Spring Bride Page 3

  “What?” Cade said, plopping himself down at the table. “No groaning sideboard?” He grinned. “I’m disappointed.”

  Kyra dropped the paper towels in the waste bin and wiped her hands on her jeans.

  “I’m going to make lots of changes,” she said airily. “How do you want your eggs? Fried or scrambled?”

  “Your choice, babe. I’m starved. If I’ve eaten in the past twenty-four hours, I sure as hell don’t remember it.”

  She waited until he’d finished everything, including two cups of coffee, and then she sat down across from him.

  “Great breakfast, Squirt.”

  Kyra smiled. “Not bad for an amateur, huh?”

  Cade smiled back. “Matter of fact, I’ll have one last cup of coffee before I head to the office.”

  “The office?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to look for some papers.”

  Well, Kyra thought, here was an opening. It had crossed her mind that there might be something for her to do there, at the Landon Enterprises office, until the business was sold. She could learn to do things. Operate a computer. File letters. Answer the phone.

  “What kind of papers?” she said.

  Cade shrugged. “Nothing you’d understand.”

  “Try me,” Kyra said, still smiling.

  “Look, Sis, I know you mean well, but—”

  “Why do I have to practically beat you guys on the head to make you listen to anything I have to say?”

  She spoke lightly, but Cade shot from his chair. “What in hell’s going on here?” he said furiously. “I’ve about had it with this crap.”

  “Well, so have I,” Kyra said, just as furiously. She sprang to her feet. “Just because I’m your little sister-”

  “You mean, just because you’re female! Well, let me tell you something, Kyra. I’m male, yeah, but that doesn’t make me the enemy! If a man didn’t love a woman he wouldn’t—” Cade clamped his lips together. “I’m going downtown. If Zach or Grant calls, tell them they can reach me at the office.”

  Kyra nodded coolly. “Yes, sir.”

  Cade started to answer, thought better of it, and stormed out the door.

  Cade spent the rest of the week either at the office or on the telephone. Neither he nor Kyra referred to the harsh words that had passed between them.

  Kyra knew something was bothering Cade. He wasn’t just short-tempered, he was restless. She could hear him pacing his room at night—but then, she paced hers, too

  What was she going to do with her life?

  Late one moonlit night, after she’d pounded her pillow flat, she gave up trying to sleep and slipped down to the kitchen in her long flannel nightgown. She curled up in the bay window that looked over the new snow that had fallen on the shores of Crystal Lake.

  Moments later, she heard Cade coming down the stairs. He seemed surprised to find her in the kitchen, sitting in the moonlight and staring out into the night.

  “What are you doing up?” he said.

  Kyra didn’t answer. What could she say? I’m depressed? I’m down? I’m trying to decide if I want to study manicuring or brain surgery?

  Cade frowned. “It’s late. And it’s cold. You should be…you should be…”

  Kyra looked at him, her brows raised, and he frowned.

  “Hell,” he muttered. “Do I do that a lot?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Do I tell you what to do? Am I overprotective?”

  Kyra sighed. “You’re not like Father, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He drew back as if she’d struck him. “Of course I’m not! I’m nothing like him. I’d never be like him!”

  “No. You wouldn’t. You’re not dominating, or unkind. And you’re certainly not selfish.” She smiled. “But sometimes you do like to control people you love.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe, down deep, you think you have to control them to keep them from abandoning you.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “I wonder if it has something to do with what happened the night of your twenty-first birthday.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Cade, don’t play dumb. It was when you learned Father had bought off that girl you were so crazy about. You were so hurt—”

  “You’re nuts! I wasn’t hurt, I was angry.”

  “Losing her that way must have been awful. But someday you’ll meet a woman…”

  Suddenly, she knew. He’d met someone already; it was the reason he paced the floor, the reason he looked haunted—the reason he was questioning himself.

  “Oh, Cade,” Kyra whispered, “you’ve already met her, haven’t you? And you don’t know what to do about it.”

  Her brother’s eyes snapped with anger. “Thank you for that brilliant, and useless, analysis!”

  He pivoted on his heel and marched from the room. Kyra watched him go, and then she sighed and turned her face to the window.

  Had she deepened his wound by telling him the truth? She didn’t think so. Cade was hurting, but at least he was feeling like something more than a self-sacrificing martyr, which was what she’d been feeling like lately.

  Hell. It was what she’d been feeling like ever since she was five years old and she’d become everybody’s idea of an angel, and she was sick of it!

  Kyra got to her feet. She had to do something soon or she’d go crazy! She had to experience life, to feel…

  To feel.

  Does it disgust you, to want a man like me?

  She came to a dead stop, the deep, husky voice echoing inside her head.

  What would have happened if she’d said no, no, wanting him didn’t disgust her at all? If she’d said that wanting him had terrified her even as it had thrilled her, that it had made her feel alive in a way she never had before?

  Her breath caught in her throat. My God, she really was losing her grip!

  A change of pace, that’s what she needed. But how did you manage that when you were trapped in a house you hated, in a life you hated, with nothing more important to do than go on being the perfect little princess you’d always been?

