Читать книгу The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 13

Eight

The scene Heather witnessed between Abraham Danforth and the woman claiming to be his illegitimate daughter strengthened her resolve to never let herself be used by a man again. Just as Josef had manipulated her for his own selfish purposes, Toby’s uncle had apparently left at least one brokenhearted lover behind with nothing but an innocent baby to remind her of their time together. Heather was sure that the young woman’s mother had suffered public and private humiliation while Abraham Danforth had gone merrily about the business of rebuilding his life and his empire.

Studying Dylan curled up in his daddy’s lap as their chauffeur drove them to the private local airfield where Abraham Danforth’s personal jet awaited their return trip home, Heather realized that wasn’t entirely fair. Some women didn’t accept responsibility any better than some men. It sounded as if Toby’s ex-wife fit into that category. Not knowing the details of their divorce, she thought it wise to refrain from making any judgments on the matter.

Still, looking at Dylan’s sweet little face, she couldn’t help but harden her heart toward a woman who for all intents and purposes abandoned her own child—and a family that despite their notoriety had been nothing but kind and accepting of Heather herself. She hadn’t heard anyone utter a solitary negative comment about Dylan’s mother. As much as Heather had wanted to categorize the Danforths as superior snobs, she genuinely liked Toby’s family.

The day after the fund-raiser, Toby’s brother Jacob, his parents, his sister Imogene and Dylan’s young cousin Peter had said a heartfelt goodbye back at his parents’ house.

“Why do ya hafta leave so soon?” Peter had demanded.

Resting a reassuring hand upon the boy’s soft hair, Heather waited to hear Toby’s response as well.

“Even though I grew up here and I love my family very much, home for me is under the wide open Wyoming sky. Some people march to the beat of a different drum, Peter, and I just happen to be one of them. With any luck, you’ll grow into the same kind of freethinker. And when the time comes, I hope your father will have enough integrity to let you go wherever your heart leads you—just like my parents did.”

Heather couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have the kind of unconditional support that Toby took as his due. If she had been able to choose her own parents, she likely would have picked Harold and Miranda Danforth. True to her word, Toby’s mother had never once made her feel a servant in their home. In fact, Heather felt more at ease in their presence than she ever had in her own home.

She swallowed against the obstruction in her throat.

Heather supposed all families had their problems. Looking at Harold and Miranda, one would never guess that tragedy marred what appeared to be their perfect life. In a private moment, Toby’s sister, who insisted that Heather call her Genie like the rest of her friends, explained how their youngest sister Victoria had been kidnapped several years ago. Despite years of cold leads and discouraging statistical evidence to the contrary, the family never gave up hope that Victoria Danforth would someday return home. Given those heartbreaking circumstances, Heather didn’t know how Toby’s parents were able to let him out of their sight.

Thousands of miles out of sight.

A bump in the road and a flash of black alpaca tore Heather from her present-day contemplations to the sight of a woman keening beneath the big oak tree. Heather’s heartbeat slammed into a wall as their gazes collided. Time and distance dissolved as those black eyes bore into her. There was no mistaking the same specter that accosted her in the dark hallways of Twin Oaks. Nor could Heather ever forget the chilling edict she issued from the grave.

“You found your way back,” she mused, recalling her conversation with Michael Whittaker.

“I like to think that I always will,” Toby rejoined.

Heather didn’t bother explaining that her comment hadn’t been intended for him. She pointed out the window and, with an urgency that caught him off guard, said, “Tell me what you see over there.”

He sighed before responding.

“My past.”

The mysterious figure was gone.

With Dylan peacefully dozing, it seemed as good a time as any to ask Toby what he knew about the family ghost. He looked surprised when she broached the subject but did not disregard her inquiry out of hand.

“Stories have circulated for years about the spirit of a young woman hired as a governess to Hiram Danforth’s children shortly after he built his mansion in the 1890s. All that’s really known about her is that her name was Miss Carlisle and she was tragically killed on her way to Crofthaven when the carriage overturned in the dark just before she arrived.”

Toby paused to gauge Heather’s reaction before continuing. He reached out to take both her hands in his and found them to be the temperature of ice.

“She’s supposedly buried beneath that big oak tree over there.”

The blood drained from Heather’s face. She didn’t need to check any archives to know he was telling her the truth. It settled in her bones with a chill. She felt a connection between herself and the governess. Miss Carlisle had deliberately sought her out to offer advice as one caregiver to another. Whether one called herself a governess or a nanny made no difference.

“She spoke to me,” Heather said in a small voice.

Toby offered her the warmth of his embrace, and she accepted it as eagerly as one shivering from the cold would wrap herself in a blanket. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that they had left the grounds of the Crofthaven estate.

“Do you think she might be trying to take possession of my body?”

Feeling her tremble, Toby gave her a comforting smile. His siblings and cousins used to scare the willies out of him with tales of the mysterious Miss Carlisle, and he didn’t want to make light of the question. Nor did he want her to worry needlessly.

