Читать книгу That Night In Texas - Joss Wood - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTelling a guy he had a child was a hell of a way to clear a room.
Vivi looked at the door Camden had slammed closed, half expecting him to reappear and start yelling. When twenty seconds passed, then thirty, then a minute, she finally released the breath she was holding. While she was better at confrontation now than she’d been years ago, she still didn’t like to argue. The same, so she’d heard, couldn’t be said for Camden McNeal. All her research—and she’d researched him to death—pointed to the fact that Cam McNeal, oil rigger turned venture capitalist, treated business like a boxing ring and went in swinging. He was tough, demanding and controlling, and he didn’t take any prisoners, ever.
Neither, it was reported, did he suffer fools. The business press called him a blizzard, cool and deadly, but Vivi thought they’d mischaracterized him. He wasn’t cold. Beneath that icy facade resided a passionate man. A man fully in control of his volatile emotions. But cold and unfeeling? Oh, hell, no.
Vivi pulled her knees up and groaned as every muscle in her body protested. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, but she was sure there was no chance of sleep anytime soon, since she knew she hadn’t seen the last of Cam this morning. Instinctively she understood that Cam had only left the room so that she wouldn’t witness his anger, disappointment or shock. Or all three. He obviously needed some time to regain his famous control. That was okay; she needed to regain hers, too.
Three years and he was still earth-shatteringly sexy.
Vivi heard the ding of an incoming message and looked at Cam’s smartphone, which she still held in her hand. Swiping her thumb across the screen, she saw the dial pad and impulsively dialed Joe’s number, needing to connect with the only person she considered family.
After a brief explanation to Joe about the accident, Vivi told him that she was fine and that he didn’t need to rush across town.
“But how are you going to get home? Pick up Clem?” Joe demanded.
“I have someone here,” Vivi admitted. When she’d made Camden Clem’s guardian and her emergency contact she’d never considered that he might actually need to be called. “Camden McNeal.”
Joe waited a beat before snapping out his question. “And why is Cam McNeal with you, Vivianne?”
Here came the hard part.
He’d been the first man she’d noticed on entering that hole-in-the-wall bar three blocks down from her mom’s house in Tarrin, a small town west of Houston. He was lounging on a bar stool, watching her with bright blue eyes. His light brown hair had been longer then, touching the collar, though now it was expensively cut. His tall, muscular body seemed harder now, as was his attitude.
“So, I’ve told you a little of my history with my parents,” she began.
“A little, mostly that you were fed a steady diet of anti-government and end-of-the-world BS from your father and you’re-going-to-fry-if-you-don’t-listen propaganda from your mother,” Joe said, always impatient with intolerance.
“I was an only child with ridiculously overprotective parents, so college was out of the question. Dating—unless it was arranged through my mother—was frowned upon, and socializing outside of their tight social circle was not acceptable. Drinking and dancing and sex? Hell, no.”
“And hell, as you were frequently told, was where you’d end up if you flirted with those vices.”
“I told you that my dad died and that the family money was placed into a trust, controlled by lawyers who were my dad’s friends, and every decision we made had to go through the lawyers. I was so angry.”
“I’m still not seeing the connection to Camden McNeal.”
“After leaving the lawyers and my mother after the funeral, I ended up in a bar, and later, in Cam McNeal’s bed. And with his baby in my belly.
“My mother was angry with me for embarrassing her on the day they buried my father, but she was incandescently furious when I told her I was pregnant. Basically, she disowned me,” Vivi explained.
“Can I track her down and give her a piece of my mind?”
Vivi smiled at Joe’s outrage. God, she loved this man.
“You must’ve been so scared, Viv.”
“I was, but I also felt empowered. And free.”
She’d faced a tough, uncertain future, but it was her future, one she’d created. “I thought about contacting Clem’s father but I didn’t know his surname and had no idea where he worked.”
But more than that, she hadn’t wanted to put herself under anyone’s control again. This was her life and she was responsible for herself and her baby. She’d made this bed and she was determined to show herself that she could sleep in it.
“I relied on public assistance and bounced from job to job, first juggling pregnancy and then a tiny baby as I tried to earn enough to support us both. Then I found work with you.”
