Robin Hardy Online
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Book Two of the Streiker Saga
From the back cover:
When reclusive Dallas billionaire Fletcher Streiker proposes marriage sight unseen to Adair Weiss in Streiker's Bride, she accepts after deep soul-searching—and discovers life on a whole
new level. In this sequel, Fletcher takes his bride home to Hawaii, where he has some important business waiting. . . .
"You know what a killdeer is, Adair? The bird?" he asked. She shrugged slightly. "It's a little brown bird that builds its nest right on the ground. When predators get too close to her nest, the mama killdeer will lure them away. It's a very effective defense. I hope I can do half as well."
Adair eyed him and he explained, "I intend to lure the predators away from the business that's most important to me."
Chapter One
In the darkness, he bent to her ear and whispered, "You have to."
Adair reached up to her new husband's face, visible only in outline. The National Inquisitor had offered $250,000 for a photograph of this face, and although she could not see it now, she carried it in her imagination: black hair, brown eyes, a splendid blending of his father's Anglo strength and his mother's Hawaiian tenderness. "I'm scared," she whispered back.
"What will they do, say no?" he chided softly, brushing back a tangle of her blond hair. "I'm right here," he added, standing close beside her at the pay phone. Fletcher almost never used cell phones because they were so easily tapped by unwelcome listeners.
"I'm not afraid they'll say no," she moaned, turning to the phone. "I'm afraid they'll say, 'Come right over.' Do you have that number?" She squinted at the piece of paper he held up as she dialed.
"Hello?" On recognizing her mother's slightly twangy voice, Adair nervously twisted the stiff phone cord. She had not heard this voice for about seven years now.
"Hello, Mom. This is Adair," she said carefully.
"Adair! Is it really you? Dale!" She turned to scream at Adair's stepfather, who was possibly in another room—or across town, judging from the volume. "DALE! Adair's on the line! Where are you, sweetheart?" she asked Adair.
"Well, Fletcher and I just flew in, and he—I would like to bring him by to meet you, if it's not too late," Adair said without enthusiasm.
"Come right over!" her mother exclaimed. "Dale! Adair is bringing her HUSBAND!" The billionaire! is what Adair's mother communicated loud and clear. She had seen the newspaper accounts of the reclusive philanthropist's surprise marriage to her daughter.
Adair winced. "Mom, please don't tell anybody we're here. Fletcher has to—avoid publicity in order to continue his work. No photos, or—"
"You mean I can't call your Aunt Becky and Uncle Pete?" Adair's mother asked, pained.
"Not yet, Mom, please," Adair pleaded. "It would create real problems for Fletcher."
"Well, all right," she reluctantly agreed. "Do you know where we live?"
Adair glanced up as Fletcher nodded, his ear close to the handset. "Yes, Fletcher does. See you in a few minutes, Mom."
"Wonderful!" her mother exclaimed, and Adair hung up.
"She was real excited," Adair said dully.
"There, now," Fletcher said. "Told you it wouldn't be so bad."
"We're not there, yet," Adair muttered under her breath as Fletcher inserted some coins and dialed a number from memory.
He waited a moment, then said, "We're on our way to the Threadgills'," and hung up. With no hope of putting it off any further, Adair climbed into the waiting cab with Fletcher.
Around 9:30 PM, the cab pulled up to a nice ranch-style home on a tidy Longview street. Emerging from the taxi, Fletcher handed the driver a folded bill. The driver looked at it and startled. "You want me to wait?"
"Why don't you come back in about an hour?" Fletcher suggested as he lent Adair a hand.
"You can count on it, guy," the cabbie saluted with two fingers and took off.
Fletcher walked Adair up to the lighted porch and rang the doorbell. She leaned into his side for his support. An instant later the door opened, and they looked down at a blond eight-year-old boy.
"Brian?" Adair said, and he nodded. The last time she had seen her half-brother, he was just a baby. "I'm Adair, and this is my husband, Fletcher Streiker."
