Shades of Twilight (37 page)

“Lucinda's allergic to dogs,” Webb said wryly. He wasn't about to get one now and make her miserable for the few remaining months of her life.

Beshears sighed. “Guess that's why you never had one. Well, forget that idea.” They turned and walked back toward the elevators. “Miss Lucinda had another spell after y'all left.”

“I know. Gloria told me.”

“Stubborn old woman,” Beshears commented. They reached the elevators, and this time he punched the button. “Call me if Roanna remembers anything, 'cause otherwise we don't have jack shit.”

Roanna rested quietly the remainder of the day, though she was troubled by nausea. The doctor ordered a mild
medication to remedy that, and she ate most of her lunch, a light meal of soup and fruit. Lanette was surprisingly good in a sickroom, making sure Roanna had plenty of ice water in the bedside pitcher where she could reach it, and helping her to the bathroom when she needed to go. Otherwise she sat patiently, reading a magazine she'd bought in the gift shop, or watching television with the sound turned low.

Webb was restless. He wandered in and out of the room, moodily watching Roanna's face whenever he was there. Something about her manner bothered him more and more. She was
too
quiet. She had reason to be upset and alarmed, but instead she was showing very little response to anything. She avoided meeting his gaze and pleaded a headache when he tried to talk to her. The nurses checked on her regularly and said she was doing okay, her pupil responses were normal, but still he was uneasy.

He called back twice to check on Lucinda, but both times Lucinda answered the phone herself and wouldn't let him talk to Gloria. “I'm fine,” she said crossly. “Don't you think the doctor would have put me in the hospital if anything serious was wrong? I'm old, I have cancer, and my heart isn't what it used to be. What else do you think could be wrong? Frankly, I can't think why I'd bother even taking medicine for a cold.”

Both times she asked to talk to Roanna, and both times Roanna insisted that she felt well enough to talk. Webb listened to her side of the conversation and realized how guarded she sounded, as if she were trying to hide something.

Had she seen her assailant after all?

If so, why hadn't she told Beshears? There was no reason he could think of for her to keep something like that secret, no one she would be protecting. She was definitely hiding something, though, and he was determined to find out what. Not right now, not while she was still rocky, but as soon as she was home, he was going to sit her down in a private place for a little talk.

Lanette said she would stay overnight, and Webb finally
left at nine that night. He was back at six-thirty the next morning, though, ready to take Roanna home as soon as she was released. She was ready, already dressed in street clothes and looking much better than she had the day before. Twenty-four hours of enforced rest had done her a lot of good, even under the circumstances.

“Did you sleep any?" he asked.

She shrugged. “As much as anyone does in a hospital, I suppose.”

Behind her, Lanette met his eyes and shook her head.

It was after eight when the doctor came in and checked her pupil responses, then smiled and told her to go home. “Take it easy for about a week,” he said, “then see your family doctor for a checkup.”

Webb drove them home then, easing over every bump and railroad track in an effort not to jar her head. Everyone at home at the time came out to meet her, and his plan to have a private talk with her was soon demolished. He didn't have a chance to be alone with her all day long. She was promptly put to bed, though she complained a bit irritably that she would rather be in her chair, but nothing would satisfy Lucinda except bed rest. Lucinda and Gloria fussed over her, Bessie was in and out at least ten times asking if she was comfortable, and Tansy left her kitchen domain to personally bring up the meal trays she had prepared with Roanna's favorites. Even Corliss stirred herself to visit and uncomfortably ask if she was all right.

Webb kept watch, knowing he'd get his chance.

It didn't come until late that night, when everyone else had gone to bed. He waited in the darkness, watching the veranda, and as he had expected, it wasn't long before a light came on in the next room.

He knew her veranda doors were locked, because he'd locked them himself before leaving her room the last time. He went out into the hallway, where the lights had been left burning at night since Roanna had been hurt, and quietly entered her room.

She had gotten out of bed and was once again ensconced
in that huge, soft-looking chair, though she wasn't reading. He supposed her head still hurt too much for her to do any reading. Instead she'd turned on her television, with the sound so low he could barely hear it.

She looked around with a guilty expression when the door opened. “Caught you,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him.

Immediately he caught a hint of uneasiness in her face, before she smoothed her expression to blankness. “I'm tired of being in bed,” she explained. “I've rested so much I'm not in the least bit sleepy.”

“I understand,” he said. She'd been in bed for two days, no wonder she was sick of it. “That isn't what I wanted to talk about.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands. “I made a fool of myself day before yesterday. It won't happen again.”

So much had happened since then that for a moment he stared blankly at her, then realized she was talking about what had happened when they were riding. He'd been a clumsy idiot, and typically, Roanna was taking the blame for it.

“You didn't make a fool of yourself,” he said harshly, walking over to the veranda doors to check them again, just to make certain they were locked. “I didn't want to take advantage of you, and I handled it all wrong.” He stood there, watching her reflection in the glass. “But that's something we'll talk about later. Right now, I want to know what it is you aren't telling the sheriff.”

She kept her gaze on her hands, but he saw how still she went. “Nothing.” He could see the guilt, the discomfort, even in the reflection.

“Roanna.” He turned around and went over to her, squatting down in front of the chair and taking her hands in his. She was sitting in what was evidently her favorite position, with her feet pulled up onto the seat and tucked her under nightgown. He looked at the bandage on her head rather than the shadowy peaks of her nipples poking against the white cloth, because he didn't want anything to distract
him from what he wanted to find out, and just being close to her was bad enough. “You can fool the others, but they don't know you the way I do. I can tell when you're hiding something. Did you see who hit you? Do you remember more than you're telling?”

“No,” she said miserably.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing—”

“Ro,” he said warningly. “Don't lie to me. I know you too well. What are you hiding?”

