Shadow Lover (19 page)

She would have been much better off sleeping with an imposter. She'd been so certain he was lying, and she'd hated him, but she'd responded to him against her will.

Maybe she'd simply been reacting to the buried longing she'd always felt for Alex. Or maybe he simply knew how to be seductive.

It didn't matter. She knew, to her eternal regret, just how seductive he could be. How very dangerous. He'd told her she could consider it penance, for trying to kill him.

Surely penance wasn't supposed to be so painfully sweet?

She wrapped herself in one of the thick robes, stepping into the small, well-equipped gym. There was a low, padded table in one corner that had once been used for physical therapy when Sally had broken her hip. It would be comfortable enough for a few hours' sleep. No one would think to look for her in here, unless George decided he needed some early-morning calisthenics.

If he came anywhere near her he'd regret it.

She curled upon the foam mattress, pulling the terrycloth robe around her. Her wet hair spread out on the plastic cover, and she shut her eyes, tucking her hand beneath her face. She'd figure out how to deal with things tomorrow. For the rest of the night, at least, she was safe.

Chapter 12

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C
arolyn gave up trying to sleep at
five a.m.
The house was blessedly still and silent—the
MacDowells
as a rule slept late, and
Constanza
and Ruben didn't leave their apartment until after eight. She resisted the impulse to head back into the shower. If she hadn't washed Alexander
MacDowell
from her body, then it would only take time to wear him away. She could be patient.

She dressed
hurriedly,
finger-combed her tangled, still-damp hair, and went in search of coffee. The state-of-the-art machine was already set to do its thing, and within minutes she had a mug of rich Indonesian coffee.

She wandered over to the breakfast nook that no one ever used, looking out over the winter-dead gardens and the fields that sloped down toward the
Connecticut River
. The late-spring snow had vanished as suddenly as it had come, and there was even a blush of rose on the bare trees.

She drained her mug,
then
refilled it. She was going to need all the caffeine she could get this morning, and anything else that would help her get through the day. And figure out how she was going to deal with the reality of Alex
MacDowell
.

The house felt different. For so many months there had just been the four of them—Ruben and
Constanza
in their self-contained apartment; Sally in her hospital bed, slowly dying; Carolyn in the room upstairs, Alex's old room. Alex's old bed, which she'd finally shared with him.

Now there wasn't a spare room in the rambling house. Each bed was filled with
MacDowells
. Some she loved, some she tolerated, some she casually despised. There were too many
MacDowells
in the house, and she had to get away.

The French doors to Sally's rooms were shut, the curtains drawn. Carolyn didn't even bother to knock quietly. She opened the door, slipping inside, inhaling the unmistakable hospital smell as her eyes sought out the huddled shape of Sally
MacDowell
lying in her bed.

"It's about time you came in here," Sally said in a remarkably strong voice. "I heard the noise in the kitchen and I figured it had to be you. No one else in this family ever gets up before sunrise if they can help it. And none of them are capable of making their own coffee."

"It's past sunrise. The sun comes up early this time of year," she said calmly, moving closer to the bed, grateful for the subdued lighting. She couldn't have handled anything glaring at that moment. "And
Constanza
had the coffee set. All I had to do was push a button."

Sally snorted. "I doubt the rest of that bunch could do that much. Except maybe Alex. He would have had to learn to take care of himself during those lost years." She peered at her through the dim light. "Come and sit by me, Carolyn. I haven't seen enough of you the last few days. I can't sleep, despite all the damned drugs they keep pumping through my system. I need someone to talk to."

"You have a houseful of family," she said, taking the chair by the bed.

"It's your family, too. I suppose it's a waste of time to ask you to get me a cup of that coffee. It smells divine."

"You haven't been allowed caffeine for five years, Aunt Sally," she said.

"It's not my heart that's going to kill me—we all know that. I don't see why I can't indulge myself for the last few months."

Carolyn didn't quite see why either, but it was a waste of time arguing with the medical people. "Sorry," she said. "Maybe I'd better take it away…" She started to rise, but Sally's strong voice stopped her.

"You stay put, young lady," she said. She squinted at her. "You look like holy hell."

Carolyn laughed. "So do you."

Aunt Sally chuckled. "That's one of the many things I love about you, Carolyn. You'll always tell me the truth, won't you? The others lie to
me,
say what they think will make me feel better. But you're honest."

"For what it's worth."

"Anyway, I have every excuse to look like hell. I'm seventy-eight years old and dying. You're thirty-one, healthy, and beautiful. You shouldn't look like someone ran you over with a tractor trailer."

Instinctively she put a hand to her face. "I don't really, do I?"

"No. As a matter of fact, you look like a woman who's just spent the night with a lover. Did you?"

"No." It was an honest answer, even if it skirted the edges a bit.

"You're not still seeing Bob, are you?"

"His name was Rob," Carolyn said patiently. "And no, we broke that off months ago."

"That's good. I never liked him. He was too nice for you."

Carolyn found she could still laugh. "You don't think I deserve someone nice? Thanks a lot."

"You deserve someone strong enough to take you on. A lot of people think you're a sweet, shy young woman, but they don't know you like I know you. Deep inside you have the heart of a
warrior.
You would have ended up eating Bob alive."

"Rob."

"Whatever. You need a real man, Carolyn. If you ever allowed yourself to find one I'd give you my blessing."

"And what's a real man? One who'll keep me barefoot and pregnant? Or one that'll just slap me around when I get mouthy?"

