Читать книгу Her Unforgettable Fiance - Allison Leigh - Страница 11

She was late.

Brett would be by soon and Kate had yet to finish packing.

Yet where was she? In her room packing?

No.

She was standing in the wide arch of her father’s bedroom, struggling with the urge to turn around and leave. The room was dark, the heavy velvet drapes at the windows drawn against the morning sky.

She shouldn’t have left this task so late, she thought. Visiting her father when she felt so uneasy about going to Boston with Brett was probably not the wisest course, but he was her father. She was a Stockwell. And Caine, for all of his many faults, had drilled into his children the fact that Stockwells looked after their own.

She moistened her lips and entered the room. She quietly greeted Gunderson, her father’s primary nurse, and approached the hospital bed that was situated in the center of the cavernous room. Caine lay back against the white bedding. The muscular, wide-shouldered build that he’d passed on to his sons was wasting away on Caine; he looked much older than his sixty years.

She sat down on the chair beside his bed. His eyes were closed, but when she tentatively touched his hand, his head moved and he looked at her. “Hi, Daddy.”

If Caine recognized her, he gave no indication. She’d visited him every day—except when he’d still been strong enough to tell her to go away. She’d told herself that his actions then had been because his pride didn’t want her seeing him in his condition; but a part of her knew it was just as likely because he didn’t want to be bothered with her.

“Gunderson?” She looked over her shoulder at the man. “I’d like to be alone with my father for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

He looked as if he did mind, but he nodded after a moment and left.

Kate turned back to face her father. “I’m going to Boston this morning,” she told him. “With Brett Larson.”

She saw Caine’s lip curl, still managing to communicate his derogatory feelings without a word. He’d always treated Brett as if he weren’t fit to step foot on Stockwell property. He’d been appalled when, at only twenty years of age, Kate had announced flatly to him that she was planning to marry Brett.

She swallowed and gathered her thoughts. This wasn’t about Brett. It was about Caine’s lies. About finding their mother. “We’re going to find Madelyn,” she continued, and at that, Caine’s eyes flickered.

Though she’d promised herself that she was finished with tears, they burned, threateningly near. She’d cried more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in years. And now she struggled with tears and the need to escape. She’d always felt a sense of fearsome awe for her father; now she felt pity and a hundred other emotions too tangled to define. “We’ve been a disappointment to each other, Daddy. You and I, both. But I—”

Beneath her hand, his fingers curled. “Madelyn? You came back to me.”

She bit her lip, dropping her forehead onto their hands, praying for strength. It wasn’t the first time Caine had mistaken her for her mother. She heard a rustle behind her and knew that Gunderson had decided that she’d used up her allotment of privacy. She lifted her head and looked again at her father. “I just wanted to tell you about my plans.”

“Leave.” The word was an order, despite the sigh that shuddered through his frail form.

She wondered if it was because, in his delusions he’d taken her for Madelyn, or if he knew it was his daughter he was ordering away. Sadly, it mattered little. She rose and began to walk from the room. Yet when she reached the archway, she paused. Looking back at him. There were so many things she wished had been different.

She drew in a shuddering breath and walked back to Caine’s bedside. She gently smoothed his sheet over his chest. Then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Daddy. I do love you.”

She realized she was waiting for a response from him that would never come. Not even if he’d been physically able. Particularly if he’d been physically able.

Swallowing, Kate straightened and walked blindly from the room, stopping short at the sight of Mrs. Hightower.

“You have another call,” the other woman said, handing Kate a cordless phone, then turned on a silent heel and glided away.

Kate held the phone, feeling rather like a child who’d been caught receiving phone calls after curfew. She’d been fielding calls all morning, taking care of last minute details with her associates.

She sighed, glancing at her watch. Brett would be arriving any minute, and she still had to complete her packing.

She hurried to her bedroom, pushing the button on the phone as she went. “This is Kate Stockwell,” she greeted, half afraid it would be Brett, calling to tell her he’d changed his mind after all. But hearing the voice of Bobby Morales’s father, Kate knew that the garment bag, open and empty on her bed, would have to wait a little while longer.

She was late.

Brett looked at his watch again and climbed out of his car. He looked up at the set of windows on the second story that overlooked the front grounds.

Kate’s windows.

At least they used to belong to her bedroom suite, he amended silently, remembering the day when he’d climbed up there and sneaked through her window just to leave her a rose on her pillow. For all he knew now, she could be occupying one of the pool cabanas out back.