  You could take a trip, Kyra thought suddenly. You could go somewhere you’d never been before. You could see new things, do new things, meet new people…

  But where? Where did she want to go?

  She hurried into the library, threw on the light, and snatched a leather-bound atlas from the shelf. Then she opened it to a map of the world, shut her eyes, and stabbed it with her forefinger.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked down. Her finger was resting in the middle of the Caribbean.

  How could you go for a vacation on an ocean?

  You could take a cruise, she thought, and smiled. A cruise in the sunny Caribbean.

  Kyra’s smile became a grin. “Why not?” she said jauntily, and then she slammed the atlas shut, turned off the light, and trotted up the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EMPRESS of the Caribbean was hardly the ship of anyone’s dreams. And autumn, with its potential for storms and rough seas, was not the best time to cruise the Caribbean.

  But Kyra was having the time of her life.

  It wasn’t as if this was her first trip away from home. She’d skied in Switzerland, gone to horse shows in Ireland, and Charles had even let himself be convinced that she could spend her last semester at Denver’s finest private school for girls as an exchange student in England.

  But always, in her travels, there’d been her father or a chaperon at her side. And now here she was, thousands of miles from home, on a trip she’d planned, start to finish, all by herself.

  Actually, no one even knew about this tnp. She’d thought of calling her brothers and telling them she was going away, but what for? Did Cade or Grant or Zach phone her when they were heading off somewhere? Of course they didn’t.

  Then, why should she?

  Stella, the housekeeper, knew. And Ted West, who oversaw the stables, had to be told, bu
t that was it.

  Kyra zipped up her white cotton skirt, then drew a pale yellow T-shirt over her head. For the first time ever, she was responsible to absolutely no one but herself.

  Maybe that was why the Empress seemed such a dream ship, despite her dated accommodations. She had chosen the ship on impulse, from an advertisement in the Sunday paper.

  Adventure! the ad had shrieked. Excitement! Romance on the High Seas!

  All those capitals and exclamation marks had to mean something.

  And they did, she thought, smiling as she slipped on a pair of white thong sandals. For her fellow travelers, adventure meant visits to sites of pre-Columbian settlements and museums. Excitement was wondering if the wheezing old tour buses that greeted the ship at each port would be able to get to the top of the next hill, then betting that their brakes were better than their engines as they rocketed back down to the harbor through one hairpin curve after another.

  As for romance…it was sweet to watch white-haired senior citizens dancing cheek to cheek. It was also about as close to “romance” as she wanted to get, Kyra thought briskly as she screwed a pair of small gold hoops into her ears.

  As far as she was concerned, the cruise advertisement had put things into exactly the right perspective. Adventure and excitement came first. There’d be plenty of time for romance somewhere down the line, but not for a long, long time.

  Some women didn’t agree, and that was their privilege. Lots of girls she’d grown up with were engaged to be married. She knew that most of them hadn’t led lives as restricted as hers, but even so, as far as she could see, they’d simply traded their new freedom for chains of their own making.

  Kyra brushed her hair, then put a white baseball cap on her head and adjusted the brim low over her eyes. Men—even her brothers—just seemed to be proprietorial as a breed. Of course, none of the men she’d ever known would be anywhere near as proprietorial as that good-looking Spaniard.

  She could imagine what he’d be like! Expecting a woman to drop everything and come running if he crooked his finger, demanding her total attention be centered on him, jealous every moment she was out of his sight.

  Not that there wouldn’t be compensations. Kyra’s breath hitched as she remembered the banked fires smoldering in his blue eyes, the harsh, almost cruel sensuality of his mouth. A man like that would know how to please his woman when she was in his bed at night. She’d lie beneath him eagerly, her lips parted, waiting for the brush of his lips, the touch of his hand…

  Color poured into Kyra’s cheeks.

  “Honestly,” she said, scowling into the mirror, “what on earth is wrong with you?”

  Weeks had passed since that embarrassing night at the Arts Center. Why should she waste even a minute thinking about that horrible man? He certainly wasn’t anybody to fantasize about, not unless you were interested in setting feminism back a couple of centuries.

  She swung briskly away from the mirror, looped the strap of her white purse around her wnst, and made her way out of her cabin.

  Mr. and Mrs. Schiller, the elderly couple in the cabin next to hers, were just locking the door. Mrs. Schiller looked up and smiled.

  “Good morning, dear. Don’t you look charming!”

  Kyra smiled back at the white-haired woman. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “We get to spend almost a whole day in Caracas!”

  Mr. Schiller nodded. “Excellent city, Caracas.”

  Mrs. Schiller took her husband’s arm as the little group started toward the elevators

  “Won’t you join us for breakfast, Kyra? There’s still half an hour before the bus leaves.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not taking the tour. I thought I’d see the city on my own.”

  Mrs. Schiller looked uncertain. “Are you sure you’ll be all right alone in a strange city, dear?”

  “Big city, Caracas,” Mr. Schiller said, shooting Kyra a look from beneath his bushy white brows. “Got to keep your wits about you, young woman.”

