Kitabı oku: «His Innocent Temptress», sayfa 4

That thought brought him back to Hannah Clark, and the mind-blowing request she had made of him last night. He did feel some responsibility for Hannah’s self-conscious demeanor, her shy and awkward bumbling and stumbling. After all, she’d been at The Desert Rose weekly with her father, and if Alex had not joined in the lighthearted but—he saw now—painful teasing his brothers had indulged in, he certainly had done nothing to stop it.

He’d never looked beyond the nervous smile or the pratfalls, the stumbles, the awkward child who sometimes seemed to have her legs on backwards, and her tongue in a knot. He’d never considered her as a person, another motherless child like himself, but without the love of someone like Aunt Vi. A boy needed his mother, certainly. But a girl without a mother, and with a bombastic, sarcastic, hardheaded and bitter man like Hugo Clark for a father needed one most of all.

Could Alex absolve himself from all blame for the way Hannah Clark had turned out? He certainly hadn’t helped her, not in all the years she’d hung around the fringes of The Desert Rose, watching and hoping and either teased or ignored.

Now she’d done him a favor and asked a favor in return. She didn’t see that she had grown into a competent veterinarian, a woman who didn’t mumble or falter or feel insecure when it came to helping a distressed mare in real danger.

Hannah had been competent and assured the entire time she’d dealt with Khalahari, only reverting to type after the job was done, the mare and foal safe. There was a part of Hannah Clark that had grown, matured. Triumphed.

But she didn’t see that, obviously, and Alex highly doubted that she had heard a single word of praise from Hugo.

And yet she’d come back to Bridle, come back to her father. He was getting older, she’d said, and she’d come back to help him, be the dutiful daughter. Why was it that so often the most undeserving parents were gifted with the most loyal love? Was the need for a parent’s love, a parent’s acceptance, that strong?

Probably, or else Hannah would have been long gone, never returning after getting her degrees, which she’d instead carried home to Hugo who, if Alex read the man correctly, never uttered a word of praise for her accomplishment.

That wasn’t Alex’s fault, damn it, and he knew it. And yet…and yet he felt this responsibility, this need to help Hannah realize who she was, how wonderful she was all by herself.

Wonderful? Alex shook his head, wondering where that word had come from. Yes, he’d been impressed with Hannah the vet, definitely. But he had also been impressed with her conversation, the flashes of wit and humor that she tried to hide. And he’d been just about blown away by that damn top button on her blouse, spending at least half the night wondering what would happen if he reached across the table and undid it.

“Alex?” Mac said as Alex stepped back, allowing Mac to exit the stall. “Cade told me you took Hannah Clark to dinner last night.”

“To thank her for saving Khalahari and Khalid, yes,” Alex said, turning with his brother and walking back down the length of the stables.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her since she got back from veterinary school. How is she?” Mac asked, stopping at the door to the stables and looking out at another cold, damp morning. “Still the klutz? Good old Hannah Slip-on-a-banana.”

“She’s twenty-eight and a damn good vet, Mac,” Alex said angrily. “I think we can safely retire that old joke now.”

“Hey, hey! Calm down, brother. I didn’t mean anything by it. What happened? Did the clumsy duckling turn into a graceful swan?”

Alex felt the muscles in his jaw tensing as he bit down hard, nearly grinding his teeth. “Look, Mac, I know you’ve sworn off women, but take it easy, okay? Hannah’s a nice kid.”

“Kid? Alex, you just reminded me that she’s twenty-eight now. Hardly a kid. Now, if I promise to be nice, will you tell me what she looks like all grown up? I remember blond hair in pigtails.”

Alex closed his eyes, surprised at how clearly he could picture Hannah in his mind. Her thick, naturally blond hair swinging just at her shoulders. Those huge blue eyes that were too often shadowed by some inner pain. A full mouth that smiled too seldom. Her body, petite yet strong, her slim shoulders seemingly weighted down with problems much too heavy for her to carry.

“No more pigtails,” he said at last, because suddenly that was all he wanted to say about Hannah Clark. Everything else was both too personal and too confusing. “See you back at the house, Mac. And don’t get caught up in anything out here, okay? You know Vi expects us all to be on time for breakfast.”