Those first few months after Clem’s birth had been super tough, but life had improved when she found steady work as a dishwasher at The Rollin’ Smoke. She’d met Charlie, the widowed mother of one of the servers, who ran a childcare service from home. Finally, after placing Clem with someone who was both affordable and loving, her confidence had grown. She’d pestered Joe to both teach and promote her, and the result was that she’d risen through the ranks at a record pace. Line chef in three months, sous chef in six, head chef within the next year.
“And sometime, I’m guessing recently, you bumped into Cam again. Probably at the restaurant, since Ryder Currin introduced him to my place.”
Nail on head. “Three months ago, I was off duty but I went into Rollin’ with Clem at lunchtime to check on my kitchen. You grabbed Clem and took her into the restaurant to meet the customers.”
“She is the grandchild of my heart.”
Vivi felt the hard ball of emotion clog her throat. “I looked through the kitchen window and saw two men sitting at the coveted VIP table.” And just like earlier, she’d found her head swimming and her throat constricting. She’d looked into that hard, sexy face and realized that her baby’s dad was eating at her restaurant.
“I asked Gemma who he was.”
She still remembered the words from the waitress. “The younger hottie is Camden McNeal, venture capitalist. He’s one of those guys who went from rags to fabulous riches in a heartbeat.” Gemma had added, grinning, “So sexy.”
He was. And his sexiness was the reason for the little girl she loved more than life itself.
“Since then I’ve wrestled with whether to contact McNeal, whether he had the right to know that he had a daughter,” she told Joe. “One day I’d decide it was the right thing to do, and the next I was convinced that it was better to leave him in the dark.”
They’d met when they were both poor, both in different places in their lives. They’d moved on from the people they were then, thank goodness, and while she was proud of her achievements, his rise to success had been stratospheric. According to her research—Google, mostly—he routinely refused personal interviews; it was reported that he was cynical, controlling and suspicious, not one for making friends easily.
“I kept thinking that if I showed up on his doorstep with Clementine, he’d accuse me of being a gold digger trying to cash in on his wealth. Or he’d want to take control of the situation. And of Clementine.”
“Well, that’s a moot point now, isn’t it?” Joe said, as blunt as always.
Maybe, but neither option was remotely acceptable. She didn’t want his money. Nothing was more important to her than making it on her own, and she certainly wouldn’t give Camden McNeal any say over her or her daughter’s life. She’d lived under her parents’ control, and she wasn’t ever going back to that.
And then there was the little problem of her still being utterly, completely, ridiculously attracted to him. As much, or more, than she was three years ago. She just needed to see a photo of him online and her lungs constricted and heat rushed between her legs.
Not something she wanted to think about when she was having a conversation with the person who’d stepped into her father’s shoes.
“But at the end of the day, Camden is, apart from my mother, Clem’s only biological relative. I was so worried that, if something happened to me, Margaret would petition the courts for custody of Clem.”
“I’d would’ve fought her,” Joe assured her.
He would and she loved him for it. “But, because you are close to seventy, Joe, and my mom is only in her early fifties, and a woman, she would’ve won. Even if I gave Clem to you, and I wanted to do that, I was told it would be easily challenged given your age and the fact that we’re not related. On legal advice, I updated my will to give Cam custody and put him as my emergency contact number in case something bad happened.”
And it so very nearly had.
And now, Camden McNeal, that gorgeous, billionaire badass, was back in her life.
* * *
He was the one thing he’d never thought he’d be.
In the hallway outside Vivi’s room, Cam lifted his hand and saw his shakes. As a young kid, six or seven years old, when his dad left him alone, for days on end, his hand had never shaken. When he’d scaled buildings and crept past sleeping couples to steal wallets and jewelry, he’d shrugged off the nerves and kept his cool. The day he was arrested and heard that his father wouldn’t bail him out, his hands hadn’t trembled.
He was a dad, he had a kid...
Life had finally found the one thing, the only thing, that terrified him. Cam rested his head on the wall and fought the urge to slide down its smooth surface. Slapping his palms on the cool surface, he locked his knees and pulled in rhythmic breaths, desperately looking for control, for a measure of calm.
