Never Tell

But Erica didn’t respond to that. She didn’t hear it. Instead, her gaze was locked on a unique brooch that was revealed on the woman’s shoulder when she moved her hand away to take Erica’s. It was a starburst of diamonds radiating out from a single large fire opal, set in a nest of more diamonds and opals. It was the perfect accent piece for the pale champagne color of the jacket Erica had designed. But Lillian Trask’s unerring sense of style in pairing the jacket with just the right piece of jewelry was lost on Erica. She was in shock, staring in absolute horror at the brooch. Her chest felt as if all the breath was crushed from it. Something, fear or dread—or both—rose sickeningly in her. The opal at the center of the pin winked fire and terror, and both came at her in waves that stole the strength from her knees and froze the blood in her veins. She felt she might be sick and reached instinctively for Hunter.

He took one look at her face and covered the fingers she’d locked around his arm with his own. “Erica, what’s wrong?” His voice was sharp with concern.

His words were lost in the roaring of terror in her ears. With her gaze riveted on the brooch, sounds came at her as if filtered through a tunnel. The whole world had stopped as if a camera had captured a picture in a freeze-frame. Panic spiraled up from her center, mixing with the pain in her chest. She snatched her hand away from Hunter’s arm and, with a strangled sound, turned in a desperate need to run.

He stopped her, clamped both hands on her arms and forced her to look up at him. “Tell me what’s wrong, Erica,” he demanded. “You’re pale as a ghost. Are you sick?”

She shook her head, glanced again at his mother, at the brooch. And again was almost overwhelmed with terrible pain. “I…I don’t know,” she stammered. Pulling away, she put both hands to her cheeks. “I…it’s…I just feel a little faint,” she told him, coming up with a lie. “The evening…ah, the…everything has been a little too much, I think.”

“I’ll take you home,” Hunter said instantly. “Let’s go.”

“No!” She put a hand on his arm and struggled to bring herself under control. “No, thank you. My…Jason will be waiting in the mezzanine.” She’d always deplored the mistaken view that some artists were unstable or, at best, overly emotional. With her heart still beating wildly in reaction to that bizarre moment—whatever it was—who could blame them?

She forced herself to turn and face Lillian Trask. It meant resisting an almost crazed urge to look at the brooch again, but she kept her gaze locked on the woman’s face. “Please forgive me for rushing away. I know my partner is wondering what happened to me.” She forced a smile, thinking it must surely look hideous. She had never felt less like smiling. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Yes,” Lillian replied, then added, “Congratulations on your success.” Beside her, Morton remained silent.

“Thank you.” Taking care to walk away with some semblance of dignity, Erica fixed her eyes on the exit doors of the ballroom. Hunter kept pace beside her, but shot frequent glances at her profile as they walked. He was clearly bewildered.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that was all about,” he said.

“I think it might have something to do with the fact that I haven’t eaten all day.” That was not quite true, but she had to come up with some excuse.

He stared at her. “Jason says you’re not comfortable doing PR and you knew this would take a lot out of you, yet you still skipped breakfast and lunch?”

“Maybe it was the champagne.” And maybe she should tell him to mind his own business, she thought. But she didn’t. Why that was, she hadn’t figured out yet. “I just felt faint for a moment.”

“You looked shocked to your toes,” he told her flatly. “Are you sure you haven’t met my mother before?”

“No. Never.”

“My stepfather?”

“No, I’ve never met either of them. I just had a…a moment when I felt faint. It happens, Hunter.”

He gave a skeptical grunt. If he could hear the way her heart was beating, he would know for sure that she was lying, she thought, clutching his arm in a death grip. But she somehow managed to make it to the mezzanine level without her knees giving way.

Jason was waiting at the escalator in animated conversation with a friend and didn’t see them approach. She was glad to see he had her shawl, as she was cold all the way to her bones. When he turned and saw her face, he stopped talking midsentence. His eyes shot straight to Hunter. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You’ll have to ask Erica,” Hunter told him. Taking her shawl from Jason, he settled it around her shoulders.

She pulled it close, grateful for its warmth. “I was a little light-headed for a minute, that’s all. It’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll be fine as soon as I get home and can k-kick off these shoes and change into something soft and c-comfortable.” She pressed her lips together, as she couldn’t seem to stop them from trembling. “W-Willie’s probably wondering what happened to me anyway.”

“Willie?” Hunter repeated.

“He’s a cat,” Jason explained. “Gray and scraggly-looking, a Willie Nelson clone.” Still watching her with narrow-eyed concern, he said, “You’ve never fainted in your life.”

“Too much excitement mixed with champagne,” she told him.

