Heiress (39 page)

"Whatever you say, Lane."

"I'll do my best to make you happy, Rachel. I want you to know that. There will be times when my work will take me away from you, maybe for several days in a row, and for one reason or another you usually won't be able to come with me. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course."

"I know how lonely your life has been. I don't like the idea that as my wife, you may be lonely again."

"I'll have a lot to keep me busy, between the horses and turning this into a home for us." As long as it was only his work that kept them apart, Rachel could accept the separations. What was really important was that she had his love.

"You're a remarkable woman," he murmured, drawing her into his embrace once again. She kissed him while secretly doubting she was all that remarkable, but it was important that he believed she was.

"Lane." She kissed him fervently, straining to give back part of the joy he'd given her, When she finally drew away from him, she knew she had aroused him. The evidence was there in the disturbed light in his eyes and the quickened rate of his breathing.

"It's moments like this that make me wish this was our wedding night," he whispered and set her slightly away from him.

Rachel was touched by the way he refused to anticipate their wedding night. She considered his attitude wonderfully old-fashioned and proof he was worthy of her trust. Yet in another way it bothered her. Sometimes she thought there was something wrong with her, that she wasn't desirable enough. Otherwise, if he loved her as much as he claimed, he'd be tempted to take her. But she didn't press the issue even now, fearing his rejection as well as his possible discovery of her own inadequacies at making love.

Chapter 24

The headlight beams raced ahead of the car as Abbie sped down the highway, the overlapping tracks of light a blur in front of her eyes. Instinctively she was running—running like a child trying to escape from the unkind taunts of her playmates. But no matter how far or how fast she went, she could never get away from the hurtful words.

For the last ten days, she'd listened to the swirl of rumors going around, speculating on the identity of River Bend's new owner. It was common knowledge that the man Phillips, the successful bidder at the auction, had been acting on behalf of an unnamed client. Today, when she and Babs had gone to Lane's office to receive a final accounting on her father's estate after all costs and debts were paid, she had learned the truth.

As she had feared all along, Rachel now possessed River Bend. But what Abbie hadn't known was Lane's involvement. The two of them owned it jointly. More damning than that, he had blandly announced that he and Rachel were getting married in September. At that point Abbie had walked out of his office, unable to endure his presence a second longer.

Lane Canfield. A trusted family friend. He had turned against them and joined with Rachel. It seemed that no matter which way she turned, she was faced with betrayal. She should have known the day of the funeral when he'd told her about Dean's long love affair with Caroline Farr exactly where his sympathies lay. She should have seen when he leaped to Rachel's defense that day at River Bend that he wasn't looking out for their interests. Rachel came first with him—just as she had with her father.

Maybe she could have eventually learned to live with the fact that her father had another child. Maybe she could have even accepted the fact that he had loved Rachel more than he ever had her. But the fortune he had left Rachel, while she had received nothing from him, the ownership of River Bend going to Rachel, and Rachel's impending marriage to a man who was supposed to be a trusted family friend—combined, they were all more than Abbie could tolerate. Her initial resentment of Rachel had grown into a consuming hatred.

If Rachel thought Abbie was going to move away from the area and start a new life someplace else, she was wrong. And if she thought Abbie was going to forgo any further involvement in the breeding and showing of Arabian horses because Rachel was getting into it, she was wrong there, too. Whether Rachel realized it yet or not, she had a rival almost literally in her own backyard. There hadn't been anything Abbie could do to prevent the things that had happened. But now she intended to fight Rachel every step of the way, reminding Rachel by her presence alone that she was the intruder, the interloper, in Abbie's world.

A mile before she reached the drilling site, Abbie could see the glow from the platform's floodlights lighting up the night sky. It shone like a beacon guiding her to a safe haven, the way growing brighter the closer she got. Finally the clearing was directly in front of her car, the bright lights from the derrick spilling onto the dusty trailers and the pickups parked at the site.

After parking in front of MacCrea's office trailer, Abbie stepped out of her car and walked directly to it. She didn't bother to knock, knowing she wouldn't be heard above all the noise. Instead, she walked right in.