He had no idea how to be a father, a parent responsible for someone else. His father had only occasionally remembered to feed and clothe him. He’d taught him how to roll a cigarette, to spot a mark, to lift a wallet. He’d taught him to fight dirty, to run from cops and social workers, to distrust the system. He’d been more like a delinquent older brother than a father, and consequently all Cam knew about fatherhood was how not to be one. Had Vivi recognized that in him? Was that why she never informed him of his daughter? Clementine. Clem.
He had a daughter. Cam blinked furiously, annoyed at his moist eyes. Okay, she was only two, but he was no longer completely alone. There was another person in the world he was linked to. She was young and defenseless, but that link existed, it meant something.
Cam rubbed his hands over his face and pushed his fingers through his hair. What now? He couldn’t prop up this wall for the rest of the day. At some point he’d have to go in and face Vivi, deal with the situation he found himself in. Cam glanced at Vivi’s closed door and sighed. He also needed to deal with his instant, hot-as-hell attraction that was arcing between him and the mother of his child. Supposed mother of her child. Cam grabbed on to that cynical thought and held on with every fiber of his being. He just had her word that he was her kid’s dad. She could be scamming him, running a con. If he was sensible, he’d walk out of here right now and demand a paternity test. He should wait for scientific proof...
No, that wasn’t going to happen. He was upset, confused, utterly side-slapped by this news, but his gut instinct told him that she was telling the truth. He was a daddy.
God.
Cam watched a doctor and nurse walk toward him. They stopped at Vivi’s door and handed him a harried greeting. They entered her room and he followed them in, standing at the back of the room out of their way as they approached the bed. Over their heads he saw her resigned expression.
“I’m fine,” Vivi firmly stated, but Cam heard the tremor in her voice. “I need sleep and a couple of painkillers and I’ll be fine.”
“I went to med school and studied for a dozen years. Do you not think I should make that call?” the female doctor replied, amused. She jerked her head in his direction. “Someone you know?”
Vivi’s eyes collided with his and Cam felt the air leave his lungs. God, she was so damn beautiful. He’d thought so three years ago but there was a strength to her now, a maturity that had been missing in that girl he’d slept with so long ago. Back then she’d been a fun night, a diversion, a break from a hard job and constant loneliness. Lying in that hospital bed, she was now...what? He didn’t know.
“I know him,” Vivi said, resigned. “When can I get discharged?”
The doctor examined her eyes as the nurse wound a blood pressure cuff around her arm. The doctor pushed and prodded Vivi’s slim body before stepping back and folding her arms. “I will only discharge you if you promise not to drive.”
Frustration flashed in Vivi’s eyes. “My car is, I presume, waterlogged and at the bottom of a gully, so I won’t be driving anywhere. I’ll catch a cab or Uber.”
The thought of her being trapped in that car iced his veins and Cam placed his palm on the wall to anchor him. He couldn’t imagine a world, didn’t want to imagine a world, that didn’t have Vivi Donner in it. A surprising thought, given that he’d never expected to see her again.
Vivi released a small moan and Cam’s eyes flew back to her distressed face. He quickly moved to her side, placing his hand on her thigh. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“No car, no money, no phone.” Vivi bit her bottom lip and he saw fine dots of blood appear there because she’d reopened her cut.
“Stop biting your lip.” Her eyes flashed at his order and he noticed irritation replacing fear. Good, he could work with anger; he’d couldn’t cope with tears. “I have a car and money. I’ll get you home.” He ignored Vivi’s annoyed squawk and looked at the doctor. “Since she has a concussion, must I wake her up every couple of hours?”
The doctor shook her head. “Not necessary. I’d suggest rest and lots of it.” She directed a stern glance at Vivi. “You had a nasty experience, Miss Donner, but I also suspect that you’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately.”
Vivi wouldn’t meet her eyes, so Cam asked for an explanation.
“Ms. Donner is a bit thinner than I’d like, and those blue stripes under her eyes aren’t the result of the accident but nights without sleep. She’s also slightly anemic.”
Vivi looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. “I am the single mother of an energetic toddler who isn’t fond of sleep.”
And just like that, both the nurse and doctor turned sympathetic. The nurse rested a hand on Vivi’s shoulder and sighed. “Oh, honey.” Without doubt, she was a mother, too, Cam thought.
The doctor shook her head. “I have a three-year-old and a six-year-old and a husband, and all three exhaust me. I feel your pain.”
