A Promise to Cherish Read online

  Another bid was read: four million six. Hers was still low!

  It took every effort to sit calmly in her chair and wait. How often she’d sat in sessions like this and known this giddy elation until someone else bested her at the last moment. There could be only one winner, and the larger the number of submissions, the greater the glory; the larger the job, the greater the possible profits. And this one was big . . .

  Lee chewed her lower lip, trying to contain her growing excitement as three more bids were opened and read, none of them lower than hers.

  Finally the city engineer grinned and announced the last bid. “Brown and Brown, Inc., Kansas City, Missouri,” he said as he lifted the bulky envelope and slit it. The room was as silent as outer space. Even before he read the amount aloud, the city engineer’s smile broadened, and Lee experienced a premonition of doom.

  “Four million two hundred forty-five thousand!”

  The blood seemed to drop to Lee’s feet. She wilted against the back of her chair and strove not to let her disappointment show. She swallowed, closed her eyes momentarily, and breathed deeply while the scuffle of shoes and the metallic clank of chairs filled the room. Her body felt like lead, but she forced herself to her feet. To lose was tough. To be second was harder. But to be second by only four thousand dollars on a job worth over four million was agony.

  Four thousand dollars—Lee restrained an ironic grunt. It might as well have been four cents!

  Could there by anything harder than congratulating the winner at a time like this? The man beside Lee moved toward the cluster of people who’d converged, Lee presumed, around the winning estimator. She caught a glimpse of a dark head, wide shoulders . . . and immediately squared her own.

  Protocol, she thought dismally, wishing she could forgo congratulations.

  The man was accepting them with obvious relish. His wide smile was turned upon a competitor who railed good-naturedly, “You did it again, Sam, damn ya! Why don’t you leave some for the rest of us?”

  The smile became a laugh as his darkly tanned hand pumped the much lighter colored one. “Next time, Marv, okay? My luck can’t hold forever.” Others shook his hand, and exchanged brief business comments while Lee waited her chance to approach him. His wide hand was enclosed around another when his eyes swung to find her in front of him. Those eyes were deep brown in a tan face. Pale crinkles at the corners of his eyes suggested he had squinted many hours into the sun. His nose was narrow, Nordic; the lips widely smiling, pleased at the moment. His neck was thick and his posture more erect than any other man’s in the room. Lee had a brief glimpse of a silver and turquoise cross resting in the cleft of his open collar as his shoulders swung her way. His palm slid free of the man still addressing him, as if the brown-eyed winner had forgotten him in the middle of a sentence.

  “Congratulations . . . Sam, is it?” Lee extended her hand. His grip was like that of a front-end loader.

  “That’s right. Sam Brown. And thank you. This one was too close for comfort.”

  Lee’s lips parted and her eyes widened. Sam Brown? The coincidence was too great to be believed! Sam Brown? The same Sam Brown who read girlie magazines? He certainly didn’t look like the type who’d need to.

  Lee quelled the inane urge to ask him if he used Rawhide deodorant and instead lifted her eyes to his hair for verification—it was indeed dark brown, straight, and appeared to be blow-combed into the stylish, unparted sweep that touched both ear and forehead and the very tip of his collar. In a crazy-clear recollection, royal blue jockey shorts flashed across Lee’s mind, and she felt a flush begin to creep up from her navel.

  “You don’t have to tell me it was too close for comfort,” Lee replied. “I’m the one who just came in second.” Sam Brown’s palm was hard and warm and captured hers too long. “I’ m Lee Walker, Thorpe Construction.”

  His black brows lifted in surprise, and she freed her hand at last.

  “Lee Walker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of Kansas City?”

  “Yes.”

  The beginning of a grin appeared on his wide lips, and his dark eyes drifted down over her wrinkled plaid shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed moccasins. On their way back up, they took on a distinct glint of humor.

  “I think I have something of yours,” he said, leaning a little closer, his voice low and confidential.

