Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance) Read online

  “Peter, I don’t believe you’ve met my date, Ben Jacobs. He’s a canine-patrol officer with the Bullion police.”

  Jill couldn’t have asked for a more gratifying look on Peter’s face. He recovered in an instant and graciously extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Peter Martin, Land Barons’s associate director of acquisition and development.” Peter loved titles. One night after he’d moved in with Clarice, Jill and Penny had brainstormed on possible titles for him. Jill’s favorite was: Chief Propagator of Bogus Covenants and Dispenser of Bovine Manure.

  “Mr. Martin,” Ben said, his breath tickling Jill’s ear as he reached around her to shake Peter’s hand. The movement had a way of pulling her into the shelter of his body. Jill liked the feeling—more than she cared to admit. There had to be a Mattie rule against this kind of attraction.

  “Call me Peter. I’m glad to see Jill’s dating again. I was beginning to worry. She fell off a horse once and never rode again. I sure didn’t want to see that happen where men were concerned.”

  Jill’s fingers curled around the pen she carried. Sharp—it might pierce that perfidious hide. She plastered a fake smile on her lips and said, “But, Peter, wouldn’t I have had to have been with a real man first in order for that to happen?”

  Peter gave Ben a look that seemed to say “Isn’t it a shame how some women never get over you?” then directed a brittle smile toward Jill. “We’ll be starting a formal presentation in a few minutes. Time to mingle and drink. There’s an open bar, Jacobs,” he said, nodding toward a crowded spot across the room. “And, Jill, guess what Clarice was able to find? Château LeReium. Your favorite champagne.”

  As if sharing a family secret, he told Ben, “I brought Jill a whole case from France once. Jill loves the bubbly, don’t you, pumpkin?”

  Jill’s stabbing hand started up, but Ben smoothly intervened by blocking her view of Peter’s treacherous back. She relaxed her grip on her pen.

  But she couldn’t stifle a low growl. “You don’t know how badly I wish Czar were here. Just a tiny word of German and you could take him out. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

  His eyes danced with merriment. “In a heartbeat…pumpkin.”

  Something sad and bitter left her and Jill laughed. She suddenly realized Peter’s little barbs no longer held the poison that enervated her soul. Why? How? Was it because of this man?

  Ben’s hand squeezed her shoulder supportively. “Are you okay?”

  She turned enough to be able to look at him but not lose contact with his hand. “Yes. Believe it or not, I feel great. This is going well, don’t you think? My pen is beginning to feel like a pen again—not a weapon.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Unfortunately, her stomach chose that instant to complain about its state of emptiness. Ben dropped his hand. “You need to eat. Why don’t we divide and conquer? You hit the food table, and I’ll get our drinks. What would you like?”

  “White wine, I guess. I really am starved. I think I forgot to eat today.”

  Ben’s right eyebrow rose. “How can you forget to eat?”

  She shrugged. “I was mulching my roses and working on a story—” A story that would go nowhere unless Dorry came through. And then Mattie had called, which had pretty much killed Jill’s appetite. “Anyway, I’ll grab a couple of plates and meet you at the map.

  “I’m dying to see their artist’s concept of Excelsior Estates. I swear they always hire people who live in never-never land.”

  BEN WATCHED JILL walk away. She stopped several times to chat with people she knew. To the casual observer, she undoubtedly looked beautiful, charming and at ease. But Ben sensed her calm demeanor was a ruse to hide her vulnerability. He didn’t want to care but he did. A part of him wanted to protect her; a part of him wanted her. Period.

  Maybe this body came with the tux, he thought as he joined a line behind three men in expensive business suits. I’ve got less control than a kid at a prom.

  Of course, he had to acknowledge that the drive had been hell on his libido. The hum of the road. The moonlight. The music. Her scent.

  “Excuse me,” a soft but direct voice said. He turned to find a stunning blonde looking at him. Platinum hair pulled tight to her head. A silver-lamé gown draped with just the right demure about a too-perfect figure. Oddly, the sexy image somehow failed to jibe with the serious look in her eyes.