Fletcher stuck out his hand to Brian, who shook it and asked, "Will you buy me a remote-control car without any wires?"
"Sure," said Fletcher.
Brian turned, bumping into his mother who had come up behind him. "Adair!" She reached out to hug her daughter, dragging her over the threshold in the process. Fletcher stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Brian ran off to summon his father. "You must be Fletcher," Adair's mother said, reaching out a dainty hand. She shared Adair's high cheekbones, neon blue eyes, and a similar shade of frosted blond hair.
"Mrs. Threadgill," Fletcher said, shaking her hand.
"Call me Dana. I just can't believe this. Come sit down, you two. Something to eat? A nightcap?" She steered them to a comfortably furnished front room.
"No, thank you," Fletcher said, then turned as Brian ran in preceding his father—a large man, grown heavier since Adair had last seen him, with a canny, distrustful air and deliberately rumpled appearance. Without waiting for an introduction, Fletcher extended his hand. "Mr. Threadgill, Fletcher Streiker."
"Dale," he replied as he gripped Fletcher's hand. "So—"
"Dad, he's going to buy me a remote control car without any wires!" Brian eagerly shared.
Flustered, Dana scolded, "Brian, I warned you not to ask for anything." Turning to Fletcher: "Do sit down. Are you sure you wouldn't care for anything? I just put on a pot of coffee."
"I take mine black, thank you," Fletcher said, sitting with Adair on the velour sofa. Brian sat on the floor next to Fletcher's knees and Dale settled down on the loveseat. Dana, in jeans and tight sweater, bustled out to get coffee. Sitting close beside Fletcher, Adair self-consciously tugged on the hem of her dress. She had been so hurried changing into this dress that she had not remembered it to be this short. The length of her skirts had precipitated many a fight with Dale.
There was an awkward silence as Dale regarded Fletcher and Fletcher smiled at Brian. Adair saw her high school senior portrait sitting on an end table and a ten-year-old dance picture hanging on the wall. From the condition of the frames, she guessed that they had been residing in a drawer until very recently. "So," Dale said, and Fletcher looked up, "what do you do for a living?"
"Well," Fletcher began slowly, "I spend a lot of time managing my company. Too much time. I'd like to pare that down."
"And what does this company of yours do?" Dale asked.
"Mostly, it manages my investments. Thank you," Fletcher said, accepting his coffee from Dana with a quick smile.
"Doesn't it make anything?" Dale asked in a tone of slight exasperation.
"I believe we do have several manufacturing concerns," Fletcher said, as if probing his memory.
"All this business talk is boring," Dana announced, sitting across from Fletcher. "You're much younger than I thought you'd be," she observed, and Fletcher raised his eyes over his coffee cup. "So, I'm dying to know how you met Adair."
"She worked in a bank I own," Fletcher replied.
"You worked in a bank?" Dana asked her daughter in astonishment. "How did you manage that? Your math grades were never very good."
Adair barely shrugged in reply, so Fletcher said, "She was pedaling pretty hard to make up for the math. She was taking accounting at night."
Dale snorted, "I told you that dance stuff was a waste of time."
Fletcher glanced at Adair, but again she said nothing, so he replied, "She'll have the opportunity to pursue that now, if she wants."
"Dance? Professionally?" Dana laughed. "Sweetheart, you can't; you're too old."
Adair looked at the wall. Fletcher waited a few seconds before opening his mouth. "At twenty-four?" he wondered.
"Oh, yes," Dana said assuredly. "A dancer's lifespan is so short, no troupe will even consider somebody new who's out of her teens. Unless—oh, goodness, I'm forgetting. You could set her up in just about anything she wanted, couldn't you? All it would take would be one phone call from you, and she'd be dancing the lead in Swan Lake, wouldn't she?"
Adair did not say a word, but Brian suddenly scrambled to his feet and left the room. "What kind of investments did you say you had?" Dale asked.
