Land's End (6 page)

“No one else could wish me ill.”

“I hope so, but your return has stirred up a lot of memories.” He looked as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “There may well be other people who'd be just as happy if you left St. James. No one appreciated being hounded by reporters day and night for weeks on the off chance they knew something.”

The bitterness in his voice told her who'd been hounded the most. She'd escaped so quickly that she hadn't thought about what it must have been like on the island when the story broke.

“I guess I didn't realize how bad it was. Or that people here would blame me for it.”

He shrugged. “Not blame. But maybe be eager for you to leave before some enterprising reporter learns you're here and decides to revive the scandal.”

“Hardly to the extent of vandalism, surely.” That chill moved through her again.

“A scandal brings out the worst in some people.” His face darkened. “They gossip, they write ugly letters.” He sounded as if he'd experienced both. “It's a small step from that to active vandalism.”

“Even if you're right, Jonathan has security precautions.”

He smiled faintly. “Not like mine.”

The unconscious arrogance of the words annoyed her, but he was probably right. No one could get into Land's End unless Trent wanted them to. The only danger to her there would come from inside.

“Even so—”

“Sarah, little though I want you here, if you're determined to stay, I intend to protect you. I can do that more efficiently at Land's End.”

“Are you sure you don't mean you can control me more efficiently there?”

“I doubt very much that anyone can control you.” He sounded as if he found that cause for regret. “Let's say it will serve two purposes. It will keep you safe, and it will let me keep a wary eye on you. What do you say?”

Instinct told her to reject the idea, but he was offering her the very access she needed most. It would be uncomfortable to stay at Land's End, certainly, but what was that compared to what she might gain?

Apparently impatient with her hesitation, he frowned. “If you're worried about the proprieties, you needn't be,” he said shortly. “Both my housekeeper and my secretary live in, along with several other staff members.” But not a replacement for Miles, she'd heard. Apparently, he'd decided not to trust anyone else that much again.

“And your daughter.”

His hand shot out to firmly encircle her wrist. “One thing. If you come, you'll leave my daughter alone. I won't have you questioning her.”

His fierce concern seemed to surge through his touch. He cared so much for Melissa.

“No, of course not. I understand.” She took a breath, praying she was making the right decision. “All right. I agree.”

The answers she sought were at Land's End if they were anywhere. So that's where she would go.

 

Trent pressed a remote control on the dashboard of the Rolls, and the high iron gates to Land's End opened smoothly. Silently. Sarah tried to quell a trickle of apprehension that shivered down her spine.

The car moved through the gateway and onto a tabby drive that glowed whitely with crushed shells in the beam of the headlights. She glanced back, to see the gate close behind them.

Trent shot a sideways glance at her. “Having regrets already?”

“No.” She wasn't, was she? “I just felt as if the gates should close with an ominous bang.”

“I'll see if I can arrange that.” His words were light, but his mouth tightened. “I'm afraid security is an unpleasant necessity of life.”

“For people like you, you mean.”

This time the glance was distinctly annoyed. “For everyone. Don't tell me you don't take reasonable precautions when you walk to your car in a deserted parking lot after working a night shift at the hospital.”

“That's different.”

“Not as far as I can see. I'm just trying to keep my family safe.”

His family. Was he thinking of Lynette? He hadn't been able to keep her safe.

No matter how Trent rationalized it, the high fences and security cameras made his home a fortress. Perhaps Lynette had begun to see it as a prison.

The drive, emerging from the avenue of live oaks draped with Spanish moss, opened into a wide sweep in front of the house. Light spilled from the windows onto the veranda that spanned the width of the house, and geraniums rioted from the concrete planters on either side of the steps.

It looked welcoming. It should feel welcoming. But as Sarah slid out into honeysuckle-scented night air, she reminded herself that looks could be deceiving. Trent had brought her here not because he welcomed her presence, but because he wanted to control her, just as he controlled everyone else who came within his orbit.

She wasn't going to let him do that to her, but she'd have
to be on her guard every minute, because it was as natural to Trent as breathing.

He came around the car with a suitcase in each hand. “Go ahead.” He nodded toward the door. “Geneva has a guest suite ready for you.”

