For Love of Charley (2 page)

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand the
small town mentality. To think her uncle actually threatened you.”

Cole shook his head. “It wasn’t me he
threatened, Kristy. If it had been, I never would have left.” He glanced toward
the lake again, remembering. “It was Charley’s twentieth birthday and we’d
spent most of the night together. That was when I asked her to marry me. When I
got home, Victor Channing was waiting for me. He told me he never wanted me
near his niece again, that I wasn’t fit to even wipe her shoes, and that I’d
better be gone by morning. I refused, but he owned the house my mother lived
in, and he threatened to tear it down. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could
afford after my father died. I couldn’t let him throw her out. She had nowhere
else to go.” He shrugged. “So I left. I wrote to Charley every week for the
next year, hoping at least one letter would get through to her. When she never
answered, I gave up.”

“I just hope I’m around when Uncle Victor
finds out that the company who owns half his niece’s saloon is Jordan
Enterprises. The man is going to stroke out.”

“We can only hope. Whoever said ‘revenge is
sweet’ sure knew what they were talking about.”

A rumble from the front of the house had
both of them turning to watch the moving vans approach. “Looks like it’s time
to go to work,” Kristy said. As she headed back toward the house she glanced
into the swimming pool. “Ew, gross. Nothing like scummy water and mildew to
start the day off right.” The notebook came out again. “I’ll have someone out
to clean and repair it by the end of the week.”

Cole nodded his assent. “I’ll be right
down.” When Kristy was gone, he carefully folded the newspaper clipping and
stuck it back in his pocket. With one final look toward the lake, he turned and
entered the house, sliding the glass doors closed behind him.

* * * * *

Even though he was worn out, Cole dressed
carefully for his first trip to the Red Dog. Shunning the designer suits that
were his normal uniform in L.A., he grabbed his oldest pair of jeans and slid
them on. The bottoms where slightly flared to fit over his boots, and the hems
were a little ragged. He added a simple, white cotton shirt and tucked it in,
fastening a wide belt around his waist. Stomping his feet into boots, he picked
up the suede jacket that had been tossed over a chair and put it on.

His glance swept the house as he went down
the stairs. At least the furniture was all in place. There were only a few
boxes left to be unpacked in the kitchen, and Mrs. Paulson would be miffed if
he didn’t let her arrange things to her own satisfaction. When it came to the
kitchen, she was the undisputed dictator.

Kristy was sprawled on the floor of the
living room, blueprints scattered around her. She looked up, did a double take,
then grinned. “Be still, my foolish heart. I swear, Cole, if you keep dressing
like that, I may have to push Charley off a cliff.”

Cole laughed. “You’d be turned on by a
scarecrow if it were dressed in jeans and boots.”

She tilted her head sideways, eyes narrowed
as she considered his statement, then sighed. “You’re right. There’s just
something about all those bulging muscles covered in denim that makes me get
flushed all over. I think it’s hormonal.” She paused and her gaze swept him
again. “I thought the idea was to
not
impress her. ‘Cause I feel
obligated to tell you, you are gonna knock her socks off looking like that.”

Cole’s smile turned to one of satisfaction.
“Good. I want her to be impressed. I just don’t want her to think I’m trying to
do it.”

“And they say women are devious.”

He picked up the car keys from the table by
the door. “Are you going to be okay alone for a while? I don’t figure I’ll be
gone long.”

“Hit and run, huh? Yeah, I’ll be fine. I
picked up some groceries in town on the way through. I’m going to make a
western omelet later. If you’re back in time, I’ll fix you one.”

“No onions in mine.”

“Chicken!” Her words followed him through
the door. Still chuckling, he climbed into the Jag and headed toward the Red
Dog Saloon, his sense of anticipation growing with every mile. After ten long,
lonely years, the waiting was over. Tonight he would see Charley.

The parking lot in front of the Red Dog was
almost full, and the sounds of country-western music drifted from the door as
Cole stepped out of the Jag. His gaze swept the building, taking in the
additions that his money had made possible. The saloon was twice the size it
had been when he’d left town. Charley had done a good job of blending the new
with the old. The plank siding on the new half wasn’t as weathered as the older
part of the building, but given a year, it would be.

