No Red Roses

  "Most of it," she answered automatically, staring at him. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in New York!"

  "I'm very well aware of that," he said caustically. "In eight hours I'm supposed to be onstage at Carnegie Hall and I'm still in this podunk of a town thanks to your blasted stubbornness."

  "You mean you haven't been to New York at all?" she asked, her violet eyes widening.

  He scowled at her. "How the hell could I go to New York when I've been running around like a madman trying to find this phenomenon of a horticultural expert you insist on?"

  "That's why you're still here?" Tamara asked faintly, shaking her head. "That's completely crazy. I told you I'd locate someone and join you later."

  "I'm afraid I don't trust you to make that 'later' as soon as possible," he said. "And I want you with me now." Grabbing her hand, he turned and headed for the door, dragging her behind him.

  "But I told you—"

  "You told me you wanted an expert to babysit your precious plants," he interrupted harshly. "Well, I got him for you, damn it. It took me all day yesterday and a trip to Boston University, but your expert is sitting in your kitchen at this moment. Would you consider a university professor with a Ph.D. in Bot­any adequate for your needs?"

  "Well, yes, of course," she stammered. "But—"

  "Well, that's what you've got." He pulled her across the yard and up the back porch steps. "Dr. Law­rence Billings, currently on sabbatical from Boston University and willing not only to make house calls but actually live on the spot and give your herbs tender loving care."

  "Live here? But he can't do that! What about Aunt Elizabeth?"

  "Why don't you ask her?" Rex opened the kitchen screen door and stepped aside, gesturing mockingly for Tamara to enter.

  Aunt Elizabeth was sitting at the kitchen table beside a tall, lanky man in his late fifties, with iron gray hair and a strong, intelligent face that had no claim to good looks. His gray tweed jacket and dark slacks were well worn but of good quality, and he had an air of careless confidence that reflected the assurance of maturity. He rose at once when Ta­mara entered the room and his smile was quick and warm.

  Her aunt looked up from refilling their visitor's coffee cup and said happily, "Tamara, do stop and say hello to our guest before you leave. Lawrence has just been telling me how eager he is to see your greenhouse. Do you suppose you’ll have time to show him around?"

  "Yes, of course," Tamara answered dazedly. She wondered just how long ago Rex had arrived. It was clear he'd not only had time to reconcile Aunt Elizabeth to her departure, but for Professor Billings to become "Lawrence."

  "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Miss Ledford." Rex's voice contained just the right note of regretful apology. "As I explained earlier, time is of the essence. I'm sure Professor Billings will be more than happy with you as a guide."

  "Certainly," Professor Billings agreed genially. "You're extraordinarily well informed for a layman, Elizabeth."

  Elizabeth Ledford made a face. "I picked up a little expertise by osmosis living with Tamara, but I'm not in her class."

  His keen gray eyes alight with interest, the profes­sor turned back to Tamara. "Your aunt informs me you're writing a book on herbs, Miss Ledford. I'd be very interested to discuss it with you when you're not so rushed. I do want to assure you I'll take very good care of everything while you're away." He smiled ruefully. "I must admit Mr. Brody's offer came like a gift from heaven. My sabbatical actually ended two months ago, but I had the bad luck to contract a rather virulent flu that put me out of action for some time. I was supposed to start teaching a sum­mer course next month, but I'm under doctor's or­ders not to return to the classroom for at least another six weeks, so Mr. Brody's exceptionally generous terms came just in the nick of time."

  "It's all working out so well for everyone, dear," Aunt Elizabeth said with a beaming smile. "Rex explained how disappointed you were not to be able to accompany him on the first part of the tour. Now, thanks to the Professor, you not only can start your new job right away, but I’ll have his company while you're gone. Isn't that wonderful?"

  "Wonderful," Tamara echoed faintly. Thank heav­ens Rex hadn't blown her story about the clerical position.

  "I've packed two bags for you, and I'll send the rest of your luggage along to your next stop. Rex tells me that will be Houston," her aunt went on briskly. "Now all you have to do is change and pack your herb bag. I knew you'd want to do that yourself." She turned to Lawrence. "Tamara never goes any­where without her herb bag. It has everything from herbal medicines to sachets."