There was no one in the front half of the trailer. When she looked toward the rear, she saw MacCrea sprawled across one of the single beds, fully clothed and sound asleep. She walked back to where he lay and, for a moment, simply watched him. She had never seen him asleep before. His dark, wavy hair was all rumpled; his shirt, pulled loose from the waistband of his pants; and his muscles, lax. His chest rose and fell with the even rhythm of his breathing. Abbie smiled at the scowl on his face.

Things had gone badly for her lately. But watching him, she realized that she'd been so caught up in her own problems she'd forgotten that MacCrea had lost nearly everything after his father died. Yet he had battled the odds and built the company back up. She knew it hadn't been easy, especially at the beginning.

To be honest, her own situation wasn't as bad as it could have been. Besides River Breeze, she had her own reputation in the show ring. This last week, she and Ben had contacted several of the small Arabian horse breeders in the area and let them know their services were available to condition, train, and show outside horses. With the fall show season approaching, quite a number of the breeders expressed a definite interest in hiring them.

And they weren't totally broke. Babs would receive almost fifty thousand dollars from her share of the estate, money left over after all the creditors were paid from the auction receipts. If Abbie had stayed instead of walking out of Lane's office in such a huff, it might have been more. But her mother had insisted that Jackson receive the full amount of his bequest, and instructed Lane to take the amount necessary from her proceeds to make up the difference. It was a grand and noble gesture, one that Abbie had difficulty arguing with. Still, she didn't think it had been necessary for her mother to be that generous.

So, her mother had a small nest egg. Abbie had River Breeze, and after a bout with a fever, the filly was improving. Plus she had Ben for a partner. And, most of all, she had the man lying before her, frowning in his sleep, ready to fight some more.

Slowly and carefully she lowered herself onto him, letting her weight settle gradually. She gently smoothed the furrowed lines from his forehead with her fingers, not letting her touch be too light, to avoid tickling him. As she rubbed her lips over his mouth, letting them trace its outline, she felt him stir. His hand moved hesitantly to the small of her back, then glided along a familiar course up to her shoulders. Abbie knew he was awake even before he began to lip at her mouth and draw it to his. She kissed him, receiving a languorous response, like a flame slow to kindle and long to burn, heating her more thoroughly than any passionately demanding kiss could.

Finally MacCrea shifted onto his side, drawing her with him so her head rested on the same pillow facing him. "Hello," Abbie said softly.

"Now that's how a man likes to be woke up." His voice was still husky with sleep. He looked deep into her eyes, so deep that Abbie felt certain he could see all the love she felt for him. "I've missed you, Abbie." Emotion charged his words, and she felt her breath catch in her throat, hearing in the admission how much he cared for her even though he hadn't actually used the word love.

"I've missed you, Mac," she whispered.

His hand exerted pressure on her back a second before his mouth moved to claim hers, Abbie gave to him all the feelings she'd held inside, her heartbeat quickening and the blood running sweet and fast in her veins. There was nothing hurried about the long, full kiss; no sense of urgency pushed them. Abbie sensed that he, too, found something warm and satisfying in this closeness and sought only to enjoy it.

The loud racket from the drilling rig suddenly flooded the trailer. MacCrea pulled back, frowning.

"Hey, boss!" a rigger in a hard hat called as he stepped into the small kitchen, stopping short when he saw Abbie lying on the narrow bed with MacCrea. His head dipped as he looked hurriedly away. "Sorry. I didn't know ya had company." He retreated a step, uncertain whether to stay or go.

"What is it, Barnes?" Partially rising, MacCrea propped an elbow beneath him. Abbie lay beside him, not at all upset by the interruption, wrapped in the comforting feeling that she had the right to be there in his bed.

"We could use you out on the rig for a minute, that's all," he mumbled and turned to leave.

"I'll be right out," MacCrea told him. When the door closed, shutting out the noise from the rig, he looked down at her, a dark glow shining in his eyes, and added softly, "Much as I'd like to stay right here."