Gravel crunched underfoot as he walked, and
he made a mental note to check into having it paved. The Red Dog was located
nearer Duncan Mills than it was to Canyon Bend. When the tourists started
flocking to the area, the saloon was going to become a major stopping point.
Business was going to boom here as well as in Canyon Bend. And along with the
boom, problems were going to arise. He’d already set up a meeting with the
Canyon Bend City Council to discuss the issues.

Pausing at the double saloon doors, Cole
made a quick survey of the room then slipped in, standing to one side as his
eyes adjusted to the gloom of the dimly lit interior. Choosing a table in the
darkest corner of the room, he slid through the crowd and pulled out a chair. He
wanted time to look the place over before he confronted Charley. He also wanted
time to look at Charley, herself.

People ebbed and flowed between the saloon
and the new dance floor, blocking his view of the bar. Shouts of laughter
erupted from the far corner where an unlucky cowboy had just been tossed by the
mechanical bull that was also a new addition to the business. With a swish of
satin skirts, a waitress stopped at his table. She was dressed in the costume
of an old-time saloon girl, the strapless bodice of the dress looking like it
was held up by willpower alone. Bright red feathers adorned the spangled
headband that circled her forehead.

“Hi. I’m Frannie. Welcome to the Red Dog
Saloon. What can I get you tonight?”

“A draft.”

“Coming right up.”

Cole watched her wend her way skillfully
through the crowd and step up to the bar. Suddenly, every other thought
vanished from his mind. Charley was there, her chestnut curls caught in a
ponytail at her nape, a towel over one shoulder. Sweat shone on her face under
the bar lights, catching on escaped tendrils of hair that clung to her skin.
She was even more beautiful now than she had been at nineteen. His starved gaze
followed her every move as she turned and laughed at some comment from farther
down the bar. Only iron control kept him seated, kept him from going to her and
dragging her over the bar into his arms. It would be the worst possible thing
he could do.

Frannie reappeared at his table and put a
mug of beer in front of him. “There you go, Champ. If you need anything else,
just give me a yell. We don’t stand on formality around here.”

Cole nodded. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

He leaned back in the chair, legs crossed
as he took a swallow of the beer, his gaze never leaving Charley. She was in
constant motion, her slim body flitting from one end of the bar to the other,
taking orders and mixing drinks. Her attention was focused on her customers,
smiling and chatting as she worked, and they responded to her in the same
manner. It gave the saloon the air of a big, happy family reunion, rather than
a place of public business.

When he’d almost finished the beer, Cole
took a piece of paper from his pocket and jotted a quick note on it. Folding it
in half, he motioned Frannie back. “Would you give this to the lady behind the
bar, please?”

“Sure.” She took the note from his hand.
“But I have to tell you, you’re wasting your time. Charley doesn’t date much.”

“Oh?” Cole hid his sudden interest by
taking another sip from the glass. “And why is that?”

“Believe it or not, Champ, not every woman
on the planet is panting to snag a husband. Charley does just fine on her own.
She’s not interested in anything but The Red Dog.”

“I suspect she may be interested in what I
have to say.”

“It’s your funeral. Can I get you another
beer?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

He watched as Frannie headed straight for
the bar and stopped in front of Charley.

“Hey, sweetie, looks like you made another
conquest.”

“Great. That’s just what I need tonight.
I’ve got too many customers to waste time fighting off a budding Romeo. I hope
you told him I wasn’t interested?” Charley arched an eyebrow in question.

“Sure did, but this one doesn’t look like
the type to take no for an answer. He said to give you this.” Frannie passed
the note across. “Tell you what. If you don’t want him, I’ll be happy to stand
in for you. This guy is a real heavenly hunk.”

“Ben might get a little hostile if you
start dating someone else. Men are funny that way.” Charley threw the note onto
the countertop, but something familiar caught her eye and she picked it back
up. The letterhead was one she’d seen many times in the last eighteen months.
CJE, Inc. was stamped across the top in bold, cursive letters. The note itself
was short and to the point.
Looks like business is booming. Do you have a
few minutes to talk about it?
There was no signature. “Frannie,” She
stopped the waitress. “Who gave you this?”