  “Yes?” His intuition told him this was the new Mrs. Peter Martin.

  “We haven’t met. I’m Clarice Martin.”

  “Ben Jacobs.” Did goddesses shake hands? He didn’t offer and neither did she.

  She smiled—at least she moved her lips in what probably passed as a gracious smile in her crowd. Ben noticed it didn’t reach her eyes, which were the fairest shade of blue he’d even seen. She glanced around without moving her chin. Unlike Jill, whose hands did part of the talking every time she opened her mouth, Clarice Martin stayed still, as if excess movement might diminish her power.

  “I just met your husband. My date is his ex-wife,” he said, escalating them to the same playing field.

  “Your date,” she repeated, as if the notion made no sense.

  She didn’t wait for Ben’s response. “Jill has strong feelings about me, I fear. But she was never right for Peter. She knows this, but ego often supersedes truth.”

  Ben was certain Jill wouldn’t appreciate this kind of talk. “That really isn’t my business, Mrs. Martin,” he said, moving forward with the line. He let her draw her own conclusions.

  One skillfully penciled eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “A shame.”

  He ordered a glass of water with a lime twist and the house chardonnay from the bartender. “Why do you say that?”

  “Having a man in Jill’s life might distract her from her vendetta.”

  “What vendetta?”

  “I have a feeling she may try to do something to sabotage this project,” Clarice said, her voice displaying real feeling. “You know the media. Any hint of malfeasance can do irreparable damage—even without proof.”

  Ben silently agreed. He’d been so distracted by Jill’s vivacious spirit, he’d almost forgotten her chosen profession.

  “There’s a saying about a woman spurned,” Clarice said with a certain sense of urgency. The look in her pale blue eyes almost made him shiver. She took a step away then stopped, her focus on the beverage the bartender had set in front of him. “You don’t drink?”

  It wasn’t a question, but it seemed to demand an explanation. “I’m a cop. I’m on duty twenty-four seven.” That was his standard excuse. It was simpler than explaining what it had been like growing up with an alcoholic father.

  She nodded, as if his answer solidified something in her mind. “Please help yourself to the hors d’oeuvres. The head chef of the Ahwahnee is truly gifted. We’ll be serving a full-course dinner after the presentation. I do hope you’ll stay.”

  That was a lie. Ben had been dismissed. He couldn’t help her so he ceased to exist. Interesting. Not particularly pleasant, but interesting.

  He picked up his two drinks after stuffing a fiver in the brandy snifter on the end of the bar then went looking for his date. She was right where she said she’d be: surveying the miniature land-development model. She was holding a plate of hors d’oeuvres, a napkin, pen and brochure in one hand and a half-empty champagne flute in the other. A second plate heaped with an artful arrangement of vegetables sat to one side.

  He stopped a few feet away to put some perspective on what he was feeling. Beautiful? Yes. But more than that—animated, vividly alive. Watching her puzzle over the map was like observing a child discover the wonders of a tide pool.

  She set down her glass, selected a delicacy from the mounded plate and popped a filo pastry puff of some sort into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully then leaned over to get a better look at something. The décolletage of her dress presented him with a stunning view of her undergarment, a lacy thing that pushed her brea
sts upward: pale white flesh straining against burnished gold lace. Although totally ungallant, he might have continued to stare if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of the mayor eyeing the same landscape.

  “Jill.” Ben’s tone sounded sharp, possessive, even to his own ears.

  She straightened, obviously still wrapped up in her thoughts. He wondered if she’d share them with him, or was she actually plotting some secret retribution against her ex-husband?

  He held out her wineglass.

  She smiled sheepishly, nodding toward her champagne flute. “Peter sent it over.” She licked a few crumbs from her fingertips then held out the plate. “Yummy crab puffs. Want the last one?”

  He shook his head, sipping his drink. “No thanks.”

