Dangerous Refuge

chapter Five



This dress is too small, Shaye told herself.

You just like jeans better.

She could almost hear her mother’s accusation echoing down from the past, louder than the party clatter in the Crystal Room of the Tahoe Sky Casino. Her mother was the original girly girl, from a family who could afford all the designer frou-frou anyone could wear.

Shaye had been raised the same. She still wore designer armor, but only for business.

This is business. Quit whining.

The dress still felt too confining and too revealing all at once. The perfect cocktail costume.

So why do men wear cloth head to toe and women wear a minimal, wet-Kleenex look?

She gave a cool glance to a man ten feet away who appeared to be visually counting the stitches in her neckline. When the man, who was easily twice her age, realized he’d been caught staring, he started counting the onions in his empty martini glass.

She swept the large room with a glance, looking for a friendly face. All she saw was more of the designer crowd. The staff of the Ranch Conservancy fit right in. Not for the first time, she was struck by the fact that despite the Conservancy’s mission, it spent most of its time catering to the rich with galas like this. Even if the small ranchers had been on the gala’s A-list, they would have been be too tired and too broke to attend.

Not to mention the currents of hostility the ranchers felt for the rich outsiders who were changing their life. Locals wanted nothing to do with the fancy Tahoe Sky Casino, much less the ostentatious Crystal Room.

One day, maybe Kimberli will let me throw a barbecue and kids’ rodeo for the real people in the valley. In fact, the next time she apologizes to me for her dumb mistake with Lorne, I’ll insist on it.

What’s done is done, she reminded herself. Learn from it, pick up the pieces, and move on. Just like you have before.

Concentrate on all the good Kimberli is doing. She’s not IQ smart, but she’s a genius at fund-raising.

Trying to look happy and alert rather than sad and weary, Shaye circulated, barely touching the champagne that glowed pale gold in her glass. It was hard not to think about yesterday, and how she had found Lorne. The contrast between then and now was just too stark.

Last night’s run-in with Lorne’s nephew had been almost as bad. Just who the hell does he think he is, treating me like an intruder. I’m a better friend to Lorne than Tanner Davis was. Or anyone else in this room, for that matter.

Giant capital letters silkscreened on a banner suspended from the ceiling spelled out LORNE DAVIS. Jewelry flashed among the attendees, and clothing gleamed with wealth.

Lorne would have taken one look and walked out.

Shaye certainly wanted to. But unless she planned on returning to San Francisco and being her parents’ trophy daughter, she had to make a go of the Conservancy job. None of the city jobs she had tried had worked out. Neither had her personal life. The men on the party circuit were too much like her ex—users and losers.

She glanced at her watch. Too soon. She simply couldn’t leave until the hastily knocked-together “memorial” speech in Lorne’s honor was over.

“Smile, darling. It’s a party, not a funeral.”

Shaye bit back a sigh. If there was one thing that grated on her, it was her boss in full happy-happy mode. Reminded her way too much of her mother.

“Kimberli, you look wonderful as always,” Shaye said, proving that childhood lessons in social manners and maneuvers hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

The older woman brushed the words aside. She knew she looked good. It was what she did best. That and vacuuming money from checking accounts for the Conservancy. She was dedicated to her job the way some people were dedicated to religion. The hours she routinely worked should have been illegal. Not to mention after-hours visits to families and properties to keep the relationship going.

Shaye wondered if Kimberli knew about Lorne’s rude nephew, but didn’t bring it up. Shaye was in no hurry to have her boss sweetly and passive-aggressively chew her out when the situation was Kimberli’s fault in the first place.

God, I should never have let her anywhere near the closing of that deal. My bad. Her bad.

A mess.

“Lovely to see you in something other than old jeans,” Kimberli continued. “Now smile and look like you’re having fun. I don’t want this night to be a downer just because Lorne Davis isn’t here.”

“You make it sound like he was called away on a short trip,” Shaye said, then wished she hadn’t.

