Out of Exile (8 page)

“Don't plan on me,” he replied. “I'm not sure how long it will take me in town. I'm going to meet with Judd Stevens and give him some paperwork. I'll just grab something to eat at the café.”

“Judd Stevens?”

“He's a private investigator. I'm having him check the information on the job applications of the people who work here.”

“Then I guess I'll see you sometime tomorrow,” she said.

He nodded again, then left her alone in the kitchen.

Although she'd been hungry when she'd come back to the house, her appetite had fled in the wake of the trauma. She fixed herself a glass of iced tea, then sat at the table and waited for the washing machine to finish up its load.

When the washing machine was done, she put the bedspread in the dryer, then moved to the front porch and sat down just in time to see Matthew's pickup pulling away from the ranch and heading into town.

For a moment she wished he'd asked her to ride along. The afternoon and evening hours stretched out empty before her.

She sat on the porch until the bedspread was dry, then took it back upstairs and remade the bed. By that time her appetite had reawakened and she returned to the kitchen and fixed herself lunch.

After cleaning up her lunch dishes, she carefully locked up the house and went to her aunt's cottage, deciding she would spend the afternoon and evening hours there until Matthew returned from town.

The afternoon sped by pleasantly. The two women took a walk and visited with some of the workers. They ate chicken casserole for dinner, then turned on the television to watch until bedtime.

But as the sitcoms played, Lilly found her thoughts far away from the canned laughter and hokey situations. Instead she found herself once again thinking about Matthew…and his siblings…and their father.

“Aunt Clara?”

“Yes, dear?” Clara sat on the end of the sofa, her fingers nimbly working two knitting needles and a ball of yarn in pastel green and yellow. She was knitting a baby blanket for April, Mark's wife.

“Tell me about Uncle Adam,” Lilly said.

Clara's fingers halted their movements and she looked at Lilly in surprise. “What do you want to know about him?”

“What kind of a man was he?”

Clara began to work the yarn again, a frown creasing her forehead as she looked at her fingers. “He was an unhappy boy who grew into an unhappy man. We were never close, Adam and I.” She
looked back at Lilly. “Why are you asking about Adam? What brought all this on?”

“Did you know he was abusive to his children?” Lilly watched the shock sweep over Clara's features and had her answer.

“Who told you that?” she asked as her hands dropped to her lap.

“Matthew. And Johnna. They said he was a monster,” she said softly.

Clara's frown deepened, and she released a deep, audible sigh. “I knew he was harsh with the children.”

“According to them, it was more than harsh. He beat them both physically and emotionally.”

“Oh, my. Those poor babies. You know, I tried to help Adam when Leah first died. I came out here and told him I'd help with those poor motherless babies. But he sent me away, told me he was perfectly capable of raising his own.”

She set her knitting aside and stared at the television for a long moment. “I came to visit when I could,” she said, not looking at Lilly. “Everything seemed to be all right. Of course, the children were the best behaved I'd ever seen, but I worried so.”

Lilly left her chair and went to the sofa and sat down next to Clara. The last thing she had wanted to do when she'd begun this conversation was cause Clara pain, and yet she saw the heartache shining from Clara's eyes.

“I called Social Services a couple of times, insisted they check on the children.” Clara continued. “I needed to do it for my own peace of mind.”

“And what happened?” Lilly asked curiously.

Clara shrugged her plump shoulders. “Nothing. I was told that Adam Delaney was a fine, upstanding citizen who was raising his children with a firm but loving hand. But I worried that they were whitewashing things.”

“What do you mean?”

Clara's blue eyes were troubled as she gazed at Lilly. “Adam was a wealthy rancher with plenty of power in this county. When he turned this place into a dude ranch, his power increased. He brought commerce to the town, and I'm sure nobody wanted to step on his toes.”

She sighed. “When they were little, I shouldn't have let Adam bully me into staying away. I should have known Adam would raise his children the way our father raised us, but I'd hoped he'd do better, be better.”

“Your father was abusive?” Lilly asked, and took Clara's hand in hers as the old woman nodded.

Clara smiled and squeezed Lilly's hand. “Yes, he was mean and abusive, but what are you going to do? You don't pick your parents. You, of all people should know that.”

They rarely spoke of Lilly's real parents, and at the thought of them a faint band of pain wrapped around Lilly's heart. She leaned forward and kissed Clara on her cheek. “I think God knew what he was doing when he brought us together,” she said.

“I know he did,” Clara replied, her eyes shining bright with the love that had sustained Lilly through the years.

That was the end of their conversation about parents and Adam Delaney, but that didn't stop the thoughts from whirling around in Lilly's head.

So Adam Delaney had been an abused child who had become an abusive parent. It was a tragic story replayed far too often, a cycle of pain.