“Guy at the corner table. Is something
wrong, Charley? You look kind of pale.”

“Yeah, something’s wrong. He isn’t hitting
on me. He’s here from CJE, Inc.”

“Well, you knew someone was going to turn
up sooner or later. After all, you sold them half the business.”

Charley squinted at the dark shape in the
corner, unable to see more than just a vague outline. “I didn’t have a choice,
Frannie. It was the only way to get the money I needed for the expansion. But I
was really hoping they’d just leave the running of the Red Dog to me.”

“If you bought half of a business, would
you be content to keep your fingers out of the pie?”

“I guess not.” Charley gave her a rueful
smile. “Will you find Frank for me and tell him I need him to take over the bar
for a while? May as well get this over with.”

“Consider it done.”

Charley went back to work, her glance going
again and again to the figure in the corner. As far as she could tell, he
hadn’t moved a muscle since the first time she’d looked. The gate at the end of
the bar opened and Frank slid by her, smoothly picking up the action as Charley
stepped back and wiped her hands on a towel.

Taking a deep breath, she moved through the
crowds, responding with a smile or wave to the greetings that were called out.
The man she was approaching didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her
progress. His head was turned toward the dance floor, giving her a glimpse of
dark brown hair that hung in waves down the back of his neck and tapered into
shorter lengths toward the top. From what little she could see of his profile,
he had a short, well-trimmed beard created to look like a heavier-than-normal
five o’clock shadow.

Nerves jittered down her spine as she
stopped next to the table. There was something about that profile… His head
turned toward her and she found herself looking into deep brown eyes that
surveyed her with a distant coolness. Eyes that she knew so well and had once
loved.

“Hello, Charley.” His voice was deeper than
she remembered, and every bit as cool as his eyes.

Rage slammed into her like a fist, driving
every other emotion from her mind like a forest destroyed by fire. “You
bastard.” The words erupted from her in a hiss of fury. “You’ve got a lot of
nerve showing up here. I want you out of my bar! Now!” The voices closest to
them began to drop, and heads began to turn.

“Our bar.” Cole picked up his glass and
finished the contents.

“You’re CJE, Inc.?” Her entire body was
tensed for battle.

He pushed a chair out with one booted foot.
“That’s right. CJE, Inc. is a subsidiary of Jordan Enterprises. Why don’t you
sit down and we can discuss it.”

“When hell freezes over. I don’t know what
kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it.” She watched him
throw some bills onto the table and then stand.

“Too bad. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to
go over the books. If you’d care to join me, we can talk about the plans I have
for The Red Dog. If not, I’ll handle matters myself in my own way.”

“Over my dead body.”

He shrugged lightly as he brushed by her.
“Up to you. But I’m going to be implementing some changes. If you want to have
anything to say about them, I suggest you be here.”

Before Charley could think of a suitable
name to call him, he vanished out the door. “Bastard,” she gritted again. With
a burst of repressed adrenaline, her foot shot out and connected with the chair
he’d been sitting in, sending it crashing against the wall. Damn. She’d forgotten
she was wearing sneakers. Pain lanced up her leg, and she clutched her foot,
hopping on the other one.

“Charley, are you okay?” Frannie’s anxious
face appeared next to her.

“No. I think I broke my toe.”

“Come on. You look like you could use a
little air.”

“What I could use is a gun and four hefty
bouncers.” A smile of satisfaction crossed her face at the thought. “That way I
could have them beat the crap out him before I shoot him.”

“Uh-huh.” Frannie steered her out the side
door and away from curious eyes. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“That arrogant, conceited bastard!” Charley
hobbled up and down in front of the door in a vain attempt to pace. “He
probably thinks he can just show up after all these years and I’ll fall right
back into his arms. What right does he have to march in here and start ordering
me around like he owns the place?”

“Uh, Charley? I hate to interrupt a good
tirade, but he does own the place. Half of it, anyway.”

