Читать книгу Secretly Married - Allison Leigh - Страница 8

My wife.

Some deep instinct made Delaney lock her knees as Sam’s comment rang in the sudden silence. If she’d had any doubt that Sam ever told anyone from Turnabout, his hometown, about their excruciatingly brief fiasco of a marriage, the shocked faces all around them removed it.

He’d turned back to her and was looking at her mouth. Despite the audience and her desire to tear out her hair and scream at him for this game he was playing, her lips tingled all over again.

And it was irritation at that, that got her moving again. She slapped the envelope against his chest. “You know we’re no longer married,” she snapped softly.

He exhaled sharply, turned and strode away.

The envelope fell.

She very nearly followed after him. He hadn’t wanted to talk with her when they were married, why on earth would he want to when they weren’t? If he wanted to walk away from what should have been a simple matter, she wasn’t going to stop him.

He’d walked away from her before, after all.

She snatched up the envelope and headed blindly away from the curious eyes that seemed to be burning into her from all sides. But escape was blocked by the dancers one way and the whitewashed stucco building on the other. She trembled, never feeling more like screaming in her entire life.

Wouldn’t that be a tidy item to add to her record? “After installing patient in residential program, subject became hysterical when former spouse referred to her as his wife….”

“Yo, Doc V. You didn’t tell me Mr. Cop-man was gonna be here.”

She marshaled her scrambled thoughts. Smoothed back her hair again and looked up at Alonso, who’d come down from his slouch to stand in front of her. He’d grown a foot in the past year. At only fifteen, he easily topped six feet, a good six inches taller than she. He was more gangly than broad, but she knew time would eventually fill in the spare gaps and he’d cut an impressive figure. “You being at Castillo House has nothing to do with Sam.”

Alonso’s lip curled. “Right.”

Her day really had been too long. “Think about it.” Her tone was short enough that Alonso kept his next smart-aleck remark from emerging.

“Is he a cop here, too?” He focused on shoving up the long sleeves of his oversize T-shirt.

“He’s the sheriff.”

“Yeah, well he better not be hauling me off to jail, or—”

“Or?” Delaney looked sternly up into his young face. Alonso Petrofski was a combination of beauty from the mocha skin to the green eyes he’d inherited from his Jamaican mother and Russian father. In most respects, he was brilliant. And in most respects, troubled, neglected and full of anger and opinions. She’d started out as his court-appointed therapist. Now, a very rocky four years later, she’d like to think she was his friend.

Some days that was easier to believe than others.

“You’re not going to jail, Alonso. Not unless you do something illegal here. And if you do that in the next two months, your probation will be revoked and you’ll finish out your full sentence in jail back in New York. Then all the good work you’ve done the past year will be for nothing.”

“Not if you can’t find me,” he said.

“Turnabout is an island, Alonso. You won’t be going anywhere that we don’t know about.” Logan Drake, the man responsible for the running of Castillo House, smiled coolly, seeming to appear at their sides out of nowhere.

Alonso had already told Delaney he figured Logan was a hard-ass. Given what Delaney knew about Logan’s former profession, she figured the assessment was fairly accurate.

“He’s not exaggerating.” A very pregnant girl stood beside Logan, addressing Alonso. “It’s Drake’s way or the highway. But believe me. He’s easier than the sheriff. I’ve been here for three months, so I oughta know.” She shot a rueful glance up at Logan, who softened a little and tugged the end of her long red braid.

“This is Caitlin Reed,” Logan introduced. “She’ll show you what chores you’re assigned to tonight.”

“Man, I just got here.”

Delaney remained mum. This was Logan and Annie’s center. The sooner Alonso became acclimated to his new home, the better.

Logan merely lifted one broad shoulder, his blue gaze again impassive. “Everybody here works, Alonso. You want to stay, you’re welcome. But you’re gonna work the same as the rest.”

The boy stared Logan down for a long, taut minute. Alonso drew up every centimeter of height he possessed, as if it would give him some advantage against the man with whom he stood eye to eye. It had no effect on Logan. He merely waited. Solid. Strong. Sure. Then Alonso made an impatient sound, swore—under his breath, because swearing was against the rules of the house—and headed back up the shallow steps and inside the massive doorway. Delaney watched him go. Saw the way he curtailed his long-legged stride to accommodate Caitlin’s shorter, somewhat waddling one.