“Our cause is bigger than any one person.”

“Of course.” Shaye smiled her social smile, the one that didn’t touch her eyes. “It looks like everyone is having a great time.”

“I did what I could,” Kimberli said absently, checking out the bunting and cheerful, fresh flowers.

Framed in mascara and touched by glitter, Kimberli’s pale blue eyes searched the room endlessly, ready to pounce if anyone wasn’t having a good time. Again, Shaye was reminded of her mother. Shaye knew how necessary—and relentless—raising money was, but she didn’t enjoy the process.

“If only Lorne—” Kimberli stopped abruptly. Her smile got even brighter. “I do hope that Harold Hill gets back in time to be here. He’s such a dear. So handsome, too.” She gave the man hanging on to her arm like a purse an air kiss. “Not that you aren’t, Peter. You’re gorgeous and you know it.”

Shaye glanced at Kimberli’s escort and live-in lover. Peter Mann was half Kimberli’s age and fond of marijuana, which did nothing for his already mediocre IQ. He was apparently content to be a boy toy. Without complaint he stayed by her side through the tangled wilderness of cosmetic surgery and all-night parties. He had the tan skin, streaked blond hair, and toned body of a tennis, ski, or surf pro willing to give lessons on the side. Quite good-looking, if you liked the sort.

Kimberli did.

Shaye didn’t. She’d had a handsome athlete for a husband. It hadn’t worked out well. But then again, nothing after that had seemed to work, either. Men figured Shaye was supposed to be arm candy or a mommy.

Maybe Kimberli has the right idea. Screw them and lose them.

Kimberli had invested a lot of time, money, and energy in being forever twenty-one. At fifty, it was hard to do, but her boss pulled it off beautifully. That wasn’t what grated on Shaye. What made her teeth clench was the Marilyn Monroe act that went along with it. Kimberli wasn’t as breathless and stupid as she sounded.

Unless it involved paperwork.

But Kimberli was brilliant at fund-raising, which was all that mattered to the big bosses in the Conservancy. Paper pushers could be picked up at minimum wage.

“Peter, don’t you be staring at our pretty little rancher liaison,” Kimberli teased. “Shaye won’t be able to think straight for blushing.”

“Peter has the most beautiful woman in the room on his arm and he knows it,” Shaye said matter-of-factly. It was the truth.

At the reminder, Peter shifted his focus from Shaye’s body to Kimberli. “I sure do, you sweet thing.”

Thanks to hard schooling by her parents, Shaye’s thoughts didn’t show on her face.

Kimberli rolled her eyes. “Please don’t ruin the image by talking, Peter. Especially if Hill comes.”

“Did he actually say he would be here?” Shaye asked. “I thought he was out beating the sagebrush for votes.”

“He promised,” Kimberli said, ruffling her fingers through Peter’s well-styled hair. “Took time out from the campaign and everything.”

“He’s never not campaigning,” Shaye said. “I’ll bet he shakes hands in his sleep.”

“Of course. You won’t get elected to govern Nevada unless you eat, sleep, and breathe the job. He should be able to coax some campaign money out of the party tonight.”

“Which you pointed out to him,” Shaye said.

“Of course. He’s very qualified for the job.” As Kimberli spoke, she searched the room like the practiced hostess she was.

Qualified? Shaye thought. He’d float away if his staff hadn’t carefully nailed his Bruno Maglis to the ground.

Other than being telegenic, charismatic, and descended from old money, Hill didn’t have much to offer. He had made an art out of leading from the rearview mirror. His opinions were shaped by focus groups. He was always camera-ready, outwardly friendly, and socially polished.

“We could use a governor helping the Conservancy,” Shaye said neutrally.

“Then in Washington, D.C. Of course, that would be a few years from now,” Kimberli said, still scanning the crowd.

Shaye made a doubtful sound.