“Your wish, as always, is my command, Oh big brother of mine,” Mac said with a sharp salute, then smiled before turning back into the stables.

Alex shook his head. Mac would forget. He’d find a hoof he thought needed cleaning and do it himself rather than ask the ranch hands—Jan or Mickey or Hal—to do it. And Cade would eat his pancakes so they wouldn’t get cold, and so that Vi wouldn’t fret, worried that Mac, a big strong man, would fade away into nothing because he forgot to eat.

Just another day at The Desert Rose. Another dawn, another challenge, another day.

Except that today, everywhere Alex looked, he saw a skinny little kid in pigtails, hiding behind a post, peering at his brothers and himself, her big blue eyes filled with longing.

Chapter Four

Hannah sat in the front seat of her father’s SUV, her head in her hands, sobbing.

The storm raged both inside and outside, a storm of weeping from the gray skies and the flood of tears Hannah no longer fought to control. She was cold, wet, covered in mud and heartbroken.

She was also stranded on the side of the road, her front left tire shredded and flat because she had failed to clear the edge of the cow-catcher on the road leading from the Bates ranch. Instead of using the main road, she’d opted for a shortcut, knowing her SUV was capable of going off the road to avoid the cow-catcher, but her tears had blinded her, and her mind hadn’t been concentrating on her driving.

Now she was stuck, unable to go farther, even limping the SUV along slowly, not without damaging the wheel, her father’s precious SUV itself.

She’d have to change the tire. That wasn’t impossible, and Lord knows she’d done it before, but she hadn’t been cold and muddy and heartbroken, and the weather hadn’t been raining and blowing and miserable.

Why didn’t she just give up? Give up, cut her losses and leave Bridle, leave Texas…leave her father? He was going to run the rough side of his tongue up one side of her and down the other over the ruined tire, and then dock her meager pay for its replacement. That much was a given.

And the lecture he’d give her? Also a given, definitely, but could Hannah face another tongue-lashing on her shortcomings, her failings, her utter disregard for his property. On and on and on. She could also give herself the lecture, being careful not to leave out the bits about her irresponsibility, so like her mother’s, and how both she and her mother had been the worst fates that could befall a man, any man.

How she longed to tell him to shut up, to go to hell, to take his veterinary business and shove it somewhere he could keep it safe from his worthless daughter. Because that’s what her father believed—that she had planned to come home and rob him of his business, the practice he had built up with his hard work and sweat all these years.

Hugo didn’t believe she’d come home for him, to be with him, to prove to him and to herself that she was no longer scaredy-cat little Hannah, but a grown woman, a person in her own right.

And now here she was, stranded in the middle of nowhere, wet and muddy and crying over a dead horse, a distant, disapproving father, and the memory of the most wonderful yet embarrassing night in her life.

“Oh, Hannah, you’re such a mess,” she told herself, her sobs, which had been subsiding, starting up again, only to be cut short by a knock on the driver’s side window.

“Hannah? Hannah, are you all right?”

This was good. Now she was hallucinating. What next? Would she look at the rain on the windshield and believe she saw the outline of Elvis? Maybe carbon monoxide was somehow coming into the cab of the SUV—she had probably damaged the undercarriage as well as shredded the tire—and she was actually slipping into a coma, hearing the most beloved voice in her life as she slid silently toward death?

“For God’s sake, Hannah, open the door!”

She raised her head and turned toward the window. There was a man standing there, dressed in a dark green rain poncho, his broad-brimmed cowboy hat collecting water like a rain gutter and spilling it off the narrowed front of the brim. “Alex? Is that really you?”

“Who were you expecting?” he growled as she rolled down the window.

Elvis, she thought, wincing, but stopped herself in time, so that she didn’t say the word. Instead, she unlocked the door, then scooted over to the passenger seat when Alex yanked the door open and climbed into the driver’s seat. “What…what are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Looking for you,” he said, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his wet, matted black hair. He was so wet. His long, thick eyelashes clumped wetly, water droplets still sluicing down his cheeks, his hat and poncho dripping everywhere. “Your dad said he sent you out here, and Joe Bates told me you left an hour ago, taking the back road. Since you weren’t home, I decided to drive out this way and check, make sure you were all right.”