Along with relief was a sense of loss. Alonso had become a large part of her life. Right or wrong, he was more than a patient to her. But she couldn’t handle him alone, and something had to be done. He was too young to be left to his own devices. He needed a home.

Hopefully, Castillo House would provide what she couldn’t.

She glanced up at Logan. He hadn’t said a word about Sam’s outrageous announcement after kissing her, and she was grateful. “I know you don’t really have room for him, yet, with your renovations still underway. But I appreciate it. He really needed to get away from his usual crowd.”

“Long as your boy toes the line, we’ll get along fine,” Logan said. Then his hard face softened, making him look immeasurably younger, when a slender woman with a mass of blond curls stopped next to him, sliding her arm through his. Annie Drake.

“Alonso will be fine.” Annie smiled far more easily than did her husband. “And we do appreciate the—”

Delaney waved away the thanks before Annie could finish. She didn’t want to advertise the donation she’d arranged for Castillo House. “We can keep that between us.” What her mother had donated would go a little way toward the renovations the big old house still required. A little way toward making the physical space necessary for another person. Like Alonso. Which made having to approach her mother for funds worth it. Just because Delaney had loathed having to do so, her mother’s donation had been just one more in a long line of charitable causes she thoughtlessly supported, meaning nothing more nor less than if Delaney had been a stranger.

“Secrets have a way of coming out, Delaney. Sometimes it’s better all around to put everything out on the table.”

Delaney didn’t know if that was a reference to her and Sam’s history, or not. But there was nothing in Annie’s expression that Delaney could take exception to.

She was just feeling defensive.

Because of Sam.

“Um, you’re…Delaney. Right?”

A young woman had approached. Why not? For all the attention Sam had thrown her way, she might have been the circus come to town. “Yes.”

“I’m Janie Vega.”

Something indefinable curled through Delaney. So she’d meet some of Sam’s family after all. “You’re Sam’s sister.” Timid, she thought, as she looked for some resemblance between the girl and Sam. They had the same dark eyes, but that seemed to be all. “He told me about you.”

“I wish we could say the same about you.”

Maybe not so timid, after all, Delaney thought, eyeing Janie’s crossed arms. Logan and Annie murmured excuses and moved off with no small amount of haste. “I’m sorry,” she told Janie.

“Why? Sam’s the one who’s been keeping his mouth shut all this time.” Her voice was tart. “Ironic, considering how he feels about deception.”

Could this get any worse? Sam should have been the one to soothe his sister’s hurt feelings. “Well, really, Sam and I, we weren’t together very long. And it was a few years ago.”

“But,” Janie’s expression faltered a little, “he said you are his wife.”

“Was,” Delaney assured gently.

“You’re more forgiving than I am if you think that’s an adequate excuse for his behavior.”

There was nothing suitable or otherwise that Delaney could say. Janie seemed to realize it. “Where are you staying tonight?” she asked.

The trip to Turnabout had taken longer than Delaney expected. Their flight from New York had been late arriving in San Diego, which meant they’d missed the regular ferry that ran twice a day. She’d had to hire a charter. Which was definitely a glorified term for the rough-riding bucket that had carried her and Alonso from the mainland to the tiny island of Turnabout.

She’d strongly entertained the idea of waiting until morning before finishing the journey. But her desire to get it over with had overridden her common sense. It would’ve been smarter to wait. Then she’d have been assured of a way off the island.

Now, she had a hotel room all reserved in San Diego that was going begging. “I hadn’t planned to stay on Turnabout,” she admitted. She didn’t enjoy being caught unprepared. “Is there a hotel here?”

“Maisy Fielding has an inn. Called Maisy’s Place. She has several guest cottages, too. But she’s full up. I help out there when she’s particularly busy.” Janie lifted an arm, encompassing the crowd. “A lot of people came over to celebrate the first anniversary of Castillo House. But Sam has an extra room,” Janie continued. “Etta does, too, but my father is using it now that he’s home again.”

“Etta?”

“Our grandmother. Henrietta Vega.”

“Right.” Surreal, indeed. Delaney looked around at the partyers. She was aware of Janie watching her closely.

It felt as if everyone was watching her closely. Too closely. She much preferred to focus her attention on others than to have that focus turned the other way around.

Sam had an extra room. Delaney wasn’t so much interested in that as she was interested in what had possessed Sam to say the words he had.

