A Man of His Word Page 16

  “Providing power was really a secondary motivation in constructing this and the other dams in the Colorado River System,” Reece continued as he steered her toward a map mounted on the wall. “The primary concern was and is still flood control.”

  Propping a boot on a handy storage box, he swept a hand over an area encompassing the states of Colorado, Arizona and Nevada. Unobtrusively Sydney stepped back and lifted the minicam. Thank goodness for the bright lighting. With her high-speed film, she should get a usable image.

  “For the millions of years the Colorado has wound its way from the Rocky Mountains to the Gulf, whole cultures have depended on it for life.”

  God, he looked great through the viewfinder! Tough, rugged, a man who obviously loved his work. She only hoped the echoes in this cavernous chamber didn’t distort his deep, drawling narrative.

  “Swollen by melting snows, the Colorado and its tributaries had a history of flooding their banks in spring and early summer. In other years, when the snow fell lighter in the northern reaches, the rivers would run dry and great droughts would occur.

  “The Indians understood the annual cycles. They retreated before the floods, and when the waters subsided, they planted crops in the rich silt deposits. There wasn’t much they could do to compensate for a drought, though. If it lasted too long, they moved on. Some scholars think that’s what drove Anasazi out of this area.”

  This was good! Sydney thought excitedly. Better than good! She’d use Reece’s narration as one explanation of why the Ancient Ones abandoned their homes in Chalo Canyon.

  “The farmers who followed them seriously underestimated the Colorado’s force. In 1905, it flooded for hundreds of miles and rampaged for nearly two years, destroying homes, livestock, whole communities. That disaster led to the establishment of the Bureau of Reclamation and the eventual network of dams that tamed the mighty Colorado.”

  He dropped his foot and continued the tour, guiding Sydney toward a narrow tunnel.

  “This is pretty low in spots. Watch your head.”

  Thankful for her borrowed hard hat, Sydney followed him into a dimly lit passageway. As the glow from the powerplant faded behind them, she entered a dark, subterranean world. The floor rose in uneven patches where concrete swirled around limestone. Water dripped from the roof of the tunnel. If she hadn’t known that the reservoir was drained and not pushing millions of gallons against the tunnel, those shimmering drops would have made her distinctly nervous.

  They followed the curve of the base to the canyon wall. Two spotlights were trained on the spot where concrete met sheer rock.

  “See those?” Reece pointed to faint striations in the cement some feet above their heads. “Those are the stress fractures I told you about. A minor earthquake hit the area several years ago and pushed the canyon wall into the concrete. You can see the cracks more clearly from the outside now that we’ve blasted through the exterior wall.”

  Sydney eyed the hairline fractures with distinct un-ease. “They’re not going to, uh, crack any further in the immediate future, are they?”

  “The computers say no.”

  “What do you say, Reece?”

  He hesitated, and her vivid imagination took off. She could almost feel the floor beneath her feet tremble, hear the canyon wall shriek and groan as it rubbed against concrete. Another minute and she’d be feeling millions of tons of cement tumble down on top of her.

  As if sensing her growing discomfort, he took her elbow and steered her back the way they’d come. “I say we’d better go topside. You look a little green around the gills.”

  Sydney had to admit the fresh air and wind whipping down the canyon soothed her jangled nerves. The sky had started spitting again, but not so hard and fast that they couldn’t pause for a few moments on the walkway that led along the crest. Hard hat tipped back to catch the breeze, Reece leaned his palms on the parapet and gazed at the scurry of activity below. Sydney was content to simply hitch a hip on the wall and gaze at his profile.

  It was strong and clean and almost as stubborn as the forces of nature he worked to harness. Small white squint lines showed in the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes. A faint stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin.

  The artist in Sydney wanted to capture the rugged male in his natural element, silhouetted against the pewter sky and the gray sweep of his massive dam. The professional in her admired his awesome intelligence and the dedication that got him up and out to his work at 4:00 a.m. The woman in her just wanted to reach out and stroke that bristly cheek.

  “What’s next for you after you finish this project?” she asked curiously.

  He turned then, his blue eyes lazy on her face. “I’ll spend the next couple of months at our Technical Support Center in Denver, working the structural analysis on another critical repair project. My deputy will go into the field on that one, though. I haven’t taken any time off in months, and I promised my brother Jake that I’d come home to help bring the cattle down from the north pastures before the snows hit.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “A cattle ranch tucked in the foothills of the San Francisco Mountains, just north of Flagstaff. Our folks owned a spread there while I was growing up. Jake manages it now.”

  “They owned it? Did you lose your parents, too?”

  “My father died a few years ago. My mother moved off the Bar-H shortly after that.”

  Keenly sensitive now to this man, Sydney wondered about the edge that had slipped into his voice. Did he still hurt with the loss of his father, as she did? Before she could probe further, he continued.

  “Jake manages the spread now, along with his own place. My brothers and I try to make it home for either the spring calving or the fall roundup.” He pushed upright, his eyes intent now as he stared down at her. “What about you? What’s next?”