Cam thought they were laying it a little thick. How difficult could a two-year-old be? But Cam was bright enough to realize that if he disagreed, he might be verbally skewered by three mothers. Better to keep quiet. Safer, too.
“The point is,” he said, pulling them back to the matter at hand, “I will take Vivi home.”
Vivi looked mutinous. “That’s not going to work for me.”
“Well, it’s the only way you’re going to get discharged,” the doctor told her. “No driving for twenty-four hours, plenty of rest and no physical activity.”
Cam’s eyes met Vivi’s; her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a pretty pink. Sure, his thoughts kept wandering to the sex they’d shared, but because she’d suffered a smack to her head, he hadn’t figured hers had, too. But that blush, spreading down her neck and disappearing under her hospital gown, told him a completely different story. Well, good.
No! Hell. They didn’t need the complication of still being ridiculously attracted to each other. And acting on that attraction, which he really wanted to do, would just be stupid.
He’d made a point of not acting stupid, but damn, this time it was hard.
He saw confusion in her eyes, noticed her embarrassment. Cam hauled in a breath, saw that they were alone—when had the medical staff left?—and sat down on the edge of her bed. Unable to resist touching her, he allowed the tips of his fingers to trace the fine line of her jaw. “Hell of a day, huh?”
Vivi nodded. She started to pull her bottom lip between her teeth, but he tapped her lip and she let go. “You’ve really got to stop doing that.”
“I know.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He shouldn’t be doing this, but he needed just one taste, one kiss. He needed to know whether she tasted as good as he remembered, or whether his imagination had played tricks on him for the past three years. One kiss couldn’t hurt...
Could it?
Under his lips, hers were soft and silky. Holding her jaw, Cam moved his lips across hers, breathing in her scent, sweet flowers touched by dark waters. Keeping his kiss gentle because of the cut on her lip, he inhaled her breath and tasted her essence. He remembered her as being hot and sexy, but this woman, this new version of the girl he’d met, held more depth, was a hundred times more interesting. Her lips parted, and his tongue slid past her teeth and he tasted sweetness and sin, vulnerability and strength. Determination and independence masking a ribbon of fear.
Fear? What was she scared of?
He pulled back, looked into her eyes and saw that same emotion reflected in her eyes. A second later it was gone, shut up and put away. Vivi Donner was almost as good at masking her emotions as he was. The realization both intrigued and fascinated him, and the fact that he was both intrigued and fascinated worried him.
Complications weren’t his thing.
Vivi swallowed and looked toward the door. “So, I guess if I want to get out of here, you’re my ride.”
Okay, she was ignoring the kiss, their crazy attraction. Maybe he should do the same. Yet his heart thumped when she picked up his wrist so that she could look at his watch. “If I can get home, I’d be able to sleep for a few hours before I need to collect Clem. Do you want to meet her?”
His heart bounced off his chest. He’d just found Vivi again and didn’t know if he was up to meeting his daughter today. He hadn’t had time to process any of this, and didn’t think he even could.
“It was just a suggestion, Cam. You don’t have to meet her if you don’t want to. I’m not asking anything from you...not your time or money or input. So, really, no hard feelings if you say no.”
Except that she would think that he was a wuss, that he wasn’t man enough to acknowledge his child. If he walked away and ignored the situation, Vivi would think he was weak and selfish and a bit of a man-child. And she’d be right.
Suck it up, McNeal. She’s had a near-death experience, escaped from a sinking car, got smacked around by river detritus and ended up in a hospital. If she can cope with all that, you can meet a two-year-old.
An ordinary two-year-old, maybe. His daughter? He wasn’t so sure.
Vivi tipped her head to the side. “Getting a bit too real, huh?”
He thought about laughing her statement away—he could be charming when he chose to be—but decided to tell the truth. “Too real. Utterly surreal.”
She twisted her lips and then her hands. “I suppose you want an explanation.”
“Do you not think I deserve one?”
Vivi lifted one shoulder, as if silently admitting that she had her doubts. Dammit, what did she want from him? He dealt in black-and-white; gray was his least favorite color in the world. Cam was about to demand that she start explaining, when he caught her touching the back of her head, trying hard to contain her wince. He skimmed his eyes over the bruises on her arms and stood up, gripping the edge of the sheet.