“From everything I’ve ever heard or read, she’s a benevolent spirit who never travels too far from Crofthaven.”

“Thank you for not thinking I’m crazy,” Heather whispered in his ear before settling her head against his broad shoulder.

The rest of the trip to the airfield was uneventful. Savannah invited one to settle back and enjoy the verdant views. Heather couldn’t help but contrast the lush vegetation to the drought conditions the West was experiencing. Here seeds needed only to be deposited by a gentle wind to take root and thrive in fertile soil. Back home, farmers had to work hard to scratch out a living from earth alternately baked, then frozen by elements that drove off all but the hardiest—and most persistent—individualists. Heather’s father looked down his nose at those earning a living by the sweat of their brow, claiming that farming in the state of Wyoming was fundamentally a ceremonial occupation.

Toby reached across the seat to take Heather’s hand into his own, sending an all-too-familiar frisson vibrating through her body. The goose bumps Miss Carlisle raised along her arms a moment ago disappeared as warmth washed over her in an equally disconcerting fashion. Heather took a moment to study the hand that enveloped hers. Strong yet gentle and marked by manual labor, Toby’s hands did not look like those of a gentleman rancher whom her father might possibly approve. James Burroughs could probably forgive her daughter’s employer his rough hands and individualistic mind- set in exchange for a taste of Danforth name recognition and social prominence.

As much as Heather wanted children someday, she was grateful that Josef had not left her with a baby to raise alone—like Abraham Danforth apparently had done to some poor woman half a world away. Heather would have had little choice but to remain dependent upon her parents’ charity to make ends meet. And such charity on their behalf would undoubtedly come with shackles, rather than strings attached.

She looked up into a pair of eyes as blue as the sky that was to carry them home. Unspoken promise glittered in the depth of those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible that not all men were like Josef or her father?

“We should talk,” Toby said.

Heather wondered how he had read her mind. His voice was a caress. It may as well have been her heart and not her hand that Toby squeezed so reassuringly. The very tenderness of his demeanor was her undoing. She hadn’t slept the night of the fund- raiser, wondering if he would ask her to resign her position. Now, remembering how she had responded so wantonly to his advances, she wondered if he might propose a more carnal relationship that had nothing to do with her job at all.

Heather reminded herself to proceed with caution. Experience taught her that one’s personal dignity is a precious commodity. As such, it shouldn’t be gambled away recklessly. The repercussions were often more insidious than one might first imagine.

She was curious to see how Toby’s uncle Abraham was going to handle the scandal to which she was privy. As with the question of where her relationship with Toby was headed, she knew it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.

“Talk?” she repeated dully. “About what?” Her voice sounded scratchy. Raw.

“About us.”

As much as Heather appreciated Toby’s candor, she was surprisingly grateful to see the airfield come into view. It was an unusual way to cure her fear of flying.

“Couldn’t it wait until we’re on board and Dylan’s asleep?”

“I suppose that would be wise,” Toby conceded with a sigh.

Heather couldn’t know that he was thinking back to all the discussions that Sheila postponed, always promising that things would get better without ever really hashing through the tough issues. She heard only the resignation in Toby’s voice and assumed that the conversation he wanted to broach was not going to be pleasant. If it would make things easier on him, she could always quit.

Even if it meant giving up a job and a family she was coming to love.

Farewells in Heather’s family were brief and dispassionate. The contrast between what she was used to and the tearful goodbyes Toby’s relatives exchanged before they were allowed to board Abraham Danforth’s private jet were startling. Ever vigilant about not intruding upon Toby and Dylan’s private lives, Heather hastened to board in advance lest she be in anyone’s way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Miranda asked.

The hurt in her voice stunned Heather.

“I thought I’d give you some space to yourself,” she explained. Her own tone was conciliatory.

“I thought you understood that we consider you part of the family now.” That said, Miranda took Heather by the elbow and guided her into the circle of Danforths.

Genie piped up with characteristic optimism. “I hope my brother has enough sense to make it official before your next visit to Savannah.”

Presuming that “it” referred to a most unlikely wedding, Heather blushed so furiously that she would not have been surprised had her blond hair turned the color of strawberry wine. She did not miss the killing glance that Toby leveled at his sister. Shrugging it off with typical aplomb, Genie whispered something confidential in his ear.

“Don’t hold your breath, little sister,” Toby muttered.

The smile on Heather’s face faded. Although she could only imagine what transpired between them, she assumed herself to be the butt of an unflattering remark. Miranda patted her on the arm.

“Don’t mind them, dear. No matter how many times their mother has told them that it’s impolite to whisper in front of others, they persist in misbehaving. You can imagine how I earned all this gray hair raising such headstrong children.”

Heather could see little gray in Miranda Danforth’s hair. She was truly a beautiful woman. Both inside and out. Indeed, her own mother made her feel more an outsider in her own home than Miranda had a guest—and a servant at that.