  Across her mind’s eye paraded a file of personal items from her suitcase—bras, pants, tampons, her daily journal. His insinuating perusal made her uncomfortably aware that she was dressed like a teenage runaway while attending a business function requiring professionalism in both comportment and dress. At the same time he—though missing his suitcase, too—was dressed in shiny brown loafers, neat cocoa brown trousers, an open throated peach-colored shirt, and a summer-weight oatmeal-colored sport coat.

  The difference made Lee feel at a distinct disadvantage. She felt the heat reach her face and with it a wave of suspicion and anger. Yes he certainly did have something of hers—a job worth over four million dollars! But this was no place to accuse him. Other people stood within earshot, thus she was forced to reply with only half the rancor she felt.

  “Then it was you who turned in my bid.”

  “It was.”

  “And I suppose you think I should thank you for it?”

  His smile only deepened the indentations on either side of his lips. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you always to carry anything of immediate importance on the plane with you?”

  Stung by the fact that he was undeniably right, she could only glare and splutter, “Perhaps you should consider teaching a workshop on the dos and don’ts of preparing bids for a public bid letting. I’m sure the class could learn innumerable new techniques from you.”

  He had the grace to back off and decrease the wattage of his grin.

  “How dare you turn in someone else’s bid!” she challenged.

  “Under the circumstances, I felt it the only honorable thing to do.”

  “Honorable!” she nearly yelped, then forcibly lowered her voice. “You honorably looked it over first, though, didn’t you!”

  His half grin changed to a scowl. “You’re the one who got the wrong suitcase. I picked—”

  “I don’t care to discuss it here, if you don’t mind,” she hissed in a stage whisper, glancing in a semicircle to find too many curious ears nearby. “But I do want to discuss it!” Her eyes blazed, but she forced restraint into her tones, though she wanted to let him have it with both barrels. “Where is it?”

  Contrarily he slipped a lazy hand into his trouser pocket and slung his weight on one hip. “Where is what?”

  “My suitcase,” she ground out with deliberate diction as if explaining to a dimwit.

  “Oh, that.” He looked away disinterestedly. “It’s in my car.”

  She waited with long-suffering patience but he refrained from offering to get it for her.

  “Shall we trade?” she suggested with saccharine sweetness.

  “Trade?” Again his dark gaze turned to her.

  “I believe I have something of yours, too.”

  Now she had his full attention. He leaned closer. “You have my suitcase?”

  “Not exactly, but I know where it is.”

  “Where?”

  “I returned it to the airport.”

  His brows curled, and he checked his watch hurriedly. But at that moment an enormous red-faced man clapped a big paw on Sam Brown’s shoulder and turned him around. “Sam, if we’re going to talk about that subcontract, we’d better get going. I have”—he, too, bared a wrist to check the time—“at the outside, an hour and a half.”

  Brown nodded. “I’ll be right with you, John. Give me a minute.” He turned hastily back to Lee. “I’m sorry I have to run. Where are you staying? I’ll bring your suitcase no later than six o’clock.” He was already easing toward the door.

  “Hey, wait a minute, I—”

  “Sorry, but I have a previous commit
ment. What motel?” John was in the doorway, waiting impatiently.

  “I have to catch a plane! Don’t you dare leave!”

  Sam Brown had reached the door. “What motel?” he insisted.

  “Damn!” she muttered as her hands gripped her hips, and she all but stamped a foot in frustration. “Cherry Creek Motel, but I can’t wait—”

  “Cherry Creek Motel,” he repeated, and raised an index finger. “I’ll deliver it.” Then he was gone.

  For the next three hours Lee sat like a caged rabbit in Room 110 of the Cherry Creek Motel while her irritation grew with each passing minute. By six o’clock she felt like a time bomb. She was hot and dirty. Denver in July was like an inferno, and Lee wanted nothing so much as a cool, refreshing bath. But she couldn’t take one without her suitcase. Old Thorpe was going to be hotter than a cannibal’s stew-pot when he found out she hadn’t returned to Kansas City as ordered. A check on late-leaving flights confirmed that Lee had already missed the suppertime flight, and the next one didn’t leave till 10:10 P.M. She was damned if she’d stay up half the night just to get into the office bright and early for Thorpe’s self-righteous tirade. After all, it wasn’t her fault. And she’d had a harrowing day and still had a bone to pick with the “honorable” Sam Brown.

