Forster, Suzanne (28 page)

"Silly, yes," Lake agreed.

But Lily could tell by the tone of her brother's voice that he didn't like having been taken by surprise. Ward had practically become a member of the family since their father died, but he'd also assumed the position of leadership in Featherstone, Inc., that would have gone to Lake had their father believed his son capable of running the family dynasty. Ward was chairman of the board and trust officer, which gave the older man nearly total control over the business. Lake's only power came from the majority shares of voting stock he'd been left by his father. He'd rarely exercised that power against McHenry, but Lily knew there was tension between them.

"Did you sleep well?" Lily searched for any indication of Ward's reaction to what he'd seen as she approached him with the coffee.

"Too well, " he said, returning her scrutiny as he took the cup she offered. "Apparently I missed breakfast?"

"Not at all! I'm sure the eggs are still warm." She turned away from him, flushing from his inquisitive stare and feeling very much like a kitchen maid in her own home. Secretly Lily was angry with the man. He had confided his decision to release Gus's funds, but when Lily had pleaded with him to reconsider, he'd dismissed her arguments, claiming he had no choice. That was when Lily had begun to feel the true frustration of her situation. She had always been the weakest link in the Featherstone power structure, if not content to let the men run things, then resigned to it. Only recently had she become aware of her own wellspring of power, her inner resources, and the discovery felt good. It felt right. Was it possible that despite everything, she had more guts, more nerve, than all of them?

The thunderous clatter of four pounding hooves beneath her and the rising heat of the horse's lunging body filled Gus's senses with excitement. A breeze from the west whipped the dark hair from her ponytail and stung her face with rushing blood. She hadn't ridden in years. She'd forgotten how rigorous and exhilarating it could be.

When she drew back on the reins, Sapphire snorted wildly, resisting her, and Gus was struck by the shuddering strength that was hers to control. It reverberated upward to the roots of her hair. Horsepower, someone must have called it once, before that standard of measurement was used for cars.

"Come on, girl!" Gus shouted, turning the restless horse toward the stream that ran through the Featherstone property. The glen, as the family had always called the wooded acreage on the northwestern border of the property, was still verdant and leafy green in July, its meadowlike clearings carpeted with summer wildflowers and tasseled, willowy grasses.

Shouldering around as the horses slowed, Gus saw Jack bobbing along like a proverbial jack-in-the-box on the roan mare that Daniel had recommended as one of the gentler mounts in their stable. He was still some distance behind her, and she was glad he couldn't hear her laughter.

By the time he arrived at the bank of the stream, she had already tied Sapphire to a post alongside the sparkling water, and she was standing in the shade of a large, bushy California oak, chewing on a blade of grass. She tried not to smile at his struggle to get his horse under control.

"I thought you said you could ride, " she called to him over the noisy splash and gurgle of the stream. The glen was a veritable Eden this year, she'd decided, enchanted by all the growth and greenery. Summer showers had kept the streambed overflowing with clear, sparkling water, even though it was usually close to dry by now. Laced delicately through the tree branches overhead, emerald vines, heavy with summer's last honeysuckle blooms, perfumed the air with sweetness.

"I thought you were talking about a trot through the meadow, not a goddamn rodeo event, " he called back. He whipped his leg over the horse's back and slid off the saddle like a pro. "Every time you goosed your horse, mine took off, too. "

"It's all about controlling your animal, Jack, " she said, laughing as Ruby, his mare, began to wander off behind him toward something that had attracted her attention. "For example, right now she's heading for the greener pastures, and you may never get her back. "

"Shit!" Jack swung around and shot off after the beast. Ruby was apparently heading for a tasty patch of clover in the next county, but fortunately, he caught her before his outburst frightened her into flight. There was another little tussle as man and animal battled for ascendance, but to his credit, Jack quickly mastered the art of sweet talk. Crooning softly, he led her to a tree by the streambed, wrapped her reins around a low-hanging branch, and scratched her muzzle gently, making kissy noises. She seemed thoroughly charmed by the time he left her to cool her heels near a pool of water and a patch of grass. Staring after him with yearning in her big brown eyes, she nickered softly.