My wife.

What purpose had that served? None. And she wanted to tell him so. She wanted him to understand—fully and completely—that she was no basket case. That she was moving on, just as she’d told him. Thoughtfully, intelligently, dispassionately. What she wanted now were common interests, common goals, a common purpose.

Things she and Sam had never had.

Except in bed.

She ignored the taunting whisper inside her head. The bedroom could break a relationship, but it was rare when it could make one. She and Sam were no exception to that.

“Perhaps you could tell me how to get to his house,” she suggested. She’d tell him what she thought of his little “act” and she’d leave the ring. Once and for all, end of story.

Janie looked clearly relieved. “It’s on the other end of the island, actually. I’ll get Leo’s cart and drive you over.”

“Cart?”

“His golf cart. I don’t have a car. Most of us don’t. But it’s a long walk from here to there.”

Delaney rubbed her forehead. She didn’t have a car, either. Because she lived in the city. The city. The big apple. Born and raised.

“Delaney? Ready?” Janie was eyeing her.

Oh, Delaney was too tired. She nodded. She’d have agreed to just about anything to get away from the curious stares she was still getting.

The golf cart sat outside the high iron fence that surrounded the Castillo House property. Delaney climbed onto the narrow front seat and grabbed on with a death grip when it lurched forward. Janie buzzed down the bumpy road, seemingly unconcerned by the absolute and utter darkness as they left behind the lights of the party.

No matter how dark, the rush of wind through the open cart still felt heavenly against Delaney’s heated skin.

When Janie finally slowed the cart to a halt, it was in front of a sprawling, darkened house. “It doesn’t look like your brother is here.” Probably avoiding her, if for no other reason than to annoy her. He’d always been exceptionally adept in that area.

“Doesn’t matter,” Janie assured as they headed up the stone walk. “It’s probably not locked. But even if it is, I have a key. I take care of his plants whenever he goes to the mainland.”

Sam had plants?

With no hesitation, Janie pushed open the door. “See? Come on in.” She waited in the darkened entrance.

Delaney stepped inside, vaguely aware of holding her breath. The memory of the tiny apartment Sam had lived in before they’d become involved flashed through her mind. It had possessed only the essentials. A bed. A fridge. A dim, cold bathroom. The place had practically been sterile, giving no hint whatsoever of the man who’d occupied it.

Janie flicked a switch, and light streamed downward from deceptively simple iron wall sconces.

She couldn’t help her inhalation of surprise at her first impression of the interior. “Oh. My.”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Janie seemed to be looking at her with some kind of expectation.

“Yes.” She smiled weakly. It was nice. Natural stone. A bronze wall that dripped with the soothing, unexpected sound of water. Plants. Leather furnishings. Nubby rugs over slate. It was full of thriving plants. Palms in the corners. A fern on a small table. It was modern. It was timeless.

It was…Sam?

She felt like rubbing her eyes. She refrained. Coming here had been a mistake. “I should wait for Sam somewhere else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his wife.”

“Was. I was his wife. And as soon as I have a chance to speak with Sam, I’ll be going.”

Janie looked doubtful. “If you say so. Would have been nice to get to know the woman who stole my big brother’s heart, though.”

“When you meet her, give her my regards.” Silence met her response, and she sighed. Janie had done nothing to earn her sarcastic humor. “Sorry.”

“I think this situation is odd for everyone.” Given the circumstances, there was a surprising lack of judgment in Janie’s voice as she headed into the house, flipping on more light switches as she went. When she came to the kitchen, though, she stopped. “You can wait for Sam here. Make yourself at home. I doubt he will be gone for too long.”

If she were strictly honest with herself, Delaney wasn’t sure if that was a comforting thought, or not. “Thanks, Janie.”

The young woman gave a little sketch of a wave then disappeared up the hallway.

A moment later Delaney heard the soft, solid sound of the door closing.

She was alone in Sam’s house.

My wife.

She exhaled shakily, pushing the thought away, and dumped her briefcase on the counter, her gaze skipping around the well-appointed kitchen. The only sound she could hear was water. The soft trickle from the water wall in the living room underscored by a low, constant murmur. It was the same sound of the ocean she’d heard when she and Alonso had been left at the dock by the charter boat.

