Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) (12 page)

He stepped back, leaving the hand tool where she’d dropped it. “Bethany, you’re married.” He made sure she saw him take in the entire display of all her goods before continuing. “While I’m extremely flattered and more interested than you know, can I ask why?”

She sighed, reaching for the corkscrew herself. “I’m going to need some wine, if you want to go down that road, sugar. But if I answer some questions, you’re going to make it up to me.” She wiggled her finger his direction.

Strong-arming the bottle and yanking the cork, Bethany didn’t cover any skin or grow more demure in the close setting. She plunked the dark bottle to the counter and reached into the flimsy pocket of her robe.

Slapping a square condom on the counter, she grinned. “I always carry a spare.”

Robbie ignored the bright blue wrapper and moved to pour the wine.

Bethany lifted the bottom of the bottle with one finger while he poured, forcing him to fill the glass to almost overflowing. “I’ll take that one, thank you.” She pressed her breasts to his back and reached around him to grab her drink.

Nothing left to the imagination at that point, Robbie could almost pretend he’d already slept with her. “What’s the condom for? I don’t mean to be crass, but it’s all over town that you can’t get…”

“Pregnant?” She grinned at his discomfort. She drank a large amount of her wine, sighing after swallowing. She put the glass down and braced both arms on the counter, which thrust her chest again his way. “I can definitely get pregnant. I’ve been pregnant three times since I married that asshole.”

“Did you miscarry? I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be a sensitive topic for you.” More than once on the road, Robbie had met a ranching couple where the woman’s eyes had a hollow glaze because she’d lost a baby or more. He’d never understood, but he could appreciate another’s suffering.

Bethany’s laughter rebounded off the acoustics of the barn. “Hell, don’t feel bad for me. I didn’t want that loser’s children. I had abortions.” She waved her hand. “Not here in town, obviously, but over in Washington. I went to my original family doctor. Insurance pays for that kind of thing, you know.” She winked. “Not that money is an issue, but how did I explain to him I needed extra allowance to abort his children?”

To hide his disgust, Robbie tilted his own wine to his lips. After pretending to sip the poisoned fluid, he lowered the brim to nose level and sniffed in the heady aroma. “How do you know they were all his?” A sudden wave of gratitude washed over him that Amelia had never aborted their child. He hadn’t known. If he had, he never would have let her push him away. Never.

She laughed. “Sweetheart, he won’t touch me now since I can’t give him a precious heir. But he used to have me on a calendar and an ovulation test thing. He’d make me check when I was and then we’d do it. He wouldn’t let me out of the house for a few days to make sure he was the only one at the time, you know? Hell, I stopped being interested in him long before the wedding, but…” She shrugged. “His bank is fat and size matters in that department.” She finished off her drink and poured more, draining the bottle. 

A sick twist in his stomach tightened as he watched Bethany drink the poisoned wine. Holy shit, hopefully she didn’t die from how much tranquilizer she drank. Robbie wasn’t sure on the math – he wasn’t a veterinarian for crying out loud – but he’d estimated her to be about a tenth the size of a horse and had gauged accordingly. That didn’t mean it was safe for her to drink so much. Tranquilizers and alcohol both were defined as “downers”. Combining them couldn’t be good. 

She set her goblet on the granite counter and stared at the deep red wine. And swayed. Oh crap. It wasn’t supposed to work so fast, either.

“I’m sorry, Bethany.” He placed his own full drink beside hers and caught her with his good arm just as she dipped from her straight position. Dragging her limp body to the closest empty stall turned out to be more work than he’d planned. He couldn’t get a proper handhold without holding some naked flesh. Finally, he wedged his forearm under her breasts and hefted her the last few feet to the straw-strewn floor.

Resting her against the wall, Robbie rummaged through a nearby closet. Filled with blankets and pillows, the closet also held changes of clothing and extra toiletries. Maybe Robbie had invaded more of Ronan’s space than he’d planned when they’d come to the barn. As glad as he was for the chance to earn the money, he couldn’t help still holding onto the grudge he had for Ronan. He relished the man catching them in the morning in his space. Something to rub in his face.