  Every time she thought of him, her temperature rose a notch. To leave her high and dry and sashay off without returning her property was bad enough, but worse was the dirty, underhanded trick he’d pulled with her bid. She couldn’t wait to tear into him and tell him exactly what a sneaky, low, lying dog he was!

  At 6:15 she stormed to the TV and slammed a palm against the off button. She didn’t give two hoots what tomorrow’s weather would be like in Denver. All she wanted was to get out of this miserable city!

  When a knock finally sounded, Lee’s head snapped up and she stopped pacing momentarily, then stormed across and flung the door open.

  Sam Brown stood on the sidewalk with two identical suitcases in his hands.

  “You’re late!” she snapped, glaring up at him with black, angry eyes.

  “Sorry I had to run off like that. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “Well, it’s not soon enough. I’ve already missed my flight, and my boss is going to be livid!”

  “I said I was sorry, but you’re the one who caused all this by grabbing the wrong luggage at the airport.”

  “Me! How about you! How dare you run off with my suitcase!”

  “As I said before, you ran off with mine.”

  She gritted her teeth, knowing a frustration so overwhelming it turned her vision blazing red. “I’m not talking about at the airport. I’m talking about after the bid letting. You left me here to sit and stew and not even a brush to brush my hair with or clean clothes so I could take a bath or . . . or . . .” Disgusted, she yanked a suitcase from his hand and flung it onto the bed. Again she spun on him and ordered, “You’ve got some explaining to do. I’d suggest you begin.”

  He stepped inside obligingly, closed the door, set the other suitcase down, glanced around, and asked, “May I?” Then, as unruffled as you please, he carefully tugged at the crease in his impeccable pants before easing down in one of the two chairs beside the small round table.

  With her hands on her hips, Lee spat out, “No . . . you . . . may . . . not!”

  But instead of getting up, he spread his knees, leaned both elbows on them, and let his hands dangle limply between them. “Listen, Miss Walker, it’s been a helluva—”

  “Ms. Walker,” she interrupted.

  He raised one brow, paused a moment, then repeated patiently, “Ms. Walker.” He flexed his shoulder muscles, kneaded the back of his neck, and continued, “It’s been a long day and I’d like to get out of these clothes.”

  “You opened my suitcase,” she stated unsympathetically, scarcely able to keep her temper under control.

  “I what?”

  She leaned forward and riveted him with snapping, black eyes. “You opened my suitcase!”

  “Why, hell yes, I opened it. I thought it was mine.”

  “But you did more than just open it! You looked through it!”

  “Oh did I, now?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “Well, what about you? Are you saying you didn’t open mine?”

  “Don’t change the subject!”

  “The subject, I believe, is suitcases, and women who are sore losers.”

  “Sore losers . . . sore losers!” She stepped closer, towering over him. “Why, you lying, cheating . . . crook!” she shouted.

  “What the hell are you driving at, Ms. Walker?”

  “You opened my suitcase, found my unsealed bid, saw that it already had all the necessary signatures, looked it over, and undercut me by a stinking four thousand dollars, then played the benevolent Good Samaritan by turning in my envelope at the bid letting . . .”

  In one swift motion Sam Brown came up out of his chair, swung her around, and stabbed two blunt fingers in the middle of her chest. The poke sent her reeling backward till she landed with an undignified bounce on the bed.

  “That’s a mighty serious allegation, lady!”

  “That’s a mighty narrow margin . . . man!” she sneered, leaning back on her hands as he stood above her, one of his knees pressing hard against hers. His face wore a thunderous look, made all the more formidable by the swarthiness of his skin and brows. Suddenly, though, he backed off, hands on hips as he cast a deprecating glance along her length.

  “Oh, one of those,” he intoned knowingly.

  She rebounded off the bed, planted a palm on his chest, shoved him back two feet, stepped around him, then faced him squarely.

