Silver and Spice

wants you to set up some sort of trust for him. Then he sat down for ten minutes, rambled on about the hummingbirds in Idaho, local politics, deep-sea fishing in Tahiti, and left.” Her boss was chuckling again, though one of his eyebrows lurched up in a half-scold. “If you have the time? Anne, I think you could at least have mentioned to me that Gil wasn’t the only iron you had in the Rivard fire.”

Anne was staring at the cashier’s check in her hand. Money made Mr. Laird so very happy. He loved it when his vault was chock-full. That slim little piece of paper in her hand bore a six-figure number after the dollar sign. Jake didn’t have two nickels to rub together, the last she’d heard.

“And there’s more that he wants to put away, Anne. For his children, he put it, even though he doesn’t have any yet. He’s got a wife in mind, I gather. Good Lord, though, the man doesn’t even have the least idea of his own assets. He has bank accounts he hasn’t checked up on in years in God knows how many states. And he may stay in Idaho for a few years, but there’s no reason that state needs to benefit rather than Michigan, which is his real home base. He could be anywhere a few years from now.” Mr. Laird peered at Anne through wire-rimmed lenses. “I suggested he hire an accountant to get his financial situation in order, Anne, but he didn’t like that idea. He wants you and no one else. I don’t know what you discussed with him, but I suppose we could stretch our policy a bit to allow you to conduct bank business out of state.”

Anne’s head was spinning. “It would be totally impossible for me to leave right now, anyway…”

“We could arrange something. After all, Gil Rivard has been a loyal customer of this bank for a good many years, and he’s brought us a great deal of business. You’ve got vacation time coming…”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Laird,” Anne sang out cheerfully, “there is no possible way I can go to Idaho at this time.”

“He’s kind of a modern-day adventurer, isn’t he?” Her boss glanced at her, then out the window. The September sky was very blue. “His life sounds like a young man’s dream. You’ll probably find this ridiculous, Anne, but when I was a young man…” He focused back on her with a sudden frown. “If your backlog of work is the problem…”

“No, it’s personal,” Anne said. Now there was a word designed to catch her boss’s attention. Since she’d never let on to anyone that she had a personal life, it had to come as a little shock. She took advantage of the startled look in his eyes, adding swiftly, “I didn’t mean I wasn’t willing to take care of Jake Rivard’s finances, Mr. Laird. Only I can assure you that travel won’t be necessary under any circumstances.”

He took her meaning a little differently than she’d intended, but Anne left well enough alone. The talk had been interesting, she mused as she walked back to her office. She’d never had the least inkling before that Fred Laird had a secret wish to take off on a slow boat to Tahiti. His wife would be crushed. Anne was crushed, to see her normally pompous, conservative and eminently logical boss get taken in by a rogue with a vagabond heart. Frankly, the whole thing was demoralizing…

So was opening up her bottom drawer after lunch to get a file on corporate bond regulations and finding a decadent satin camisole in its place. So was knowing that last night she’d come darn close to tumbling into bed with Jake Rivard about a minute and a half after he’d shown up in her life again.

Around four in the afternoon, Anne was pressing cool, smooth fingertips to her temples, having failed to take care of a single email in her inbox. The only bright spot in the entire day had been whisking Jake’s cashier’s check downstairs and converting it to a nice, safe, invulnerable thirty-day certificate of deposit. Not that she wanted to even touch his money, but at least temporarily he couldn’t splurge it on silver mines or wildcat oil or swampland in Florida. It wasn’t her business, of course. And it wasn’t her business that the trust Jake had requested wasn’t necessarily his best choice of investment tool, or that thirty days would allow someone to seriously study his best options. Someone. Not Anne. In the meantime, Jake was still wearing the patched jeans she remembered from high school. Over the years he’d neglected to mention that he could afford fourteen-karat-gold patches.

She rubbed her temples harder. Jake had been in town less than twenty-four hours, and already her well- ordered life was disrupted. But that was old news, really. She’d fallen just as hard, just as fast, the other times.

But not this time, Jake, she thought sadly. I tried love with you. Far too many times. More than enough to risk walking on the edge of that cliff again. It’s the hot rush of a drug when you’re here, but then you’re gone. Sweetheart, I’m not suited to lead the life of a nomad.

Jake was waiting for her outside the bank when she left at the end of the day. Somehow, she was not surprised. An hour later, he nodded to a black-suited waiter, who then poured a sparkling Burgundy into their glasses. When the waiter was gone, Jake leaned back in his chair and regarded Anne with a faintly amused smile. “You’re looking a little tired.”

“I am,” she admitted, glancing at the red leather wainscoting of the restaurant he’d chosen. Expensive. Terrifyingly expensive.

“Anything interesting happen at the bank today?”

She smiled sweetly. “Not really. Just a typical Monday.”

With a throaty chuckle, he raised his glass. “To two weeks in the Silver Valley with you, love.”

She raised her glass in return. “They’ll have to ship the coffin.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine. I’m not going to Idaho any other way, but you, Jake…” She took a breath, and then a sip of wine. “I will never and have never even considered trying to stop you from going anywhere you wanted to go.”

Jake regarded her thoughtfully. Anne met his look for a moment and then studied the bubbling Burgundy in her glass with fascination. He’d given her fifteen minutes to change at her place before coming here, because she’d asked for that. A pale gold velvet jacket complemented the crimson dress, with its pale gold hem and cowled collar; bone sandals completed the outfit. Not a hair was out of place; her perfume was fresh; she knew she looked her best.

Jake, by contrast, was wearing a red flannel shirt and navy cords. He was a disgrace, a total disgrace. And those damn sexy eyes of his wouldn’t leave her alone for a minute.

She set down her wineglass and picked up a warm roll from the basket. “I returned your gift on my lunch hour,” she lied, knowing full well he was waiting for her to comment on the camisole.

“Did you, now?”

“I think you had in mind a lady of a little more…formidable stature.”

“Actually, I’m well aware of every dimension of the lady I bought that for.”

“Is she nice?”

“When I was in high school,” Jake drawled, “we used to make a little distinction between nice girls and good girls. Good girls went home and went to bed. Nice girls went to bed, and then got up and went home and went to bed.” He paused. “At times she can be very nice.”

Sooner or later, Anne figured, they would have to stop making inane conversation. The problem was, they always had inane conversation. Another problem was the way Jake was perfectly comfortable in a red flannel shirt when every other man in the place wore a suit. Still other problems were the way his hair had been roughly brushed back from his forehead and the bold male vibrations he sent across the table. You still want him, whispered a little voice in her head.

The waiter served a steak to Jake, which he devoured immediately, and veal parmigiana to Anne, which she pushed around the plate.

“Just try a bite,” Jake coaxed. “Or if you want, we can order something else.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why don’t you get it off your chest?”

“Why don’t I get what off my chest?”

The waiter suddenly dipped down from behind her to take her plate. A flush climbed up her cheeks like a glowing pink brush fire. The waiter didn’t even look up. Jake chuckled.

“The worst they can do is throw us out if you start shouting,” he said helpfully.

“I have never shouted in a public place in my life!”

“You should.” Jake leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table, his silvery eyes intent on hers. “Let’s hear it, Anne.”

Without her dinner to push around, she had nothing to do with her hands but clutch the coffee cup. “This has nothing to do with you and me personally, understand? We’re just talking about