  “I’m looking at four to five weeks of postproduction work in my studio in L.A. Then…”

  She lifted her shoulders. She had several projects in various stages of planning and development. None of them consumed her like the Weeping Woman of Chalo Canyon. And none, she realized, pulled at her as much as the need to take the next step along this magical, sensual journey of discovery with Reece.

  “Maybe you could come up to the ranch,” he suggested slowly.

  Her heart thumped. “Maybe I could.”

  He moved toward her then, only a step, but Sydney’s pulse skittered and spun like a videotape on Rewind. To her intense frustration, one of his men chose that moment to step out of the administration building.

  “Hey, Reece! I’ve got the results of the flownet pressure analysis you requested of the exposed core. You wanted to go over it before we give the contractor the green light to start pouring.”

  “I’ll be right there.” The light in his eyes went from dark and intriguing to rueful. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I understand pressures and deadlines.”

  “So you do.”

  He swept the parking lot beside the building for Sydney’s Blazer, noting Henry still ensconced in the front seat, before turning back to her.

  “We’ll continue this later.”

  She couldn’t act coy if she tried. Making no effort to disguise the hunger that leaped into her veins, she rose up on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his mouth.

  “Later it is.”

  “It’ll probably be around eight-thirty,” he warned. “We’re going to keep going until darkness shuts us down.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  This time, Sydney decided as she stepped into the shower just after eight that night, she intended to pull out all the stops. Reece had seen her in her boots and fatigue pants, in a towel and in nothing at all. Tonight, he was going to see a different woman, one who’d learned the art of skillful, understated makeup from one of Hollywood’s masters.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought anything elegant to wear. Something shiny and slinky and red, like the gown she’d splurged on for the Oscar
s. The best she could come up with after digging through all her available options were a pair of thigh-skimming flared shorts and a bright red T-shirt cut off just below her breasts, both souvenirs of a weekend at Santa Monica Beach. The shorts she’d purchased before she realized she couldn’t bend over in public while wearing them. The short, midriff-baring shirt was more cool and comfortable than sexy. Taken together, however, they made a potent combination.

  Humming in anticipation, she dumped the meager supply of makeup she’d brought with her into the sink and went to work. A stubby eye-liner pencil added length and depth to her eyes, careful shadows and a few, feathery strokes to the line of her brows. Lipstick, daubed lightly on her cheeks and rubbed in, doubled as blusher. Her trusty lip balm added a layer of shimmering gloss over the red she swiped on her lips.

  That done, she attacked her hair with the hair drier and boar’s bristle hairbrush she never traveled without. The heavy, shoulder-length mass took forever to dry, but each stroke of the brush added to its crackly shine. When it felt like raw silk in her hands, Sydney twisted it up and clamped it on top of her head with a plastic clip. Carefully she teased loose a few strands to frame her face.

  Hands on hips, she surveyed the results. The overall picture didn’t compare to one she’d made after four hours at one of Beverly Hills’ most exclusive salons the day of the Oscars, but it would do. It would definitely do.

  Humming, she padded into the bedroom. The bottle of wine she’d picked up at the Gas n’ Git on the way back from the dam sat in a gray plastic bucket of ice. The man-size subs heaped with cheese and cold cuts Lula had prepared waited beside the wine.

  Deciding to get a little head start, Sydney unscrewed the cap on the wine and poured a half glass. Not bad, she mused after the first sip, considering it had cost all of three ninety-nine. Wineglass in hand, she slipped the cassette from the mini-cam and slid it into the VCR that went everywhere with her.

  After a long leader, Reece’s face jumped out of the screen. The high-speed tape made for a slightly less vivid image than she liked, but even that small distraction didn’t diminish his magnetism. Sighing with satisfaction, Sydney sank onto the bed, plumped the pillows behind her and gave herself over to the unabashed pleasure of listening to Reece explain the simple laws of physics as demonstrated by the turbines.

  She had just rewound the tape and started it again when she heard a car door slam right outside. Her eyes flew to the digital clock on the nightstand. Eight twenty-seven. How like Reece to hit it almost exactly on target!

  Her stomach clenching with anticipation, Sydney jumped off the bed. The soft rap of knuckles on wood had her reaching for the dead bolt and chain.

  “I’ve got wine chilled and—”

  She stopped, her throat closing in shock and dismay. Too late she realized she’d opened her door to the wrong man.

  Chapter 14

  “H ello, Syd.”

  Keeping a tight grip on the doorjamb, Sydney eyed Jamie warily. “What do you want?”

  The naked bulb over the door cast her visitor’s face in stark lines. Rain glinted on his hair, burnishing it to deep gold.

  “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Hitching his shoulders, he shoved his hands in his pockets. A fine edge of desperation seemed to sharpen his features.

  “It’s important, Syd.”

  Her instincts shouted at her to slam the door in his face. Jamie Chavez meant nothing but trouble for her.

  “Just for a moment. Please.” His jaw went tight. “It’s about Arlene. I just found out that she’s the one who destroyed your film.”

  Sydney sucked in a sharp breath and stepped aside. Jamie brushed past her, looking older and more careworn than she’d ever seen him. Just to be safe she left the door open an inch or two. A single piercing scream would bring half the occupants of the motel running, not to mention Lula and Martha.

