Читать книгу The Bride and the Bargain - Allison Leigh - Страница 8

Chapter Two

The moment the parking lot was out of sight through the cab’s windows, Amelia’s shoulders collapsed with relief.

Dumb, dumb, dumb, Amelia, she thought silently. You had your chance to confront the man in person!

And what had she done?

Gotten into the cab, alone.

Matthew. She shook her head at the name he’d given her, looking blindly out at the park where she’d been running now for the past several weeks.

What a liar.

Not that she’d expected anything else of the man given his treatment of Daphne.

“Miss, I don’t mind driving around until the meter hits the roll your fella gave me—” the gray-haired cabbie shot her a grin over his shoulder “—but it might be easier if you’d just give me your address.”

“He’s not my fella,” she assured, suppressing a shiver. It appalled her that it was a shiver, though, and not a shudder.

In the flesh, Grayson Hunt, aka, Matthew Gray, hadn’t been quite what she’d expected.

He was supposed to be the devil incarnate. He’d toyed with her sister, only to toss Daphne aside when she’d needed him. To this day he continued to deny the child he and Daphne had created together. Amelia had expected to feel nothing but revulsion for the man who wielded his power like some despot over the lesser beings he used as playthings.

But what she had felt was not so easily defined.

She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, but winced at even that mild contact against her abraded palms. She lowered them to her lap only to snatch at the money he’d slid beneath her waistband.

How easily he’d dropped the cash on her, even when she’d tried to avoid it.

Too bad he didn’t take his other, far more important responsibilities so seriously.

She rolled the bills into a tight cylinder. If she’d ever hoped to make an impression on the great Grayson Hunt that she was a serious adversary, she’d definitely shot that right down into the dust.

Typical, typical Amelia.

She never had been any good at confrontations. Why should she be, when it was ever so much easier to be the world’s doormat?

“Miss?” the driver prompted.

She jerked, feeling foolish for letting Grayson Hunt distract her so deeply, and gave the driver the address of Daphne’s apartment. She’d moved into it to be with the children when it had become apparent that Daphne would not be returning to her home anytime soon.

“There a pharmacy close by?”

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I just don’t know.” The only pharmacy she’d been in was the one at the hospital where Timmy had been born. “There’s a corner grocery, though. That ought to do.” She didn’t often shop at Heller’s, because she’d realized right off that the prices were higher than the larger shopping center that took two buses to get to.

The cabbie grunted, whether in agreement or not she didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. He was taking her home, and her aching knees were glad of it.

Of course, she ought to know more about the businesses surrounding the apartment, considering she’d been living in Seattle for three months now. But her time had been spent dealing with the disaster of Daphne’s life. Disaster caused by none other than Grayson Hunt.

Medical bills. Doctors. Hospitals. Lawyers. The red tape of being named the children’s guardian and more red tape. And of course, there were the children to care for.

Jack was twelve and alarmingly self-sufficient given the situation with his mother. Two years younger was Molly, who only spoke in whispers these days. Finally, there was Timmy. Three months old and as sweet and warm as a ray of sunshine, and never once held in the arms of his mother, Daphne.

Amelia stared out the window, weeks beyond tears now. She’d shed plenty in the past few months. First, when she’d stood in the hospital emergency room to hear that her sister had suffered a stroke during labor. Next during the three weeks it had taken before Daphne regained consciousness. It soon became clear that she didn’t recognize her own children, much less her only sister. Amelia had cried at night when she knew the children were asleep because for as long as she could remember it had just been her and Daphne against the world.

She ought to have been able to protect Daphne against what had happened.

She should have come to Seattle earlier when Daphne had admitted she’d gotten pregnant during her ill-fated and not-brief-enough affair with Grayson Hunt. Particularly once he’d made it clear to Daphne that he was not going to acknowledge their child.

Amelia had wanted Daphne to take the matter to court, but Daphne wouldn’t do so then—and couldn’t now.

She could hardly blame her, though, considering the way they’d grown up. Their father had only grudgingly acknowledged them because the courts had forced him to pay child support to their mother, not because he’d loved them.