  Kyra smiled politely. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”

  Like all the other ships that listed Caracas as a destination, Empress of the Caribbean actually docked at a port called La Guaira. It was grimy and unattractive, but no one—least of all Kyra—cared. A short ride in a taxi, and she was in the center of the bustling, modern capital of Venezuela.

  She’d planned her day carefully, using a guidebook and the brochures she’d picked up on ship. A cable-car ride up Mount Avila first for a breathtaking view of the Caribbean coastline, and then brunch at the Humboldt Hotel. After that, she would head down into the city and pack as much sight-seeing as she could into the remaining hours.

  By midafternoon, Kyra was weary but happy. She had zigzagged Caracas on foot and by taxi; she’d seen almost everything on her list, from the beautiful gardens and fountains of La Casona to the cobbled streets and tiled roofs of the old city near the church of La Pastora. She’d even managed to spy a slow-moving sloth in the trees at Plaza Bolivar.

  Now, as the sun began angling across the sky, she glanced at her watch. It was getting late, but she had at least an hour to browse the shops, and to see what she could add to her growing collection of souvenirs. Just thinking of them made her smile. Nothing she’d bought had been costly and most of the things were probably foolish but each had been fun to choose and would forever remind her of this trip in a way that expensive items from faceless hotel gift shops couldn’t.

  That was something her father had not understood, Kyra thought as she headed for a stretch of shops the purser had recommended. She still remembered the look on his face when she’d handed him a tiny replica of Windsor Castle that played “God Save the Queen” when you moved a switch set into one of its turrets after her semester in England.

  “How…how nice,” he’d said.

  She’d almost explained that it wasn’t “nice” at all, that it was tacky and funny and that was why she’d bought it—but then she’d thought that if she had to explain all that, it wasn’t worth the effort and so she’d smiled and said yes, it was, and actually, she’d bought it for herself.

  “Oh,” he’d said with obvious relief, and Kyra had taken back the little castle, handed him the very proper cashmere scarf she’d bought at Harrods, and listened while he praised her for her good taste.

  Nobody was liable to praise her for showing good taste now, she thought, smiling as she made her purchases. An oversize straw bag in the shape of a donkey for Stella, a papier-mâché parrot for herself, an assortment of silly T-shirts for her brothers…the gifts were fun to buy and would be fun to give.

  And that was what this trip was all about, she reminded herself as she came out of the souvenir shop. Fun…

  Kyra sucked in her breath as a clock in a window across the street caught her eye. Was that really the right time? She shifted her packages to the crook ot her arm and checked her watch.

  “Damn,” she muttered, and hurried to the curb.

  “Taxi,” she called, lifting her hand—the hand that so invitingly dangled the strap of her pocketbook. ”Hola! Taxi!”

  Later, she would remember seeing it happen in a terrible kind of slow motion. The approaching motorbike, the grubby hand reaching out, the fingers closing tightly around the strap…

  But at that moment, all Kyra knew was that a motorbike came whizzing past, something tugged sharply at her hand, and before she had time to react, it was all over.

  The thief, the motorbike and her pocketbook were gone.

  For a second, she couldn’t believe it. She stood staring after the bike while the sounds of the street faded; all she could hear was the thump of her own heart, and then she felt her knees turn liquid.

  How could such a thing have happened? This was the middle of the day, the sidewalks were jammed with people…people intent on their own business, as they’d have been in any city back home.

  Big city, Caracas. Got to keep your wits about you…

  Kyra spun tow
ard a woman coming out of the souvenir shop.

  ”Señonta,” she said in an unsteady voice, ”por favor…”

  The woman smiled helplessly. “Sorry,” she said without breaking stride, “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  Kyra stared after her. Well, neither do I, she thought wildly.

  Calm down, she told herself, just calm down. You do speak Spanish. You can find a taxi, ask the driver to take you to the nearest police station, and report this.

  Or was it best to head for the ship? It would be sailing soon; would anyone realize she wasn’t on board? And even if they did, would they hold up all the Empress’s other passengers just for her?

  Of course they would, Kyra told herself, but the sinking feeling in her stomach said otherwise.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, and she flew back into the shop where she’d bought the shirts and the straw bag. It took time to convince the clerk that she absolutely had to take all those things back, precious time Kyra didn’t have to waste, but finally she was out on the street again. She hailed a passing taxi and crossed her fingers.

  She had just enough money to get to the docks. All she could hope now was that she’d also have just enough time to get to the Empress before the ship departed.

  But she didn’t. The dock where the Empress had been moored was empty. All that remained of her was a windtossed brochure bearing the ship’s logo and the words, See Exciting Caracas blazoned across it in shrieking crimson.

  Kyra stood in the deserted street, staring out over the oily water, telling herself there was no reason to panic.

  Why should she panic? she thought, swallowing a hysterical laugh. Just because she had no money, no passport, no credit cards? Because she hadn’t the foggiest notion where to find a police station or the American Embassy? Because, now that the Empress was gone, she could see just how deserted these grimy streets really were?

  ”Buenos días, señorita.”

  Kyra spun around. A man was grinning at her, his two gold-capped front teeth flashing in the late-afternoon sun.

  “You are ’merican, si?”