The Harder They Fall (2 page)

“Plenty warm for June,” Sam observed.

Chris nodded. It would be a long, hot summer.

“It will cool off tonight and be chilly, always does this time of year. Is your brother arriving tomorrow with his girl?” Sam said.

Chris nodded again. Sam noticed the darkening of his expression and thought it best not to pursue the subject.

“I’m going up to the house,” Chris said shortly, tossing the towel onto a pile of discarded burlap feed sacks and tying his shirt around his waist. He strode out of the paddock and onto the path that led up to the sprawling redwood ranch his father had built more than thirty years earlier. As he walked he thought about his coming encounter with Martin’s future bride.

What a fiasco that was going to be. Some chippy had attached herself to his pushover of a brother and he was supposed to rejoice about it. Martin, well off at forty, a whiz at business but never a ladies’ man, was the perfect patsy for a scheming younger woman. Everything Chris had heard about this girl, from her criminally inclined father to her dependent mother and sister, had convinced him that she was using his sympathetic, sweet natured sibling. He himself had benefited from Martin’s goodness—who else would have understood the surly teenager who had surfaced as his half brother, resenting the life of privilege Martin had led while he had been fatherless and poor. Martin never felt supplanted by the hellion upstart his father had grown to adore, and Chris had never forgotten his brother’s generosity. And he was damned if he was going to stand by and let some gold digger young enough to be Martin’s daughter take advantage of it. Martin seemed certain that once Chris met Helene his doubts would vanish, but Chris was not so sure. He might be younger than Martin but he knew a hell of a lot more about women and this smelled like a setup to him.

He rounded the corner of the porch and went to the back pump to rinse off before entering the house.

* * * *
 

Helene stood in the empty kitchen wondering where Martin was. He had been gone for almost two hours and it was getting on toward dinnertime. She found a copper kettle sitting on the range, filled it at the sink and set it on to boil. She was fidgeting around looking for tea bags when the back door opened and a man strode through it, stopping short when he saw her.

They stared at one another, both of them surprised into silence.

The first impression Helene had was of size; she was tall herself, but this man topped her by several inches. He was dark, with damp and tousled raven hair and olive skin kissed by the sun. His sherry brown eyes narrowed as he examined her, their long lashes matted with moisture. He was naked to the waist, his shoulders broad and spattered with freckles, his upper arms muscular. Helene’s gaze traveled to the black hair spreading over his chest and disappearing in a line under his belt. She looked away deliberately, her face flushing.

“So, who are you?” he finally said, his low voice deep and resonant.

“I’m...I’m Helene,” she stuttered, forcing herself to meet his eyes directly.

“The fiancée?” he said skeptically, folding his arms. “Aren’t you a little early?”

“Yes. And yes. I’ve just been waiting for Martin—he should have been back by now...” she said helplessly.

“I’m Chris. You know, the brother?” he said dryly, stepping forward and extending his hand.

Helene clasped it, feeling a slight shock as her fingers slipped into his callused palm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you,” he said evenly. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, we were able to get an earlier flight. There was a cancellation and Martin didn’t see the sense of just hanging around the airport. Perhaps we should have called you, but there really wasn’t any time.”

Her voice trailed off as she realized that she was babbling. She pulled her hand back from his uncomfortably. Even though his words had been perfectly polite, she felt something amiss in him. He fairly radiated... what? Embarrassment? Dislike?

“Excuse me a moment,” he said. “I’m not really fit company for a lady.”

Was her imagination working overtime or did she sense a faint sneering emphasis on the last word?

“I’ll be right back,” he added, disappearing into the darkness of the house. Helene turned the gas jet off under the teakettle. When he returned his hair had been combed and he was wearing a deep red polo shirt that emphasized his dark good looks.

Helene could hardly believe that this was Martin’s brother; there was no physical resemblance between the two men at all. Martin was stocky and blond, whereas this man was leaner, taller and Martin’s opposite in coloring as well as build.

“Don’t look much like Martin, do I?” he said, reading her thoughts. “Physically, he takes after the old man. I look like my mother, who was Spanish, and never married to our father, I might add.”

She said nothing. His faintly sardonic air disturbed her.

“She was the maid, you know,” he added in a mocking whisper, then grinned, displaying large white teeth.

“Martin told me about it,” Helene replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Shocking, don’t you think? Has he been unburdening himself of all the family secrets?” Chris inquired.

Helene was spared a reply by Martin’s arrival. He came through the same door Chris had used and Helene was so relieved to see him she almost fell on his neck in greeting.

“There you are!” Martin said triumphantly to his brother, hugging Helene to his side. “I’ve been looking all over this place for you!” He released her and extended his hand to Chris, who seized it and then embraced him, thumping Martin on the back. Helene watched the two men, feeling a little misty at their obvious affection for one another.

“I see you’ve met Helene,” Martin said.

“Yes,” Chris replied, stepping back from his brother.

There was a silence.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Martin prompted eagerly, beaming at his fiancée.

“Very,” Chris said quietly.

“I had come down here to wait for you and Chris found me,” Helene said hurriedly, to change the subject.

“Good, good. I want you two to get along, you know,” Martin said, still smiling broadly.

Chris looked at Helene and then away.

“Sorry to barge in like this, but we had the opportunity to get here a little sooner and we took it,” Martin added. “You’re probably not ready to feed us, Chris, so what do you say to a dinner on the town? I’m starving and I see that Maria has gone home for the day.”

“Sure,” Chris said.

They all stood awkwardly in the kitchen, glancing at one another uneasily.