  “I heard you were a health nut,” she said with a mischievous grin. “So I stocked up on veggies, too.” She produced a second plate heaped with broccoli, tiny carrots, baby corn and jicama spears. “Isn’t that a bit incongruous considering your line of work?” she teased.

  “Have you bought into that old stereotype of cops who live on doughnuts and coffee?”

  “Not at all. I just think it’s ironic that you eat so healthy when you have the kind of job that could get you killed.”

  He shrugged. “There’s more danger from burnout and ulcers than from taking a bullet. Diet and exercise help.” He accepted the plate of vegetables and sampled a broccoli crown that had been parboiled with a hint of sesame oil. “Good.”

  Her gaze followed his every move. Her lips parted as though there was something profoundly sexy about a man eating vegetables. The look on her face made him forget to chew. Fortunately, she was distracted by something over his shoulder.

  “It’s show time,” she said, taking a small sip of champagne. She set aside her glass then moved forward to squeeze between him and the display. Her thigh rubbed against his.

  Ben’s plate wobbled; he set it down with a loud clink. His hastily swallowed gulp of water resonated as if he’d used a megaphone.

  At the far end of the glass table Peter Martin raised one hand with the assurance of a man who knows people will stop what they’re doing to hear him speak.

  “Valued clients, friends. Land Barons is delighted you could join us on the eve of our newest project. Excelsior Estates is particularly near and dear to my heart since Bullion is where I met my beloved wife, Clarice.”

  He put his hand out to acknowledge the beautiful blonde standing nearby. She didn’t nod; she didn’t need to.

  “Excelsior Estates is a utopia of sorts with options for just about everybody. Behind these gates is a new gold mine, a richness in quality living for both young and old.

  “From starter homes for young families to downsized empty-nest homes that are marvels of flexibility and multifunctional use of space, Excelsior has what you want.”

  The crowd murmured its approval.

  As the sales pitch continued, Ben cataloged responses from the people around him—all positive. This audience was chosen well, but a glance to his right told him Jill was less enamored.

  “You forgot to mention the views, Pete,” Bud Francis called out from a few feet away. “And the airport.”

  Ben decided the mayor looked none too steady on his feet; his red-rimmed eyes watered under the bright lights.

  “And what about the water quality, Peter?” Jill called out.

  After a momentary pause, Peter adroitly ignored Jill’s comment and addressed the mayor. “You’re absolutely right, Bud. I forgot to mention that Excelsior Estates is located on one of the most majestic ridges in the county—a mere six miles from the local airport. Funds have already been allocated by the city council to renovate one runway to make it commuter-jet friendly.”

  He looked around, nodding toward some of the men who probably owned their own jets.

  “What about the water, Peter?” Jill repeated.

  “What about it, Jill?” There was a patient, indulgent air to his tone, as if he’d been expecting something like this.

  “What about arsenic in the water?”

  He seemed to reflect a moment then said, “We decided to leave it out. A PR thing, you know.”

  There was a loud burst of laughter.

  Jill’s color rose, but she didn’t back down. “Hasn’t there been some concern in other mining areas—like Sutter Creek—that the water table might retain elevated levels of arsenic left over from the mining process?”

  Peter shook his head like a learned professor patiently indulging a not-too-bright student. “Sutter Creek is two hundred miles north of here, Jillian. And that area was involved in a totally different kind of mining. Excelsior was a minor gold vein depleted long before the technology that affected those areas was employed.”

  Jill stood a little straighter. Ben saw her jaw stiffen. “There was silver mining here in the early 1900s.”

  Peter made a motion of dismissal. “For a couple of years before the company went belly-up. All they did was make a mess. But we’re going to fix that.” He leaned forward, placing both manicured hands squarely on the display case. He addressed his public, not his ex-wife. “We’re going to make parks where there are piles of sloughed-off rock. We’ll give you green grass instead of dust. And bike paths and walking trails where only rattlesnakes now roam.”

  “As if rattlers roam,” she muttered just loud enough for Ben to catch. He had to bite back a smile. Her points were interesting, but Peter seemed to have answered them.