Sarah searched her memory for the rest of the name as she mounted the steps. The tall, stately Gullah woman who stood in the open doorway was Trent's housekeeper. They'd met before. Robinson—that was it. Geneva Robinson. She ran Land's End with what seemed effortless efficiency.

“Welcome, Dr. Wainwright. Please come in.” The woman stepped back as they approached, ushering Sarah into the cool, gracious hallway. Square white tile gleamed underfoot, drawing the eye in an unbroken sweep to the graceful lines of the curving staircase.

It was a beautiful entry to a beautiful home, one that might have appeared in a Southern homes magazine, if not for Trent's distaste for publicity. On either side of the hallway, arches led to the formal living room and dining room. She half expected Lynette to come sweeping through the archway, hands outstretched in welcome, her beautiful, vivid face lit with the smile that enslaved every man she met. She'd seen Lynette in action on the several occasions she'd been invited for dinner.

Sarah pushed the thought aside. Lynette no longer filled Land's End with the imprint of her capricious personality. Something had taken its place, but she wasn't sure what. The house seemed to wait, as if it wondered, too.

“Would you care for something to eat before you retire, Dr. Wainwright?”

Her stomach roiled at the thought of food. “No, thank you, Mrs. Robinson. It's good to see you again. I hope you're well?”

“Fine, thank you.” Sympathy flickered in the woman's dark eyes. “I'll show you to your room.”

“I'll do that. You go to bed.” Affection filled Trent's voice as he spoke to the housekeeper, but his smile slid away as he turned to Sarah. “This way.” He headed for a set of French doors that opened from the rear of the hallway onto a patio.

She followed him, glancing around. She'd been here, too, at a dinner party Lynette had held. The patio had been lit by torches whose reflections danced in the clear water of the swimming pool.

The house was U-shaped, stretching out wings on either side of the pool. Trent headed to the right. “The guest suites are on this side. Geneva has put you in the blue suite.”

“And the other wing?” Most of the windows there were dark, but a few lights glowed behind drawn shades.

“Those are offices and rooms for staff who live in.”

“There are a lot of people in and out of Land's End.”

He stopped in front of another door and set the cases down while he unlocked it. “No one gets into Land's End that I don't want to be here.” Something grim sounded in his voice. “You don't have to worry about your safety here.”

The door swung open, giving her an excuse to avoid answering that comment. She wasn't worried about who came and went at Land's End. She was wondering which of them might know something, and which would be willing to talk to her.

Geneva Robinson? She'd sensed sympathy from the woman, but her loyalty to Trent might be so ingrained that she wouldn't speak, no matter how much she might sympathize. Perhaps Joanna Larson, Trent's secretary. Miles had always said she knew everything that happened here.

Never mind. Someone would have seen something, would
know something, about any relationship between Miles and Lynette. About what would have sent them to the cottage. She just had to find that person.

“This is lovely,” Sarah said as she entered the room. Someone—Geneva, presumably—had left the lights burning in the suite. White wicker furniture shone against blue walls, and the quilt on the queen-size bed echoed the blue and white colors in a geometric patchwork instead of the more predictable floral design.

Trent followed with the suitcases, which he set down. “Get a good night's sleep. The morning will be time enough to deal with things.”

“My car, you mean. Did you have it towed someplace? I'll have to arrange to pick it up.”

“I gave orders for it to be left at the garage. You won't need it here.”

Her stomach lurched. The lovely room would turn into an elegant trap if she were not careful. “No,” she said distinctly.

He gave her an annoyed frown. “What do you mean? There are plenty of cars here. Someone can drive you anyplace you want to go.”

“And report back to you on where I've been and who I've spoken to? I don't think so.” Their truce had been brief.

“Fine. I'll give you the keys to a car. You can drive yourself.”

“I'd prefer to have my own car back.” Absurd, perhaps, to feel she didn't want to owe him for the use of a car when she was staying in his house, but she'd feel more independent driving her own each time she left Land's End.

His frown deepened. “Have I mentioned lately how stubborn you are?”

“Several times.”

“Very well.” He clipped off the words. “I'll have the tires
fixed and the car brought here. It will be ready for you in the morning.”