"And much as I'd like to keep you here, I won't." Levering herself up, she brushed a kiss across his cheek, then swung her feet onto the trailer floor.

MacCrea was only a step behind her when she entered the kitchen. She moved to the side to let him pass, her gaze following him as he grabbed his hard hat off the table and stepped to the door.

"I shouldn't be long." He smiled briefly in her direction, but Abbie could tell his thoughts had already shifted from her to the rig. "Put on some fresh coffee, would you?"

It was hardly a question since he was out the door by the time she said, "Okay."

Minutes later the electric percolator bubbled merrily, the wafts of steam rising from its spout sending the aroma of coffee throughout the trailer. Abbie tidied up the kitchen, then poured herself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee and carried it into the front office area of the trailer. Drawn by the photograph of MacCrea and his father, she wandered over to the filing cabinet and, for a time, studied the picture propped against the wall on top of it. The love, the deep bond, between father and son was so obvious that she couldn't help feeling a sharp pang of envy.

Fighting it, she turned away and walked over to MacCrea's desk, suddenly needing his closeness, the reassurance of his love. Impulsively Abbie sat down in the worn swivel chair behind his desk, its cushion and padded back long since fitted to the shape of his body. She rocked back in it, sipping at her coffee as she absently perused the papers and file folders scattered across the desktop.

One of the folders bore the label "CTS documents." CTS was the acronym for MacCrea's computerized testing system, Abbie remembered. Out of idle curiosity, she slipped the folder out of the stack and opened it to glance through the papers. She knew the project meant a lot to him, yet he'd never discussed the deal he'd made. As she leafed through some sort of partnership agreement, one of the signatures on the last page leaped out at her: Rachel Farr. Abbie stared at it in shock, certain there had to be some mistake. MacCrea couldn't. . . MacCrea wouldn't. . . She straightened slowly, the pages clutched tightly in her hands, her gaze riveted to the name Rachel Farr.

The trailer door opened and MacCrea walked in. Abbie turned her head, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do anything except stare at him, frozen by the damning evidence in her hands. But he didn't seem to notice as he removed his helmet and gave it a little toss onto the sofa.

"I told you I wouldn't be long." A lazy smile lifted the covers of his mustache as he paused beside the desk, then glanced briefly at the papers in her hand. Without a break in his expression, he turned and walked into the kitchen area, saying, "The coffee smells good."

"What is this, MacCrea?" Abbie pushed out of the chair and followed him to the door, then stopped, still in the thrall of a shock that deadened her senses.

"That?" Half glancing at the papers in her hand, he lifted a cup of steaming hot coffee to his mouth, but didn't drink immediately from it. "It's a joint ownership agreement on the patent for the CTS."

"I know that." She shook her head and wondered if he had deliberately misunderstood. "I'm not talking about his signature. What is hers doing on it?"

"By 'hers' I assume you mean Rachel's." His voice was calm and even, the name coming from his lips with ease. "Since it's a list of owners, naturally Rachel's name is on it."

His casual announcement shattered the numbness that had kept all her emotions in check. Now they raged through her. "What do you mean, 'naturally'?" Half-blinded by anger, Abbie couldn't even make out the hated name on the list. "Are you saying she's one of your investors? That you—you—" She searched wildly for the words that would express the absolute betrayal she felt.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." MacCrea sipped at his coffee.

"You took money from her." She trembled violently as she made the accusation, hating him for standing there so calmly, as if he'd done nothing wrong. All along she thought he truly cared about her, but it was obvious he didn't. "How could you?" Abbie stormed.

"Simple. I wanted to get this project off the ground and out to the drilling sites. I never made a secret of that."

Abbie knew he hadn't, but admitting that just made everything worse. Infuriated by his phlegmatic attitude when he had to know what this was doing to her, Abbie slapped the coffee mug from his hand, mindless of the arcing spray of scalding liquid and the loud crash of the cup as it struck the opposite wall and broke.

"And you didn't care who you got the money from either, did you?"