Lilly's heart ached with Matthew's pain of growing up the way he had, but the little bit of information Clara had shared with her did nothing to help her understand Matthew's self-imposed isolation or the anger that seemed to be such a part of him.

It was almost nine o'clock when Lilly heard the sound of Matthew's pickup returning home. She and Clara had shut off the television an hour before and had moved to sit on the porch of the small cottage.

“I'd better get to the house before Matthew locks me out for the night,” she said as she stood.

“Yes, and it's getting close to my own bedtime,” Clara said, also rising. She leaned forward and gave Lilly a kiss on the cheek. “You sleep well, dear.”

“And you,” Lilly returned. Then, murmuring a good-night, she left the cottage and headed for the house.

She walked into the house and met Matthew coming down the stairs. “I knocked on your door and realized when there was no answer that you weren't here,” he said.

“I spent the afternoon and evening with Aunt Clara,” she explained.

He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to her. “I've got one for Clara, too. I'll give it to her tomorrow.”

“All right,” she said. He looked tired, the lines of stress cutting deeper than usual around his eyes. She wanted to reach up and stroke those lines, but she couldn't forget that the last time she'd reached out to touch him, he'd grabbed her arm as if she were flames that burned him.

“You look tired,” she observed.

“I am.” He swept a hand through his hair. “So if you'll excuse me, I'll just lock up and go to bed.”

“Good night, Matthew,” Lilly murmured, then as he swept past her to lock the door, she walked slowly up the stairs wishing there was something she could say, something she could do to break through the wall he kept so firmly erected around himself.

She opened the door to her bedroom and a small gasp escaped her as she saw what was in the center of her bed. A rose. A single, long-stemmed red rose.

She picked it up and drew the scarlet blossom to her nose, breathing in its sweet, heady fragrance.

Matthew.

Perhaps she had in some way broken through his wall after all. She undressed and pulled on her nightgown, every nerve in her body crying out for a touch…his touch.

He'd bought her a rose. The gesture thrilled her, and the single, long-stemmed rose touched her more deeply than any flower that had ever been bought for her.

Was it an invitation? A prelude to romance? Her heart thudded with the possibility. Why else would he have bought it for her?

Sweet anticipation rushed through her as she
thought of being held in his arms once again. Decision made, she crept from her bedroom and down the stairs to Matthew's room.

The door to the master bedroom was opened slightly and she knocked, then entered. Immediately she heard the sound of water running in the adjoining room and realized he was in the shower.

This room, the master suite, was huge. Decorated in navy blue and deep maroon, it was bold and masculine and the entire room smelled of Matthew.

With her heart pounding in anticipation, she sat down on the edge of the king-size bed, hoping, praying she hadn't mistaken his intentions.

M
atthew stood beneath the shower, welcoming the hot spray of water that beat against his knotted muscles. He felt as if they were all under siege by an unknown enemy. The problem with unknown enemies was that it was impossible to launch a defense, impossible to know what to expect next.

The idea that somebody had sneaked into the house, silently stolen up the stairs and placed a rattlesnake in the middle of Lilly's bed both enraged him and filled him with gut-twisting fear.

What if she hadn't seen the snake in time? What if she had sat on the edge of the bed? The snake would have struck and the result might have been deadly.

As he thought of Lilly lying in a hospital bed clinging to life, her eyes glazed and empty, his heart snarled into a thousand knots.

He grabbed the bar of soap and stuck his head beneath the steamy spray. Lathering up, he thought of the frustrating hours he'd spent in town.

The first thing he had done was go to the hardware store to get keys made. It had galled him that suddenly his house was no longer the safe haven it had been, that somebody had impinged on his sense of security.

Inferno had always been the kind of place where doors weren't locked and people weren't afraid. Matthew couldn't remember the last time he'd locked up the house. It had always been open to welcome friends, family and guests who might venture inside.

After the hardware store, he'd gone to the sheriff's office, where he'd told Jeffrey Broder about the snake. He had no illusions that Jeffrey would get to the bottom of things. Hell, he had no illusions about himself getting to the bottom of what was going on around the ranch.

He rinsed off the soap, then turned off the shower and stepped out. He grabbed a large towel, dried off, then wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom.

She was the first thing he saw in his room. Lilly sat on the edge of his bed, illuminated by the glow of the lamp on his bedside stand.

The pale-pink nightgown did little to hide the thrust of her breasts, and through the thinness of the material he could see the faint dark circles of her nipples. Instantly his body reacted, and he was grateful for the towel around him.

“Lilly, what are you doing in here?”

She stood and approached him, her eyes shining with an evocative light that made his breath catch in his throat. She said not a word, but instead wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.

