Magnolia Dawn (2 page)

Rush laughed to himself and descended the steps two at a time. The romantic atmosphere of this place was affecting him. Annabelle Ames was exactly what she seemed, nothing more and certainly nothing softer.

But that didn't mean he had to play by her rules. And he wasn't about to let some uppity Southern belle treat him like he was less than what he was. He was as good as anybody, and he made his own rules.
Always.

He called it survival.

Rush caught up with her and matched his stride to hers. “Ms. Ames?” he asked, angling her an amused glance.

She looked at him. “Yes?”

“Are you going to call me Mr. Cousins all summer?” His question surprised her. He saw the emotion flit across her features before she had a chance to mask it. “Truthfully, Ms. Ames.”

“Well, I…” She sucked in a quick breath and shook her head. “Probably not.”

“So why don't we save ourselves the aggravation and drop the formality now?” He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans and smiled. “How about it, boss?”

She smiled slowly, as if in spite of herself. The curving of her mouth softened her face, making her look younger, less…determined. In fact, Rush realized, she was attractive. Not technically pretty—her features were too strong for that. But there was a quiet beauty about her, a strength of character and feature, a quality that made her face different.

“All right,” she answered slowly. “You may call me Anna.”

Anna.
It fit her in a way her full name didn't. It was strong and straightforward. No muss, no fuss. Rush smiled. “One more thing. Do you think you could tell that beast I'm okay? He's still looking at me as if he'd like to take a chunk out of my backside.”

Anna laughed. Her soft, cultured drawl came out as an even softer, throatier, laugh and the sound played over his nerve endings, affecting him like a fine old wine. It was the kind of sound that made a man's mind wander, his pulse quicken. It had Rush wishing she would laugh again.

“You needn't worry,” she said. “Blue won't attack you unless I give the command or you threaten me. He's very well trained.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Rush muttered wryly, eyeing the animal. “Remind me to get on your good side.”

“If you're as experienced a builder as you say, you'll be on my good side.”

“And if I'm not?”

“I'll sic Blue on you.”

This time, it was he who laughed. “I think you mean that.”

“Believe me, Mr. Cousins, I do.”

They reached the building, a small, single-story frame structure with a wide front porch, and climbed the steps together. “This was the overseer's home,” Anna murmured, opening the door, “back when
Ashland was a working plantation. After the original structure burned in the forties, this one was built.”

She crossed the threshold, and Rush followed her inside, his senses swimming with a sense of déjà vu so strong he couldn't speak. Anna seemed not to notice and continued to talk. “You'll find everything you need here. Linens in the closet over there.” She pointed to her right. “The bedrooms are…”

At the back. There are two.
Rush drew in a deep, steadying breath. He knew this floor plan; he recognized the light fixtures, the placement of windows, the brick fireplace.

“Use the first,” she continued. “The other is smaller, like a…”

Nursery.
Rush moved his gaze in that direction, wondering if he would feel this same overwhelming sense of recognition when he looked in that room for the first time. Wondering, too, if he wasn't losing his mind.

Anna moved toward the door. “The kitchen has a passable selection of cookware, dishes and the like. Sorry, but there's no phone. If you need to make a call you can make arrangements with me. And if you need anything else, or have any questions, well…I'll be around.”

He had questions, all right, questions about who he was and who had lived here years ago. Rush met her gaze, fighting to hold his impatience back. He was unaccustomed to waiting or inaction, and he liked neither. He forced an easy smile anyway. “It's a nice place. Who did you say used to live here?”

“The plantation manager and his wife. But Ashland hasn't been a working plantation in forty years.” Anna expelled a frustrated-sounding breath. “Daddy leased and sold off the land, bit by bit, years ago.”

Forty years. Two years after he was born. Rush flexed his fingers. “It's been empty that long?”

Anna gazed at him a moment before answering. “No. The overseer
and his wife stayed. They rented the place for a while. Macy continued to keep house for us. Her husband found work in Greenville.”

“They didn't have any children?”

She drew her eyebrows together, obviously surprised at the question. “They had a son. He died as an infant.”

An infant? Or a young boy?
Excitement coursed through Rush, and he had to work to keep it from showing. Could it be this easy? After a lifetime of wondering, could he have found his past so quickly and with so little effort?

“Why the interest?” she asked, gazing steadily at him.