She didn't doubt it. There were obvious benefits to the kind of power Trent wielded. “Thank you.” She could breathe again. She'd avoided one of the dangers of being here by staking out her independence so clearly. If Trent respected that, they'd get through this.

He turned as if to leave, but stopped at a panel to the left of the door that was nearly hidden by the sweep of draperies. “This controls the room's security, and it can be set independently. No unauthorized person can get into Land's End, but this will give you added assurance. Come here, and I'll show you how to set it.”

The blade of a knife gleamed for an instant in her mind. Yes, she'd be very happy to have her own security system. She crossed to stand next to him, peering at the array of switches and lights disclosed when he flipped the panel's door open.

“When you're in and planning to stay, just hit this switch. It activates the system. When you're going out and want to leave the alarm on, touch this one and go out, pulling the door shut behind you.”

“And when I want to get back in? How do I keep from alarming the whole house?”

“Unlock the door with this key, then come right to the control pad and punch in the code—five-seven-one-eight.”

“Right here?” She leaned closer, intent on the keypad.

He caught her hand in his and touched it to the keys lightly. “Touch the numbers. That disarms the alarm. Do it quickly or it'll go off.”

“Right.” The word came out a bit breathlessly. He was too close, his grip too firm. The warmth of his touch was doing odd things to her self-control.

She took a step back. “Thanks. I understand. I'll be careful.”

Very careful. In her pride at not having given in to his control, she'd forgotten about another danger—one that might prove an even greater threat if she weren't careful.

H
e'd made a mistake in bringing Sarah here. Trent frowned at the bowl of roses on the hall table as he came down the stairs the next morning. His foul mood had no effect on the pink roses—they perfumed the air with no respect for his temper.

Like Sarah, who also had no respect for either his temper or his wishes. And now he'd saddled himself with responsibility for the woman. He must have been crazy. He'd overreacted, but even now his stomach tightened at the memory of that vandalism of her things.

He had to take responsibility for that. Farrell had been in his employ, and the buck stopped with him. Still, that overmastering fear for Sarah's safety had been irrational. Farrell, whether he admitted it or not, must have been responsible for that campaign against Sarah. Farrell was gone, so she was safe. There was no reason for her disturbing presence at Land's End.

It was too late to change that now. He paused in the hallway, touching the roses lightly. Lynette had always insisted on fresh flowers in the house, and the staff continued to follow her orders, even though she was gone.

Too late. So many things were too late. He'd have to make the best of Sarah's presence until she gave up this foolish quest
and went back where she belonged. At least having her here meant he could keep tabs on her.

He walked quickly to the breakfast room. Breakfast was set out buffet-style on weekdays so that his staff could serve themselves. Lynette had always had her meal in bed, saying the process reminded her too much of a bed-and-breakfast, but he'd felt providing breakfast a small enough perk to offer people who were willing to work in such an out-of-the-way place.

At the moment the room was empty except for one person. Sarah sat alone near the window. Her head was bowed, as if she were asking for a blessing on the food, and the morning sunlight that poured through the window turned her pale hair to gilt.

He wouldn't stand and stare at her. He crossed quickly to the coffee urn, annoyed that the woman made him feel uncomfortable in his own home. He filled a mug and turned. She was watching him.

It would be ridiculous to follow his first impulse and sit as far from her as possible. He had to treat her with the same courtesy he'd show any other guest. That was another result of his ill-considered invitation. He crossed to her, carrying the coffee, and sat down.

“Good morning. I trust you had a peaceful night.”

She nodded. “Just fine.” But dark shadows were like bruises under her eyes.

“You don't look it.”

That surprised a smile out of her. “Thanks. That's just what a woman wants to hear first thing in the morning.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean—well, you know what I meant.”

She studied the coffee as if she saw something important in its murky depths. “I haven't slept well since I've been back on the island. Understandable, I guess.”

Since he hadn't slept well for about a year, he could un
derstand, but he didn't intend to admit it. “What are your plans for the day?”

Her head came up, her green eyes filled with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

He set the mug down, harder than he'd intended, and the coffee sloshed dangerously. “I was just making conversation, Sarah. Not starting an inquisition.”