“Because Hannah Slip-on-a-banana very easily could be upside down in a ditch,” Hannah said, sighing. “Well, not quite. But close.”

Alex ignored her response, reaching down and picking up the revolver that lay at Hannah’s feet. “What’s this?” he asked, looking at her strangely.

“Oh, God—no! You can’t believe I was out here thinking about doing something to myself?”

Alex looked at her a moment longer, then flipped open the revolver, checking the chambers. “One bullet missing,” he said, then lifted the barrel to his nose. “And recently fired. What happened, Hannah?”

She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side window. Sighed. “Dad knew what had to be done when he sent me out here after Mr. Bates phoned him,” she said quietly. “He knew, and still he sent me, not telling me anything, not warning me. But I did it.” She turned back to look at Alex. “I did it, Alex. One shot, clean, behind the ear and straight into the brain…while she looked at me, watched me…told me it was all right, that she understood…understood, and even thanked me.”

“Ah, jeez, Hannah…” Alex put his arm around her, drew her close against him. “One of Joe’s mares?”

“Bashiyra,” Hannah mumbled against the cold, wet oilcloth. “She had the softest eyes, Alex. So trusting. But her leg was shattered, just destroyed. She’d stepped in a hole somewhere in the pasture this morning. I had to go out there and see her, then go back to the SUV and get the pistol. I walked back through that mud and rain, and I put her down. There wasn’t anything else I could do. I’ll…I’ll never forget that walk back into the pasture, Alex, carrying the pistol. Never.”

“Your first?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “But I didn’t miss. I owed it to Bashiyra not to botch it, make everything worse. Then I just…I just walked out of there with the pistol still in my hand, got in the SUV, and started to drive. I—I didn’t quite miss the cattle-guard.”

Hannah belatedly realized where she was, who was holding her, the fact that she was, indeed, being held. She pushed herself away, sat back, ran a hand through her damp hair, knowing she looked terrible. Muddy, wet, tear streaked, and now her nose was running.

And worse, ashamed. Ashamed of breaking down, losing her professionalism. “I shouldn’t be reacting this way, Alex. It’s my job, I know putting an animal down is part of that job.”

“If you didn’t react, Hannah, if you didn’t feel that mare’s pain, I wouldn’t let you within ten miles of any of my horses,” Alex told her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “I’m only sorry you had to do it. I had a mount go down under me one day about six years ago, and had to put her out of her misery myself, because nobody else was around and I knew I couldn’t let her suffer until I called your father to do what had to be done. I got drunk afterward, the first and last time I’ve ever touched alcohol. You’re a woman. You cried. I wanted to cry, too.”

Hannah relaxed, feeling as if Alex had just given her a gift, the gift of his own story, his own pain. It didn’t make hers less, but it helped to know that someone else understood that pain, had shared it.

“Thank you, Alex,” she said, wishing she could look at him, knowing she couldn’t. “Thank you for what you said, and for coming out here and finding me. I think I would have sat here forever, wallowing in my misery. Silly, huh?”

“Understandable,” Alex countered, his tone revealing his feelings.

“You’re thinking about my dad, aren’t you?” Hannah asked, sensing his anger. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Really. I’m not even sure he knew I’d have to put Bashiyra down. Please forget what I said.”

“Hannah, he—” Alex broke off, muttered something under his breath. “All right. If that’s how you want to play it, Hannah.”

“That’s how I have to play it, Alex, how I have to think about it. Because if I thought Dad knew about Bashiyra, and deliberately set me up to fail…well, I don’t want to think about that, okay?”

“Okay. Let’s change a tire, then I’ll follow you home to make sure there isn’t any other damage to the car. And then, Miss Hannah Clark, after you’ve gotten into some dry clothes you and I are going back to The Desert Rose so I can change, and then we’re going out to lunch. All right?”

Hannah suddenly felt warm and dry, and even cosseted. “Lunch? Are you sure?”

“No, frankly, I’m not. But that’s what we’re going to do. Now come on, this rain isn’t going anywhere so we can’t wait it out. Besides, I don’t think either of us can get any wetter or muddier.”

