Calculated Risk Read Online Free PDF

kind.
    Speaking of cruel … the word
reminded her of Quintin Ward’s ruthless behavior. She rolled off
the bed and straightened her dress. Her fingertips rubbed his rough
touch from her bare arm. Now there’s a man
who needs a good swift kick right in his assertions!
    Stevie smiled at her image
in the dresser mirror. She leaned in closer, letting her fingers
comb and fluff the fiery curls. I realize
you’re concerned about your child – and I sympathize with you, Mr.
Ward. But your attitude and actions need some major adjustments.
And like any good Tennessee woman, I’m going to volunteer to make
them!
    She used the cellphone in her clutch to
make a quick call to arrange to have one of her associates attend
the gospel concert at the Opry. Then, with the spirit and daring of
her Tennessee ancestors, Stevie proceeded down the back stairs to
wage war on a Yankee.
    Her first stop was the
dining room. She decided to avail herself of Quintin’s hospitality.
Her smile broadened as she filled the white china plate with
assorted tempting canapés and hors d’oeuvres. Nothing like biting the hand that feeds
you .
    When the white-jacketed bartender
inquired as to her pleasure, Stevie was thoughtful for a moment,
then decided to go for broke. “Sour mash –“ one hazel eye winked
“—neat.” Glass and plate firmly in hand, she returned to the
house’s main living area and allowed herself to relax and
participate.
    Squatting before the hearth, Quintin
expertly used the brass poker to check the security of two new logs
before he repositioned the fire screen. He brushed off his hands
and turned to survey the laughing, chattering guests that milled
around him. Everyone had food and/or drinks; the stereo was loud
enough to be heard but soft enough to allow for conversations; and
from the high spirits that abounded, the evening looked like a
success.
    Parties were not his forte. Building
the houses that held the parties – that was where his talents lay.
Tonight, however, was his premiere both as a builder and host. The
restoration and renovation of Cedar Hill had taken more than just
his skill as a carpenter. He had used his engineering and
architectural knowledge to duplicate the beauty and recreate the
ambience that once flourished in this antebellum
mansion.
    Quintin felt that Cedar Hill was more
than a house. It was home. A home that stood as a symbol of
togetherness and a newly discovered awareness of his son. His dark
gaze found Robert, who was slowly nursing the one drink he had been
allotted that evening.
    A proud, paternal smile lightened
Quintin’s features. Rob looked good. The tuxedo seemed to add an
elegant virility to the seventeen-year-olds slim, angular frame.
Quintin massaged his jaw; at least those ear buds Rob always wore
were put away for one night and his feet sported real shoes instead
of untied sneakers.
    His son not only looked good, he was
good. Excellent grades; he was into organic and health food; and no
sign of drugs. What more could a parent ask? Quintin rescued his
drink from the ornately carved mantle and pondered that question.
He’d like Rob to be more like himself. He’d like Rob to work at his
side. Quintin had always dreamed of a sign that would read: Ward
and Son Construction Company.
    Rob’s interest, however, was music. Not
the making of it but the business of music. Big business that was
the heart of Nashville. A business that was filled with addicts and
alcoholics and vampires who greedily sucked young blood and
devoured souls.
    Quintin blanketed his son
under a protective gaze – a gaze that was shattered by the sudden
appearance of -- Stephanie Brandt. Hypnotized, he watched her
mingle with his other guests. The
arrogance of that woman! An underlying
rawness blistered each word.
    He stalked her every movement. But the
longer Quintin watched Stevie, the more fascinated he became. His
eyes centered on the tender curve of her left ear glimpsed through
teasing auburn tendrils, and the