Sighing again, she stepped out of her high heels, leaving them sitting on the floor next to the granite counter, and unbuttoned her double-breasted jacket, waving it open a few times. Ah. Heaven.

She’d brought a change of clothes in her briefcase—slacks and a tunic—but it was so late there seemed little point in changing into them when they wouldn’t be any cooler than her suit.

Still, she felt better just from the small respite, and she buttoned up again, then moved around the island toward the bank of windows lining the wall. Now, with the light on inside, they were more like mirrors that reflected her bedraggled appearance.

She slowly walked along them until she came to one that was a door. Cleverly designed, it barely differed from the oversize windows. She reached for the handle.

“I wouldn’t go out there without the light. The cliff is closer than you think.”

She snatched back her hand, whirling around. Sam stood next to the counter where she’d left her briefcase. The tails of his dark gray shirt were pulled from the black jeans he wore, and he’d rolled the sleeves farther up his forearms. His jaw was shadowed as it always had been by this time of night. He’d been a two-shave-a-day man.

Definitely thoughts she needed to avoid.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, stating the obvious, and felt stupid because of it.

“Passed Janie on my way in. Should have known her soft little heart couldn’t withstand you.”

Meaning she had no soft heart at all? “Your sister’s the one who suggested I come here. Not me. But since you’re back, I’ll just leave this—” in two steps she’d snatched the envelope from the outer pocket of her briefcase and set it on the counter “—here and I’ll go.”

“How do you propose to do that? Whistle for a cab?” He flicked open another button at his neck. Energy seemed to vibrate from him, yet he was uncommonly still.

Even rattlesnakes possessed rattles as a warning device. Not Sam. His strike had always been unexpected. Never physical, but indelibly felt all the same. “Why does it matter to you how I leave? I just wanted to make sure you got the ring back.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.”

She lifted her gaze, meeting his despite her intention otherwise. “And?”

“And I’m curious what you think you’re doing.”

Count to ten, Laney. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “What I’m doing? You’re the one who told all those people that I was your wife.”

“You are.”

“Was, Sam. Was. You’ll surely remember the small matter of our divorce!”

His head cocked a little, his gaze measuring. “Have you taken to drink, Delaney?”

Her fingers curled. Uncurled. “Don’t be obtuse.” Her brother had been the drinker in her family. “And while it pains me no end to have to ask, would you give me a ride back to Castillo House?”

“Why?”

“Because I need a place to sleep! And I’d rather impose on Logan and Annie Drake for a corner on a floor somewhere than spend another minute with you.”

“Go for it. Those fancy shoes lying there are gonna get beat to hell walking all the way, but—”

Her hands curled. “You won’t even give me a ride?”

“Considering how nicely you’ve asked?” He snorted softly and reached out one long arm to hook open a drawer. “Here.” He tossed her the small flashlight he withdrew. “You might need that. No city lights here. Maybe you noticed.”

She caught the flashlight. “You’re impossible.”

“Makes you wonder why in hell we ever got married, doesn’t it?”

She went still, riding the pain of that.

He swore under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

A lifetime of practice helped her lift her chin, her shoulder. “You’re entitled to say anything you like, Sam. It’s been no concern of mine what you say since we got unmarried.”

The measuring look was back. And it was almost enough to make her uneasy. Almost. She clenched the flashlight and shoved her feet into her pumps, stifling a wince. That’s what she got for indulging her shoe sense rather than her common sense when she’d dressed so very long ago before the flight. Then she snatched up her briefcase and strode past him, right on out the front door. As soon as it closed behind her, the dark night swallowed her whole, and she fumbled with the flashlight. It gave out a weak stream.

She stiffened her shoulders. Trained the wobbling yellow beam in front of her. Headed up the stone walk. By the time she made it to the road that was only marginally smoother than the path, her feet were screaming inside her shoes. She wanted to scream. She was supposed to be an intelligent woman. Why hadn’t she followed her common sense that giving Sam back the ring in person was a foolish idea? It wasn’t as if he’d appreciate the sensitivity she’d been aiming for. She should have just taken the hint and kept the ring—tucked it away in some forgotten corner, in the same way she tucked away memories of him.

The only answer she got was a stone in the road that seemed to mock the notion of tucking Sam away anywhere as it caught her foot and sent her pitching forward.

She cried out. The flashlight flew out of her hand, her briefcase slid off her shoulder and her hands took the worst of the impact when she fell.