  “Yes, one of those. I’m sick and tired of men who think a woman can’t compete in this all-male sewer and water industry of theirs!”

  “That’s not what I meant when I called you lady, so don’t put ulterior meanings on it.”

  “Oh, isn’t it? Then why did you make the distinction? Isn’t it because once you realized that suitcase belonged to a woman, you also realized the bid must have been prepared by a woman and you couldn’t face getting stung at a public bid letting by losing to her?”

  He pointed a long brown finger at her nose and leaned at a dangerous angle from the hip.

  “Lady . . .” he began, but cut the word in half and tried again. “Ms. Walker, you’re an opinionated, egotistical . . . suffragette! What makes you think nobody else in the world can bid a job better than you?” He began pacing in the small space before the table and chairs. “My God, take a look at the economy, at the number of contractors who are folding every month. Count the number who showed up at that bid letting today. That job will keep crews working for an entire season! Everybody wanted it. The margin was bound to be narrow!”

  “Four thousand on four million is too narrow to be accidental, especially from a man who had possession of my suitcase during the earlier part of the day.”

  A look of pure disgust turned his features to granite. He stood before her, stalk still, jaw clamped tight. Momentarily his expression altered to a heavy-lidded perusal. His lips softened. His eyes traveled slowly down the madras shirt, not quite reaching her hips before starting back up again. His voice fell to a distasteful purr as he backed a step away and mused with strained male tolerance. “From what I saw in your suitcase, it’s to be expected you’d be testy at this time of the month, so I’ll chalk this up to female taboos and won’t take further issue over your ch—”

  Crack!!

  She smacked him across the side of the mouth with an open palm. It knocked him momentarily off balance, and he teetered back in stunned surprise.

  “Why . . . you . . . degenerate,” she grated. “I might have expected something like that out of a . . . pervert who carried porno magazines in his suitcase on a business trip!”

  Four red stripes in the shape of her fingers appeared to the left of his lips. His fists clenched. The cords along his neck stood at attention. His eyes g
lowered like chips of resin, and his lips were a thin, tight line.

  Fear coursed through Lee at her own temerity. What had she done? She was alone in a motel room with a total stranger who was dishonest enough to cheat her in business, and she’d just knocked him clear into next week. He might very well decide to knock her clear into the one after that!

  Her own trembling hand covered her lips, but he only straightened his shoulders, muscle by muscle, his anger held fiercely in check as he relaxed slowly, slowly. Without a word he retrieved his suitcase, opened the door, and paused, his eyes never leaving Lee’s face.

  “Just who looked through whose suitcase,” he drawled, then added sarcastically, “. . . lady? ”

  He paused long enough to cause a warm flush to darken her cheeks before disappearing from the door, taking a smug grin with him.

  In his wake Lee slammed the door so hard the mirror on the wall threatened to come crashing to the floor.

  Chapter TWO

  A minute later Lee opened her suitcase only to stare, dismayed at its contents. Oh no, not again, she groaned. The distasteful magazine was still inside. It beckoned to Lee’s seamier instincts. She began to close the suitcase, but a bit of royal blue peeked from beneath a folded dress shirt, making something forbidden and prurient tingle her insides. She crossed her arms nonchalantly over her waist, covertly glanced at the closed drapes, then slipped an innocent forefinger between the magazine pages, running it up and down thoughtfully several times before finally flipping the magazine open and crossing her arms tightly over her abdomen again.

  She stared, mesmerized by the undeniably stunning body stretched backward over a wide boulder on a riverbank. The skin was oiled, shimmering beneath drops of river spray with limbs laid open, hiding nothing. The model’s eyes were closed, the expression on her face a combination of lust and fulfillment. The sultry, open lips were parted, the tongue peeking out between perfect teeth. Her long, scarlet nails rested against the dark triangle of femininity.

  Lee swallowed, blushed, but turned the page. There followed more of the same. Skin and sin, she thought—exactly what one might expect of a man like Sam Brown. Still, she turned one more page.