He threw more than a handful of blankets over his shoulder with pillows and some of Ronan’s laundry which he carried into the stall. Arranging a bed of sorts on the floor as close to Bethany as he dared, he kicked the edges of the material around to make it look like the bed had been played in a bit. Reaching under her chin, Robbie checked for a pulse. Her breathing seemed steady and her pulse felt strong. He rolled her to her side and then rolled her again to the makeshift bed.

She didn’t move herself, but landed with a leg bent up and an arm by her head. That’d work for him. Robbie didn’t need to remove her clothing, she was so scantily clad, there was no doubt what she’d intended to do.

He carried Ronan’s clothes and dropped pants by the counter in the kitchen, wadded a shirt up and tossed it out into the middle of the painted cement. Deep hunter green. Robbie shook his head in disgust. A green floor.
Come on, Ronan.

A futon hid in the corner stall which was set up like an office. Nice. He’d sleep there. None of the stalls had horses in them. Ronan never had said what he was doing tonight.

Robbie shrugged. He really didn’t give a damn. Get through the night and get his money. That was all he had to do. Robbie headed outside to retrieve Revenge. The horse needed to be fed and watered and set up for the night. 

For two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand bucks, he could do just about anything.

And had. 

Chapter 15

The phone rang earlier than Amelia would have liked. Only a few people had the number to her private line. Cell phones were great, but not reliable on service so far into the mountains.

She rolled over and peered at the clock. Seven. Really? Who was up so early? Mac of course. He’d run out to the kitchen with Slate two hours before to go check on Pig’s foal.

Ring.
She pulled her pillow over her head.

And she did live in Montana where ranchers were more apt to rise early than stay up late.

Ring.
Oh hell, what if it was an emergency?

What if it was Robbie?

Ring.
She sat up, reaching for the phone before she’d even stabilized herself and half-fell off the bed mid-picking up the handset. She yanked it to her ear, hoping she didn’t sound like she was an idiot. “Hello?”

“Amelia. Ronan. I checked on you with Doctor O’Donald last night. I’m glad you’re fine.” He paused like he expected her to thank him or comment or something.

But he wasn’t exactly brother-of-the-year and she didn’t feel like stroking his ego at the moment. She’d almost died of hypothermia the day before and hell, it was seven in the morning for crying out loud. She outwaited him in silence.

He continued after ten seconds of extremely uncomfortable quiet. “So, I need to get some information about the men who took you. It sounds like the Caracus gang, and I have a private investigator looking into things. However, I have some pictures I could really use your help identifying. Do you think you could come over before breakfast?”

She paused. Why did he want her to come over? So soon? Things with Ronan usually had more of a double or triple-edge to them so that he could get the maximum cut from his efforts.

He cleared his throat, the horrid coughing sound loud and abrasive. In her ear. At seven AM. Really? He continued. “We also have the situation with my nephew to discuss, don’t you think?”

As usual, any mention of Mac sent her hackles up. Not that they needed a nudge at that point. She swung her legs to the edge of the bed and tapped the floor with her toes. “Why don’t you come over here, Ronan? I’m not sure I should go anywhere by myself. Slate still isn’t feeling up to it and I don’t think…” She couldn’t say anything about Robbie, he’d left yesterday early-evening and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Anxiety over leaving the ranch so soon mixed with nerves that she’d see Robbie again shortly. She had so much to say. She hadn’t slept much the night before with her mind conjuring up all kinds of possible scenarios in it where he said he loved her still and she did the same and they were happy forever. But each and every one had some part where he left at the end, and she remembered he’d disappeared again.

Story of her life.

Ronan broke through her reverie. “I’ll come pick you up. Things aren’t good with the MacAllisters and now that Robbie’s back in town… Let’s just say I might kill one as soon as see one of those bastards after the crap they pulled yesterday, you get what I’m saying?” He bit off the last of the words, showing rare emotion. Her brother, always the hardest man to read but once he loved you, it was always – even in a fight.