  "Really? I'd like very much to examine it," Lawrence said. "I did a paper on the history, of herbal medicines a few years ago. It's really quite a fascinat­ing subject."

  "Yes, it is," Tamara said eagerly. "Particularly the early uses of belladonna. Did you—"

  "I hate to curtail your discussion," Rex interrupted smoothly, "but we really must be on our way, Tamara." His iron hand closed on her arm with scarcely veiled impatience. "If you'll excuse us, I'll just accompany Tamara to her room and bring down her suitcases."

  "Certainly, Rex dear," Aunt Elizabeth said, giving him a fond glance. What magic had Rex worked on her aunt, Tamara wondered bewilderedly. He had the very independent Elizabeth Ledford practically eating out of his hand. "But do come back down and join us for coffee. I want you to try my sugar doughnuts."

  Rex's smile was totally charming. "I wouldn't miss them," he assured her with boyish enthusiasm. "Come along, Tamara."

  With his hand under her elbow, he propelled her firmly and quickly from the kitchen and down the hall. They were halfway up the stairs before she was able to jerk away from that steely grasp and turn to mutter crossly, "You don't have to push me, Rex 'dear.' “She stamped angrily ahead of him up the stairs. "I'm well aware I've no choice but to go with you now that you've completely rearranged my life to your satisfaction. Tell me, how did you manage to bamboozle Aunt Elizabeth with all that phony boyish charm?"

  He grinned. "I'll have you know my charm is not phony. I'm just a simple, all-American type and your aunt has the good taste to recognize it."

  "You're about as simple as a Rubik's Cube," she said grimly, as she opened the door to her room. She threw him a speculative glance. "I suppose it's too much to ask that now that you've met Aunt Elizabeth you'll admit she couldn't possibly be the criminal you thought her?"

  "No chance," he replied tersely. He followed her into the room and shut the door. "I'll grant you she's a delightful woman, but that's no sign she's not a crook. When I was a kid, the numbers racket in my neighborhood was run by a little, white-haired old lady who resembled everyone's dream image of a grandmother."

  She whirled to face him, prepared to make a scath­ing condemnation of his cynical attitude. Suddenly she lost track of what she was going to say. Rex stood in the middle of her bedroom, looking as boldly out of place as a pirate in the silken chamber of a lady-in-waiting. His dark vibrance charged the seren­ity of the room with an electricity that was almost violent. She wondered if she would ever be able to occupy this room without remembering Rex stand­ing here, appraising her with those mocking dark eyes.

  She was suddenly overpoweringly conscious of ev­erything about him. The way his thick, dark hair­line formed into a slight widow's peak, the rhythmic movement of his hard muscular chest as he breathed, the almost indecent snugness of his rust jeans as they molded the flatness of his lean stomach and hips. She felt a slow heat burn through her that was as potent as it was bewildering.

  "Shall I lock the door?" he asked, and her gaze flew up to his in shock. She saw the same sexual awareness that she was experiencing. His dark eyes were hot and intent as they roamed over each valley and curve of her body, and his beautifully sensual mouth was oddly tender. "Let me love you, sweetheart," he said huskily.

  She drew a deep steadying breath, angry she'd let him see how his presence aroused her. She felt a languid melting in her loins and braced herself
as if for a physical assault.

  "No," she said sharply, even as her breasts moved tumultuously with her uneven breathing. She pointed to the two suitcases by the bed. "That's what you came up here for and that's all you're getting, Rex Brody."

  For one breathless moment she thought he would ignore her rejection and take her in his arms. Then his body relaxed, and he drew a deep, ragged breath. With a muttered curse he swung away from her, snatched up the bags, and stormed angrily toward the door. "If you're not down in fifteen minutes, I’ll take it as an engraved invitation," he said grimly. The door closed decisively behind him.

  Tamara gazed at the door, a curious indignation mixed with her relief that Rex hadn't exploited that brief moment of fluid electricity that had leaped so

  suddenly between them. If he'd held her in his arms, she didn't know if she would have had the will power to refuse his taking anything he wanted of her. She was only grateful she hadn't been put to the test, and she certainly didn't want to face him again in the intimacy of her bedroom. He'd said fifteen minutes and she had a shrewd idea if she wasn't downstairs in that time, he'd have no com­punction about coming up to get her.

