Leftover Love (21 page)

His attitude brought her teeth together. “I was.” Layne tipped her head back to briefly glance at the ceiling of the truck, recalling all that that determination had cost her. Her short laugh held a note of cynical amusement. “Clyde Walters—my editor—says I’m relentless as a bulldog once I get my teeth into something. Mattie is tough and strong-minded. Maybe I take after her in that respect.”

“From all you’ve said, you obviously had a good home, parents who loved you. Why was it so important to find her?” Creed challenged.

Despite his aloofness, Layne wondered if he was really trying to understand. “It’s difficult to explain. It’s something inside—a strong homing instinct—that pushes you. I just had to find her. It’s a kind of compulsion. No matter
how many dead ends I came across, I had to keep looking.”

“Whether she wanted to be found or not,” he stated in a flat voice that held no sympathy.

“I suppose you think I was wrong to look for her,” Layne accused.

“I think it was wrong for you to lie about who you were when you came to the ranch that day,” Creed replied.

“Maybe it was.” Layne sat stiffly in her seat facing the front, irritated that they had gone full circle back to the same argument. Nothing she’d said had made any difference. “But when I met her that first time, I knew it wasn’t enough just to find her. I wanted to know what she was like. After eight years of looking I wanted to spend more than a half hour with her.”

The pickup came to a stop in front of the main house. “And nothing was going to stand in your way, is that it?” he suggested grimly as he shifted into park and switched off the motor.

“That’s right,” she flashed and slammed out of the truck to walk briskly to the house. “Why are you making such an issue over the fact that I’ve kept my identity a secret from her when she’s kept my birth a secret for years?” It was a stiff, angry demand that Layne threw at him as Creed followed her into the house. “I’m not the only one who’s guilty of keeping secrets.”

Her jacket was flung off and tossed carelessly on an armchair. Without pausing, Layne continued to the kitchen, and Creed was only a step behind her. She could almost feel his gaze on her rigidly squared shoulders.

“But you have the luxury of knowing who she is,” Creed pointed out and walked by her to the counter. “Coffee?” He picked up the electric percolator to make a fresh pot, sliding her a glance.

“I don’t care,” Layne retorted impatiently.

She was upset by all this wrangling, which served no purpose except to create an unnecessary tension between them. Her sidelong gaze flickered over him, so tall and powerfully muscled with those rough-grained features she had grown to love so well. When they had something so wonderful, it was foolish to let this drive them apart.

Needing to reestablish that contact, she reached out and rubbed her fingers over the broad back of his hand. “We’ve been all through this before, Creed. I don’t want to quarrel with you.” Layne sighed heavily.

“What do you want to do?” He shifted his stance, angling himself toward her while his fingers tunneled into the hair near her ear. His watchful gaze abandoned its interest in the action of his hand to study her upturned face. “Settle the argument the way we usually do? By putting it to bed?”

His attention shifted to her lips, and her pulse fluttered in an instinctive response to his message. While his arm slid slowly around her ribs, his dark head bent to crush her mouth under the driving force of his lips. The muscles in his arm tightened into steel bands that constricted around her until the buttons of his suit jacket made indentations in her breasts. Layne was stunned by the anger she felt in his kiss.

When he broke off the contact, twin fires of passion and desire smoldered in the eyes that studied her bewildered frown. His mouth tightened in grimness while he firmly put her away from him.

“Not this time, Layne,” Creed said. “It may have worked before but that’s not the way it’s going to happen tonight. We’re going to straighten this out once and for all.”

She bridled at the arrogant assumption of his remark. “By that, I suppose you mean you’re going to convince me to tell Mattie the truth.”

“You’ll have to, because I’m not going to be a party to your secret any longer,” Creed warned.

It angered Layne that he was actually threatening to divulge the information if she didn’t. “That is a private matter between Mattie and myself. It has nothing to do with you. So just stay out of it!”