Daphne had grown up always searching for love and the kind of family she’d wished they’d been.

Amelia, on the other hand, had resisted those very same things. Oh, she’d had a marriage planned, certainly. To a man who’d seemed to be on the same career-oriented, nonbaby track that she’d chosen.

“This the grocery store you meant?”

She realized the cab had stopped at the curb alongside the small neighborhood store. “Yes, it is. Thanks. You really will wait?”

“Told your fella I would.”

“He’s not—” She shook her head, dropping that battle just as she dropped most battles. “I appreciate it.”

She reached for the door and laboriously climbed out. Much as she’d have preferred to head straight to the apartment, she knew there wasn’t much there in the way of first aid supplies, except plastic bandage strips decorated with Molly’s favorite cartoon character and the baby Tylenol that had come home from the hospital with Timmy. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, the only cash she had to her name was tucked in her purse back at the apartment and it had Food for the Children written all over it.

Grayson Hunt had given her more than enough to cover her needs for now and her pride would just have to suffer using it.

Her pride had taken quite a few lumps since she’d moved to Seattle. Priorities in her life had been dramatically reordered to focus on the children. On Daphne’s care.

Inside the shop, there was one miserly shelf filled with bandages and ointments. Mindful of the prices that were as ridiculously high as she’d remembered, she selected the bare minimum, and added a loaf of fortified bread and an enormous jar of peanut butter—Jack never seemed to get enough of the stuff. She left the store with her bag and change that would be better used at her usual shopping center.

The cabbie was still waiting, and she must have made a pretty pathetic sight, for he actually met her on the sidewalk to take her purchases from her.

He helped her into the backseat of the cab again, tsking under his breath. “Girls these days,” he said. “Taking all kinds of treatment.”

Amelia flushed. “I fell while I was running.”

He looked skeptical as he closed the door on her and got back behind the wheel. “Your fella rich?”

“He’s not my…yes. I guess he’s rich.” She held the bulging sack on her lap.

The cabbie shrugged. “Lotta rich guys here. You can do better. Find yourself a nice young man that does an honest day’s work.”

Despite herself, Amelia felt a sharp pang. She’d had a nice young man who did an honest day’s work.

He just hadn’t wanted to keep her. Not when her coworker Pamela had offered more tempting treats.

Passion.

Kids.

She pushed aside the thoughts. John had fallen way down the list of things she needed to be worrying about.

She left the cab a short time later when the driver stopped in front of her building, and she figured there was one bright side to the events of the morning. She obviously didn’t have to worry about the cabbie having recognized Grayson Hunt’s face. The man would probably have said something if he had.

She pushed through the squeaking door of the building, only to come face-to-face with the Out of Order placard affixed to the center of the dented elevator doors. She’d gotten so used to seeing it that she’d stopped noticing it.

But now, with her entire body feeling like one big, scraped-up bruise, she looked from the inoperable elevator to the narrow staircase on the opposite side of the small vestibule. Sighing, she put her foot on the first step.

Only six more flights to go.

By the time she made it to her floor, her stomach was pitching with nausea and the thin plastic loops of the grocery bag were cutting into her wrist. Three doors down, she stopped and leaned her forehead wearily against the doorjamb. Jack would be waiting inside, she knew. Capably in charge of Molly and the baby, even though Amelia always had her neighbor, Paula, on alert to watch out for the children, too. Not that Jack appreciated that. He considered himself too old for such supervision. She finally lifted her free hand and tapped her knuckles against the woefully thin wood.

Sure enough, Jack must have been waiting and watching through the peephole, because she immediately heard the slide of locks and he yanked the door open almost before she’d stopped knocking.

His eyes, as dark a brown as his mother’s and already on a level with Amelia’s, took in her disheveled appearance without expression. “What happened?” He didn’t comment on the lateness of her return. She was ordinarily back an hour earlier.

“I tripped. I’m fine.” It was easier than explaining what had really happened. He just believed that she was an avid runner. Not that she’d been staking out that park, hoping for an opportunity to run into Grayson Hunt.

He stepped back and took the bag when she handed it to him. He looked inside. “Bread’s kinda squashed.”