Fletcher cleared his throat. "Well, there's some oil and gas, real estate, software, and a lot of small business ventures. I like to finance people with offbeat ideas. That's kind of how I got my start."
Brian returned to the room with a slender catalog. "That's the one I want," he said, pointing to a slick picture of a remote-control car.
"Brian—!" Dana began in exasperation.
Fletcher took the catalog and dog-eared the page. "Can I take this?" he asked Brian.
"Sure!" the boy said. So Fletcher folded up the catalog and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Adair smiled at him and Brian resumed his position in perfect satisfaction beside Fletcher's knees.
The atmosphere in the room changed somewhat as Brian's parents regarded Fletcher's responsiveness to him. Dana suddenly blushed. "Oh, look at that. I sat you right down on that tacky old couch with the loose spring. I'm so ashamed."
"I'm comfortable," Fletcher assured her.
"There's not a thing wrong with that couch," Dale returned a tad defensively. "You wanna talk tacky, go look at that junk heap I drive to work everyday."
"It's a heap, all right, but that's what you wanted," Dana countered. "I suggested a nice Cadillac, but you had to have the pickup. Now with all that we've spent on that crate, we can't afford a nicer car."
Dale was torn between defending himself and advancing his cause. "It's done okay, but it's gettin' some miles on it."
"Do you want to talk miles? Look at the carpet under your feet for mileage! Do you realize we haven't replaced any carpet since we moved here?" Dana demanded.
"Why should we replace the carpet when the roof leaks all over it?" Dale's voice rose.
In the middle of Dana's stormy reply, Fletcher asked, "Is there something you'd like me to buy for you?"
They broke off their argument to stare at him. Then Dana blushed, "We're not much better than Brian, are we? I guess we hardly know how to handle a wealthy son-in-law."
"Just tell me what you want," Fletcher said. They looked at him, scarcely knowing how to respond. "Let's make this easy on everyone," he suggested. "List it out. Make a list of what you want."
"Why don't you just write out a nice-sized check?" Dale countered, half in jest.
"I don't carry a checkbook, only traveling cash. All checks are written through the corporation," Fletcher replied.
Dana gestured uneasily. "Never mind that. We just want to get to know you."
"Now, Dana, you should take the man at his word. He says list it out, we list it out. Go get one of them pads—not the phone pad, a legal pad from the desk there," Dale instructed.
Hesitantly, Dana got up and retrieved a yellow pad and pen from the next room. While she sat beside Dale on the loveseat to ponder their list, Brian asked Fletcher, "Where do you live?"
"Dallas," said Fletcher, turning toward him.
"How'd you get here?" Brian asked.
"We came part way in my helicopter, and the rest of the way in a cab," Fletcher said.
"A helicopter! Wow! Can I ride it sometime?" Brian asked eagerly.
"Yes. We'll have to get you to a place where I can pick you up," said Fletcher.
"A pickup, first," mused Dale, writing. "A new Silverado."
"We need a family car first," Dana objected quietly.
"You pick me up? Can you fly a chopper?" Brian asked in amazement.
"Yes. My dad was a Navy pilot," Fletcher replied.
"No lie?" exclaimed Brian. "Did he teach you to fly?"
"He taught me just about everything worthwhile I ever learned," Fletcher said warmly.
"Well, put down your Cadillac as number two," Dale offered. "Number three: a boat. A thirty-four-foot sedan bridge Searay, loaded, with twin 454s," Dale dictated to himself.
"Fully furnished," Dana interjected.
"That's what loaded means, dear," Dale said disparagingly.
"Did he ever take you fishing?" Brian asked wistfully.
"He took me everywhere with him, wherever he could take me. Mom got to calling me his little tick. He taught me how to treat people, and without knowing that I never would have been much of a success," Fletcher said.
"New carpet throughout the house," Dana said firmly.
"Hell, why not a new house?" Dale cracked, writing busily.
Brian glanced at his father and then down at the floor. "You don't have to get me that remote-control car," he said dully.