GETTING INTO “some dry clothes” meant, for Hannah, showering quickly and then pulling on yet another pair of jeans, another plaid flannel shirt. After gathering her freshly shampooed and still damp hair back into a ponytail, she’d dug a dry pair of sneakers out of the rear of her closet and run back outside, before her father could come upstairs from the office and ask where she might think she was going—and then tell her, no, she wasn’t, because there were cages to clean and manure to be shoveled.

“Fifteen minutes,” Alex said, consulting his wristwatch as Hannah climbed into the passenger seat. “That’s got to be a new world’s record for females. Jessica can’t be showered and dressed in less than two hours. I know, because the bathrooms in our wing of the house were out of commission while we had new pipes put in and my brothers and I had to share with Jessica. Two hours is being charitable. I have no idea what takes her so long.”

“Neither do I. It’s certainly not as if she needs a lot of time to look as beautiful as she does,” Hannah said, conjuring up a mental picture of Jessica Coleman as she’d seen her in Bridle just last week. Lush red hair, creamy, flawless skin, her eyes bright and alive and definitely alluring. Jessica wore makeup and skirts and carried herself like a princess. Never a hair out of place, her nails always painted. And she never smelled like she’d been dragged through a stable yard; she always smelled as if she’d just stepped out of a perfumed bath.

Jessica couldn’t be more than twenty-four, four years younger than Hannah, but she’d never been a tomboy or an awkward teen, at least not that Hannah could remember anyway. She’d always been the princess surrounded by her adoring princes, Alex, Cade and Mac. All-girl, through and through, and friendly, popular, one of the most popular girls in Bridle.

Hannah would give her eyeteeth to be like Jessica Coleman.

“I got a call on my cell phone while I was waiting for you,” Alex told Hannah as they drove out of town on Route 73, heading for The Desert Rose. “Randy needs me to look up a few things, then call him in Austin, where he’s meeting with some business associates. I promise it won’t take long, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s all right,” Hannah said, still amazed that Alex was taking her to lunch, that Alex had come looking for her in the first place. “I’ll just stay down at the stables. I can check out Khalahari and Khalid for you.”

“Absolutely not,” Alex said sternly, or at least Hannah believed he sounded stern. “You’re my guest, and you’ll wait for me at the house. Aunt Vi is with Randy in Austin, but Jessica’s home, and Cade and Mac.”

“Really?” Hannah said, looking down at her lap, distressed to see that she was holding her folded hands so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “I haven’t seen Mac or Cade for years. I doubt they even remember me.”

“Relax, Hannah, they’re all grown-up now. They’ve actually got table manners now, have stopped dragging their knuckles on the ground when they walk—and they’ve even grown out of teasing everybody with their own special brand of twin humor. If you can call what those two did as boys ‘humor.’ Mostly, they were two very inventive pains in the neck.”

“I envied them that, you know,” Hannah told him honestly. “I’m sure you know it, but the way they’d finish each other’s sentences, well, it amazed me. They were so very close, almost as if they were both parts of the same person.”

“Leaving everyone else on the outside, looking in,” Alex said as he turned left and drove between the main gates of The Desert Rose. “Even me, sometimes. Mac and Cade are only three years older than you, Hannah, right? I imagine you probably had a teenage crush on one or both of them. Most of the girls around here did, at one time or another.”

Hannah looked at Alex in astonishment. Did he really think she’d been mooning around the stables when she’d come to the ranch with her dad to check on the horses, dreaming girlish dreams about Mac and Cade? They were three years older than her, yes, but that meant that Alex was only four years older. True, the difference between fourteen and eighteen was a huge one, about as wide as the Grand Canyon, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed of Alex looking at her, smiling at her, actually seeing her.

“It’s pretty difficult to have a crush on a guy, or guys, who call you Hannah Slip-on-a-banana and ask if you’ve taken any good trips lately, when they’re not walking past you as if you don’t even exist,” Hannah said after a moment.

“Yeah,” Alex said tightly. “Guess so. I’ve said I’m sorry for not calling them off, haven’t I? I’m sure I have. Even so, I’ll say it again. We didn’t make your life any easier.”