Swell, Gus thought despairingly. Even female animals loved him. Bridget had clearly been smitten with him at dinner, though she'd hidden it by acting like a perfect little fiend and insisting on knowing everything about his relationship with Gus, including whether or not they planned to have children. Frances had saved the evening by scooping up the tiny white swan and carrying her off, with Bridget complaining all the way that she hadn't had her Ben & Jerry's Wavy Gravy ice cream for dessert.

As Jack walked toward her now, Gus was not unaware of how sexy he looked with his long legs encased in faded denim. For a big man, he moved well in cowboy boots, too, effecting a rolling gait and an easy, unhurried air. He brushed absently at the sleeve of his denim jacket and then shook his head as if wanting to feel the breezes in his springy black hair.

It actually gave her a little thrill watching him approach. She could feel a shiver of energy gathering in the pit of her stomach, and the vibrations built with each step he took. Perhaps it was nothing more than her trained eye, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from observing him as if he were a male candidate for the catwalk and assessing the physical details.

The white T-shirt was a nice touch, too, she allowed, a striking contrast to the earth tones of his skin. So was his strong, rugged face and wide, sensitive mouth. She'd never noticed that about his mouth before, that it was sensitive.

As he neared, the thrill grew stronger, tighter... lower.

Okay, he was beautiful, dammit, she admitted reluctantly. Right out of one of those dusty, horsey, two-page Marlboro ads. Tall, dark, and lonesome. Too bad he couldn't ride worth a damn.

"By the way, " she said when he'd climbed the small hillock and reached the shade tree where she stood, "we call it spurring the horse, not goosing, though I don't actually use spurs. "

"We? Who's we? You and the Cowgirl Debutantes?"

She laughed and tossed the blade of grass away, glad she had him going. "Don't be cynical, Jack. It doesn't become you. "

He looked her over now, checking out her snug jeans and cropped blouse. She'd tied the madras plaid material in a knot at her midriff, exposing an inch or two of golden skin, and he seemed very interested in the secret doings of that knot. "What would you know about being cynical?"

"Plenty, I'd know plenty."

"What's that mean? Are you telling me your life hasn't always been modeling assignments and mansions?"

"I'm not telling you anything, Jack. " Her voice softened, and for a moment she was afraid she might stammer if she said anything more.

He stooped and plucked himself a piece of grass, still crouching as he peeled off the sheath and began to nibble on the tender white shoot.

The air above her was so sweet with honeysuckle, and the man below her looked so irresistibly male, hunkered down the way he was, that Gus was reluctant to break the mood. She'd brought him out here, where no one could eavesdrop, to ask the question she'd raised in Baja, the one that had gotten her into a great deal of trouble. This time she would word it differently.

"What would it take to buy your silence?" Her voice broke off, going faintly hoarse as she added, "And your absence?"

He raised his head enough so that she could see his eyes—black diamond eyes that bore into hers and always seemed to touch deeper than anyone else had ever reached.

"I'll go when I have what I came for," he said.

"And... what is that?"

"Information."

"Fine, " she said quickly. "Ask me anything. If I know the answer, I'll tell you."

"Well, you could start by telling me this." He popped the rest of the shoot in his mouth, his jaw flexing as he chewed. "Whose kid is Bridget?"

Gus made no attempt to hide her startlement. "Why do you want to know?"

He rose to his feet. "I ask. You answer. "

"All right, it's no secret. Bridget is the daughter of my stepsister, Jillian, who was Lake and Lily's younger sister.

Jillian died when Bridget was a baby, and she made me the child's guardian. "

She was surprised when he didn't ask her why. Everyone else did, including Lake and Lily. They had even threatened to fight Jillian's wishes in court until Ward McHenry convinced them not to. No one seemed to understand that Jillian had cared about her, that someone could actually
care
about Gus Featherstone.

"You treat her like she was your own," Jack observed.

"I love her like she was my own."

"Then maybe you ought to take a look at what you're doing to her."