"You're not going to end up trailer trash, Carolyn. You didn't come from it, you won't end up there."

Carolyn stared at her in shock. "Where did I come from, Aunt Sally?"

Sally closed her eyes. "You know perfectly well, Carolyn. I've never made any secret of it. You were the daughter of a Swedish woman who used to work for us. She left us, got pregnant, and died when you were still a baby. I was always fond of
Elke
, and I decided to bring you into the family."

"So you've always said. What about my father?"

Sally managed a fragile shrug. "I knew
Elke
, and that was enough. She was a sweet, graceful, lovely young woman who happened to make a mistake. She paid for it, but there was no need for her child to suffer as well. Do we really have to go over all this again?"

"What makes you think I didn't come from a trailer park?" Carolyn persisted.

"Breeding always tells," she said lightly.

"I'm sure the people who live in trailer parks will be thrilled to hear that."

"Oh, don't go all bleeding-heart liberal on me," Sally said in a querulous voice. "I'm not in the mood for a political argument. In this life there are the haves and the have-nots. You're lucky enough to be one of the haves."

"No," Carolyn said. "I'm lucky enough to be brought up by one of the haves."

Sally smiled faintly. "If you don't have a proper appreciation of the power of large amounts of money, then I didn't do a very good job."

"Money isn't everything."

"Famous last words. It's refreshing to have someone in the family feel that way, no matter how misguided," Sally said. "I'm sure you're the only one. The others have an abiding passion for it. Except, perhaps, for Alex." She looked at Carolyn with deceptive sweetness. "Tell me what you think about him."

Alexander
MacDowell
was the very last thing on earth that Carolyn wanted to talk about. "I need more coffee," she said, but Sally held up a restraining hand. She had an IV tube attached to it, something Carolyn hadn't noticed before, and she had to fight back her sudden panic.

"I can count on you to be honest, Carolyn. To tell me the truth. Tell it to me now. Do you think he's really my son?" Her eyes were faintly glazed by the painkillers, and there was always the possibility that she wouldn't even remember this conversation. It didn't matter. Sally was right—Carolyn told the truth no matter what the consequences.

She could also do her best to avoid a direct answer. "I didn't realize you had any doubts, Sally."

"I don't. I know exactly who and what he is. I just wondered about you. You're observant and far less self-centered than the rest of my family. You see things that others miss. Do you think he's my son?"

She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. Not when she'd seen the truth so clearly. "He's the real Alex, Aunt Sally," she said after a moment. "I'm certain of it."

Sally's weary face creased in a peaceful smile. "I knew I could count on you, Carolyn. You wouldn't lie to me, and you wouldn't be wrong about something like this. When did you change your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know perfectly well you thought he was an imposter when he first showed up. Even at dinner last night you were looking at him like he was some sort of serial killer. What happened between you in the last few hours? Does it have anything to do with the mark on the side of your neck?"

She'd missed that in her inventory of love bites. She couldn't even remember when he'd done it, but then, most of last night was an unsettling blur. "You think he seduced me into believing him?"

"No, you're far too willful for that."

"I'm not willful!" she protested.

"Of course you are. Otherwise I couldn't bear to have you around me. And I doubt that he could have managed to seduce you if you still believed he was a fake."

"He didn't seduce me."

"You didn't sleep with him last night?" She could deny it on a technicality. There'd been no sleeping involved. "Life isn't that neat or simple," she said instead. "He's your son—I have no doubt about it whatsoever."

For a moment it seemed as if Sally would push her further, but then she nodded. "Thank God for you, Carolyn," she said gently. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be absolutely fine." Carolyn kept her voice brisk and unsentimental. "As a matter of fact, I was thinking of taking a little—"

"I don't think I've got much time left," Sally interrupted her with her customary ruthlessness.

Carolyn didn't move. "What do you mean?"

Sally smiled wryly. "You know perfectly well what I mean. The doctors said that at this point they could only make me comfortable. They're not even doing a very good job of that."

 
"I'm sure there's something we can do." She kept her panic under control. "Change your
medication,
see if there's some kind of experimental—"

"No. My time's running out. I know it, and my body knows it. I've faced it, and you need to, too. Don't make it harder for me, darling. I've had a better life than I deserve, and all I want is the people I love beside me. You and Alex."

You and Alex. Carolyn didn't flinch, but it was sheer willpower that kept her from reacting. "What about
Warren
? Patsy?"

"They've always been a pain in the rear and you know it. I don't think we can get rid of them, but at least you can keep them at a distance. I'm counting on you to protect me from them, Carolyn. I don't want Patsy's drunken
weepings
. And I certainly don't want
Warren
waxing philosophical. I need you here, Carolyn. I've never asked this before, I've always tried to urge your independence, but I'm asking now. Don't leave me."

There was nothing she could say. In all those years Sally had given to her and accepted very little in return. If she wanted Carolyn by her side she'd have her, even if she had to face Alex every day. "Of course I won't," she said.

Sally seemed to sink back into the mound of pillows, older, frailer than she had ever been before. On another woman the expression that drifted across her face might almost be smug, but Sally
MacDowell
never stooped to such petty levels. "And don't let Alex browbeat you. He's still a devil—anyone can see it. He's right—I should have protected you more when you were young. I should have put my foot down with him. As it was, I did too little, too late, and I lost him for half a lifetime. I've lived with the consequence of that mistake, paid for it. I won't let him bother you again. If he does, tell me."