“I’m sorry,” Genie said, looking truly apologetic. But then she took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I know it’s way too early to start foisting anyone as ornery as Toby on someone as sweet as you, and he seems to think you have better taste than to ever hook up with someone as ill mannered as he is. But as someone just recently married to a man who not so long ago referred to marriage as the worm that hides the hook, I feel I’m in a unique position to point out what a mistake my thickheaded brother would be making if he let you get away.”

“Genie!”

Howard Danforth seemed to be the only one able to control his daughter, with nothing more than a firm parental look. Though she ceased her teasing immediately, her eyes still twinkled mischievously. Heather wasn’t sure how to react to earning the Danforth Family Seal of Approval.

Again Howard stepped forward to intervene. “We are very grateful to you,” he said, looking at Heather directly and making her wish that her own father approved of her half as much as this veritable stranger. “What you are doing for Dylan—as well as for my son—is beyond price. We will be forever in your debt. Please come back and visit us again soon.”

Surprised how much the invitation meant to her, Heather was at a loss for words. Then a little voice said, “Bye-bye.”

The Danforths all gasped and looked at Dylan, who’d wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

“What did you say?” Toby said, stunned.

Dylan responded with a giggle.

“He said ‘bye-bye,”’ Peter repeated, shaking his head in disbelief that all the adults gathered about had simultaneously gone deaf.

Since Peter appeared to be the only one not taken aback by Dylan’s words, Heather wondered if it was possible that the two boys had been conversing behind their backs for the past few days. Intermittent tears of joy and laughter surrounded the little imp’s accomplishment. Though Toby claimed it was all Heather’s doing, she was more inclined to think a combination of solid parenting and the unconditional support of an extended family was what prompted the child to speak up. That and an apparent eagerness to put his relatives’ mushy goodbyes behind him.

“I told you he’d talk when he was ready. And without having to be bribed with cookies, either,” Heather told Toby a tad too smugly a short while later as she cinched the seat belt around her.

She prepared for takeoff by staring straight ahead and doing her best not to hyperventilate. Dylan was still enthusiastically waving out the window to his family as their plane began to taxi down the runway.

“Give me your hand,” Toby commanded, peeling Heather’s fingers off the armrest.

His touch was at once both reassuring and unsettling. She found that she already missed Toby’s family. That she liked them was really no surprise. They were as charming and gregarious a clan as anyone could ever hope to meet. What really surprised Heather was that they seemed to genuinely like her back. So naturally shy that she was often mistaken as being aloof, Heather was touched that Genie would actually broach the subject of marriage to her brother.

Given the baggage that both she and Toby carried from past relationships, the odds were not good that either one would be making a commitment any time soon.

Yet the calluses on the hand that held Heather’s comforted her during takeoff. Her own hands, once unused to traveling over nothing rougher than ivory keys, would have to adapt to soapy water and pulling weeds in rocky flowerbeds and kneading homemade bread. Such working hands longed for the touch of a good man at the end of a day’s work.

“It’s going to be all right.”

She knew Toby was referring to many things—Dylan’s speech, the flight to Wyoming and the fact that his family’s teary goodbye had affected him. Tears had been shed the last time Heather had spoken to her own parents, but they were the hot, angry tears of deep disappointment.

“If you renounce your music, you can renounce your name as well. And any monetary help from us, too,” James Burroughs shouted. “You will be as good as dead to me.”

Recalling how her father predicted she would either come crawling back, ready to live her life on his terms, or wind up as trailer trash with a half- dozen rug rats to support on a waitress’s income, Heather wished there was some way she could adopt Toby’s parents. The thought prompted her to ask, “Why would anyone leave such a family?”

“It’s not like I’m disowning them,” Toby protested. “I’m just following my own dream. They respect that and wish me well.”

He sounded so defensive that it made Heather wonder if he practiced that particular speech for the benefit of other family members or to convince himself. She wished she could somehow convey how lucky he was to have such a supportive family.

“I’m glad,” she told him. “Not all parents are as understanding as yours. It would break my heart to see either you or Dylan estranged from such good people.”

Toby gave her a long and searching look in response. He started to say something but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he drew her attention to the fact that the plane had reached cruising altitude and suggested that she could relax now.

Heather was surprised that their conversation had so completely distracted her. Still, she was glad that Toby didn’t let go of her hand as her fear abated. Looking out the window at the clouds, she pondered the fact that life in the South seemed to proceed at a more leisurely pace than what she was used to. The weather didn’t necessitate that residents scurry from place to place in an attempt to escape the elements. That Toby deliberately chose to abandon the life of ease into which he’d been born mirrored Heather’s own inclination to take a road less traveled. As beautiful as she found Georgia, the harsh climate of Wyoming suited her better. The weather there reflected her tendency to run alternately hot and cold on issues of the heart. Both extremes were potentially dangerous.

Only time would tell whether fire or ice would dominate.