  She turned to find Jamie standing in the middle of the room, his gaze snagged on the video she’d left running on the TV screen. His eyes held a cynical, knowing look when he turned them from Reece to Sydney.

  “I thought you came here to document the legend of the Weeping Woman. Looks like you’ve found another subject that interests you.”

  She ignored his barbed comment. She wasn’t about to discuss what was between her and Reece with this man. A quick flick of the remote killed the video playback. Tossing down the remote, she folded her arms.

  “I thought you came here to talk about Arlene.”

  “I did.”

  “So talk.”

  He couldn’t seem to figure out how to start. “This is hard for me. I didn’t think… I didn’t know…”

  “How much you’ve hurt your wife over the years?” Sydney supplied with a lift of one brow.

  “I didn’t know how much she loved me,” he said finally. “Or how desperate she’s become.”

  He reached down and helped himself to a glass of wine. Sydney’s lips tightened, but she bit back her automatic protest. The sooner he finished, the sooner she’d get him out of here. She had no desire to prolong his visit by indulging in petty arguments or recriminations.

  Throwing back his head, Jamie tossed down the white zinfandel like it was water. He stared at the empty glass for a moment before continuing.

  “Arlene broke down tonight. The combination of two martinis and those damned diet pills she gobbles like candy got to her, I guess.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t a pleasant scene.”

  Poor baby, Sydney thought cynically. He was finally having to face up to reality.

  “She poured out doubts and insecurities I didn’t even know she had.” Obviously shaken, he paced the small space between the bed and the door. “She even told me that she’s been seeing a shrink in Phoenix. All this time I thought she was going to have her hair and nails done. She’s been in therapy and never told me.”

  He looked across the room, his eyes beseeching. “I didn’t know I’d done that to her, Syd. I never realized she was so fragile.”

  Sydney bit back the retort that he only had to look at his wife, really look at her, and he would have seen how fragile she was. Reece had seen it, had even pretended a relationship with a near stranger to save Arlene the embarrassment of watching her husband put the make on another woman. But then, Reece wasn’t Jamie.

  Thank God!

  Her visitor seemed lost in contemplation of his empty glass.

  “Arlene admitted that she destroyed my film?” Sydney prompted when it seemed as though the silence would stretch indefinitely.

  He nodded, lifting his head. “She’s jealous of you. Of your success and your looks. She can’t forget what happened between us ten years ago.”

  “Well, I have. And I hope to heck you told her that you have, too.”

  “I tried.” He blew out a long breath. “She’s sorry about the videotapes, Syd. Really sorry. We want to cover any extra expenses you might have incurred as a result.”

  Relenting, Sydney sighed. “I don’t care so much about the cost as the lost footage.”

  He fidgeted with his glass, then poured himself another helping. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you’d call the sheriff’s office and tell them you don’t want to press charges.”

  “Ah, now the real reason for your visit comes out.” A hint of anger crept into her voice. “The proud Chavez family don’t want to see one of their own charged with malicious destruction of property.”

  “I don’t want to see my wife charged.”

  “And your father doesn’t play in this, I suppose?”

  “He doesn’t know anything about it, or that I was coming to see you. I didn’t even tell Arlene.”

  Suddenly she was tired of the whole mess. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought herself in love with this man. Even more to the point, she’d discovered that what she’d felt all those years ago hadn’t even come close to love.

  She had a pretty good idea no
w of what comprised that all-consuming emotion. The basic ingredients included listening to a man talk about his work in the claustrophobic confines of a narrow tunnel and thrilling to his passion for what he did. Wanting desperately to hear his low growl of laughter, to feel his hands on her body. Tingling with excitement at the thought of going home with him to a ranch tucked in the foothills of the San Francisco Mountains.

  Impatient now to be rid of Jamie, she plucked the glass out of his hand and escorted him to the door.

  “I’ll call Martinez tomorrow and tell him I won’t press charges in the matter of the destruction of the tapes. I can’t say I’ll feel as forgiving if it turns out Arlene engineered my accident on Canyon Rim Road.”

  Jamie stopped dead in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”

  “Reece thinks someone may have helped that slab of limestone fall, right where the road hairpins around a curve.”

  “The hell he does!”

  “In light of what you’ve told me tonight, Martinez will want to talk to Arlene about where she was the day of the accident.”

  High spots of color flagged Jamie’s cheeks. Before Sydney could evade them, his hands whipped out and wrapped around her forearms.

  “Are you saying you think my wife tried to kill you?”

  “Your wife…or your father,” Sydney shot back, twisting in his grip.

  “You’re crazy!”

  “And you’re starting to annoy me. Big-time. Let me go.”

  Instead his fingers dug deeper into her arms. His voice rose to a furious shout. “My wife wouldn’t hurt a flea!”

  “She did a heck of a number on my tapes!”

  Incensed at the manhandling, Sydney tried to jerk free. When that didn’t work, she aimed a kick at his shins. In self-defense, he hauled her up against his chest.

  “Dammit, Sydney, calm down!”

  “Go to hell, Chavez!”

  She managed to get an arm free and aimed an awkward swing at his chin. He caught her fist just before it connected, and twisted her arm behind her back.