“I’ll make bread pudding out of the worst of it,” she told him. The dessert would be a treat, for once.

Now that she was inside the apartment, she realized how cold she’d gotten outside, and she pulled an aging cardigan off the coatrack by the door and swung it around her shoulders. “Timmy?”

“He’s still asleep.”

It was a small miracle. The baby had only recently begun sleeping through the night, though she’d have to get him up quickly enough when she went to work. “And Molly? Is she ready for school yet?” Jack was already dressed in his uniform of tan chinos and navy-blue sweater, though his feet were bare.

He shrugged, poking through the items in the bag. “She’s still in the bathroom.”

Amelia took the gauze pads and antiseptic cream from Jack and headed into the kitchen that opened off to the left of the door.

Her niece and nephew had obviously eaten breakfast, because there were two cereal bowls and spoons sitting in the sink basin, already rinsed. A tall tin of baby formula was on the counter, too, and when she opened the refrigerator door, she saw several prepared bottles stacked neatly inside.

One less task to do. She closed the refrigerator door, eyeing her nephew. “You didn’t have to do that. But thanks.”

He shrugged again, and hitched his hip onto one of the simple wooden stools that were lined up at the breakfast counter opposite the tiny kitchen. “If you’re fine, why’re you limping?” He opened the peanut butter and peeled back the protective seal, then lifted the jar, sniffing at it slightly.

“I just scraped my knees. Don’t worry about it. Here.” She pulled out a spoon and handed it to him. He almost smiled as he took it and dipped it into the pristine contents. With the spoon full, he tucked it in his mouth and fit the lid back on the jar.

Another thing he’d gotten from his mother. The kid loved peanut butter.

“Are you ready for your math test today?” She ran her hands under the faucet, wincing as the warm water hit her scraped palms.

He pulled the spoon out of his mouth. “Gonna fail it, anyway.” He leaned over the width of the counter and dropped the silverware into the sink with a clatter.

“Jack—”

“I’ll get Mol.” He headed through the short hallway that broke off into the hall bathroom and the two bedrooms the apartment possessed before she could deliver the pep talk forming on her lips.

He was back in minutes, Molly trailing in his wake. She wore her school uniform, too, a navy skirt and matching cardigan over her tan blouse. Her long blond hair was brushed and shiny and her eyes—as dark as her brother’s—widened when she saw Amelia’s appearance.

“I’m fine,” Amelia assured hurriedly. Not unnaturally, Molly worried so easily these days. “I tripped over my shoelace.” She waggled her foot with the lace that Grayson Hunt had securely tied. “Just like you did the other day in the park.”

Molly nibbled her lip for a moment, absorbing that. When she wordlessly held out two bands and a comb, Amelia was relieved. She managed not to wince as she wrapped her fingers around the comb and deftly parted her niece’s silky hair. “Ponytails today instead of braids, okay?”

“Okay,” Molly whispered.

Amelia finished the simple hairstyle and dropped a kiss on the child’s head. “All set.”

“Will we visit Mommy today?” Molly’s voice never raised above the whisper.

Amelia’s heart ached. “After school,” she promised. She took the kids at least twice a week to the convalescent center. Daphne, unfortunately, didn’t react to their presence when they did visit. She was alert, but her own children might as well be strangers. Amelia looked over Molly’s head at Jack. “You two can’t wait for me to go to school this morning or you’ll be late. You’ll be all right catching the bus by yourselves?”

The corner of Jack’s lips turned down. “We always did before.”

She couldn’t help herself. She reached forward and brushed her fingers through the reddish-blond hair falling across his forehead. Before meant before Timmy was born, she knew. Before his mother had become incapacitated and the aunt he’d barely known had come to take over. “I know, sweetheart.” She smoothed her hand down his cheek even as he was stepping away, too grown at twelve years old to suffer such displays of affection. “And you’ll do fine on your math test. Just take your time, Jack.”

He made a face. Math was the only subject in which he really struggled. “Get your pack, Mol.”

But Molly didn’t go for her backpack. Instead, she slipped her hands around Amelia’s waist, hugging her tightly. “Are you staying home today?”