“Look …” Creed paused, glancing away and taking a deep breath as if struggling to keep his control. Then his gaze sliced back to her. “I know you’re concerned about the way Mattie’s going to react to the news that you’re the child she gave up for adoption all those years ago. It’s bound to be a shock to her, especially when she realizes how you’ve deceived her. I don’t expect you to face her alone. I’ll come with you. If she gets it into her head that you should leave, between the two of us, we should be able to convince her otherwise.”

Layne was offended by his offer. In her present mood she regarded it as an insinuation that she was incapable of successfully handling it on her own.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t need your help!” she flared. “I can manage on my own.”

“You’re going to tell her, Layne.” Creed was adamant.

“But
I
will decide when that will be, not you,” she retorted. “Just because I’ve gone to bed with you, that doesn’t give you any special rights to tell me what to do.”

A silence crackled in the room as Creed stiffened at her angry words. A muscle leaped in his jaw, twitching convulsively. A little shiver of alarm raced down her spine as Layne realized what she’d said. She had been attempting to assert her independence, not demean their relationship by reducing it to a purely sexual level.

“What I meant to say—” she began, trying to change the impression she’d given him.

But Creed brutally cut across her words. “I think you said it very clearly.”

There was a chilling finality to the sound of the door closing behind Creed’s departing figure. She had tried to explain, but he had refused to listen. And pride wouldn’t let her go after him. Layne felt wretched and sick as she swung away from the sight of the door. There was an ache in her throat to go with the bitter tears stinging her eyes. She struggled not to cry.

For a long time she lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Shortly before midnight she heard Mattie return. Mattie was in bed and asleep long before Layne closed her eyes.

It was half past nine before Layne awakened the next morning, a late hour by her usual standards of predawn. Since it was Sunday, there had been no reason to set the alarm clock. Yet Layne felt neither rested nor refreshed. The ache and the dullness of spirit were still with her. She had made a mess of things. Somehow she had to find a way to set them right.

With a dressing gown over her pajamas, Layne stepped out of the bathroom and met Mattie in the hallway. “Good morning,” the older woman said cheerfully, a basket full of freshly washed and folded towels in her hands. “I wondered if you were up and about yet.”

“Morning.” Layne managed a half-hearted smile.

“It’s a gorgeous spring morning outside,” Mattie declared. “I’m almost tempted to take the storm windows off and put up the screens today. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Fine.” Layne nodded and moved to the side so Mattie could pass.

But Mattie paused instead, giving Layne the once-over. “You and Creed make quite a pair,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?” Layne warily drew back.

“He bites my head off this morning and you aren’t talking.” She observed the way Layne’s head dipped to avoid her gaze. “What happened? Did you two quarrel after you left the party last night?”

“Yes,” Layne admitted after a small pause.

Mattie cocked her head at an encouraging angle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The sympathetic light in those faded green eyes tempted Layne to blurt out the whole story. “I—” she began, then stopped.

Last night there had been plenty of time to think while she was lying in bed. She had decided she would seek out Creed this morning to make amends for that stupid remark she’d made last night and assure him that she would make a clean breast of everything to Mattie. But it was important for him to know her intentions before she spoke to Mattie so she could convince him of her sincerity.

“No, I don’t think so, Mattie.” She changed the answer she had been about to make and walked around the auburn-haired woman to her bedroom.

“I’m good at listening if you decide you want to talk later,” Mattie said over her shoulder and resumed her course to the linen closet.

“Thanks.” Layne paused in the doorway to her room. “I just might take you up on that.” Although the subject matter would be entirely different from what Mattie expected.

In her room Layne slipped out of her robe and pajamas and hung them on the closet door. She put on a clean set of underclothes from the dresser drawer, then walked to the closet and tugged on a pair of tan corduroys. As she was rummaging through the blouses on hangers, there was a preliminary knock at her door before it was pushed ajar. Layne ducked her head out of the closet as Mattie entered.

“I washed a couple of your sweatshirts,” Mattie said, indicating the garments folded neatly in her hands. “Where would you like me to put them?”

“Just lay them on the bed. I’ll put them in the dresser later.” Layne slipped a blue madras blouse off its hanger.

“I’ve already got them in my hands. Just tell me which drawer you keep them in. The bottom one?” Mattie continued into the room.