  In ten minutes she'd showered and exchanged her faded jeans and shirt for a tailored cream-colored blazer and matching pants and a peach silk blouse that looked glowingly attractive with her golden skin and shining, blue-black hair. She slipped on bone- colored high-heeled shoes and swiftly put her hair up in a knot on top of her head, leaving a few wispy tendrils to float alluringly about her face. There was no time for makeup, and she hurriedly checked her herb bag to make sure it was fully stocked. Finally she picked up from her desk the bulky loose-leaf notebook that contained her manuscript notes, and tucked it into the bag. She gave the room a last hurried look before closing the door and almost run­ning for the stairs.

  Rex met her on the upstairs landing. "You're five minutes late," he said, as he took the bag from her. "I was hoping you'd changed your mind." His eyes lingered caressingly on her flushed face. "Pity.”

  She shot him a lethal glare and, tilting her nose in the air, sailed down the staircase. Aunt Elizabeth stood in the entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs and drew her into a loving embrace as she reached the last step.

  Tamara clutched her aunt's slender form in a tight hug, her eyes filling with tears. Aunt Elizabeth had such quantities of inner strength that no one ever thought of her as being old or fragile, but suddenly Tamara realized just how delicate and vulnerable an old lady she was. "Will you be all right?" she asked huskily. "I don't want to leave you alone."

  "Of course I’ll be okay, if you’d just refrain from breaking my ribs," Aunt Elizabeth said ruefully, un­winding Tamara's arms from around her and push­ing her gently away. She stroked Tamara's cheek gently. "Don't you dare worry about me, Tamara Ledford," she scolded with tender fierceness. "I won't be alone. I have that nice Professor Billings to keep me company. I managed to take very good care of myself for quite a long time before you were born, and I'm entirely capable of doing it for some years to come." One long finger touched Tamara's wet lashes. "I was lucky to have you to myself for so long."

  She looked over Tamara's shoulder at Rex coming with purposeful slowness down the stairs, and leaned forward to whisper mischievously, "You won't miss me for long, dear. When I shook Rex's hand, I real­ized the music was even stronger than I imagined."

  It was the second time Aunt Elizabeth had made reference to that mysterious music, but Tamara im­patiently pushed the allusion aside. "I suppose I'm stupid to get so choked up over only a month's parting," she said. "I’ll be sure to call you often, love."

  Rex had reached the bottom of the stairs and he grasped Tamara's arm. "I’ll take very good care of her, Miss Ledford," he promised.

  "I know you will, Rex," Aunt Elizabeth answered serenely. "You won't forget to remind her to eat?"

  "If necessary, I'll force-feed her myself," he said lightly.

  Tamara felt maddeningly like a small child with all the grownups talking above her and about her but never to her. How dare Rex be so possessive in front of Aunt Elizabeth? And Aunt Elizabeth seemed to accept his assumption of responsibility as a matter of course.

  She kissed her aunt on the cheek. "Good-bye, darling," she said huskily. "Take care." Her eyes were glistening with tears as she turned and hur­ried through the door that Rex was holding open.

  Rex didn't speak until he'd settled her in the Ferrari and slipped into the driver's seat. He shot an exas­perated glance at her shaking lips and her eyes that were brilliant with unshed tears. "Will you knock it off?" he growled, as he put the car into gear. "I'm not carrying you off to a brothel, you know."

  "Aren't you?" she asked shakily.

  He glowered at her but didn't respond verbally as the Ferrari roared into motion. Tamara stared blindly out the window at the passing scene and was con­scious of a growing sense of unreality as they passed the well-tended grounds and large, red brick build­ing of her old high school, the white steepled church she'd attended all her life. A little over an hour ago she'd been peacefully working with her plants, wrapped in the quiet security of the dear and familiar. Now she'd been ripped away from her old moorings and was caught in the whirling eddies generated by the enigma that was Rex Brody.

  She was abruptly awakened from her abstraction when they reached the highway and instead of turn­ing south, Rex headed north.