He should have known she wouldn't keep her questions to herself. Even after only an hour with her, he knew that wasn't her way. Again, he forced a casual air. “This place has so much history, it almost begs for a story to be told.” And there was one particular story he was interested in hearing. “Do you mind if I spend the day looking around the plantation?”

She hesitated, and her small smile disappeared. After a moment, she nodded. “Fine. But the interior of the house is off-limits.”

He stiffened at her tone. “I hadn't planned to come traipsing through your home without invitation.”

“I hadn't meant to imply that.”

Like hell.
He walked toward the door, anxious to get rid of her and look around. “If you don't mind, I'll have a phone installed. At my own expense, of course.”

Again she hesitated, then inclined her head. “Fine. I don't have a problem with that.”

“Good.” He held the door open for her. “I'll see you at eight in the morning.”

She followed him to the door and stepped out onto the porch. There, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Two more things. You'd better be as experienced as you say you are, or I won't think twice about firing you. And second, I sleep with Blue at my side and a gun under my pillow.”

Rush stared at her a moment, narrowing his eyes. “I'll take that under advisement, Annabelle Ames.”

She met his gaze evenly. “You do that, Rush Cousins.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away. As she disappeared around the front corner of the house, he tipped his head back and laughed, reluctant admiration curling through him. Annabelle Ames was one tough lady. He might not enjoy working for her, but it certainly wouldn't be dull.

Chapter Two

T
he night shimmered with moisture. Fog had begun to roll off the river shortly after dark. It cloaked the grounds in diaphanous billows of white, reminding Anna of the nights she had sat in this very rocking chair, listening raptly to her father as he wove exciting, romantic tales about the Old South and their ancestors.

Anna smiled at the memory, listening now to the songs of the cricket and the bullfrog, being lulled by the rhythmic creak of her chair. The day had passed quickly and pleasurably. She had allowed herself the luxury of doing nothing productive. She'd picked flowers in what had once been the formal gardens, had walked to the levee and gazed for an hour at the lazy river; she'd sat under the largest magnolia on the plantation and read a book that had nothing to do with anything but enjoying herself. And now, she just sat, enjoying the richness of the white-black night.

She rested her head against the chair's high back. Her day would have been totally relaxing if not for Rush Cousins. No matter where she'd been on the plantation, she'd been aware of him, of his presence.
That awareness had put her on edge, had made her feel vulnerable. He had violated her privacy in a way having other workers on Ashland's grounds in the past had not.

Rush Cousins took up a lot of space. He was the type of man who walked into a room and owned it. He had a kind of energy that dominated, that refused to be ignored.

Anna shuddered. It was going to be difficult for her to work with him. She wasn't comfortable with men like that, men who were big, confident and masculine. She didn't like being aware of her own femininity, or the vulnerability that came with it. She closed her eyes and an image from her fifteenth summer flashed lightninglike across the backs of her eyelids. An image of her sobbing and pushing at the boy's chest. Pushing as hard as she could but still being too small, too weak to free herself from his grasp.

Anna made a sound of fear and opened her eyes. Headlights cut across the darkness, illuminating both the fog and the landscape it concealed. She recognized her brother Lowell's car and sighed. Why had her brother chosen tonight to come see her? Why this moment, when she was suddenly feeling so vulnerable and uncertain?

At her feet, Blue whined. She reached down and stroked the dog's silky ears and head. “I know, boy. I feel the same way.”

From the side of the house, she heard a car door slam, heard the murmur of male voices. Rush, she thought and wondered what he would think of her brother.

Lowell emerged out of the fog and started toward the gallery. The image of the Southern gentleman, Anna thought wryly. Tall, slim and blond, dressed in elegant evening clothes, he could have stepped out of the past, out of one of their father's romantic stories. How Lowell would laugh if he could read her thoughts.

He stopped at the base of the stairs and gazed unsmiling up at her. “Good evening, Annabelle,” he said finally, softly.

“Lowell,” she returned, forcing a light smile. “What brings you out here tonight?”

He climbed the stairs. “Ashland is my home. At least the last time I checked, I still owned half of this fabulous spread.” He looked around him, his lips curling in distaste.

So, it was going to be one of those visits.
A knot settled in Anna's chest, and she worked to breathe around it. “Of course you do. You just don't come around much.”

“There's nothing here for me.”

Hurt at his words speared through her. She tightened her fingers on the chair's arms.
“I'm
here, Lowell. Am I nothing to you?”