Amelia had counted herself fortunate that she’d found a librarian position with the very school that Jack and Molly attended on scholarship. It didn’t pay as well as her old job at the university library in Oregon, but her schedule was in sync with the children’s. “I’ll just be a little late,” she assured, and hoped Mr. Nguyen, the headmaster, didn’t quibble over the matter. In addition to insurance benefits, she wasn’t yet entitled to sick leave, either. “You have your lunch money?”

Molly’s head bobbed and she finally let Amelia loose to take the backpack that Jack held out for her. She slid her arms through the loops and followed her brother out the door.

Amelia stood there in the silent apartment for a moment. The furnishings were simple but cheerful, seeming to carry Daphne’s personality even after all these weeks without her presence. The beige walls were covered with an eclectic collection of travel posters. Places that Daphne had always dreamed of visiting, but hadn’t. The woven blanket tucked over the couch carried the same brilliance, as did the pillows scattered among the two threadbare armchairs.

No, the apartment wasn’t fancy. It was an aeon away from the type of digs that Grayson Hunt occupied. The research she’d done about the man over the last three months had told her just how great an aeon. Not only did he have his place at the family home on Lake Washington, but he occupied a stunningly modern penthouse near the waterfront that, according to the spread done in an architectural journal, included a rooftop garden that rivaled a forested park.

Unlike the Hunt’s mansion, Daphne’s apartment did not possess walls of windows that afforded its occupants the finest views that money could buy. Nor were Daphne’s furnishings custom-made by the world’s greatest designers, but her sister’s apartment was a home because Daphne had made it so.

Now, Amelia’s sister languished in a facility that provided only the medical care for which she could qualify. Adequate, but definitely basic.

Amelia’s knees ached as she crossed the tidy beige carpet and flipped the locks back into place.

If only she’d been able to convince Daphne to bring the kids and go stay with her in Oregon where they’d both grown up.

Everything would be different.

She put Molly’s comb away and called the school and her neighbor Paula, who minded Timmy during the day, to let them know she’d be late, then carried the first aid supplies into the bedroom that she shared with the baby and his crib.

Timmy was still sound asleep, his soft lips pursed together, his fists curled. Three months now, Amelia couldn’t help but marvel. Three months that had passed in a blink.

She’d cared for the baby since she’d brought him home from the hospital. Without his mother. Three months focusing on everything she’d ever convinced herself she didn’t want in this life. Not after the way she and Daphne had grown up.

How quickly a lifetime of belief had spun on its ear. Just because of this tiny, small being.

She chewed the inside of her lip, resisting the urge to touch the sweet boy. Just because she wanted the comfort of cuddling Daphne’s baby was no reason to disturb his sound sleep.

If Daphne hadn’t left Oregon at all, this beautiful baby wouldn’t even exist and there would have been no reason whatsoever for Amelia to take on Grayson Hunt.

Less than an hour later, bandages on her knees hidden beneath her gray slacks, Amelia was handing Timmy and his diaper bag and extra bottles over to Paula Browning. The woman wasn’t only their neighbor; she was about the only person Amelia considered a friend in Seattle. She was ten years Amelia’s senior, widowed, and her only child was already away at college. If it weren’t for Paula, Amelia wasn’t quite certain how she would have managed. It was Paula who’d volunteered to watch the children. To mind Timmy during the day, and Amelia had been so far out of her depth, that she’d gratefully accepted. Not only was Paula unfailingly reliable, but she was a font of practical advice about babies.

And on that subject, Amelia had needed all the advice she could get.

Paula’s green eyes were nothing if not sharp, though, and there was no hope of her failing to notice the bandages Amelia had taped to her palms as she transferred Timmy to the woman’s arms. Timmy’s fingers twined around her hair and she worked the strands free, kissing his soft little fist as the other woman took him.

“I figured there must be something wrong for you to be running late,” Paula said now, smiling into Timmy’s bright eyes. “What happened?”

“I tripped when I was running. Nothing major.”

Paula looked knowing. “That’s what happens when you run before the sun even comes up.” She shook her artfully blond head. “Not like you need the exercise, either. You’re even thinner now than when you arrived in Seattle.”