  “Have you tested the water in the existing wells, Peter?” she asked.

  Peter’s eyes narrowed and he looked about ready to lose his cool, then he laughed, smiling knowingly at those around him. “My ex-wife is of the belief that any growth is bad growth,” he told the prospective buyers, as if letting them in on a little family dispute. Then he looked at Jill. There was definitely no affection in his eyes. “This isn’t a news conference, Jill. It’s a party. But I’ll be happy to answer all your questions tomorrow. Just call Clarice and set up an appointment.”

  Ben was impressed. Peter had outmaneuvered Jill, and Ben could feel her fuming beside him. Then she was gone. He turned around to catch her, but she’d already slipped into the crowd. He started to go after her but found himself face-to-face with Bud Francis.

  “What’er you doin’ here, Jacobs?” His breath smelled lethal.

  “Amos thought it would be a good idea if I met some of Bullion’s most prominent citizens,” Ben replied. A half truth. Ben had mentioned the gala but had left out the part about his date.

  “Did someone say you’re with her?” The caustic inflection left no doubt how the mayor felt about Jill.

  “Yes, sir. I came with Jill Martin.”

  The man shook his head slowly, “Can’t say as I think much of the company you keep.” He suddenly lurched forward to finger a green square in the development. “Tha’s my lot. Tennis courts across the road from my study. I like watchin’ young girls chase balls.”

  Ben looked toward the door where he thought he caught a glimpse of copper satin, but Bud tugged on his sleeve impatiently. “This project is going to fund your future dog patrol, you know.”

  This was news to Ben. “It is?”

  Francis nodded. “Tax base. That’s where the power is and don’t you forget it. Someday people will look back at these years as a boom time and they’ll thank me for it.” More to himself than Ben, he added, “What the hell was Will Ogden thinkin’ to let her come here tonight? The paper’s got as much to lose if this bombs as anybody.”

  Bud took another gulp of his drink then said, “A word of advice—don’t waste your time on her. Peter says she ain’t worth diddly in bed.”

  Ben felt his temper rising. “Sir, with all due respect, Jill is my date.”

  Bud gave a wry hoot. “I guess a young stud’s gotta let it out someplace.” He laid his hand on Ben’s sleeve. “Trouble is, we got a pile of money invested in you and can’t afford to let something happen to you. So take my advice, son. Dump her like
a bag of steaming dog doo. Why don’t you ride home with me ’n Mona?”

  Fortunately, someone hailed the inebriated politician before Ben could answer. Bud stumbled away. Ben wasn’t happy to find out the mayor was a drunken misogynist, but at least their paths wouldn’t cross on a regular basis. Bud Francis was Amos’s problem.

  Ben glanced at the elaborate map. Model children frolicked on a miniature swing set. Too perfect to be real. Ben knew phony when he saw it—he’d lived a whole childhood of it.

  He set down his plate on top of the tennis courts then went to find Jill. He needed a dose of reality. Although fantasy might work, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BEN SPOTTED her standing near an open door leading to the patio. A faint odor of cigarette smoke filtered inside.

  “I wondered…”

  She put her finger to her lips and nonchalantly leaned back, her ear tilted toward the doorway.

  He stepped closer and gave her a questioning look. Her response was so unexpected he almost forgot to think. She reached out and ran the tip of her index finger across the furrow between his eyebrows and down his nose. He often stroked Czar like that; it was their special code of comfort, it said things she couldn’t possibly understand.

  When she pushed off from the frame, she swayed a moment—as if the movement caught her by surprise. He took her elbow. Her skin felt oddly clammy. “What’s going on?”

  She shook her head, whether negatively or to clear her head he wasn’t sure. “I thought I might overhear some admission of wrongdoing on Peter’s part, but he’s too clever for that.”

  “He says you’re out to sabotage his project just to get back at him.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “Of course he’d say that. He doesn’t want to admit I might have some evidence suggesting the possibility of tainted water on the property.”

  “Do you?”

  She looked at her toes. “I thought I did, but…”