Charley shot her a glare and kept pacing.
“There has to be something I can do. I refuse to work with Cole Jordan and he’s
insane if he thinks I will.”

“Cole Jordan? The same Cole Jordan that
practically left you standing at the altar?” Frannie straightened in outraged
loyalty. “The bastard.”

“Exactly,” Charley snapped.

“Okay, we need to calm down. I know how you
must feel, but we have to try to think logically here. Why did he buy half
ownership in the Red Dog to start with?”

“Because he wants me back under his thumb,
of course. Why else would he do it? He certainly has no reason to love this
town. I’d think he would want to stay as far away as possible.”

“If he wanted you back under his thumb, why
didn’t he show up eighteen months ago when you made the deal?”

“That one’s easy. He knew there was no way
on Earth I’d take a penny of his money for the Red Dog. I’d have let it fall
down or stuck a match to it myself, first.”

“That’s true,” Frannie was looking
thoughtful. “On the other hand, he didn’t even show up after the papers were
signed. He’s given you free rein for a year and a half.” She hesitated. “Are
you still in love with him, Charley?”

“My God, Frannie! You’re crazier than he
is! Not only do I not love him, I hate his guts.”

“You have to admit, you’re reacting kind of
strongly. Did you ever consider that maybe this is just a business deal to him?
Ten years is a long time. People change. If he didn’t love you enough to stick
around before, what makes you think he has an ulterior motive for being here
now?”

Charley paused in her pacing, running a
hand over her hair in frustration. “How was I supposed to react? Wouldn’t you
be upset if a guy proposed to you one night, left without a word the next day,
then suddenly showed up ten years later and announced he owned half the
business you worked your butt off to build?”

Frannie shook her head. “I think that after
ten years, I’d have gotten over it and put it behind me. And it
was
his
money that let you make the improvements to the saloon. Now you’re stuck with
him, unless you have the money to buy him out. You’re going to have to make a
choice. Are you going to act in a professional manner and treat this as just a
business deal, or are you going to go off the deep end every time you see him?”

She stared at Frannie for a second, then
gazed out into the darkness. “I don’t have the money to buy him out, and you
know it. Every cent I have is put back into the saloon. But you’re right. I
refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking he still bothers me when he
doesn’t. And I’ll be damned if I let him take over the Red Dog. This is my
saloon. From now on, it’s strictly business.”

“Atta girl! Chin up and forward, ho! We’ll
show the bastard he can’t push the Harts around.”

Charley chuckled. “Frannie, have I ever
told you how glad I am to have you for a cousin?”

“Nope. But that’s okay. I could see the
love shining from your eyes every time you hit me when we were kids. I just
wish we could have spent more than the occasional summer together. I might have
a better right hook now if we had. Ready to go back to work?”

Charley tramped down on her still-simmering
emotions and forced herself to smile. “Ready. Let’s get to it.”

* * * * *

As usual, the Wednesday night crowd at the
saloon emptied out by ten, leaving the staff to clean up and head home early.
The weekends were different. Those nights, the Red Dog stayed open until the
wee hours of the morning. Frannie, dressed now in jeans and a T-shirt, stopped
at the bar on her way out. “Want me to wait while you lock up?”

Charley shook her head. “Thanks Frannie,
but I’ve got to check some inventory. I’ll be about another thirty minutes.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow night. And if you
need me before then, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Drive carefully.”

Her cousin and best friend waved as she
went out the door. Charley followed her and made sure the lock was in place
before returning to the bar. Once there, for the first time since she’d bought
the Red Dog, she broke one of her own rules. Pouring herself a stiff shot of
whiskey, she sat down at the bar and stared at her reflection in the
mirror-covered wall. “You,” she told the woman looking back at her, “are such a
damn fraud. You can lie to everyone else, but at least admit it to yourself.
You never stopped loving him and you never will. But that doesn’t mean he has
to know it.” She shut her eyes and lifted the glass to her lips, tossing back
the liquor in one swift move. Her mouth puckered at the taste, and she coughed
as the fire slid down her throat and spread into her stomach.