Despite the fact that he didn't want this, told himself he couldn't want her, his arms enfolded her. She leaned her head against his chest, and he bent his head to smell her hair, the fragrant scent shooting rich hot desire through him.

He closed his eyes, allowing her nearness to suffuse him with warmth, with a pleasure so intense it was almost frightening.

“I wanted you to hold me this afternoon.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, her breath a sweet tease of warmth. “I needed to be held by you.”

Matthew reached up and stroked her hair, recognizing now the need that had driven her to him. It was nothing more than residual fear, a delayed reaction from the trauma of finding a deadly snake in her bed.

“Lilly…” He attempted to pull away from her, needing to distance himself before they made another mistake, before he lost control and made love to her once again. But he found it impossible to untangle himself. His arms ignored his head's wish, and his feet stubbornly refused to move backward and away from her.

For a long moment she stood in his arms, her face pressed against his bare chest, her breath warm
against his skin. When he thought he could not bear the closeness another moment, she raised her head and looked up at him, a smile curving her sweet, kissable lips.

“Thank you for the rose,” she said.

Matthew froze, any and all thoughts of physical pleasure blown away by her words. “The rose?”

Shock radiated over her features as she heard the questioning tone of his voice. “You didn't get me a long-stemmed red rose and leave it on my bed?”

She stepped away from him and instead wrapped her arms around herself, still holding his gaze. The shock on her features was replaced by fear.

“A snake and now a rose? What in the hell is going on?” Matthew exclaimed as he grabbed a clean pair of jeans from a drawer. He pulled them on under his towel, then threw the towel to the floor of the bathroom.

When he turned back to look at Lilly, she had sunk to the edge of the bed, as if her legs would no longer hold her upright. He sat next to her and worried a hand through his hair. “Did you lock up everything when you left here to go to Clara's for the evening?” he asked.

She nodded. “I made sure both the front door and the back door were locked up tight.”

He frowned. “Then how did somebody get in here to put that rose on the bed?”

Her eyes appeared larger than usual, more luminous as she held his gaze. “There's really only two ways. Either somebody sneaked in while I was in
the kitchen having lunch, or somebody was inside the house the whole time.”

She reached out for his hand, and he grabbed hold of hers, instinctively knowing she needed the connection. Her fingers were icy cold, attesting to the fear that darkened her eyes.

“I don't understand this. I don't understand any of it. Why would somebody put a snake on my bed, then wait and place a rose there? It doesn't make any sense.”

“No, it doesn't,” he agreed. Scattered thoughts whirled around in his head as he tried to make sense of the senseless. “The only thing I know for sure is that nothing out of the ordinary happened until you showed up here.”

She snatched her hand from his. “Are you trying to say that this is all my fault?”

“No, of course not,” he protested. “I'm just thinking out loud.” He frowned thoughtfully and reached for her hand once again. “I thought what was happening around here was about me—the vandalized rooms, the stolen lumber. But now we have to think about the fact that somehow what is happening here might be about you.”

She released his hand and stood. “But that's not possible. How could any of this be about me? I don't know anyone here, there's nothing about me that could make all of this happen.”

With the illumination of the lamp behind her, her nightgown was nearly transparent. Matthew averted his gaze from her, finding it difficult to think with the allure of her near nakedness so apparent.

“I don't know what to think,” he replied. “But it's something we have to consider.” He hesitated a moment, then looked at her once again. “Why did you take a leave from your job, Lilly?”

She blinked in surprise and averted her gaze from him. “That has nothing to do with what's going on here and now.”

Matthew had never seen Lilly with secrets in her eyes, but that's exactly what he saw now. He rose and approached where she stood. “Tell me, Lilly,” he said. “If there's nothing to it, then we can dismiss it from our thoughts.”

“I only wish I could dismiss it from my thoughts,” she replied. Her voice held a piercing ache of sadness that touched a chord deep inside him.

She looked around the room, her eyes darting here and there as if seeking some sort of respite, some sort of escape. Then her gaze locked with his and she sighed and once again wrapped her arms around herself. “I lost a student.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, sensing she once again needed his touch. “What do you mean?”

Her beautiful blue eyes suddenly brimmed with sparkling tears. “His name was Danny Carpenter. He was a senior, mere weeks from graduation.”

“You were counseling him?” Matthew guessed.

She nodded, and silvery trails of tears slid down her cheeks. “He was an excellent student, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to go to college or not and there had been some incidents…some fights that
were out of character for him. Some of his teachers were worried about him and so he was sent to me.”

She swiped her tears with the tip of her fingers. “I met with him for several weeks and spoke to his parents about getting him into see a psychologist. I knew he was troubled…I could see it in his eyes, but I thought I was making progress with him.”