  She sat up straight. "You're going the wrong way," she protested.

  Rex shook his dark head as he turned right at a small blue sign lettered McCarthy Airport.

  "It would take too long to drive to New York now. I've lost too much time already so I arranged to charter a plane and have my car driven down later." He made a face. "I had to settle for a prop job. The runways at this private field aren't long enough to accommodate even a small jet."

  "What a pity," Tamara murmured. The look Rex shot her, as he brought the sports car to a smooth halt beside a large hangar adjacent to the runway, was definitely intimidating.

  As she climbed the steps and entered the cream and gold Beechcraft a few minutes later, Tamara thought a few people would have been quite happy to settle for the unobtrusive luxury of this plane. The passenger compartment seated eight, and the tan and cream tweed-covered seats were grouped for informal comfort, with a polished mahogany writing table between each pair of chairs. The plush rust carpet contrasted with the glowing mahogany panel­ing, and the small bar at the rear of the plane was built of the same beautifully textured wood.

  "Sit down and fasten your seat belt," Rex said as he entered behind her. He turned to the door lead­ing to the cockpit. "I've had the pilot standing by since nine this morning. We should be taking off any minute. I've got to check our ETA in New York and then radio ahead to arrange for us to be picked up at the airport on Long Island and driven into Manhattan." Without waiting for her to reply, he disappeared into the cockpit.

  Tamara sat down, opting for an aisle seat rather than a window. The one time she and her aunt had flown from Boston to New York, she'd gotten a bit queasy looking down at the patchwork terrain below. She was fumbling with her seat belt when Rex returned. He brushed her hands away and deftly fastened the belt before dropping into the seat across the aisle from her.

  "Take off your jacket and get comfortable. It will be about an hour and thirty minutes before we arrive in New York." Then to her surprise he drew a crumpled sheet of paper and a stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and proceeded to ignore her. Whatever he was working on, it was receiving his complete attention, Tamara noted, as she slowly pulled her own notebook out of her bag and put it on the table in front of her.

  It wasn't until they'd been in flight over an hour that Rex looked up, his face intent and abstracted, to meet her puzzled gaze. The absorption gradually faded and he grinned with an appealing boyishness. "Sorry, I just wanted to polish these lyrics while I had the chance. It's going to be pretty frantic once we reach New York." - "It's a new
song?"

  He nodded. "I did most of it last night when I was holed up in that motel outside Boston, after I'd contacted Billings and wrapped him up in pink ribbons for you." He made a wry face. "It kind of reminded me of the old days when I was on the road and the only spare time I had to do any composing was either after the show or while I was traveling. Only then I usually went by bus, not plane." He smiled reminiscently. "My first single that went platinum was written on a paper towel from the washroom at the Greyhound Bus Station in Milwaukee." He folded up the paper he'd been working on and stuffed it carelessly back into his pocket.

  "How are you able to compose music without an instrument?" Tamara asked, interested in spite of herself at this glimpse of Rex's colorful past.

  He chuckled and reached across the aisle to flick her nose with a playful finger. "You don't, sweetheart," he answered, his dark eyes twinkling. "Even I'm not that good. I never travel without my guitar, though I prefer a piano for composing if one is available. My guitar is stored with the rest of the luggage in the cargo compartment."

  "I see," she said a trifle crossly, feeling a bit of a fool. How did she know how pop singers composed their songs? Judging by the cacophony of discor­dant notes that were produced by some of the more famous groups, their music might well be composed on a rusty washboard. She huffily turned her atten­tion back to her own work with the firm intention of ignoring him.

  Rex evidently had other ideas, though. He checked his watch, then rose to his feet, stretching lazily.

  "How about a cup of coffee?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he strolled to the bar in the rear of the plane and poured two coffees from a large thermos on the counter. He added cream to one, then returned and offered it to her.

  "Thank you," she said, gazing at him curiously. "How did you know I took cream in my coffee?"

  "Your aunt mentioned it this morning when she was stuffing me with coffee and sugar doughnuts," he said with a shrug, half sitting on the arm of his chair, his long legs stretched out before him in the aisle. "She seemed to think it was an insult to her coffee-making expertise to dilute the flavor with milk."