But as he watched the windows, he saw a shadow pass by them and knew by the tightening at the base of his neck that it was Kate. Probably packing stuff she’d never need, he thought, as impatient with himself for agreeing to let her go to Boston as he was with her for being late.

He glared at the upper-story windows. Very nearly reached over the car door to lay on the horn. He had no particular desire to go up into the house to collect her.

House.

The place was called Stockwell Mansion. And a mansion it was. An enormous, cold mansion inhabited by a coldhearted man.

There were few people that Brett could say he truly hated. But Caine Stockwell headed the list. And because of it, Brett knew he probably shouldn’t have accepted this particular case. He also knew that, because of it, he did accept this particular case.

He looked at his watch again then headed for the door. He didn’t bother ringing the bell. He’d had to stomach enough glares from Emma Hightower across the threshold over the past few days to last him a lifetime. She’d made it abundantly clear that she figured he should still be using the servants’ entrance in the rear.

Maybe it was high-handed, but Brett just pushed open the enormous door, and headed straight for the central staircase.

At the top, he turned unerringly toward the suite that Kate used to occupy. The door was opened and he could see her pacing back and forth across the thick carpet.

He also noticed the opened—but empty—suitcase sitting on the foot of her bed.

“Some things never change,” he said, halting in the doorway.

She whirled, clearly startled as she pressed the phone clutched in her hands to her chest. “And some things do,” she said, her tone frosty. “I should have locked my door.”

“You oughta know that locks don’t keep me out.”

“Breaking and entering. Sneaking up on people. Well, I suppose that’s what a professional snoop does.”

“Don’t turn up your pretty nose at that, princess,” he said smoothly. “My snooping is going to lead you to your mother.”

She frowned and turned away, tossing the phone onto the blinding white spread. “Mrs. Hightower didn’t tell me you were here already.”

“I didn’t see Mrs. Hightower.” He frowned at the way Kate was carefully arranging one thing at a time inside the suitcase from the neatly folded pile beside it on the bed. He walked over and joined her, reaching for the entire stack.

She gaped at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

In answer, he plunked the clothing, stack intact, right into the case. “It would take all day at the rate you were going. What else goes in here?” He glanced around, expecting to see a stack of suitcases sitting somewhere already. The occasional trips they’d taken together years ago had always been accompanied by a minimum of three suitcases too many. All he saw, however, was one soft-sided tote sitting atop the white upholstered chair near the French doors. Shoes and makeup, he’d bet. “Well? What else? This can’t be all.”

“Why can’t it?” She countered.

He eyed her and she huffed, striding into the dressing room. She came out a bare minute later, diligently avoiding his gaze as she dropped a bundle into the case. All he caught was a glimpse of pastels and lace and silk before she quickly jerked the flap into place and yanked the zipper around, closing it.

“All right, I’m ready. Satisfied?”

“I would be if you weren’t thirty minutes late.” He grabbed up the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder.

She picked up a small purse that matched the coral-colored dress she wore and retrieved the smaller tote from the white chair. Then it was she who waited for him. “Well? I thought you were in a hurry.”

“Where’s the rest?”

“Rest of what?”

“Your suitcases.”

She gave her tote bag an exaggerated jiggle, raising her eyebrows expressively. “Hello?”

“Come on, Kate. We don’t have time for this.”

“Then stop standing there, wasting more of it,” she said, sugar sweet, and glided past him in a tantalizing swish of fragrance. “Like I said, Brett. Some things have changed.”

He followed, thinking he’d be a helluva lot happier if he could count on that fact on every front, not just her apparent packing habits.

Outside the mansion, Kate stopped short at the sight of Brett’s car parked in the driveway at the base of the wide entry steps.

Naturally, she thought. Gleaming black, long, low and wicked, the car was everything that he’d long ago vowed to own. He took the tote bag from her and she watched him dump the bags into the minuscule back seat. With his black-brown hair, shadowed jaw, and dark glasses that he slid into place before opening the passenger door, he looked wholly unfamiliar to her.

Dark. Dangerous. A perfect complement to the powerful car he drove.

Unsettled at the thought, she sank into the passenger seat and busied herself with retrieving her own sunglasses from her narrow purse. The top of the car was down, and the sun was killing despite the early hour.

“Fasten your seat belt.”

Her lips tightened at the sharp pain that knifed through her. As if she needed a reminder? She shoved her sunglasses on her nose and snapped the safety belt into place. But still, Brett didn’t start the engine. She looked straight ahead through the windshield. “What are you waiting for now?”

“You’re awful edgy this morning.”

