately to trust in her doctor’s prognosis, but she could not completely rid herself of doubt, fear and worry that it could come back. Every so often anxiety grabbed her in a viselike grip and wouldn’t let go, sometimes for days. She hated when that happened, but she hadn’t yet figured out a way to prevent the depressing occurrences. It was Jinni’s opinion that Val’s fear was a normal part of the healing process and would vanish in time. Val hoped so.

  Lazily lying there, she found her thoughts drifting from her health concerns to the wonderful time Jinni and Max were undoubtedly having on their honeymoon, and then—for some unknown reason—to her parents. The Fairchilds hadn’t been terrible parents, merely uninterested and self-absorbed. Wealthy and generous, they had sent their daughters to the best schools in the country, when neither had wanted to leave home.

  It was one of the topics she and Jinni had discussed at great length. They’d finally decided that their parents, now deceased, had loved them in their own way; it simply wasn’t the way kids needed to be loved.

  “It’s what turned you into an animal doc,” Jinni had said matter-of-factly. “Pets love unconditionally. Neither of us got that from Mother and Dad.”

  “You could be right, but it didn’t turn you into an animal doc,” Val had wryly pointed out. She could have explained—or tried to explain—that veterinary school was the aftermath of the nightmarish episode that had nearly destroyed her at age twenty-two, followed by long-term psychiatric counseling. Working with animals, which she had always loved, had been her escape, Val had later realized. Her primary therapist had recognized that and pushed to get her headed in a productive direction. Veterinary school had given her a goal, a reason to go on, a nudge back to normalcy.

  It had only worked to a certain point, however. Val saw herself as a divided personality now, with one part hiding behind the other. Her strong side could make friends with undemanding people—folks like Jim and Estelle—run her business, lovingly care for sick animals and put up a darn good front for anyone curious enough to wonder what made Dr. Fairchil
d tick. There really was only one person in Rumor with any genuine—or maybe unnatural—curiosity about her, Val knew, and there was no way she was going to let Reed Kingsley get close enough to penetrate her facade of strength and get to her soft, vulnerable underbelly.

  What she had to keep asking herself was why would a man who seemed to have it all bother with a woman like her? Had she ever given him more than a remote, polite smile? Or any reason to think she might be an easy mark? Never! He had to be flawed in some invisible way, which was one more reason to keep a safe distance between them. One of these days her disdain for his unwanted attentions would sink in. What in God’s name had he thought she would do when he’d asked her at the church if she was going straight home—simper over the possibility of spending the rest of the evening with him? Maybe the rest of the night? What a jerk!

  Snorting disgustedly, suddenly tired of dissecting life in general and herself specifically, she threw back the covers, got up and headed for the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a bright yellow cotton sweater, she walked into the kitchen and smiled at Estelle, who had arrived while Val was in the bathroom.

  “Good morning. That coffee smells wonderful.”

  “I brought some homemade coffee cake for your breakfast. You’re getting too skinny,” Estelle said.

  Val stuck her forefinger into the waistband of her jeans and pulled it away from her body. There was about a two-inch gap. “These used to be tight,” she said.

  “Well, you’re not eating enough. Sit down and I’ll fix you some eggs to go with that coffee cake.”

  Val let her. Sometimes she liked being fussed over, and Estelle was a natural-born mother, certainly one of the kindest women Val had ever met. It had been a lucky day, indeed, when Jim and Estelle Worth had knocked on her door with a copy of the Rumor Mill, in which Val had placed a help-wanted ad.

  Holding her cup of coffee in both hands, with her elbows on the table, Val asked, “Did you ride in with Jim today, or did you drive your own car?”

  “I rode with Jim. Now, don’t you go worrying about a thing over at the clinic. I’m sure Jim has everything under control.”

  Val smiled. “I’m sure he does.”

  “We came in early to vote. Already did it.”

  “Well, that’s where I’m going right after breakfast.”

  “Glad to hear it. Oh, are you feeling up to a bit of shopping? We need some things if I’m going to do any real cooking today. Jim can do it if you’re not feeling well today.”

  “I’m feeling fine, Estelle. Write up a list. I’ll take it with me and go to MonMart right after I vote.”

  “Wonderful. I like seeing you getting out and about.”

  “I like it, too,” Val murmured.

  She looked out the window while she ate Estelle’s delicious scrambled eggs and homemade coffee cake. Her yard looked like fall. Mums and marigolds, the hardiest of plants, still bore scattered blooms, but there’d been enough heavy frosts at night to decimate everyone’s flower gardens. Still, it was her yard and she loved it, just as she loved her house. Jinni had thought the ranch house quaint when she first saw it, but Val thought it perfect for Rumor.

  After vet school she had looked for a place to move and set up a practice. She’d found an ad in a trade journal that piqued her interest—an established small-animal clinic in a small town in Montana. After calling the man who was selling and bombarding him with questions, she had made the trip to Rumor and looked everything over for herself. Indeed, the town was small. She had never lived in a town without stoplights and heavy traffic, and Rumor, along with its surrounding countryside boasting so much incredible scenery, had struck Val as utterly charming. Money was not one of her problems; her parents had left her and Jinni very well off. She had made an offer for the clinic, which the owner accepted, and the day she’d arrived in Rumor she had looked for a reputable building contractor. The rather run-down clinic had become the modern and attractive Animal Hospital, and while those renovations were going on, her house had been built on the vacant land that had been included in her purchase.