“You are the most stubborn woman God ever put on this earth.”

Perfect. Her day was complete.

Her hands burned. Her bare heels burned. Her eyes burned, the contents of her briefcase were scattered about, and the flashlight had gone dead. It was, unfortunately, nowhere within hand’s reach—she earned only another piece of gravel against her raw palms when she swept around feeling for it—or she could have used it to brain him.

She bowed her head. Violence never solved anything. “You were following me. I hope you got a good laugh.” The way she felt, it could well be his last.

She heard him sigh. “There’s usually more moonlight.” He moved around in front of her, and she gasped when he crouched down and lifted her head. “You’d have been able to see better, even with that cheap flashlight.”

“Obviously it’s enough light for you,” she said, jerking her chin away from his touch. “I hope you enjoyed the entertainment.”

“Delaney—”

“What?”

He sighed again. “Shut up.”

Her eyes burned anew when he caught her beneath her arms and helped her stand. She tested her footing. Frustration tightened her voice. “I think I broke my heel.”

“What?” He swore and swept her up in his arms, heading back toward his house before she could blink.

She went board stiff. “Wait. My briefcase.”

“Christ, Delaney, are you afraid you’ll misplace some precious bit of work? I’ll get it after I get you settled.”

“But I don’t—”

He kissed her again and shock swept through her, taking her words right along with it.

When he lifted his head, his breathing was rough. “At least there’s still one way to get you to shut up.”

She hastily closed her mouth, stemming her next words. Put me down screamed through her mind.

Sam grunted a little. “Better.”

She shifted as far from him as humanly possible. Which wasn’t far, given the fact that he had one arm around her back, his hand practically cupping the side of her breast. His other arm’s position wasn’t much better, tucked beneath her knees, causing her skirt to rumple up around her thighs. She surreptitiously tugged at the skirt. It didn’t help. The more she moved, the less space she could keep between them. She settled for trying not to breathe as his long stride ate up the distance back to his house.

He carried her straight through, back to the kitchen again, settling her on a bar stool. “Sit tight. I’ll get some ice.”

Delaney looked at her palms. They were red, raw, dirty. “I need to wash first.” She started to slide off the high bar stool.

“Dammit all, Delaney, would you just sit still?” He’d yanked open the freezer door.

“Don’t bark at me.” She focused on the bag of frozen peas he pulled from the freezer. “What…are you hungry now?”

“The bag’s easier to use than ice.”

It had always been hard to read his expressions, but just then Delaney thought he looked near the end of his patience.

Well, her patience was sorely limited, too. Particularly when he cupped her calf and lifted gently. He’d had his hands on her more in this one day than nearly the entire last month they’d been together.

“Which heel?”

She leaned over, pulling off her shoe, holding it up. “No amount of frozen peas is going to help it, I’m afraid.”

He studied the shoe for a long moment. “I thought you meant your heel.”

“I realize that. Now. You, um, you can let go of my leg.”

He did so. Quickly. She still felt the imprint of his gentle touch.

Distance. Distance was paramount.

She slid off the bar stool and scooted around him, awkwardly toeing off the other shoe at the same time. She hadn’t thought to bring a spare pair. She sidled past him and carefully stuck her hands under the faucet.

“I’ll get your briefcase.”

How could she have managed to forget about it so quickly? “Right—” he’d pulled a very sturdy-looking flashlight from the same drawer that had held the other one. She swallowed the thanks she’d been about to voice. The flashlight he’d chosen for his own use undoubtedly had strong batteries. “Make sure you get everything,” she said waspishly.

“Would you rather do it yourself?”

She shut off the water and snapped off a paper towel from the stone holder next to the sink. “It’s your fault I fell in the first place. You could have just driven me back to Castillo House, and none of this would—”

“I thought assigning blame was against your professional ethics.”

She looked at him, their past a sudden, deluging wave. “Janie mentioned that your father is here. Staying with…Etta…she said. How do you feel about that, Sam?”

His expression closed down, just as she’d known it would, just as it always had whenever she’d broached the subjects he’d deemed off-limits.

There’d been a time when she’d only wanted to understand the man who’d finessed her heart right out from under her. So she’d probed. Delicately. Hopefully.

It made her ill that she now used the same knowledge about Sam to retaliate. Wound for wound.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

He never heard the words.

He’d already walked out of the room.