get up,” Donovan said.
“But—”
“Olga will take care of it.”
Abilene sank back to the couch cushions as his housekeeper appeared in the wide-open arched doorway that led to the foyer. Olga cast him a questioning look. He gave a tight shake of his head.
Olga shut the thick archway doors before answering the bell. Seconds later, there were voices: Olga’s and that of another woman. The heavy foyer doors blocked out the actual words.
He heard the front door shut.
And then Olga opened the doors to the living area again. “Dinner is ready,” she announced, her square face, framed by wiry graying hair, serene and untroubled.
“Thanks, Olga. We’ll be right in.” Out in the driveway, the Cadillac started moving, backing and turning and then speeding off the way it had come. Abilene had turned to watch it go. He asked her, “Hungry?”
She faced him again. “Who was that?”
“Does it really matter? And more to the point, is it any of your business?”
Abilene stood and smoothed her skinny little skirt down over those shapely knees. “I can see this is going to be one long, dirty battle, every step of the way.”
“Maybe you should give up, pack your bags, go back to San Antonio and your so-helpful builder friend, who also happens to be the father of your half sister, as well as of your sister-in-law. To the loving arms of your large, powerful, wealthy family. To your father, who loves your mother even though he betrayed her.”
Her eyes went to jade, mysterious. Deep. “I’m going nowhere, Donovan.”
“Wait. Learn. The evening is young yet. You can still change your mind.”
“It’s obvious that you don’t know me very well.”
Chapter Three
Dinner, Abilene found, was more of the same.
A verbal torture chamber. But at least it was brief. She saw to that.
Ben joined them in the dining room, which was the next room over from the enormous living area and had more large windows with beautifully framed views of the desert and distant, barren peaks.
There were several tables of varying sizes, as in a lodging house, or a bed-and-breakfast. They ate at one of the smaller ones, by the French doors to the courtyard, just the three of them. Olga brought the food and a bottle of very nice cabernet and left them alone.
Abilene asked, “Why all the tables? Are you thinking of renting out rooms?”
Donovan raised one glided eyebrow. “And this is of interest to you, why?”
Ben answered for him. “Once, Donovan thought he might offer a number of fellowships….”
Abilene smiled at Ben. At least he was civil. “Students, then?”
“Once, meaning long ago,” Donovan offered distantly. “Never happened. Never going to happen. And I decided against changing the tables for one large one. Too depressing, just Ben and me, alone at a table made for twenty.” He gave Ben a cool glance. “Ben is an engineer,” he said. “A civil engineer.”
Ben didn’t sigh. But he looked as though he wanted to. “I had some idea I needed a change. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was a very good engineer.”
“I saved him from that,” Donovan explained in a grating, self-congratulatory tone. “In the end, an architect knows something about everything. An engineer knows everything about one thing. It’s not good for a man, to be too wrapped up the details.”
Ben swallowed a bite of prime rib and turned to Abilene. “But then, my job here is to deal with the details. So I guess I’m still an engineer.”
She sipped her wine. Slowly.
Donovan glared at her. “All right. What are you thinking?”
She set down her glass. “I’m thinking you need to get out more. How long have you been hiding out here in the desert?”
A low, derisive laugh escaped him. “Hiding out?”
She refused to let him off the hook. “Months, at least. Right? Out here a hundred miles from nowhere, with your cook and your housekeeper and your engineer.”
“Are you going to lose your temper again?” he asked in that so-superior way that made her want to jump up and stab him with her fork.
“No. I’m not.”
“Should I be relieved?”
She glanced to the side and saw that the corners of Ben’s mouth were twitching. He was enjoying this.
Abilene wasn’t. Not in the least. She was tired and she was starting to wonder if maybe she should do exactly what she’d told everyone she wouldn’t: give up and head back to SA. “I’m just saying, maybe we could go out to dinner one of these nights.”
“Go out where?” Donovan demanded.
“I don’t know. El Paso?”
He dismissed her suggestion with a wave of his hand. “It’s a long way to El Paso.”
“It’s a long way to anywhere from here.”
“And that’s just how I like it.”
“I did go through a small town maybe twenty miles east of here today.”
“Chula Mesa,” said Donovan in a tone that said the little town didn’t thrill him in the least.
Abilene kept trying. “That’s it. Chula Mesa. And just outside of town, I saw a roadhouse, Luisa’s Cantina? We could go there. Have a beer. Shoot some pool.”
“I’m not going to Luisa’s.”
“You’ve been there before, then?”
“What does it matter? I’m not going there now. And as for Chula Mesa, there is nothing in that dusty little burg that interests me in the least.”
“Maybe you could just pretend to be interested.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Sometimes you have to pretend a little, Donovan. You might surprise yourself and find that you actually do enjoy what you’re pretending to enjoy.”
“When it comes to Chula Mesa, I’m not willing to pre tend. Wait. I’ll go further. I’m not willing to pretend anywhere. About anything.”
She really did want to do violence to him. To grab his big shoulders and shake him, at least. To tell him to grow up. Snap out of it. Stop acting like a very bright, very spoiled child. She took a bite of prime rib, one of potato. Dipped an artichoke leaf in buttery sauce and carefully bit off the tender end.
Donovan chuckled. “Fed up with me already, huh? I predict you’re out of here by morning.”
Ben surprised her by coming to her defense. “Leave her alone, Donovan. Let her eat her dinner in peace.”
Donovan’s manly jaw twitched. Twice. And then he grunted and picked up his fork.
They ate the rest of the meal in bleak silence.
When Abilene was finished, she dabbed at her lips with her snowy napkin, slid it in at the edge of her plate and stood. She spoke directly to Ben. “Would you tell the cook the food was excellent, please? I’ve had long day. Good night.”
“I’ll tell him,” Ben replied pleasantly. “Sleep well.”
“My studio,” Donovan muttered. “Nine o’clock sharp. We have a lot of work to do.”
She let a nod serve