From somewhere deep inside her, Hannah felt something building, growing. Shocked, she realized it was anger. “You know what, Alex? I think I’m getting pretty tired of hearing about what an awful childhood I had. Moreover, I don’t think I like hearing you apologize to me, like it’s all your fault. It isn’t. It never was, okay?”

“Hannah, I’m—”

“You’re sorry,” she interrupted. “I know, you’ve already said that. And if I’d known what a pity party I started by asking you to…well, you know…I’d never have said anything. I’m sorry now that I did.” She looked at him, her knees doing that same “melting” trick they’d always done, even now, when she’d like nothing better than to bop him one. “Boy, am I ever sorry I did.”

Alex pulled the car into the circular driveway in front of the house and cut the engine. “Hannah,” he said, taking her hand, “I’d say I’m sorry again, but you’d probably hit me. Plus, I’m not sorry, not really. I’m beginning to think I missed out on a good thing, not getting to know you better.”

“Oh.” Hannah looked down at his tanned hand, those long fingers lying on top of her own. “Well, okay,” she said, then turned to open the door, catching the sleeve of her shirt on Alex’s watchband. Instinctively, she pulled to get her arm free, just to hear the soft old flannel tear as the material released.

Flustered, and anxious to get clear of the scene of her latest goof-up, she opened the door quickly, and just as quickly felt her right sneaker sink into a dark brown, muddy mess.

Tears sprang into her eyes, tears she blinked away as Alex came around to the passenger side to help her. “Back to normal?” he said, grinning at her.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, sighing. “Back to normal.” She walked in front of him, heading for the door to the house. “But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” she said, wondering where that last line had sprung from, where she’d gotten the courage to think it let alone say it.

“I think I’m already getting used to it,” Alex said, holding her arm while she slipped off her right sneaker. “Now, you go inside and sit down while I make that call, then shower. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Hannah smiled weakly and watched him go, hungry herself. But not for food.

“RANDY? I’VE GOT THOSE FIGURES for you,” Alex said, holding on to the portable phone as he walked toward his rooms, the papers his uncle needed in his other hand. “Ready?”

“Not really, Alex,” Randy said across the miles, his tone somber, his voice quiet, as if he didn’t wish to be overheard. “I only wanted to be sure you’d phone back. I’d like this to wait until Vi and I are back at The Desert Rose, but it can’t. Not if it gets out.”

“Gets out? If what gets out?” Alex asked, putting down the papers so that he could lean against the wall and use the jack built into his bathroom floor to take off his riding boots. “Randy? Is there something wrong. Something with the business?”

“No, son, nothing like that,” Randy told him, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief, a relief that was cut short as another thought hit him. “Vi? Is she all right?”

“Your aunt is fine. She’s napping in the other room. Like I said, I’d wait until we got home, but that isn’t for another two days, as Vi wants to do some shopping and I can’t say no without tipping her off that I’m more bothered than I’m letting on.”

“You know, Randy, it’s not like you to be so cryptic,” Alex said, half his mind still on the fact that Hannah was waiting for him. “Are you sure you really want to tell me whatever it is that has you sounding so mysterious?”

“No, Alex, I’m not sure if I want to tell you, and I don’t think we should tell your brothers, at least not yet. But if it gets out, if the media were to catch a whiff of this whole thing and someone shows up there at The Desert Rose, I want at least you to be prepared.”

Alex unzipped his wet jeans and struggled out of them, still with one hand holding the phone. He was cold, shivering in fact, but he wasn’t sure all the shivering came from the fact that he was wet and half-naked. “Maybe it would be better if you told me quickly,” he said, walking back into his bedroom, heading for his closet and clean clothes.

“I got an express letter just before we left this morning for Austin. From Sorajhee, signed a friend. I stuck it in my briefcase and didn’t open it until we were on our way. Alex, I’ll say this fast and get it over with, okay? Your mother might be alive. My sister might be alive,” Randy said all at once, the words almost tumbling over themselves. “And more. They know about you and Mac and Cade. Somehow, they know you’re not dead, they know where you are. Alex? Alex, are you still there?”