“Of course,” she said, doubt lacing the words.

Why did she persist in thinking the worst of him? He wasn't an ogre—just a man trying to protect what was his.

You weren't able to protect Lynette, a small voice in his mind reminded him.

All the more reason to protect his daughter. He couldn't let Sarah's presence stir up doubts in Melissa. He'd set up the official line—that Lynette had died in a tragic, innocent accident. No one on the island would dare to suggest anything else, but Sarah had always been incalculable. She was not beautiful, not compliant, not willing to follow anyone's lead.

She was everything he disliked in a woman, which made the attraction she held for him all the more incomprehensible.

He rejected the thought. Sarah was nothing to him. He simply had to be sure her presence didn't affect his daughter.

He heard Melissa's light step on the tile and looked toward the doorway. Melissa came through quickly, her momentum carrying her several steps into the room before she saw who was there. She came to an abrupt halt, staring.

“What is she doing here?”

He rose. Now was obviously not the time to correct Melissa's manners. Her small face was rigid with anger, and her fists pressed against her jeans.

“Dr. Wainwright is going to stay with us for a few days. I
know you're surprised to see her, but she had to come back to the island to take care of some business.”

He could only hope Sarah caught the warning in his voice. That was all Melissa was to know about her presence.

His daughter sent him a contemptuous look. “I knew she was back. Everyone does. I want to know why she's in our house.”

His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of Sarah's fingers, curled so tightly around her spoon that they were white. Don't say anything, he commanded silently.

“Sarah has had some trouble since she returned. She's staying at Land's End because she'll be safe here.”

“Safe!” Melissa's mouth seemed to tremble for an instant before it took on the contemptuous smile he'd grown to dislike. “She'll be safe here. This place is as safe as a jail.”

She spun around and darted toward the door, her long dark hair whipping like a flag in the wind.

“Melissa, sit down and have some breakfast.”

But she was already gone. He heard the swinging door to the kitchen swoosh with her passing.

“I'm sorry.” Distress filled Sarah's voice. “She shouldn't miss her breakfast because of me. I'll leave.”

“Forget it.” He sank back into his chair. As usual, his daughter had made him feel inept and incompetent. “She'll eat with Geneva, and Geneva will explain the situation to her.” Better than he could.

“I never intended my coming to hurt her.”

That empathy of hers could be a weapon against Sarah, but he found he didn't have the heart to use it. “It's not just you. Melissa's that way with everyone these days.”

“She's at a difficult age. I seem to recall being a monster at twelve and thirteen.”

“You?” He lifted an eyebrow, oddly comforted. “That's hard to believe. I always pictured you as the perfect child.”

“I tried to be.” There was an odd note in her voice that made him want to ask why. Before he could, she went on. “Has she talked to anyone about her mother's death? A professional, I mean.”

Guilt tightened until it threatened to strangle him. “My daughter doesn't need a therapist, if that's what you mean.”

His tone would warn off anyone else, but Sarah seemed to be the exception. She raised that clear green gaze to his face.

“I'd recommend some sessions with a counselor for any child who lost her mother so traumatically. Or possibly your pastor.” Her voice took on a professional tone. “All the adults in her life were dealing with their own grief.”

He pinned her with a glare that should silence her. “My daughter doesn't need a therapist. Just leave her alone.”

Sarah didn't look cowed. She studied him for a long moment and nodded. Pushing her chair back, she paused, hand resting lightly on the pale pink tablecloth. “I'm going to the clinic this morning,” she said, and walked quickly out of the room.

So Sarah trusted him with her destination. One step forward with her—two steps backward with Melissa. Grief and guilt gnawed at his stomach.

How am I going to protect both of them? You tell me that, because I sure don't know the answer.

 

Sarah watched the gates to Land's End slide closed behind her in her rearview mirror. She was free of the place for a short time, at least. She hadn't realized how much Trent's guarded enclave had affected her until she was outside. She could breathe now.