He looked at Vivi. “I just want to see what we’re dealing with. May I?”
At her nod, he pulled down the sheet. Her gown ended midthigh and she had a scrape on her thigh, a bruised knee and another bruise on her shin. God, she looked like she’d been hit by a tank.
Instead of protesting his examination of her body, Vivi just put her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. “I fell pregnant, but I didn’t know your name—”
She didn’t need to do this now. She shouldn’t have to do this now. Feeling suddenly protective of her, he realized her explanations could wait until she felt stronger. Or when she was, at the very least, pain free.
He bent down and surprised himself by placing his lips on her forehead. This crazy situation would still be there. “Not now, Viv. Let’s get you home.”
Vivi forced her eyes open. “I’d like to be home, clean and be cuddling with Clem.”
Cam nodded. “Lie there and rest and let me see if I can make that happen.”
He wanted to take her home to his place, not hers, a place where he knew he could protect her.
Cam rolled his shoulders, irritated with himself. The worst was over, what more could happen to her? Why was he so reluctant to leave her alone?
* * *
Press Release.
For Immediate Release.
Body Discovered at Texas Cattleman’s Club, Houston Construction Site.
Yesterday, at 7:40 a.m., members of the Houston Police Department and emergency medical responders responded to a report of a male victim found at the west Houston construction site of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, about two miles west of Highway 10. Upon the arrival of first responders, the male was pronounced deceased at the scene.
At this time the identity of the male is unknown. According to the medical examiner, the cause of death is due to a gunshot wounds to the chest. Houston Police Department detectives are investigating with the assistance of the district attorney’s office. Identification of the victim and an accurate time of death are still to come. A case of homicide has been opened and no further information is currently available.
If anyone has information regarding this incident they are asked to contact...
Glass-wall offices meant eyes were on me, so I skimmed over the media release. Nothing in my face or my demeanor reflected my inner turmoil or hinted at my racing heart. I looked at my fingers, pleased to see that they weren’t shaking. I pushed the paper to one side. Reading media releases has been a long-standing habit and one I am grateful for.
Reading the morning papers is another habit I’ve cultivated, and I pulled the pile toward me, and skimmed their pages for more information. Speculation was rampant but there was not much more to be gleaned. It was the same information, padded and puffed, but nothing new and nothing to link me to the murder at the Texas Cattleman’s Club building site.
Thank God.
Determined not to miss anything—the smallest bit of knowledge might be the difference between me meeting a needle while wearing prison orange or not—I skimmed the short article buried on page 3 of a local newspaper and frowned. Taking a breath, I read it again, slower this time.
The victim has not been identified and the time of death is unknown. Like so many other properties in the city, the construction site experienced extensive flooding thanks to the once-in-a-generation storm, making identification of the victim or forensics difficult.
That statement wasn’t accurate. I thought back to that morning, remembering the sharp snap of the pistol firing, the blood on a white shirt, his wide, terrified eyes as I stood over him, his life draining away. For insurance, I stared into his eyes and pulled the trigger again, sending another bullet into his already mutilated chest cavity. Fighting my panic, I acted fast and removed his wallet, his distinctive watch, the bracelets on his thick wrist, anything that might make identifying him easier. Dropping the concrete slab on his face had been added insurance, because the more time I put between his death and his identification, the better. I never imagined that I would get a helping hand from Mother Nature. The recent flood was a blessing in disguise. For me, at least.
I hid my smile and power-read through the rest of the article. Nobody working on the Perry Construction crew is talking; one worker hinted at a company gag order being in place.
At my suggestion, Sterling Perry sent an email to the construction foreman, telling him in no uncertain terms that any worker caught talking to the press would be summarily dismissed, and it pleased me that his orders were being obeyed. Excellent, since I wasn’t in the mood to follow up on the issue, mostly because my interest might raise suspicion and I needed to fly under the radar. Becoming a suspect would be intolerable and jail simply wouldn’t suit me.
After folding the newspaper into a perfect rectangle, I placed it on top of the pile of other precisely folded papers and leaned back in my chair. So far, so good. Nobody suspected me, nobody ever will. Thank God, because I still have a score, or three or four, to settle with Sterling Perry and his family. And with his archenemy Ryder Currin...
In my case, the enemy of my enemy was not my friend...