She propped her elbow on the sun-warmed door beside her, unable to prevent a quick glance his way. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He still didn’t reach for the ignition.

“Well,” she said flippantly, “don’t blame me if we miss the flight.”

“We’ve got time,” he said as he finally started the car and drove away from the house. “I told Maria to tack on an extra half hour since I know you’ve never been on time for anything in your life.”

She sat back, stung. “I had a few calls. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Need to cancel your next manicure and pedicure?”

Her jaw ached. “As a matter of fact, yes. I also called my personal trainer and my masseuse. Made sure they knew I wouldn’t be available for my daily sessions.”

“Are you going to be this difficult from here on out?”

“Only if you’re going to insult me every time you open your mouth.” She exhaled wearily. What was it about this man that made her lose all semblance of civility? “I didn’t mean to be late,” she admitted reluctantly. “The father of a patient phoned.”

“I thought you said you were between patients.”

“I am.” And she wasn’t at all pleased about failing.

Fortunately Brett didn’t pursue that point. She was still filled with frustration over the Morales case. She didn’t need Brett digging at it, making it worse.

The wind rushed around them as Brett drove down the long driveway. The impeccably manicured grounds of the estate seemed to stretch out forever, as green as green could be. Grass groomed. Oaks and sweet gum trees towering. She rarely paid the grounds much heed, and probably wouldn’t even today if it weren’t a far safer subject to study than Brett and his low-slung, edgy car.

Not even Cord, who changed cars nearly as often as he changed his shirt, had a car like this one, she thought. And it was as different from her sedate, hard-topped sedan as it could be.

It also ate up the miles to the airport. It seemed barely minutes had passed when Brett pulled into a small lot where he parked under a numbered awning. He pushed a button and the car’s top smoothly lifted into place.

“You always said you’d have a car like this one day,” Kate murmured, smoothing her hand along the seat. “Is it new?”

“Had it a few years, now.”

He came around and opened her door, then pulled out her luggage as well as his own bag.

She took her small tote from him and slid the strap over her shoulder as he locked the car. “How long is the flight to Boston?”

He shrugged. “A few hours or so.”

Kate hurried to keep up with him as he strode out of the private lot, his long legs eating up the distance. At five foot eight, she wasn’t short, but her stride was nothing compared to his. She finally quit trying, and walked at a more comfortable pace behind him as they entered the terminal.

He was arrogant and annoying and a workaholic.

And just because she’d cried her eyes out in front of him the day before as if she was eighteen instead of thirty, didn’t mean her opinion on that had changed one bit. And just because she’d been unable to find sleep until the wee hours that morning, didn’t mean that she’d been dwelling on it, either.

She quickened her pace again and nearly ran into Brett when he stopped to wait for her. He pointed her toward the check-in and stuck a piece of paper in her hand. “That’s our confirmation number. I need to make a call. Can you handle checking us in?”

She wouldn’t take offense. She wouldn’t. So what if she had to count to ten? At least her voice was even when she answered. “I think I can manage.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then left her with the bags and walked away. She could see that he’d produced a slender cellular phone from somewhere.

Whether he wore a suit as he had yesterday, or looked rangy in blue jeans and a striped rugby shirt the way he did today, he was always at work. That was Brett.

Sighing faintly, she turned around again and waited for her turn. It didn’t take long. She read off the number for the woman behind the desk, absently produced her driver’s license for identification and glanced around the busy terminal. She hadn’t flown anywhere in years. And she’d never been to Boston before.

“All right, ma’am. Your seat assignments have already been made—row thirty-two, with an aisle seat.” She pushed Kate’s bag and Brett’s duffel onto the conveyor belt behind her.

“Row thirty-two?” Kate focused. “That doesn’t sound like first class.”

The clerk blinked. “No, ma’am. You’re in coach.”

Kate shook her head, smiling. “I’m sorry. That won’t do.” Brett would have to wedge his wide shoulders and long legs into a coach seat with a shoehorn. “There must have been an error with the reservation or something. Is there any way we can upgrade to first class?”

“Well, yes, of course, ma’am. But the fare is considerably—”

Kate waved that away. “Here.” She opened her wallet again and pulled out her American Express. “Will that do?”

The woman nodded. And in moments, she handed over a pair of new boarding passes. “I’m afraid you don’t have much time to get to the gate. Enjoy your flight.”

Kate smiled. “Thanks.” She tucked her credit card and the tickets into her purse and turned to find Brett already heading her way. He hustled them through the security check where it was obvious he was well-known, and onward to the gate just in time for the boarding call.