Gus stiffened defensively. "I'm not doing anything except being the best aunt I know how to be. I wish I could be with her more, but she does have Frances, and things are going to change now, with the magazine. "

"I'm not talking about how much time you spend with her, I'm talking about what you do—"

"If this is a lecture about quality time," she said sharply, "please, spare me. "

He gazed at her as if he were studying her. "She's just like you, Gus. The kid's adorable, but she's only five and she's already got a chip on her shoulder the size of one of these oaks. She doesn't ask questions, she interrogates and demands answers. She throws fits to get her way. "

"Well, so do all kids." But Gus felt a ping of alarm. Was that true? Was she Bridget's role model and a terrible one at that? All she'd ever wanted was for Bridget to be happy and to thrive. She'd hoped to spare the little girl the heartaches she'd been through, which meant you had to be tough. She wasn't trying to turn her niece into a smart ass—she just wanted her to be brave and strong.

She met his eyes and saw pity there.
Pity.
If there was anything Gus loathed more, she hadn't run into it. Just as quickly as the alarm had sounded, it was gone, swept away by indignation. "What's so bad about me?" she snapped at him. "I'm doing okay. I'm doing just fine!"

She stepped away as if to leave, but he caught her arm and brought her back. "Yeah, you're doing just fine. "

"So, why
shouldn't
she be like me?" Glaring at him, she dared him to tell her why she wasn't good enough to raise a child, dared him to tell her why she wasn't good enough period. She knew the reasons and there were plenty of them, but who had set him up as Guidance Counselor for the Masses?

"Because you're a bitch."

"You bastard—" She couldn't push him away! He'd made that impossible by gripping both her arms as if she were about to haul off and slap him. How had he known?

"Relax, Gus, I just paid you a compliment, okay? You work hard at being a bitch, and you're good at it, a rousing success. But is that what you want for Bridget? Do you want her to be as hard as you are? Think about it. "

Hard? He truly was a bastard! A filthy scumbag bastard. One good whack would show him exactly how hard she could be! She struggled to get free so she
could
haul off and slap him. She wanted to pommel him with her fists until he was bloody. But a terrible pain was welling up in her throat, a terrible, burning pain that threatened to choke her.

She ducked her head as the tears brimmed. Oh, God, no! This was so utterly childish. How could she be crying when she was furious? She would rather die than let him see what he'd done to her, but the flaring pain was so sharp she could barely breathe, and she didn't understand why. It wasn't possible he could have devastated her this way with a few words. She'd been called hard before. She'd been called far worse.

"Why are you d-doing this?" she asked him hoarsely. "You said you wanted information. You said you'd let me go if I answered your questions. "

"No, I never said that."

"Then what
do
you want?" She glanced up at him and spat out the question before realizing it was the very thing she'd been trying to avoid saying. "Forget it—"

"Gus—" His voice had gentled.

"Forget it!"

"There is something I want."

"Ask me if I care!"

He released her, and the pressure of his grip left hot pink bands on her arms. She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and stepped back, refusing to look at him. The powerful scents of man and horse and leather were whirling around in her head, mingling with the honeysuckle, making her dizzy. "I want to go back now. "

"Okay, sure... but give me a minute first? I want to carve our initials in this oak tree. "

"Our... what?" She couldn't help herself. She had to look up to see his expression. What in the world was he talking about? His dark eyes sparkled with some kind of energy that she couldn't read, so she assumed the worst. He was making fun of her. There was a part of her that truly hated him for making her feel this way, like an aching adolescent! Why did she care what he did? She must look like a red-nosed wreck.

"Right, " he said, pulling a pocketknife from his jacket. "Our initials, you know... your name, my name, and a heart. Jack loves Gus. Is that okay with you?"

Gus couldn't respond. She simply stared at him in disbelief as he opened his knife, stepped around her, and began to chip pieces out of the bark. His quick, expert moves reminded her that he'd carved a castle in the desert, and that he really was going to do this. He was going to carve their names in the tree.

Why...?

Don't ask, she told herself. Get on your horse and ride out of Dodge. He's making a fool out of you right in front of your eyes, and you're letting him do it! He might as well be carving those names in your heart. Besides that, she realized, no one had ever carved her name in a tree before, and if that were ever going to happen, she wanted it to be real. She wanted it to
mean
something.