She sighed, irritated but sympathetic. The MacAllisters were loyal to a fault as well. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. If you’ll come get me, that’d be great. I’ll wait outside for you. Twenty minutes, Ronan.”

“Yep.” And he hung up. Man of few words but so many more schemes.

The bath the night before, brief as it’d been, had washed the dirt from her trip through freezing hell. She needed to wash her face and brush her teeth. The routine would help wake her up.

She stretched as she climbed from bed, wiggling her toes and arching her back as she tested herself for any lingering effects of the hypothermia. Becky had said something about hitting a point where recovery took an extreme amount of time – but before a patient hit that point, even though they might be bad, they had the potential to recover very fast. Pleased to find that she might not have any residual symptoms of the cold, Amelia rushed into the bathroom. She’d be hanged before she’d make Ronan wait in the driveway.

~~~

Using the chrome handle, Amelia opened the passenger side door to his truck. Looking up at her brother’s smiling face, Amelia couldn’t help wondering what the heck was so funny. “Hi, you’re late.”

He shrugged. “You don’t need to bust my balls, Ames. I had to check on a few business things, okay? Come on.” He offered her a hand and helped her into the plush leather cab. With Ronan everything was better than the best.

They filled the short ride to his home with stilted conversation about the weather, her health, how big Mac was since he’d started helping Becky in the kitchen with cutting olives and making sandwiches.

“Do you really think that’s smart, Amelia? I mean, he’s only three. He could really hurt himself playing with knives.” Ronan parked the truck beside his barn, turning off the engine and facing her. “You need to be more careful with him. He’s the only James heir.” He leaned across the seat and pulled a large manila envelope from inside the dash compartment.

Rolling her eyes, Amelia pushed on the door and pulled the handle at the same time. Over her shoulder, she said. “He’s my son and he’s almost four. He needs to practice more independence. I would think you would get that – being a James and all.”
Take that, big brother. Jeesh.
The last thing Amelia needed from Ronan was a dang lecture on how to be a mom. He wasn’t even a girl, let alone a parent. His arrogance irritated her, at the same time reminding her why she didn’t live with him. Domineering ass.

She headed toward the house, tucking her dry hair behind her ear. In the early morning chill, she wished she’d made Ronan wait long enough she could take a shower, but she wouldn’t have had time to dry her hair. Even though she rarely dried it, the day after being soaked and in the cold air wasn’t the smartest time to return to the bad habit. It’d be nice, if she didn’t see Robbie before she had a chance to clean up and do something with her makeup and hair. All she’d thrown on was a light green three-quarter sleeved shirt and some worn jeans.

“Hey, this way.” Ronan waited for her to turn around and then jerked his head toward the barn. He carried the package under his arm like a large football.

She scrunched up her nose. “Why? Is Bethany still sleeping?” Her sister-in-law had never impressed Amelia but what did she do? Ronan married her. She was kind of stuck with the woman.

“Yeah, but I’ve started keeping a lot of my business in here. There’s something special about my own space, you know?” He joined her at the barn door, opening it and waiting for her to pass.

The smells of the James’s barn hadn’t changed. Her own father had kept a modest bar in the corner, but by the looks of things, Ronan had expanded that idea, allowing more whiskey and brandy to fill the air, mingling with hay and the pungent, earthy aroma of Alfalfa and sweet oats.

Ronan guided her inside, closing the door behind them. She stepped forward and tripped. Reaching out, she grabbed her brother’s arm. “Oh my word, sorry. I —” Looking down, she stopped. A wadded up shirt had entangled her feet. “Why would you leave clothes here, Ronan? Turning into a slob?” Disbelief warred with confusion. Her brother had his own case of obsessive compulsive disorder, like a brand of cologne, and he’d never leave a mess.

He shrugged. “I don’t. You know I’m fastidious.” And he was. He’d prided himself on military-perfection since he could stand – or so their mother had always said.

Amelia bent and grabbed the shirt. Something was off. Extremely off. Half-way into the building against a wall, Ronan flipped on some lights to dissipate the early morning shadows. A pair of dark pants lay where they’d fallen beside the ornate bar on the other side of the stalls.