For a split second Layne didn’t move, then she bolted from the closet. “No! Not …” Her voice trailed into silence when she saw that Mattie had already pulled the bottom drawer open.

The baby blanket was lying folded on top. It was too late; Mattie had seen it already. Like an automaton, Layne was drawn to the side of the dresser.

“What’s this old thing doing in here?” Mattie appeared absently disgusted as she lifted the blanket out to make room for the sweatshirts.

Layne held her breath when Mattie took a second look at the baby blanket. She watched the woman’s face closely to see if she recognized it after all this time. Her pulse quickened and her lips felt dry.

Mattie straightened. Her hand trembled as it moved over the blanket. Her skin looked pale beneath the freckles as she frowned with narrowed curiosity at Layne.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded in a low, taut voice.

Quicksilver threads of tension were shooting through her nerves while Layne tried to appear calm. “My mother gave it to me.” She waited for the awareness to flash in Mattie’s eyes. “It was my baby blanket.”

The look in Mattie’s eyes sharpened into a stabbing keenness. “Is this some kind of an ugly joke?”

“It’s no joke, Mattie.” A wealth of gentleness and softness
seemed to fill Layne as her lips curved in a tremulous smile, tender with understanding at Mattie’s shock. “I am the baby girl you gave birth to twenty-six years ago.”

Mattie’s gaze flashed from the glint of rust in Layne’s hair to the flecks of olive green in her eyes, then an overall sweep of her face. The skeptical doubt and disbelief remained in Mattie’s expression.

“How could you possibly know about that?” she challenged stiffly.

“I’ve spent eight years looking for you. First I was just trying to find a woman, then one named Martha Turner.” Mattie blanched when Layne used her maiden name. “Finally the trail led me to Valentine—and Mattie Gray.”

Mattie looked down at the blanket, holding herself very stiff and rigid. “What do you expect me to feel? Guilt for abandoning you or a pretense of recognition, perhaps. Maybe I should be elated at being reunited with you.”

“I don’t really expect anything,” Layne said quietly and tried to ignore that vague sense of disappointment.

“Why did you come here?” Pain glittered in Mattie’s eyes as she issued the challenging protest. “What is it that you want from me?”

“Just the chance to get to know you,” Layne said, earnestly trying to explain. “To find out what you were like. I’ve wondered about you for so long. I didn’t come here to hurt you or make you feel awkward, just to … know you.”

Mattie’s look swept over her in a dazed and withdrawn rejection. “Who are you?”

“My name is Layne MacDonald. I’m your daughter.” There was a childlike quality that slipped to the surface, an aching desire to please and to be accepted.

“No.” Mattie shook her head numbly and stroked the baby blanket again. “They took my baby girl away a long time ago. I don’t know you.” Wariness and hurt were in
Mattie’s accusing glance when she lifted her head. “You’re a stranger.”

“But I’m not,” Layne insisted with a quick, anxious smile. “We have had the chance to get to know each other these last couple of months. We’ve worked together, talked and laughed about things.”

“No,” Mattie said in slow denial. “We may have done all those things but I never knew you. You slept in my house and ate at my table and played your game of pretend. How it must have amused you to ask me all those questions about my past and listen to me rattle on.” The bitterness of betrayal was in her voice. “Is this the story you were going to write?”

“No.” A worried frown pinched in the lines on Layne’s face. She had feared that Mattie would react this way. “I never intended to write any stories for the paper. I only said that so I could persuade you to hire me.”

“God, but you had me fooled.” With a breathlessly bitter laugh of self-derision, Mattie turned away and lifted her chin, blinking her eyes at the ceiling.

“I was going to tell you the truth, Mattie,” Layne insisted. “I never intended for you to find out this way.”

“Of course you were going to tell me,” she mocked.

“It’s true.” Layne had to make Mattie understand that. “I was going to tell you today after I talked to Creed. I—”

“Creed.” Mattie whirled on her, all braced and accusing. “Does he know?”

For long seconds Layne’s mouth worked with nothing coming out of it. The muscles in her throat had knotted, unwilling to release the truth and possibly alienate Mattie still more. Finally she had to say it.