“Well, let’s get going,” Martin said briskly. “My rental is parked out in front.”

“Nothing doing,” Chris retorted. “I’m driving.”

“I’m not sure Helene is ready for that experience,” Martin observed dryly.

“What does that mean?” Helene asked nervously.

“Chris used to drive race cars,” Martin explained. “Sometimes he gets the public roads confused with a dirt track.”

“I’ll drive like a little old lady on her way to church,” Chris said sarcastically.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Martin said.

They went out to Chris’ car, which turned out to be a low slung Italian sports car with a vestigial back seat, into which Martin climbed, insisting that Helene take the full front seat next to Chris. She got in as gracefully as possible, smoothing her skirt down over her knees carefully, then looked away in confusion when she saw Chris watching her. She stared straight ahead, extremely conscious of the man beside her, his muscular thighs encased in cord jeans, a large brown hand on the gear shift. When she stole another glance at him his expression was grim.

During the drive to the restaurant Martin kept up a running conversation with Chris about the ranch and local people. Helene had wondered about reservations, but once they got there she realized that Chris had an inside track. They were greeted like royalty and shown to a secluded table next to a niche containing a plaster statue of Don Quixote. The plush red carpeting and heavy carved furniture gave the room a Mediterranean feeling. Helene was seated in a padded leather chair with brass studs on the arms and given a menu printed in Spanish.

“Have you ever had this kind of food before?” Chris asked, as a waiter hovered in the background.

“No,” Helene replied, glancing uneasily at Martin.

“Give it a chance, you’ll like it,” Martin said.

“
Tres margaritas, por favor
,” Chris said to the waiter, who promptly vanished.

“Oh, nothing for me,” Helene said, looking up from the menu.

“You don’t drink?” Chris asked, arching one black brow.

“Not much.”

“I guess I’ll just have to drink yours, then,” Chris offered, smiling at her lazily.

Helene felt the warmth creeping up her neck at his penetrating gaze and concentrated on shredding a roll.

“What do you recommend?” Martin asked his brother. “They’ve changed the menu since I was last here.”

“Mussels in green sauce for an appetizer,” Chris said.

Green sauce? Helene thought. She’d pass.

“And the
paella
is good,” Chris added.

“What’s that?” Helene asked.

“Saffron rice with a mixture of chicken and sausage, scallops and shrimp.”

“All that?” she said, dismayed.

“Or you can have
arroz con pollo
,” Chris added. “That’s always safe for the tourists.”

Helene looked at him inquiringly.

“Chicken and rice,” he explained.

“That sounds fine,” she said, relieved.

“Not too foreign?” Chris suggested mildly.

Helene looked at Martin, who was watching the exchange between his fiancée and his brother intently.

“Helene has rather plain taste in food,” Martin said.

“No continental restaurants in New Jersey?” Chris inquired.

“I haven’t been able to afford them,” she replied flatly.

“But of course you’ll be able to soon, once you marry my brother,” Chris said evenly. “So I guess you can consider this a foretaste of the good life.”

Martin looked at him sharply.

“Margaritas,” the waiter announced, depositing the drinks at each place on the table.

Chris picked his up and drained half of it in one swallow.

“So,” he said to Helene as he put his glass down, “what’s your job back East?”

“I teach first grade.’‘

“Little kids?”

“Yes, they’re around seven.”

“I guess you’ll be giving that up once you get married,” Chris said, fiddling with the salt cellar on the table.

“No, I hadn’t planned to do that,” Helene replied.

“Why not? You won’t need the money.”

“I enjoy my job and that’s reason enough to keep it,” Helene said, rising. “Will you excuse me, please?”

“The ladies’ room is to the right of the entrance,” Martin said as she left the table. He waited until Helene was out of earshot and then said tightly to Chris, “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris replied flatly, draining his drink.

“You’re needling Helene,” Martin said.

“I’m just asking her about her background, trying to make conversation,” Chris replied evenly.

“Bull.”

“Don’t you want me to talk to her?”

“I don’t want you to imply with your every word and gesture that she’s after me for my money.”

Chris stared back at him without replying.

“It may interest you to know that it has taken me months to get that woman to accept my proposal and if you keep treating her this way she may just change her mind,” Martin said heatedly.

“I’m sure she required a lot of persuasion, what with her father dead, the family destitute and only her first grade teacher’s salary to bail them out,” Chris said dryly.

“What is the matter with you?” Martin demanded. “I’ve wanted a home and a family for a long time and you certainly know that. I’m clearly old enough to make my own decisions. If this is the person I choose, you should welcome her. She’s hardly a streetwalker, which is the way you’ve been acting.”

“So you think a young, beautiful girl like that is marrying you because she’s madly in love with you?” Chris countered.

“Oh, I see. I’m too old and stodgy to attract someone like Helene for any reason except the stability I can provide, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Chris said grimly, seizing Helene’s margarita and downing a gulp of it.

Helene approached the table and the men fell silent. Shortly afterward the waiter took their order and the meal proceeded, in an atmosphere of palpable tension. By the time they left to return to the ranch Martin was making desperate small talk and Chris was replying in monosyllables. Helene had given up and stared out the window all the way back, ignoring the man driving the car beside her.

When they got back, Helene pleaded fatigue and retired to the guest room. Martin took the bedroom next to hers and Chris had the room at the end of the hall. Helene undressed quickly and got into bed, but she was unable to sleep. The evening kept replaying itself in her mind; she felt the dark eyes of Martin’s brother on her as if he were with her at that moment. Why did he trouble her so much?