Lead Me On (10 page)

"I could be persuaded."

He gave her lips a quick smacking kiss. "Enough. We'll never get out of here if you keep attacking me."

A few minutes later, they'd checked out of the hotel and tossed their bags in the back of the Jag. Scott headed for the house where Allison had grown up. It was just a few blocks due north from the hotel, but the scenery changed subtly as they crossed the line from the newer development along the gulf side of the island into the historical district on the bay side. The old nineteenth- century buildings that made up downtown and the residential areas immediately surrounding it were all that had survived the Great Storm.

Pulling to a halt before the Bouchard Cottage, Scott admired the quaint one-story white house with its picket fence and green shutters. The flower beds had grown wild with neglect, but the place had charm to spare.

He didn't need to read the historical marker mounted on a pole in the front yard to know the cottage had been built by Henri LeRoche for his wife's daughter, Nicole, when he banished the daughter from Pearl Island. He knew enough about Galveston history to know Marguerite's descendants had lived there ever since. But while the descendants of Marguerite were well known to everyone in Galveston, they were definitely not part of respectable society. Actors were still considered nothing more than "privileged servants" in certain circles.

"This'll only take a minute," Allison said as she jumped out of the car. "Why don't you come inside and have a seat while I change?"

"You got it." Scott climbed eagerly from the car since he'd always wanted to see the inside of the cottage.

As they made their way to the front porch, she frowned at the overgrown flower beds. "I really need to get over here more often and take care of things."

"Can't your aunt hire a lawn service?"

She looked at him. "Why should she do that when she has the three of us living nearby?"

"Because you have an inn to run, for one thing." He held the screen door open while she fished the key out of her purse.

"True, but Aunt Viv made a lot of sacrifices to raise us after our parents died. A little mowing and weeding is the least we can do in return. Besides, I've always loved this place." Opening the door, she led the way inside. The dark entry held the musty heat of spring on the gulf coast. "Here, let me open a window."

Scott followed her into a small parlor filled with a hodgepodge of antique furniture. Sunlight flooded the room as she threw back the heavy curtains. Glancing around, he saw a multitude of framed photographs, playbills, and theater props. Generations of family history covered the walls and every flat surface, including the piano that stood near the archway to the dining room.

This one small house, with its untended gardens and cluttered parlor, held more welcoming warmth than any of the mansions he'd lived in growing up. How very different her childhood was from his.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but the kitchen's completely bare." She wrestled a window open to let in some fresh air and the sounds of sparrows squabbling in the shrubs.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

"Well, if you'll wait here, I'll go change."

He hid a smile as she headed through the dining room toward the back of the house. After everything they'd done in the hotel room, it seemed odd to wait for her in the parlor like a high school sweetheart coming to pick her up for a date.

To pass the time, he studied the pictures. Mixed with the live-action shots to promote stage productions were studio head shots of her various ancestors. On the mantel, though, he found some candid shots of Allison with her brother and sister at various ages.

What a skinny little thing she'd been, he thought as he picked up a photo of her sitting on the front steps with her sister. He knew Aurora was the younger of the two, but even at this early age she'd been taller and more filled out than Alli. Aurora was flashing the camera a playful smile with her back arched and her bright hair tumbling about her budding figure. Alli, on the other hand, sat beside her, solemn but poised with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She reminded him of a gazelle with her slender limbs and long neck. Her smile was timid, and her eyes held a sort of acceptance that made her seem sad and serene at the same time.

She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and already she'd been a complex blend of layers. Who was Allison St Claire? And what made her such an intriguing study in contrasts?

"Okay, I'm ready."

He turned as she walked into the room wearing faded blue jeans tucked into black English riding boots and a white T-shirt. The outfit did a fine job of showing off her slight curves, and the riding boots were enough to inspire a few fantasies.

"How 'bout you, cowboy?" She gave him a cocky grin. "You ready to ride?"

Oh, honey, am I ever.

~ ~ ~

Alli laughed as the wind whipped through her hair. Her knees gripped the saddle as the gray mare flew over the packed wet sand. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Scott chasing after her on his powerful bay gelding. She leaned over the mare's neck and urged her mount faster. Her heart beat in time to the pounding of hooves as they splashed through the surf. The waves came and went beneath her in a blur as they raced along the water's edge. A flock of sea gulls took flight screeching in protest while sandpipers scurried out of the way.

The sounds and scents brought back so many memories. As a girl she'd ridden as often as she could, loving the freedom, solitude, and total connection with nature.

Thunder sounded nearby, and at first she thought it came from the clouds crowding the sky over the gulf. Then she glanced back to see Scott closing the gap, his smile wicked and triumphant. She thought of urging her mount to a faster pace, but drew back instead, letting him charge past.

Laughing, she reined her mount in a wide circle, so the mare could catch her breath. When Scott realized she'd ended her mad dash down the beach, he reined in as well. Turning his mount, he trotted back to her, a lone dark figure against the beige sand, frothy waves, and pale blue sky. "You should have warned me you wanted to race."