The tears fell faster now, far faster than her fingers could wipe them away. The pain that radiated from her eyes hurt inside his heart. He had never seen Lilly cry before. He'd never seen her filled with such deep despair.

Tenderly he pulled her back into his arms, and once again she buried her face in his chest. “The last time I saw him, he seemed to be doing better. He told me he'd decided on a college and he seemed happier than I'd ever seen him.”

The tears that had silently coursed down her cheeks now transformed into silent sobs that shook her shoulders. He held her more tightly, as if to absorb her pain.

“He left my office and went home and took an overdose of pills.” The words came with difficulty through the sobs. “He killed himself, Matthew. That poor boy took his own life.”

“You couldn't have known,” Matthew said, stroking her hair as she cried her heartache into his chest. “You couldn't have done anything differently.”

“But I should have known,” she protested, and raised her head to look at him. “I saw the darkness in his eyes…darkness just like—” She broke off
and stepped away from him. “Anyway, now you know why I took some time off. It can't have anything to do with what's happening here.”

Once again she sat on the edge of the bed and wiped her cheeks as if her tears embarrassed her. He sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him in an effort to comfort her.

“You can't save the world, Lilly,” he said softly. She leaned into him as her sobs slowly subsided.

“I know,” she replied. “But I wanted to save him,” she added wistfully. She heaved a deep sigh. “He had so much potential, but I guess life was just too painful for him.”

Matthew knew that kind of pain. There had been times in his life when he'd believed death would have been a welcome release from that pain. But thoughts of self-destruction had been fleeting, cast aside beneath the determination to survive his old man, thrive in spite of Adam Delaney.

“And this still doesn't tell us who left that rose on my bed and why,” she said.

Matthew wished he had bought her that rose. He thought of the shine in her eyes, the curve of her lips when she'd believed the rose had been a gift from him.

Her eyes were now red-rimmed with tears. She wore exhaustion like a heavy robe. It weighed down her shoulders and pulled at her features.

“Come on,” he said and stood. He held out a hand to her. “You're tired.”

She placed her hand in his and stood. Together they left his bedroom and walked up the stairs to
her room. The rose was still in the center of her bed, a scarlet mystery that fired a deep apprehension in him.

She picked it up and tore it apart, then carried the petals and stem to the trash can. Matthew pulled down the bedspread and gestured her into the bed, the apprehension quieting as desire reawakened in him.

As she crawled in beneath the sheets, he recognized that there was nothing more he'd like to do than crawl in beside her, make slow, sweet love to her and then hold her through the long hours of the night.

But in telling her about her student, she'd illuminated her reason for being attracted to him. She wanted…no, she needed to fix him. It was as if in fixing him she could somehow assuage her guilt over not being able to fix Danny.

“I'm going to double check your room,” he said once she was in bed. She nodded, her tear-swollen eyes already half-closed with weariness.

He checked under the bed, in her closet and in the bathroom, making sure nobody was hiding anywhere, making sure nothing was amiss. Confident that everything was as it should be, he walked to the doorway. “Sweet dreams, Lilly,” he said softly. She murmured something sleepily, and he quietly closed the door to her room.

With grim determination, Matthew went down to his study and got the revolver he kept in a locked drawer of his desk. After making sure it was loaded,
he then checked the rest of the house, making sure no intruder was hidden within.

He looked in every room, every closet of the big house. He looked in every space and area that was big enough to hide somebody, the gun ready for a confrontation.

When he was certain the house was secure, he made certain the doors were locked tightly, then returned to his room. As he set the gun on his nightstand, a burst of rage fluttered through him, rage that some unknown entity had him sleeping with a gun next to his bed.

He peeled off his jeans and got into bed, his thoughts going back to Lilly. He'd never seen her with such pain in her eyes, never known her to shed a single tear. Her heartache over the student she had lost had resonated deep inside him.

He now recognized what drove her to pick and prod inside him, her talk about forgetting the past and letting go of his pain. She was driven by the trauma of Danny's death, and perhaps she believed that in healing Matthew she would somehow find salvation for herself.

Staring up at the ceiling, he thought of those moments when he'd held Lilly in his arms. She'd been so warm against him, stirring him not only on a physical level, but on a mental one as well.

He'd wanted to take away her tears and replace them with laughter. He'd wanted to hear her ramble on about something inconsequential, see her features animated with life and spirit.

He frowned, listening to the solitary sound of his
own heartbeat. For the first time in his life he suspected that he wasn't just a man who chose to be alone. For the first time in his life Matthew faced the knowledge that he was a lonely man.

 

Lilly was surprised to discover that in telling Matthew about Danny, in crying tears of sadness, some of the pain inside her had dissipated. Oh, she would always have a certain amount of pain where thoughts of Danny were concerned, but the ache didn't seem as intense anymore.