Sensations slammed into Alex. A sudden memory of a soft smile, a loving embrace. The smell of jasmine. A sweet voice singing him to sleep. A worn, tired woman—oh, so beautiful but, oh, so heartbreakingly sad—telling him, “Now kiss me, and know I love you. I’ll be with you again soon, I promise.”

I promise. I promise. I promise.

Alex sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning with unshed tears, his heart heavy with an old hurt. “What…what did you say? Did I hear you right, Randy? My mother? My mother could be alive?”

“We can’t be sure, Alex, as it is an anonymous letter. But it’s the first, the only communication I’ve had from Sorajhee since your mother’s death. Almost twenty-eight years, Alex. A lifetime. Why now? Why would I get this letter now?”

“I don’t know. Read it to me, Randy. Please.”

Alex heard the rustling of paper and held his breath as he waited, absently twisting the gold ring around his finger. How he wanted to believe. How afraid he was to believe, just to learn that the letter was a fraud, a fake. A terrible, malicious torture from a vile and twisted mind.

“It’s short, but all the important parts are here, including the fact that the writer knows who you and Mac and Cade are, Alex. Let me read it to you.

“Your Excellency, Mr. Coleman.

We are now aware that you have been acting as guardian to the sons of Ibrahim—Alim, Kadar and Makin, and we thank you for your care of them, your protection of these orphaned princes of a martyred father. It has at the same time come to our attention that Queen Rose did not, as believed, perish shortly after the death of her husband. An unforgivable treachery has come to the attention of the king, Azzam Bin Habib El Jeved, and it is his wish to correct the sins of the past, the sins of a person dear to him who acted in his interests but without his permission. We will communicate again within a few days or weeks, when more is known.”

“My God,” Alex said, wiping tears from his cheeks. “And it’s not signed?”

“No, but it is handwritten, on Javed palace stationery. Alex, I know these people. It’s Azzam who had this letter written. He’s careful to absolve himself of blame, even as he hides the identity of whoever may have caused my sister’s disappearance and death. Her reported death. God, Alex, my head is spinning. But get past the words, the ambiguity, and it means Azzam has decided he needs you, you and your brothers. I don’t know how your mother fits in this, but Azzam’s wife Layla must have somehow slipped, told Azzam about the three of you, that you’re alive. You might be more than simply alive, Alex, you and your brothers might also be necessary for some reason. You have been reading the papers, haven’t you? You know Sorajhee and Balahar are in the middle of some kind of talks, that King Zakariyya has been staying in Jeved for nearly a week?”

“I know,” Alex said, looking toward his desk and the stack of recent newspaper clippings. “Then it’s a trick? A way to get you to Sorajhee, to get all four of us to Sorajhee? Why? If my uncle knows we’re in Texas, it’s not something he only found out yesterday. I’m having trouble believing that part, Randy. He must have known for years, and been happy that we were gone, unknown to his people, and no threat to his throne.”

“I know, Alex, and I don’t have any answers for you, I really don’t. I just know whoever wrote this letter is either the most evil person in the world, or someone who knows your mother really is alive. And, believe me, if there’s even the slightest chance that it’s true, I’ll move heaven and hell to find her, bring her here. You can count on that, Alex.”

ALEX WALKED BACK into the large living room more than a half hour later to see Cade sitting on the couch, reading The Wall Street Journal.

“Cade? Where’s Hannah?”

His brother looked up, his mind clearly still on the stock market. “Hannah? Oh, right. She’s off somewhere with Jessica. Something about cutting her hair, or something like that. Ella’s got lunch waiting for you in the kitchen. General Motors is up three since yesterday, Alex. I told you we needed to hang on to that one.”

“Jessica? Hannah’s with Jessica? Cade, for crying out loud, put down that paper and talk to me.”

“Talk to you? About what? Okay, sure,” Cade said, folding the paper and laying it on the table beside his chair. “Do you happen to know where Hannah’s other shoe is? She walked out of here with only one on. Good old Hannah Slip-on-a-banana. Some things never change, do they?”

Alex bit down his anger as Cade’s last words hit him, shot through him, on so many levels. “Some things do, Cade,” he said quietly. “Some things do.”

Then he turned on his heels, actually grateful Hannah was with Jessica, and went back upstairs to his room. He had a lot to think about.