She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth, and her golden brown eyes lifted to him, filled with a distress so intense he almost reached out for her in comfort. “I walk in my sleep,” she said.

He stared at her, astounded. Whatever he'd been expecting, that wasn't it. “What?”

“I'm a sleepwalker. I guess that's part of the reason I have insomnia,” she explained in a soft tone, looking down again. “I
hate
waking up in strange places, not knowing how I got there, what I've done, if anyone has seen me. I only do it when I'm in a deep sleep, so—”

“So you don't sleep,” he finished. He felt himself shattering inside as he realized the sheer enormity of the burden she carried, the pressure under which she lived. God, how did she stand it? How did she function? For the first time, he sensed the slender core of pure steel in her. She wasn't little, needy, insecure Roanna any longer. She was a woman, a Davenport, Lucinda's granddaughter, with her share of the Davenport strength. “You were sleepwalking night before last.”

She inhaled deeply. “I must have been. I was so tired, I went to sleep as soon as I got in bed. I don't remember anything until I woke up in the hall with a splitting headache and you and Lucinda leaning over me. I thought I
had
fallen, though I've never had any accidents before when I was sleepwalking.”

“Jesus.” He stared at her, shaken by the image that came to mind. She had walked up to the burglar like a lamb to
slaughter, not seeing him even though her eyes had been open. Sleepwalkers
looked
awake, but they weren't. Possibly the burglar even thought she could identify him. Attempted burglary and assault weren't crimes that warranted murder to avoid arrest, but she could be in danger anyway. Not only were new locks going on everywhere, as well as an alarm system that would wake the dead if there was an unauthorized intrusion, but he would make damn certain everyone in the county knew she had a concussion and didn't remember anything about the incident. An article about the attempted burglary had been in the paper, and as a followup, he would have that information printed as well.

“Why didn't you tell the sheriff that you walk in your sleep?”

“Lanette was there,” she said, as if that were reason enough.

It was, but it took him a moment to think it through. “No one knows, do they?”

She gave a slight shake of her head, then winced and stopped the motion. “It's embarrassing, knowing that I wander around in my nightgown, but it's more than that. If anyone knew …”

Again, it didn't take a genius to follow her thoughts. “Corliss,” he said grimly. “You're afraid the little bitch would play nasty tricks on you.” He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands, feeling the slender, elegant bones just under the skin.

She didn't respond to that, just said, “It's better if no one knows.”

“She won't be here much longer.” He was glad he could make that promise.

Roanna looked startled. “She won't? Why?”

“Because I told her she'd have to move out. She can stay until Lucinda … She can stay for a few more months if she behaves herself. If she doesn't, she'll have to leave before then. Lanette and Greg will have to find another place to live, too. Greg makes good money, there's no excuse for them to be sponging off Lucinda the way they have.”

“I think living here was Lanette's decision, hers and Gloria's.”

“Probably, but Greg could have said no. I don't know about Brock. I've always liked him, but I didn't expect him to be a moocher.”

“Brock has a plan,” Roanna explained, and unexpectedly a faint smile touched her pale lips. “He's living here so he can save as much money as possible before he gets married. He's going to build his own house. He and his fiancée have already had an architect draw up the blueprints.”

Webb stared at her mouth, enchanted by that tiny, spontaneous smile. He hadn't had to coax that one out of her. “Well, at least that's a plan,” he grumbled to hide his reaction. “Gloria and Harlan are in their seventies; I'm not going to make them move. They can live here the rest of their lives if they want.”

“I know you don't want the house crammed with relatives,” she said. “I'll be moving out, too—”

“You aren't going anywhere,” he interrupted harshly, rising to his feet.

She looked at him in bewilderment.

“This is your home, damn it. Did you think I was trying to tell
you
to get out?“ He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, not just at the thought of her leaving, but that she had thought he would want her to.

“I'm just a distant cousin, too,” she reminded him. “How would it look for us to be living here together, even with Gloria and Harlan here? It's different now, because the house is so full, but when the others move out people will gossip if I don't, too. You'll want to get married again someday, and—”

“This is your home,” he repeated, grinding his teeth together in an effort to keep his voice down. “If one of us has to move out, I will.”

“You can't do that,” she said, shocked. “Davencourt will be yours. It wouldn't be right for you to leave just so I'll have a place to stay.”

“Haven't you ever thought that it should be yours?“ he
snapped, goaded beyond endurance. “You're the Davenport. Don't you resent the hell out of me for being here?”

“No. Yes.” She watched him for a moment, her eyes shadowed and unreadable as the words lay between them. “I don't resent you, but I envy you, because Davencourt is going to be yours. You were raised with that promise. You shaped your life around taking care of this family, this house. Because of that, you've earned it, and it should be yours. I knew when I went to find you in Arizona that Lucinda would change her will, giving everything to you again; we discussed it beforehand. But even though I envy you, I've never thought of Davencourt as mine. It's been home since I was seven years old, but it wasn't
mine
. It was Lucinda's, and soon it'll be yours.”

She sighed, and gingerly rested her head back against the chair. “I have a degree in business administration, but I got it only because Lucinda needed help. I've never been interested in business and finance, while you thrive on it. The only kind of work I've ever wanted to do is train horses. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in business meetings;
you
take that part of it, and welcome to it. I won't be left destitute, and you know it. I have my own inheritance.”

He opened his mouth and she held up her hand to stop him. “I'm not finished. When I'm no longer needed here—“ She paused, and he knew she was thinking of Lucinda's death, as he did. It was always there, looming in their future whether they could bring themselves to speak openly of it or not. “When it's over, I'm going to set up my own stables, my own house. For the first time something will belong to
me,
and no one else will ever be able to take it away.”