He held her gaze for a moment, then swung away from her and crossed to one of the huge columns. For long moments he stared out at the shrouded grounds.

Anna gazed at his stiff back, aching for the small, affectionate boy he had once been. Aching for the time when he had loved and needed her.

Tears stung her eyes, and she looked away. “Only June,” she murmured, “and already so warm. It seems to get hotter every year.”

Lowell glanced over his shoulder at her. “And you say that every year.”

“I suppose I do.”

Silence fell between them once more. Lowell took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, selected one and lit it. The match illuminated his face strangely, making his handsome features appear drawn and tight. And terribly unhappy.

Once again, Anna shifted her gaze. She didn't like seeing him this way. It hurt to see his unhappiness. “You met the new man,” she said, needing to fill the silence. Her brother didn't respond, and she forged on. “He says he has building experience. In fact, he says he's done a lot of restoration work on the East Coast. If that's true, we should be able to—”

“Diversionary chitchat, Anna?”

She dropped her hands to her lap and laced her fingers together. “Just talking.”

“Why? Isn't the quiet comfortable?”

She inched her chin up even as her palms began to sweat. He'd come spoiling for a fight. From experience she knew nothing she could say or do would dissuade him. She tried anyway. “You're my brother. Ashland is part yours. I thought you'd be interested.”

“Half mine,” he corrected. “And I'm not.”

She stood and crossed to him. “What
are
you interested in, Lowell?” she asked. When he neither answered nor acknowledged her, she caught his arm. “Or aren't you interested in anything?”

He met her eyes then. In his she read an emotion akin to hatred. She caught her breath. “Lowell, what—”

“Selling this place,” he said tightly. “That's what I'm interested in.”

“No.” Anna shook her head and took a step back. “No,” she repeated. “Not ever.”

“Half of it is mine.”

“And half is mine.” She flexed her fingers. While growing up she'd given in to him time and again. He'd been the baby, and she'd adored him. Not this time. She couldn't.

“I won't sell, Lowell.”

He swore and swung away from her. He flicked his cigarette off the gallery; it landed with a hiss in the damp grass. When he turned back to her she saw by his expression that they'd just progressed from bitter words to a full-blown fight. “You're so hardheaded when it comes to this place. So blind.”

“It's our home.” She balled her hands into fists of frustration. “Our heritage. Why can't you see that?”

“It's a burden,” he countered. “It's draining you, Anna. Look at yourself. Almost forty and dried up already.”

The shot hit its mark, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Stop it, Lowell.”

“Ashland's doing it to you, Anna. You have no life.” This time it was she who swung away from him. He followed her, smelling her distress like blood, pressing his advantage. “When's the last time you had fun? When's the last time you went out—”

“That's where we're different,” she shot back. “I don't have to go out partying every night to feel like I'm alive. I don't need expensive meals and clothes and cars to feel like I'm somebody. For me,
Ashland is—”

“Everything?” He advanced on her, his eyes glittering with anger. With determination. “When's the last time you went out with a man, Annabelle?”

“I don't need—”

“Don't you long to be loved? To be held?” He stopped directly before her, and although she told herself to look away, she found she could not. “Don't you long to be a woman?”

Her eyes filled, and she whirled away from him. He knew what buttons to push, how to hurt her. Of course he did—he was her brother.

Again he followed her, but this time he didn't force her to look at him. Instead, he lightly stroked her hair. “Aren't you tired of being alone, Anna?”

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked against them, but still they rolled down her cheeks. “If you would move back to Ashland, I wouldn't be.”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm talking about a lover, a husband. A life partner, Annabelle. Not a brother.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “If we sold Ashland, we could both start anew. We would be free.”

She stiffened and jerked away from him. “Family shouldn't hurt each other, Lowell,” she said softly. “They shouldn't prey on each other's emotions to get their way.”

He laughed, the sound filled with bitterness. “It's an Ames tradition, my dear. Like so many others, handed down with pride.”

“How can you say that?” Anna demanded, anger replacing hurt. “Mama—”

“Was a saint,” Lowell muttered.

“She loved you. Doted on you, even.”

“To make up for dear old Daddy. Isn't that right, Anna?” He arched his eyebrows, mocking her. “Mama, the long-suffering and saintly wife of Joshua Ames, the monster.”