Kate handed over the boarding passes and they walked onto the plane. The smiling, blond flight attendant greeted them, and Kate stepped past her, heading toward their seats. She dumped her tote and purse on Brett’s seat and slid into the one next to the window. Even in the spacious first-class cabin, she knew he’d want the aisle.

“Kate.”

She wriggled in the roomy seat and looked up at him. Then at her tote. She plucked her purse out of his seat and tucked it beside her. “My tote will fit in the compartment, won’t it?”

He sighed. “What did you do?”

She looked at him. His expression was tight. All signs of humor gone. “You mean the seats? I switched them,” she said easily. “You didn’t really intend to sit back in the sardine section.” A wave of uncertainty hit her. “Or…did you?”

He didn’t answer her. He turned instead to the blond flight attendant who’d been looking at him like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream. “We need to switch seats out of first class,” he told the woman.

He was serious. “Brett,” Kate tried to get his attention, but he was seriously ignoring her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the blonde answered as if it was an everyday occurrence for someone to turn down first-class seating. “We’re heavy today. All seats booked.”

“We just gave up coach seats,” he countered.

She shook her head. “Standby passengers have already been boarded. I assure you, sir, we are full. And you’ll need to take your seat now.”

Beneath their feet the plane gave a little lurch as if to agree with her words. “I’ll stow that for you.” She took Kate’s tote and to her credit, her smile didn’t dim a watt at Brett’s grimace.

He sat down beside Kate and fastened his seat belt, then pulled some files from his briefcase before stowing it beneath the seat. Without a word to Kate, he flipped open one of the files and focused on whatever was inside it.

“Brett—”

His arm was resting on the armrest between them, and his fingers lifted. Warning.

She chewed the inside of her lip. Then finally turned and looked out the oval window as the plane backed away from the gate, then smoothly taxied around to join the line of planes awaiting takeoff.

She wondered for a moment if Brett remembered the time that she’d decided she’d wanted to be a pilot. She’d taken ground school classes before their senior year in high school and everything. Of course, that was back when she’d also thought it would be cool to be an actress, or a firefighter, and a dozen other careers that she’d fantasized about.

“Did you take your motion sickness stuff?” Brett suddenly asked.

Her eyes burned. “Before I left the house.” It was already beginning to make her feel drowsy. And it was the motion sickness that she’d learned plagued her only while flying that had put a damper on her teenage enthusiasm for becoming a pilot.

“Good,” he said flatly. “The last thing we need is you heaving your guts.”

“Put ever so poetically,” she murmured. She turned in her seat toward him. “Brett, I thought the seating thing was an error. We always traveled in first class.”

“No, Kate.” His voice was low, his tone flat. “You always did and just took me along for the ride. My clients don’t pay for me to ride around in first class and limousines. They pay me for results.”

Her lips firmed. “Well, I’m the client this time.”

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England. I have policies and it doesn’t include this. I warned you, princess, not to mess with my job, and already you’re doing it.”

Her lips parted, incredulous. “Because I didn’t think you’d want to cram yourself into a seat with too little legroom for you to be comfortable?”

“Open your eyes, Kate. People do it all the time, every day. Including me.”

“I was thinking of you,” she countered over the sound of the engines revving.

“No, you weren’t. You were taking over, adjusting the scenario until it suited your fancy, just like you always did.”

“That’s what you really think?” The plane was gathering speed as it headed down the runway.

His hard, square jaw tightened. “That’s what I really think.”

“Then it’s a good thing we never made it down the aisle, isn’t it?”

He looked back at his paperwork. “Seems to me you did make it down the aisle. With Hamilton Orwell the third.”

Kate’s stomach dropped as the plane suddenly lifted off the ground, heading sharply into the sky. But it seemed Brett wasn’t through.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, Kate. Were you sleeping with the guy who, next to you was supposed to be my best friend, at the same time you were sleeping with me? Or did he really sweep you off your feet into marriage in just those few months after you dumped me?”

Kate sat back like a shot, speechless.

“Nah,” he mused. “Now that I think about it, I don’t care.”

She watched him turn his attention right back to the work spread out in front of him.

Of course he didn’t care. He hadn’t cared eight years ago. Not enough.

Her heart had been breaking because she’d finally acknowledged the truth about her standing in Brett’s life. She’d been raised by a dyed-in-the-wool tycoon; a man who’d put his family last and his work first.

One of the hardest things she’d ever had to do was face the truth that she’d fallen in love with a man whose priorities were a mirror image to her father’s.

For Brett, it was always work first.

Everything else, including her, had been last.