“You can’t rain on my dreams, sweet Shaye,” her boss said. “I have Teflon umbrellas to spare. I carry sunshine in my pockets. Have some.”

“You don’t have any room for pockets,” Shaye said, looking at the fiery, fitted dress Kimberli wore.

“Then you don’t want to know where I keep that sunshine.” Kimberli hugged Shaye. “Smile like you mean it. Please. I’ve worked so hard to . . .”

Make up for one mistake, Shaye silently finished for her boss. Then she shook herself mentally. It’s not like I’ve never made mistakes. Big ones. Supporting a man-child until he broke into the major leagues being at the top of that list.

L.A. can have Marcus. At least I won’t be paying for his training anymore.

Shaye put more wattage in her smile.

Kimberli looked relieved. “Much better. This is a celebration of a fine and generous man’s life.” She pointed out the display at the head of the room, where a black-and-white picture of a cleaned-up, much younger Lorne Davis stood between two outrageous fountains of ruby and gold petals.

“Lorne’s land passes to the Conservancy and becomes part of living history. Everyone’s happy,” Kimberli said. “In fact, I . . . I feel a tear coming on. There it is.”

Peter passed her a clean white handkerchief before her mascara could run into a raccoon mask. She dabbed at the corner of a black-rimmed eye.

“You’re horrible,” Shaye said, laughing in spite of herself. This was the Kimberli who made the wide-eyed act bearable, the Kimberli who acknowledged that she was fake and damned good at it.

Her boss smiled her first real smile of the evening.

“I might be a bitch, but I’m our bitch,” she said, winking at Shaye. “And as our bitch, I say that we go work this crowd and remind them that giving generously to the Conservancy is exactly what Lorne would have wanted.”

Really? But Shaye held her tongue. She didn’t want her boss to have to pull sunshine from a handy body cavity in order to dazzle all the sadness away.

There was a stir in the crowd. Sheriff Conrad’s trademark white Stetson appeared in the doorway above the throng. Conrad was what Lorne would have called a long drink of water. Tall, lean, almost as telegenic as would-be governor Hill. But unlike Hill, Conrad had a high, almost girly voice, and no charisma worth mentioning—which limited his political future to appearing in stern photographs in local papers. The position of sheriff of Refuge County was about as far as he would get with voters.

Like most of the people at the gala, Conrad was here to do business and get his picture in the news and on local TV screens.

“Go find Jonathan Campbell,” Kimberli said. “He can afford more than his recent donation. Or maybe Ace. Ace likes you. And on him, bald looks sexy. Stop drooping around. Make people feel welcome.”

Before Shaye could point out that people like casino owner Wilson “Ace” Desmond hardly lacked company, Kimberli was gone.

The sorrow Shaye had felt since yesterday wasn’t helped by all the chattering voices and fancy dresses. Her eyes kept burning and her throat felt squeezed dry. Blinking against tears that wouldn’t come and wouldn’t go away, she dutifully scanned the room for a male or female who was alone and didn’t like it—and she prayed she wouldn’t find anyone. She felt too raw to make nice with people who had money to spare for the Conservancy.

Her glance caught on a man in a dark suit that was too tight across his shoulders and too loose everywhere else. He stood with confidence, not at all intimidated by people who were accustomed to handmade clothes and a house for every day of the week.

He was doing the same thing she was, searching the room. Probably part of someone’s security detail.

Wonder what he hopes to find, she thought. He’s good-looking in a hard sort of way. Dark and rangy, solid, not overly muscled like a gym rat. Not a perfectly dressed escort like Peter. Come to think of it, the guy looks familiar. Maybe I should do what Kimberli said and—

The stranger was staring at her. She suddenly had an eerie feeling she was watching a much younger Lorne. Same long bones, stark jaw, and—

Oh God, it’s him. Lorne’s nephew. What the hell is he doing here?

Despite his lack of fine clothing, as he walked toward Shaye, people gave way to him like a covey of quail avoiding a hawk.