Amelia frowned down at herself. She supposed it was true that her clothes hung a little more loosely on her frame these days.

“Any luck spotting the great one, himself?”

Amelia flushed. Before she’d gone into labor, Daphne had confided in Paula about the identity of her child’s father. She knew that Amelia’s choice of running trails had far more to do with him than anything else. “He was there, actually,” she admitted. “I couldn’t believe it, at first. I’ve never even spotted him before. And—” She broke off.

Paula’s eyebrows rose. “And?”

“And…nothing.” Amelia was still kicking herself. “I mean, I did nothing.” Except get run over by the man, and that truly had been unintentional. Until it had happened, she wasn’t even aware that Grayson Hunt was on the trail at all.

And then when he was there—helping her, even—she hadn’t told him who she was, hadn’t told him that if he didn’t come to some terms over his responsibilities, she was going straight to the media.

She had done absolutely nothing.

“Well, at least you know all the interviews you’ve been poring over for the past month haven’t been wasted,” Paula consoled.

Grayson hadn’t announced to the news outlets that he chose to run in a small, hilly park over an hour away from his waterfront home. That comment had been strictly off-the-cuff, captured only in a live feed moments before he’d addressed the graduating class at MIT over a year earlier. But the close proximity of the park to the restaurant where Daphne had waitressed and met Grayson had been enough reason for Amelia to try her chances there.

Goodness knows her efforts at obtaining a meeting with the man in person had been utterly futile. Regular people just couldn’t get in to see him without good reason, and she knew the second she mentioned her sister and paternity, she’d be shuffled off to his attorneys. As it was, then, the closest she’d been able to get was an appointment with some underling of his—and that was set for six months down the road.

Amelia didn’t have six months.

More importantly, Daphne didn’t have six months. If her sister’s condition was going to improve, it would take a miracle. A miracle by God, or a miracle by money.

Amelia wasn’t taking her chances, either way. She went to bed at night praying, and she started her day running in the park on the off chance that she just might encounter him.

And when she had, what had she done besides end up with her nose in the dirt?

Paula watched her. “So what are you going to do now?”

Amelia curled her fingers, feeling the bandages on her palms. It was fine to envision herself tackling Goliath head-on. But she’d never before been good at confrontations, never been good at fighting battles.

That had been Daphne’s strong suit, and even she had chosen not to fight for her child’s rights. If it hadn’t been for the way she and Amelia had been raised, that fact would have had Amelia wondering if Daphne could somehow be mistaken. Her sister had never lacked for male company, even though she’d kept her companions away from her children and her home.

But Amelia did remember how it had been for them as children. Both she and Daphne knew what it felt like to be acknowledged by a father only because the law had forced it, so it wasn’t surprising that Daphne had shied away from forcing that issue herself.

“The only answer I can still think of is to go to the media if he does threaten me with a lawsuit like he threatened Daphne,” Amelia admitted.

Paula looked uncertain. “It’s pretty rare for anything unflattering about the Hunts to make it into the news.”

Which left the gossip rags, they both knew, who’d lap up anything salacious about the wealthy man. “I hate the idea. I don’t want the world looking at Daphne. Or the children. But I have to do something, Paula. He’s my last hope where my sister is concerned. Even the attorney I hired has told me that Daphne’s case is at a standstill. She has no health insurance and unless it’s privately financed, there is no hope of her receiving the kind of care and therapy that could improve her condition.”

“Honey, I hate to say it, but even if you find a way to get her into that rehabilitation institute you found, Daphne might not improve. I know it’s tragic, but she did have a major stroke the likes of which many people don’t even survive.”

The doctors—all but one—had claimed the same thing. “She’s my sister,” Amelia said quietly. “She and the kids are all I have. I have to try.”

“Even if it means going against Grayson Hunt? Once that lawyer of his threatened Daphne with that lawsuit when she notified him of her pregnancy, she vowed never to acknowledge his existence again.”

How well Amelia knew that. Daphne was a fighter, but she’d had her pride, as well.

“I have to try,” she said again.

It was the only thing she could do.