Anna opened her mouth to deny his words, to defend their father. But in many ways, he was just what Lowell had called him. “Mama did love you, Lowell. And her love had nothing to do with him. And
Daddy…loved you, too. He just had difficulty—”

“Being anything but cruel?” Lowell raked a hand through his light hair, so like hers. “You're hopeless. You always have been. You seclude yourself out here, living in the past and in those ridiculous stories Daddy told you. No wonder no man ever comes around. What would a real, flesh-and-blood male want with an unfeeling martyr like you? You're going to be alone forever, Anna. Or until you let go of this place and learn to live
in the real world.”

His words cut her, so deeply it burned. She drew in a shuddering breath, tears closing around her throat. “What's happened to you?” she whispered. “You didn't always play so dirty.”

“I wasn't so desperate before.”

Desperate.
That word again. How she despised it. How helpless and trapped it made her feel. Unwittingly, she thought of the new strands of gray hair she'd spotted just that morning. Soon her hair would be more gray than blond. Time was making its mark on her, as well as Ashland.

Forty. She fought the sense of panic that suddenly squeezed against her chest. Past her childbearing years. Past the age when men pursued. Not that they ever had in the first place.

Alone. She would end up alone.

Anna stiffened her spine. She liked the gray. And she liked her life. She was fine. Happy. She didn't need a man in her life, and although she would have loved to be a mother, she had her first-graders. She would live without knowing that experience.

She would not allow her brother the power to make her start doubting herself. “Go away, Lowell,” she said wearily. “You've hurt me enough for tonight.”

Anna turned and started into the house, knowing that if Lowell followed her, she couldn't stop him. As he'd said, he owned half of Ashland.

“Annabelle…”

She looked back and for one brief moment she thought she saw a glimmer of the boy he had once been. Then the softness vanished, replaced once more with bitterness and cynicism. Without waiting to see what he'd wanted, she retreated to the solace of Ashland.

* * *

The next morning, Rush carried a cup of coffee out onto his small front porch. The day was clear and bright, the sky a cloudless blue. Although not even seven, according to the thermostat outside his kitchen window, the temperature had already hit the eighty-degree mark.

It felt it, Rush thought, absently scratching his bare chest. And it felt good. The heat. Being here. Standing half naked on this front porch and watching the day rise over Ashland.

Did it feel so right because he'd been a young boy at Ashland? Was he responding to this place because he recognized it, or because he wanted to?

Rush turned his gaze to the grove of magnolias and took a sip of his coffee, enjoying its strong, almost-bitter taste. He didn't know. He'd spent the day before combing the plantation grounds, searching for something that would trigger the same response in him that the music box had.

This house had come the closest, yet when he'd logically examined his recognition of the floor plan, he'd had to admit that it wasn't an unusual one. In fact, it was standard. In his years of building he'd worked on similar houses.

So he'd vacillated between being certain he'd visited Ashland Plantation in the past and being certain he was going through some sort of ridiculous mid-life crisis.

He made a sound of frustration. He wasn't accustomed to uncertainty. Since he'd been old enough to take charge of his life, he had. He'd always known exactly what he wanted and what he felt, and he'd acted accordingly. Even those months he'd lived on the streets, he'd been certain of his every action and of how he would survive.

Rush frowned and brought the cup to his lips once more. Frustrating, too, had been his inability to put Annabelle Ames from his mind. He'd caught himself thinking of her, remembering something she'd said or the way she'd looked at him. Several times during the course of the day he'd caught a glimpse of her, and each time he'd given her a wide berth. Because she'd wanted to be alone, and because he had, too.

She'd been up as late as he the night before. He'd seen her lights burning long after her brother had left.

Lowell Ames. Rush's frown deepened, remembering his meeting with the other man the night before. They'd come face-to-face in the driveway as Lowell had alighted from his vehicle. Rush had detested the man on sight—even before he'd heard how he treated his sister.

Anna's and Lowell's voices had carried on the fog, and he had listened to their argument. Listened shamelessly. He would use every opportunity to try to unearth a clue to his past, would even stoop to eavesdropping.

And he'd learned much about the brother and sister, Rush thought, turning his gaze to Ashland's huge square columns. He narrowed his eyes. Where Anna was strong, Lowell was weak and self-pitying. Where
Anna had character, Lowell had attitude. Anna would do whatever was necessary to save Ashland; Lowell had no love for the plantation at all—in fact he wished they could be rid of it.