"I'd be happy to get you the car, Brian," Fletcher replied.
Brian looked up at him, then at Adair sitting quietly beside him. "What made you marry my sister?"
Fletcher eyed Adair, smiling. "Because I love her."
"But why?" Brian pressed.
"Because . . . she trusted me," Fletcher said. Brian made a puzzled face and Fletcher added, "Just take my word for it that it took a lot of guts for her to marry me. Besides—," he glanced at Adair and then leaned down to whisper something to Brian.
Snickering, the boy looked at his sister and admitted, "I guess so." Adair cocked a brow at Fletcher. "Do you have a boy?" Brian asked suddenly.
Fletcher paused before answering. Dana looked up and said, "Now, Brian, they haven't been married long enough to have any children. And—you haven't been married before, have you?" she asked Fletcher uncertainly.
"No, I've never been married before," he said. Dana nodded in approval.
Dale held up the list for his wife's appraisal. "What're we missing, honey?"
She glanced at the paper. "It would be nice to have a new wardrobe," Dana confessed to Fletcher.
"Write it down," he said.
"What, is he going to send you a bunch of dresses from Dallas? Let's just say, oh, fifty thousand for incidentals," Dale proposed.
Dana looked inquiringly to Fletcher. "Put it on the list," he repeated.
Dale did, and Dana said, "I really think that's enough, Dale; don't you?"
He looked down the list of fourteen items. "Yeah, I guess so. Don't want our son-in-law to think we're trying to gouge him, do we?" Dale laughed. He carefully tore the sheet from the pad and extended it to Fletcher.
"My assistant will be handling this, so put your name, address, and phone number on it," Fletcher instructed. "And both of you need to sign it." They did, and handed it over to him. He folded it and put it in his jacket pocket with Brian's catalog.
The doorbell rang. Adair looked in alarm at her mother, who pointedly stated, "I wonder who that could be?" as she got up to answer it. Dale suddenly looked uneasy.
Fletcher stood. "I think I'll have another cup of coffee. Adair? Dale?"
Adair shook her head and Dale said stiffly, "None for me, thanks," so Fletcher took his cup to the kitchen.
Just then a woman abruptly entered the front room with the flash of a pocket camera, taking hasty, random pictures. Dana was on her heels, exclaiming, "Patty! Stop that! Get out! Dale!"
He quickly rose from the loveseat as Patty looked at Adair and Brian in disappointment. "Where's the billionaire?"
Dale took her arm and mumbled something to her as he escorted her back to the door. The bell rang again, and Brian jumped up to look out the front window. "Wow! Look at all the people in our front yard!"
Adair turned accusingly to her mother, who had hung back in some trepidation as Dale stood at the front door ordering gawkers home. Dana caught Adair's eye and insisted, "I did not tell anyone that you and Fletcher were coming over!"
"Look, Mom!" Brian said from the window. Dana went over to peek through the curtains, then closed them tightly and drew her son away.
As Dale returned to the room, Dana spun on him and demanded, "Dale Earl Threadgill, how did all those people know that Fletcher was here?"
He looked manifestly guilty. "Uh, I just called Ralph— that's all, I swear. I had to call him, 'cause he's my best buddy down at the plant, and he swore he wouldn't tell a soul, that bald-faced liar."
Everyone turned to look at Fletcher, who had entered the room calmly sipping his coffee. He surveyed their faces, then remarked, "Looks like we'll have to stay here for a while, Dana." Adair sagged mutely. She had not so much as a toothbrush with her. Dana became flustered at the prospect of enduring some inconvenience on account of her guests and cringed as the doorbell rang again. "Good heav-ens—I haven't got a thing to eat in the house—the guest bedroom's a mess—"
"It won't be for long," Fletcher assured her. As Adair listened to all this, anger at her mother and her stepfather almost drew tears to her eyes.
"Neat! You can sleep in my room with me!" Brian exclaimed.