One horse blew air past its lips from a stall by Ronan’s office. The rest of the stalls seemed uncommonly empty. “Where’s the stock at?” Amelia had always loved the James’s family brand of horses. They were uncommonly strong like quarter-horses but beautiful and wild – even after being broken.

Ronan walked further into the barn, talking over his shoulder. “At the vet.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. Ronan refused to pay Slate for veterinary services because they couldn’t stand each other. A woman between two men could ruin any possible friendship that might have been there. Poor Kelsey hadn’t seen either of them coming.

“I have to tell you, this place isn’t as clean as I remember it.” Amelia followed Ronan, absently glancing around the interior. He’d never replaced the ugly green paint. Something he and their dad had put in together a month before their parents had died. 

Ahead of her, Ronan peeked into the middle stall on the left and stopped. He leaned his arm on the door post and inhaled long and slow.

Instinct held Amelia back from joining him there.

He glanced at her, disgust marring his features. “Come on, Amelia, you might want to see this.”

But something told her she didn’t.

“Amelia?” Robbie’s voice bounced off the wood and cement, reaching her with a surreal boom at the end, like coming through a long tube.

She stepped forward. What was Robbie doing there in Ronan’s barn? She had to be hallucinating. When she got home, she’d call up Becky and ask if that was a side-effect of some cases of hypothermia.

A rushing in her ears almost drowned out Ronan’s wife’s reply. “My bitchy sister-in-law is here? Oh, hell. Good morning, Ronan.”

“Hello, dear wife. Yes, it’s me. And I have a witness this time.” Ronan motioned to Amelia who stared at him with her mouth half-open.

Against her will, her feet moved up and down, forward, ever forward. Dang it, she wanted them to turn and flee, take her far away. Where was her fight-or-flight instinct right then? When survival was more important than ever?

Hurried rustling and some oomphs and grunts met her disbelieving ears as she approached the opening to the stall.
Not Bethany… please, not Robbie and Bethany…

She turned and looked, taking in the full scene as it paused like a horrible Jane Austen movie. Clothing in disarray, Robbie stood beside the romantic bed in the corner made with a pile of blankets and filled to the brim with the most seductively-dressed Bethany that Amelia had ever seen.

Inhaling sharply, Amelia tightened her shoulders and stomach from releasing the tears and sobs that crashed around her. So much for Robbie and her. So much for… whatever she’d hoped for. Her ribs couldn’t contain the pain of her heart ripping in two. Being abandoned for so long, she should’ve known he didn’t care, should’ve been prepared to be hurt again, and should’ve done something to protect herself. But nope. She blamed her damn naïve self on trusting anyone, ever.

Ronan looked at her, sympathy softening the harsh angles of his face. “Still want to stick to your story that you and Robbie are married? If I were you, I’d ditch his ass as fast as possible. Come home and let’s get Mac raised the right way and ready to take over Lacey Caverns… and soon Lonely Rivers, too.” He reached behind her, wrapping his arm around her back and pulling her into an awkward embrace. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Ames. I can have my lawyers draw up marriage dissolution paperwork along with my own divorce papers, if you’d like.”

Robbie stepped forward, his eyes focused on her. But Amelia couldn’t look at him or his tousled hair or sheet-creased cheek peppered with stubble. She turned to the side, out of Ronan’s arms and further away from Robbie as well. Robbie moved to stand beside her but didn’t touch her. “Oh, man, Amelia. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d—”

“Be here? Why does that matter? Would you have screwed my wife in a different place? This was classy by the way.” Ronan’s bitter laugh ricocheted back to mock them. 

Robbie spun toward him. “No, damn it.”

“I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?” Ronan’s biting tone silenced everyone in the room.

Amelia swallowed the hurt and hope Robbie had crushed. “I’ve seen...” She lifted her head and walked fast – when she wanted to run like hell – from the barn. Ronan always left his keys in the center console and Amelia had no qualms hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. He’d have to pick his truck up later.

She needed to get the hell out of there. What had she seen? Oh what did that mean for her son? For her?

Run, Amelia! Run!