"That wasn't a race," she said. "It was ... freedom." She patted the mare's neck and continued on down the beach at a jaunty walk, making him turn again to follow her. "Oh, I have missed this," she said, lifting her face to the salty breeze that held a promise of rain. "Since we bought Pearl Island, I haven't had time for things like riding."

"You should make time," he said, nudging his horse alongside hers.

"I wish I could. But running a bed and breakfast isn't like a normal job. It's twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

He laughed. "I can definitely identify with that. But trust me when I say if you don't get away from it now and then, you'll burn out, big time. Even with something you love."

She cast him a sideways glance. "Is this the voice of experience?"

"Hey, I do things besides write."

"Like what?"

He frowned as if unable to think of anything. "So, when are you going to tell me why none of you went into the theater?"

"Are we changing the subject?" She tried to mimic his single-brow arch, but knew she wasn't even close.

"That was the deal." Teasing her, he raised one brow, and she wondered how he did that. "We go horseback riding, you tell me a story."

"It's not much of a story." She tried again to get her brows to move independently, then decided to give up until she had a mirror to monitor her success. "I already told you both my parents were in the theater. They loved it. The whole lifestyle, traveling, performing, everything. Even when Adrian hit school age, we rarely stayed in one place. By the time he was in the second grade, he'd gone to three different schools in New Jersey, Massachusetts, and here in Galveston. When summer came, Mom would pack us up and off we'd go again, living like Gypsies."

"I take it the three of you weren't thrilled with the arrangement."

"Part of the time we were." She combed her fingers through her horse's coarse mane. "There's an excitement to life backstage, and it's fun being with your parents while they're working. Dad was a wonderful actor. I may have been young, but I distinctly remember sitting in Mom's lap watching him, and feeling a swell of pride along with that warm fuzzy feeling."

"Warm fuzzy feeling?"

"You know, that feeling you get when everything in the world is just as it should be?" Like now, she thought, taking in the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, the scent of the gulf ... and the fascinating, sexy man at her side.

" 'Fraid I don't know that one."

"Just as well." She shrugged. "It usually comes right before tragedy strikes and destroys everything. Just one of life's cruel quirks, I guess. Anyway, I had lots of moments like that when I was little, but there were other times when I wasn't happy. Like when us kids had to sleep on the floor because the hotel didn't have enough rollaway beds to go around. Or when we ate stale sandwiches that some stagehand brought in. I loved my parents, but ..." She looked out over the gulf.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on," he wheedled. "The story doesn't count if you leave something out."

"Sometimes ... I think it was selfish of them to raise us that way." She watched the gulls as they dipped and rode on the wind. "After they died, and we came to live with Gran'ma, Adrian promised Rory and me we'd never have to sleep on the floor or eat baloney sandwiches again."

"I thought you said your aunt raised you."

"That was after Gran'ma died. I still miss her." She smiled fondly. "She told the most wonderful stories about Marguerite and Nicole, and the rest of the family. Not that there's that many of us. With everyone's devotion to the theater rather than starting a family, it's amazing the Bouchard line hasn't died out."

"When did your grandmother die?"

"When I was eleven. Rather than pack us up and move us to New York, Aunt Viv put Broadway on hold to work in Houston for a while. We were on our own a lot during those years, but Adrian turned out to be a pretty good mom."

Scott grinned at her. "I'm not sure I would say that to his face."

"Oh no, Adrian is very proud that he can cook and clean and do the laundry. Granted, the fact that he excelled in every sport and was so good-looking he had girls hanging all over him in high school kept the other boys from teasing him too much."

"So that's where I went wrong in school," Scott said. "I never took home ec."

She laughed. "Somehow I doubt you had much trouble finding a date for the prom."

His expression sobered. "I wasn't much into things like the prom."

"What were you into?" She cocked her head as the wind picked up.

"Nothing much."

She started to say that wasn't fair, but noticed how far they'd ridden and pulled to a halt. "We need to turn back."

He glanced at his watch. "No, we've got time left, and there's a really great inlet up ahead where we can dismount and let the horses cool off a bit."

"No. I never go any farther than this."

"Why not?" He turned his horse to face her.

"That house there." She pointed to a modern structure with soaring glass walls and a flat roof that sat atop a man-made mound rather than on stilts like the other houses along the beach. The retaining wall that surrounded it on the front and sides made it look like an ultra-modern castle. "That's the LeRoche family beach house."

"So?"

"So, I'm not comfortable riding by it." She rubbed her bare arms, noticing that the temperature had dropped. "What if one of them is out by the swimming pool in back and they wave? I'd have to wave back like I was some friendly stranger, since I doubt they'd recognize me. Why would they? It's not like people as rich as the LeRoches bother to keep up with their distant, middle-class cousins."