  So she had never thought of her house as quaint; to her it was warm and cozy and comfortable. Jinni would be much happier living in Max Cantrell’s fabulous mansion than she could ever be in a cozy little ranch house like this one, Val knew, but for her needs it was perfect.

  Finished with breakfast, she got up and carried her dishes to the sink. Estelle immediately tut-tutted. “If you do the work around here, what do you need me for? Here’s the grocery list. Go vote and have a good time shopping.”

  Laughing, Val took the list and went for her purse. Before leaving the house she told Estelle, “I’m going over to the clinic for a minute to check on those pups born yesterday. Then I’ll be gone…probably for a couple hours.”

  “Take your time,” Estelle advised. “Relax and enjoy the day. It’s another beauty, and this weather won’t last much longer.”

  Everyone said it, over and over again. Chuckling under her breath, Val left the house and walked toward her animal clinic. Everything might not be perfect in her world, but she was thankful for what was.

  Chapter Two

  Life was good for Reed Kingsley, and he knew it. He also knew that if some calamity should suddenly destroy his parents’ great wealth, and his own, he would still have a good life. Reed believed that his greatest personal asset was a genuine fondness for the human race. In simple terms, he liked people.

  Reed considered his having grown up on a ranch to be a stroke of luck, since he had loved country living from the time he was big enough to sit a horse. In his heart, though, he believed he would have derived a connection to the land if home had been a two-acre operation instead of the many thousands making up the Kingsley Ranch.

  That attitude wasn’t due to a lack of respect for his family’s good fortune. Nothing had ever been handed to the Kingsleys free of charge. The family had worked hard to make their ranch successful, and the fact that it was the biggest and most productive in the area was merely a result of their efforts.

  Now, of course, the elder Kingsleys were able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. At age sixty-five, Stratton, Reed’s father, still mounted a horse and checked on the herds of healthy, hardy cattle in his fields, but not with the dedicated regularity of his early years. Stratton was becoming a gentleman rancher, a little more so each year. He had good men working for him, young cowboys full of vinegar, and the rides he took these days were more for enjoyment than necessity.

  Then, too, he had MonMart on his mind. The immense discount store in Rumor was the flagship for what would soon become a national chain. Russell, Reed’s older brother, was the driving force behind MonMart’s inception and rapid expansion. Stratton was content to leave the kudos for MonMart’s astounding success to Russell—and most of the enormous responsibility, as well. He showed up at the administrative offices just often enough to keep his fingers in the pot and let everyone know that he backed his eldest son one hundred percent.

  Reed couldn’t boast of anything as audacious as MonMart as a personal accomplishment, but then, he wasn’t the spitting image of his father, either, as Russell was. Russell could talk cattle, horses, land, irrigation and anything else that went with ranching but it was all business to him. To Reed the land was so much more than a means to make money.

  Reed had never envied Russell’s business acumen or his younger brother Taggart’s long-ago declared and seemingly permanent independence from the family coffers. Tag was happily married and made his living as a carpenter—an extremely competent carpenter, by all accounts. In his own way, Tag was as much of a success as Russell, their father and Reed himself.

  Reed also had a sister, Maura, and he considered Jeff Forsythe, who’d been in the family since age six, as another brother. All the Kingsley kids were married or engaged, except for Reed. Not that it bothered him to be the only hold-out. After all, his siblings had fallen in love and he hadn’t. He sure wasn’t
going to get hitched just to join the pack.

  Besides, he was happy as he was, content with his routines. For instance, he drove from his house—built awhile back on Kingsley land, same as Russell’s house was—to his parents’ home for early morning coffee. Carolyn, his mother, sometimes slept in, but usually she was up and active, planning her day and willing to talk about it. Stratton was always awake early, usually with plenty to say about the ranch, the MonMart chain, the family, the national and global news, or any other subject that might arise. It was a good way to start the day, and Reed rarely missed a morning.

  Sometimes he did work at the ranch for his dad, and after that he drove to Rumor and put in a few hours at MonMart. Russell seemed to appreciate his input, and Reed enjoyed his time at the superstore.

  Then he almost always went by the volunteer fire station. He was Rumor’s fire chief and even when no one else was at the station, he liked checking equipment and making sure everything was in order. Last summer’s fire had devastated the landscape for miles around and could have been worse; it could have turned and destroyed the town. It was a sobering thought, and Reed knew that while he’d always taken his job as fire chief seriously, the Rumor fire intensified his dedication to civic duty hugely.

  This morning, Election Day, he drank coffee with his folks and discussed the candidates on the ballot. Around nine he drove to the Rumor courthouse, where voting booths had been set up in the lobby. He voted, then chatted with everyone he ran into, and finally turned his SUV back the way he’d come, toward MonMart. The superstore sat on twenty acres of lush, heavily treed land four miles from the center of town. Five acres were paved; the remaining acreage was gradually being turned into a park with bike paths and hiking trails. The store itself was Russell’s baby, but the park was Reed’s. Before the fire, his idea had been a good one. But after the conflagration that had blackened so much land south and southeast of town, it had mushroomed to greatness.