“She hasn’t eaten anything today,” Hunter said, with a frown of disapproval.

“I’ll have a bowl of cereal when I get home.” With the shawl to warm her up, she was feeling more normal now, but something had happened when she was introduced to Hunter’s mother and she didn’t think it was too much champagne. She’d experienced an avalanche of emotion, not when she looked into the woman’s face or when she met his stepfather. It was when she saw Lillian Trask’s brooch. Why had she been almost bowled over by a piece of jewelry?

Without thinking what he would make of it, she turned to Hunter. “Your mother’s wearing an interesting brooch. Do you know anything about it?”

“My mother’s brooch,” he repeated blankly. “You mean that pin she’s wearing?”

“You’re asking about a piece of jewelry his mother’s wearing?” Jason was looking incredulous. His eyes went sharp with suspicion. “How much champagne have you had?”

“It’s not that. I think…I mean—” She gave them both a weak smile and shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, but I just thought for a minute that I’d seen it before. Is it an antique?”

Hunter took a second to focus on what she said. He lifted one shoulder and said, “I don’t know. She likes jewelry and she usually buys pretty good stuff. I guess it could be old.” His gaze wandered to the arched doorway of the ballroom. Presumably his mother and Morton were still inside. “If it’s important, I’ll go back and ask her.”

“No, no. Don’t. It’s not important. I just…you know how you get a feeling of déjà vu sometimes? When I saw it, I felt it wasn’t just familiar, but that I’d seen it before and it had some special meaning. Which sounds a little nutty, I guess. I couldn’t have, right?” Seeking more warmth, she drew the folds of the shawl more snugly around herself. “It just kind of…startled me. Maybe it belonged to me in another life.” The joke fell flat because she couldn’t quite manage a real smile.

Hunter rubbed the side of his cheek, now thinking. “She’s had that pin a long time, I think. I seem to remember when I was a kid, she’d get all gussied up for one of these affairs and wear it. She’s partial to estate sales. That might be where she got it.”

Jason looked at Erica. “What, you think it was your great-grandmother’s or something?”

“No, of course not.” Her thoughts raced as she tried to make sense of her panic at the sight of it. Estate sales. She occasionally went, which could explain how she might have seen it before. But why did it give her such a shock? And it had been a shock. She’d almost passed out with the force of whatever emotion it triggered in her. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the brooch at all. Maybe the stress of the evening had simply caught up with her at that moment. Maybe the whole thing was just a nervous reaction. The auction was a crucial event for both her and Jason.

Hunter touched her shoulder. “Go home and get some rest,” he told her. “And take it easy these next few days. I just wish you’d reconsider and come with me to the ranch tomorrow. We don’t have to wait until next week.” He saw second thoughts gathering on her face and put a finger on her lips. “Don’t even think it.”

“What?” Jason asked, looking at them both.

“She’s going with me to the ranch next Sunday,” Hunter said, keeping his eyes on hers. “It’s a week away, but I couldn’t talk her into going tomorrow.”

“Not at daybreak,” she said, resisting the pleasure of Hunter’s warm palm on the curve between her neck and shoulder.

“She’s lazy in the mornings,” Jason said, grinning. “But to get her started, bring fresh kolaches and coffee and she’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

With Erica gone, Hunter was more than ready to go himself, but first he wanted a word with his mother. Instead of leaving, he walked back to the ballroom and stood for a minute at the arched doorway, searching the thinning crowd. There were still quite a few die-hard patrons of the arts lingering. If he knew his mother, she’d be among the last to leave. Morton would indulge her, not for any particular love of the symphony—or his wife—but because he liked the two of them to be seen at these events. He finally spotted her and Morton as they were separating from a couple he recognized as longtime neighbors of the Trasks’ in River Oaks.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, coming up from behind. “You about ready to call it a night?”

“Oh, Hunter.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re still here?”

“For a few more minutes. I hoped to catch you before you left.”

Morton made a show of studying the time on his watch. “We’re meeting the Jensons’ at their house for a nightcap in a few minutes. Is it important?”

Hunter wondered whether he and his stepfather would ever be able to exchange a word or two without wanting to argue. “I won’t keep her long,” he told Morton. “You’re valet parked?”

“Of course,” Morton said with annoyance.

“I’ll be done by the time your car’s brought up.” He took his mother’s arm and ushered her past the rest of the lingering crowd, leaving Morton to follow or do as he suggested and call for his vehicle. His stepfather was a control freak who usually manipulated a situation, not vice versa. He was irritated at being one-upped, especially by Hunter. It showed on his face as he stalked off.