Miles Fordham got out of his car and started across the parking space toward her Maserati. What is he doing here? Katie thought sourly. She wasn’t in the mood for another tour of Miles’s dynasty. She thought she could still smell the sickening, intense musk exuded by the squirrel-like little creatures emanating from her sweater. She couldn’t get into the shower fast enough to wash her hair.
Before Miles could reach her car, she snatched up the bag from the passenger seat and stuffed it into her purse. She’d had to make a special run to the pharmacy this morning while Errol was doing his rehab.
“Where’ve you been hiding yourself?” Miles asked when she got out of her car and slammed the door.
“Just now? Oh, I was dodging bullets at a rodent farm. What are you up to?”
He laughed as though she’d just told a joke. He had a harried, distracted air about him, despite his mirth. Katie also noticed the usually perfect wave in his hair looked disheveled.
“Something wrong, Miles?” Katie asked as she started to walk toward the front steps.
“It’s the damn terrorists living in these woods.”
Katie came to a halt, scattering gravel beneath her boots. “Terrorists?”
“May as well be,” Miles commented, throwing her a dark look. “They took a couple shots through my living room window and vandalized the hotel and riverboat construction site last night. Set back our schedule by weeks. It’s nothing I can’t work past, though. These stupid hill people aren’t going to stop me or the opening of the riverboat.” He seemed to recover from his bout of bitterness. “It’s a nice evening. Thought you might like to join me at the club for dinner?”
“Sorry, no,” Katie said in a friendly manner. She flung her bag over her shoulder and started for the house. “I’ve got a scalding shower in my future and then I’m going to make some salmon linguini.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“I’m making it for Rill,” Katie said point-blank as she paused on the stairs.
Miles’s eyebrows went up in understanding. “Oh, I see. That’s the way of it, is it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
Miles’s scowl transformed into a smile. He shrugged good-naturedly. “Kind of hard to be a sore loser when you look so happy, Katie. You be sure to come find me if Pierce treats you badly, now.”
Katie laughed despite the glimmer of anxiety that went through her at Miles’s words.
Rill had been nothing but wonderful toward her for the past eleven days. He smiled so regularly Katie had almost forgotten his depressive gloom. He’d become so active in sprucing up the Mitchell place, Katie hardly recognized the old house.
He spent at least six hours every day in front of his computer, writing. Sometimes she’d wake up in the middle of the night and see him at his desk, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. She liked to watch him as he worked, but eventually she’d call his name. He’d turn and give her a smile, his air adorably distracted at first. Then his eyes would narrow as he focused on her and he’d rise and join her in bed.
They didn’t seem capable of keeping their hands off each other. They teased each other and talked of inane, lover-like things. They ate excellent, healthy meals. Kate was inspired by all the good food offered at the co-op.
Rill refused to let her read his screenplay, saying she could look at it when he’d made the final decision of whether—in his words, accent included—it was shite or not.
He never spoke of Eden, and Katie was so ecstatic in their newfound relationship, reveling in the experience of being with the man with whom she’d fallen so deeply in love, she kept quiet on that topic as well. They’d joined in a silent pact not to bring up anything associated with Eden, and the knowledge of her own collusion in that little conspiracy rankled at Katie . . . especially when she considered what she’d just shoved inside her bag. She’d come to terms with her relationship with Rill with regard to Eden. She sensed that Eden would have wanted what was best for Rill, that she’d want him to get on with the business of living, and that included loving. Her collusion in the silence wasn’t because she was uncomfortable. She was just worried Rill thought the topic of Eden was too inflammatory to broach.
“Rill isn’t going to treat me badly,” Katie told Miles with more confidence than she felt.
“You know how these Hollywood types are.”
“I know better than most people,” she countered swiftly.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Miles said with a shrug that signified it was her own grave she was digging. “If you won’t come out on a date with me, can I at least ask a favor as a friend?”
“What?” Katie asked. She didn’t consider herself a friend of Miles. In fact, her dislike of him had grown regularly as she’d completed Joe Jones’s tax return last week. Still, she couldn’t help but be curious about what he’d ask her.
“Would you mind looking over a few things for me, businesswise? I have some questions I need answered, and the gaming commission is running my lawyers in circles up in Springfield. A representative from the gaming commission is going to be here soon to make a site visit, and I need to make sure all my ducks are in a row.”
Katie started to make a polite refusal when something occurred to her. Going over Joe Jones’s bank statements—and inadvertenly, some of his daughter Amber’s—had pricked Katie’s curiosity in regard to Miles and some potentially shady dealings at the Forest River Country Club. It would probably be a mistake—her curiosity had certainly gotten her into troubl
e in the past—but the thought of Joe Jones with nearly nothing to his name but that disintegrating old mobile home got the better of her.
“Sure, Miles. I’ll give you a couple hours, if you think it’ll help.”