Sandra Brown: Low Pressure

But he was irate, and she needed to defuse him before attention was drawn to them and someone recognized her. She’d returned to Texas to get out of the spotlight. So far she’d succeeded.

She walked around him and entered the terminal. “I apologize for not calling you as I left the hospital. It slipped my mind.” Noticing the tables near the snack bar, she said, “I’ll wait over there while you do whatever it is you have to do before takeoff. Let me know when you’re ready.”

She started in that direction, but this time he sidestepped, blocking her path. “Don’t brush me off. I want to know why you wrote this.”

She glanced around self-consciously. “Will you please lower your voice?”

“To make money? Daddy’s fortune isn’t enough for you? Or did your husband blow through your inheritance?”

“I’m not going to talk to you about this, not in a public place, and not with you yelling in my face.”

“I want to know—”

“ Now isn’t the time, Dent .”

Maybe it was her raised voice and sharp tone, or perhaps the use of his name, or he could have seen the tears start in her eyes and that made him realize that she was upset and had returned alone.

He backed away, shot a glance out the window toward the departing limo, then came back to her and stated the obvious. “Your parents aren’t with you.”

“Daddy was checked into the hospital. Olivia stayed with him.” He said nothing to that and she took advantage of his momentary calm. “I’ll be waiting over there.”

She went around him and didn’t even look back to see if he was following. Angry as he was, he might take off without her, leaving her stranded and forced to return to Austin on a commercial flight. That would be all right, too. In fact, it would probably be best.

As Olivia had remarked several times throughout the day, reconnecting with him after all these years had been a mistake. Bellamy had thought it necessary to her peace of mind, but now she regretted not having taken Olivia’s advice to leave well enough alone. She’d made another enemy.

At the dispensing machines, she filled a paper cup with ice and Diet Coke and sat down at one of the tables, relieved that no one else was currently in the snack bar area. The day had been emotionally draining. Her nerves and emotions were raw. She needed a few moments of quiet in order to reinforce herself before the inevitable clash with Dent.

Through the large windows, she watched as he went through his preflight check with her book tucked under his arm. She knew nothing about airplanes, but his was white with blue trim and had two engines, one on each wing. He oversaw the fueling of it and checked something on the left wing. He squatted down to inspect the tires and landing gear. Standing, he dusted off his hands and walked around the wing to the tail section. All his motions were practiced and efficient.

How old was he now? Thirty-six? Thirty-seven?

Two years older than Susan would have been.

Bellamy had been curious to see how the years had treated him, if he had developed a paunch, if he’d gone bald, if he was letting himself settle comfortably into middle age. But he bore no drastic signs of aging.

His light brown hair was still thick and unruly. At the corners of his eyes were squint lines from staring into the sun through cockpit windshields for the better part of his life. Maturity—and no doubt years of hard living and late hours—had made his face thinner and more angular. But he was no less attractive now than he’d been at eighteen, when he’d made her tongue-tied and self-conscious of her acne and braces.

Check complete, he gave the ground crew a thumbs-up, then, in a long and purposeful stride, walked toward the building. A gust of wind accompanied him inside, causing the young women behind the reception counter to stop what they were doing and watch appreciatively as he impatiently jerked his necktie back into place and smoothed it down over a torso that was still trim and flat. He removed his sunglasses, carelessly raked his fingers through his windblown hair, then made his way over to where Bellamy was waiting.

He got himself a cup of coffee and brought it with him to the table. As he sat down across from her, he dropped the book onto the table. It had the heft of an anvil when it landed.

For a momentous amount of time, he just stared at her, still seething. His gray-green eyes she remembered. Flecked with brown spots, they were the color of moss. Those qualities were familiar. The anger in them was new.

At last, he said, “He’s bad off?”

“Daddy? Very. His oncologist prescribed another round of chemotherapy, but it’s so debilitating he and Olivia are wondering if it’s worth it. Either way, the doctor thought he was too weak to return home tonight.”

“More chemo might help.”

“No,” she said softly. “It won’t. With or without it, he’s going to die soon.”

He looked away and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I’m sorry.”

She took a sip of her Coke and waited until he was looking at her again before saying, “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

He ran his hand over his mouth and down his chin. “Gloves off? Okay. It’s a shame anybody has to go out like that, but your daddy never did me any favors.”

“And vice versa.”

“What did I ever do to him? Oh, wait. If I need to know, I can just read your book. It will enlighten me.” He gave the book an angry poke.

“If you read it through—”

“I read enough.”

“—you know that the character patterned after you—”

“Patterned after? You did all but use my name.”

“—comes across as a victim, too.”

“Bullshit.”

He’d been leaning across the table toward her, but after that succinct statement, he flung himself against the back of his chair and stretched out his legs, not even apologizing when his foot bumped hers beneath the table.

“Why’d you dredge it up?”

“Why do you care?” she fired back.

“You have to ask?”

“It happened a long time ago, Dent. It impacted your life for what, a few weeks? A couple of months? You moved on, went on with your life.”

He made a scoffing sound.

“Do you have a family?”

“No.”

“You never married?”

“No.”

“You own your own airplane.”

“Working toward owning it.”

“You’re obviously still close with Mr. Hathaway.”

“Yeah. Until today. Gall is currently every name on my shit list.”

“He didn’t tell you it was us?”

“No. Not even when he gave me your check.”

“The name Bellamy Price didn’t mean anything to you?”

“I only looked to see if the amount was right.”

“I thought you might have seen me on TV.”

“You’ve been on TV?”

She gave a small nod.

“Talking about that?” He hitched his chin toward the book on the table.

Again, she answered with a nod.

“Great. That’s just great.” He raised the cup of coffee to his mouth, but set it back on the table without drinking from it and pushed it aside so hard that coffee sloshed out.

“For several weeks, there was a lot of media coverage.” In a murmur, she added, “I don’t know how you missed it.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

Nothing was said for a full minute. People drifting through the lobby for one reason or another moved on without coming into the snack area, as though sensing the hostility between them and affording them privacy to sort it out. Each time Bellamy glanced toward the women working the counter, she caught them watching her and Dent with ill-concealed curiosity.

It was he who finally broke the charged silence. “So why’d you book a charter with me? You could have got your daddy down here some other way. Private jet. You didn’t need me and my lowly little Cessna.”