Fletcher laughed, "You're a great kid, but I'd rather sleep with my wife. Dana, please show us where."
With an inadvertent look of irritation, Dana took them down the hall and opened the door to a spare bedroom. It was cluttered with storage items and craft supplies. As Dana began taking cushions off the sofa sleeper, she told her daughter, "Get sheets and pillows from the linen closet."
Adair went down the hall, opening doors until she came to the closet. She brought back bedding which she placed on a chair while Fletcher and her mother unfolded the bed. "Dana! Telephone!" Dale called from the other room.
Dana threw up her hands and excused herself with, "Let me know if you need anything else," on her way out of the room.
Fletcher closed the door behind her. Adair began placing sheets on the sleeper mattress while trying not to cry. Fletcher came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. She closed her eyes and inhaled, leaning back against him. "It's every bit the disaster I knew it would be," she whispered.
He laughed, "Adair, you've got to start using what you know about people. Accept your parents for who they are and don't sweat it."
She turned in his arms. "You're not really going to buy them all that stuff, are you?"
"Sure. Why not?" he asked.
"Because then they'll just demand more and more and more!" she hissed.
"That's one hypothesis," he said amiably. "Don't worry about them. Use that energy for something else." He kissed her and Adair laced her arms around his neck. Then he gently laid her down on the skimpy, lumpy mattress.
"I missed you," he said into her neck as Adair began unbuttoning her dress. She paused at a soft knock on the door.
Fletcher got up and opened the door. Outside stood Brian, fidgeting in his pajamas. "I'm supposed to be in bed," he whispered, casting a guilty glance down the hall, "but I wanted to ask you a question."
Fletcher gestured for him to come in, then shut the door behind him. "What is it?"
"I wanted to come ask you—you're going to say no," Brian despondently forecast.
"Maybe," said Fletcher. "But we won't know till you ask, will we?"
"Yeah," grumbled Brian. "What it was, was—I wanted to know if I could come live with you. I want to come live with you."
Adair quickly looked to Fletcher for his reaction. With a perfectly straight face, he said, "No, you don't. You're just saying that."
"I'm not either," protested Brian. "I really do. I really want to." "I don't believe it. You're joshing me," Fletcher repeated.
"I'm not, either! I mean it!" Brian said earnestly.
"Prove it," Fletcher dared him.
"How?" Brian asked.
Fletcher turned to a cluttered table behind him for a pen and scrap of paper. "Here's my address in Dallas," he said, writing. "The Streiker Corporation. If you really mean what you say, then you write to me. Each time you write me, I'll write you back. If you keep in touch with me, then when I see you mean business, I'll come get you."
"In your chopper?" Brian asked excitedly.
"Yes," replied Fletcher.
"When?" Brian asked, clutching the paper.
"When I see that it's time," said Fletcher.
"But how long?" whined Brian, and in
his question Adair heard echoes of her repeated query, How long will you be gone?
"I don't know. That's up to you. When you've convinced me you mean it, I'll come," Fletcher said airily.
Brian's bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do I know you mean it?"
"Tell you what. When you see all the stuff you and your parents asked for arrive, then you can decide if I'm telling the truth," Fletcher proposed.
"Fair enough," agreed Brian, and held up his hand to shake on it. On his way out he paused, then came over to place his arms around Adair's neck and kiss her cheek. "G'night, Adair. Sleep tight."
"Goodnight, Brian," she said with a warm hug.
Fletcher shut the door after Brian and stood over Adair, slipping off his khaki jacket. "You always surprise me," she said, leaning back on an elbow.
"Then maybe you need to get to know me a little better," he replied with a wry smile as he climbed onto the bed.
* * *
Several hours later Adair gradually woke, hazily aware of movement around her. She shifted, reaching for Fletcher in the darkness. His side of the bed was empty.
Then from across the rod quietly, "Time to get up, Adair. We're leaving."
Copyright 1994, 2003 Robin Hardy
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