She drove down the narrow road, her gaze flickering to the rearview mirror again. The drapery of Spanish moss seemed to stir at her passing and then swing down, hiding Land's End from view, like Brigadoon vanishing into the mist. She was alone and back in her car. Outside those walls she might be free, but she was also vulnerable. The danger had probably been banished from the island with Farrell, but it made sense to be on her guard.

Like Melissa? That poor child was certainly guarded enough—all wrapped up into a prickly bundle ready to repel anyone who got too close. She'd always felt sympathy for Melissa, caught as she'd been between her beautiful, erratic mother and her overprotective, powerful father.

Her own childhood circumstances had been entirely different, but still, she'd known what it was like to try to live up to overachieving parents.

Lord, please show me how to help that child. I can't help but feel You've put her in my life again for a reason.

Trent wouldn't welcome her help for Melissa. His quick rebuff of her comment about a counselor showed that. As always, he thought he could control everything and everyone.

Or maybe not. That expression of his when Melissa had stormed out of the breakfast room had been just like that of any baffled, befuddled father of a twelve-year-old daughter. Girls turned into different creatures at that age, even if they hadn't suffered the traumatic loss of a parent.

The private lane that led only to Land's End opened out onto the main road. Main, and only. Everything on St. James was off this two-lane stretch of macadam. At this end were the gracious houses of the wealthy.

She passed Jonathan and Adriana's gate. She should call and thank them again. Trent had ushered her out so quickly
the previous night that she hadn't done a good job of that. Still, she'd sensed relief under Jonathan's protestations. He'd been happy to be relieved of so troublesome a guest.

The road swung through the small commercial district. She wouldn't find much to replenish her wardrobe here—she'd probably have to run to Savannah to do that. Her reluctance to leave the island now that she'd gotten here was surely irrational. Trent couldn't very well close the bridge to keep her off.

A wide, shallow curve appeared ahead of her and she slowed, putting on the turn signal. Straight ahead the road crossed the bridge to the mainland, but the moment she turned onto the side road, she was in a different world.

Live oaks, crepe myrtles and the dense stands of loblolly pines crowded in on either side. Silvery swags of Spanish moss draped the road, sometimes low enough to brush the top of the car. The maritime forest edged onto the roadway, as if it would eat up the intrusive strip of concrete.

The small houses that appeared now and then, tucked into their quilt-size gardens, looked ramshackle in comparison to the mansions at the opposite end of the island, but they'd been here longer, blending into their surroundings like the wild deer disappearing into the forest.

A neat sign marked the turnoff to the clinic, and the sight reassured her. At least the clinic had survived her departure. It had been barely up and running when she'd left, with a fulltime Gullah nurse, a handful of volunteer retired doctors and a building Trent had grudgingly donated.

Guilty feelings descended. She'd left them in the lurch when she'd run from the island, but surely they'd understood. She'd written to Esther Johnson, the nurse who'd been their only paid employee, but Esther's reply had been brief to the point of curtness. The clinic was fine; that was all she'd said.

Now she'd see for herself. She pulled into the shell-encrusted parking lot and stopped, blinking, hardly able to believe her eyes.

The building had nearly doubled in size. What had been an uncompromising square of concrete block with peeling paint and a rusted tin roof was now a long, low rectangle. The new roof was red tile, and the building itself had been painted a mossy gray-green that blended into its surroundings.

The clinic hadn't survived her leaving. It had thrived.

She got out of the car slowly, still hardly able to believe what her eyes were telling her. She'd had to fight and scrape every inch of the way to get the clinic off the ground, but it apparently soared without her.

The tan door had St. James Free Clinic lettered on it in gold. She pushed the door open and stepped from harsh sunlight to a cool, quiet room lined with chairs.

“I'm sorry. The clinic doesn't open for another half hour. Would you like to wait?” The young woman behind the counter, wearing a colorful head scarf and dangling gold earrings with her lab coat, was a stranger to Sarah.

“I'm not a patient.” It was oddly disconcerting to be unknown in a place where just a year ago she'd been an important part. “I'm Dr. Wainwright. Is Esther Johnson in?”

“I'll see.” No expression crossed the woman's face, but she had the sense that recognition had flickered briefly in her dark eyes. She picked up a phone, pressed a button and spoke softly, turning away from Sarah.