Читать книгу Necessary Secrets - Barbara Phinney - Страница 9

“So, where are you staying?” Sylvie asked Jon before biting into the sandwich she’d thrown together. Her father had headed back out to Andrea and all the primitive campers. She’d given him a brief kiss and short hug, complete with a reassuring smile. Then she’d practically dived into the refrigerator.

Expressionless, Jon answered her question. “I’m not staying anywhere. As soon as I pulled into town, I headed into the nearest building to see if I could find out where you lived.”

Her stomach settling and accepting food now, Sylvie swallowed her bite. “Which was the medical center, right? How convenient I should have just left there.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s the first thing you see when you enter town. And it’s big enough to service the whole community. I took a gamble that you might have gone there to find a doctor for yourself when you retired.”

She took another hearty bite of her sandwich. He was right about her needing a doctor. Being in the military had meant all her medical needs had been taken care of. “Good guess.”

Jon took the pitcher of milk and poured a large glass for her. “I never guess. I study people and use common sense.”

She grimaced at the milk. “Then you should be fully aware how I feel about people pampering me. I can pour my own milk, thank you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted up. “No need to get in a snit. I’m just being polite. I was hoping to get a cold drink, too.”

“Help yourself.” With one finger, she shoved the untouched glass toward him. “I guess now that you’re working here, you’re expecting to stay in the bunkhouse. Right?”

He shoved her glass of milk back in front of her. After helping himself to one of the glasses drying on the rack by the sink, he poured himself the rest of the milk. “Absolutely. Does that pose a problem for you?”

“What if I said the bunkhouse was full?”

“I’d buy a tent and stay at the campground.”

Of course he would. “I’ve told you all I can about Rick. So what do you hope to achieve here? It’s not to earn any extra money. Your job in Toronto must pay five times what I can pay you.”

“I told you I want to be a part of Rick’s baby’s life. But you don’t want me around. If I work here all summer, maybe I can convince you I’m sincere.”

She laughed, despite herself. “I knew that much. I can see you’re sincere at everything you do.”

He didn’t share her laugh. Which was just as well. Her sarcasm hadn’t meant to be one of those cute, tension-breaking quips.

He drained his milk. “Sylvie, your baby needs a father in its life. Its own father is dead, your father could do the job, but a child needs more than a grandfather who likes to camp and is ready to retire with his younger wife. I want the chance to prove to you I can be that father figure for your baby.”

She gaped at him. A father? The idea of a cozy trio bombarded her, smashing the comfortable discussion. She swallowed down her latest bite. Jon, a father to her child? He didn’t have a clue what he was saying, or the extent of what had happened to bring him here. He wouldn’t be offering if he did. “How are you going to do that? You’re the uncle who lives in Toronto. And what makes you think I can’t provide a father figure for this baby?”

His eyes narrowed. “How, by scouring the high school for another kid Rick’s age?”

She shoved back her chair and stood. “You’re talking yourself out of a job, Cahill.” She swung away from him, snatching her plate as she went. Only when she’d reached the sink and had fired the plate into it, did she count to ten.

Every swear word she’d ever learned rose in her, but she continued counting. Eight, nine…

“I’m sorry.” Jon walked around the table and stopped beside her at the sink.

She looked at him, battling the fury roiling inside her.

“I was out of line.”

She swung around to find him frowning at her. When he turned his attention to the vista seen from her kitchen window, she grabbed an opportunity to study his profile.

A straight, strong nose centered his even features. Rick had that same handsome profile, but his face hadn’t had the age and life experience to season it, as Jon’s had.

Good grief, Rick had been so young. For a second she could so clearly picture him, right where Jon now stood, his whole body focused on his task as he drove through the wet snow and mud….

Moments before they slammed into the landslide that had been deliberately set.

An hour or so before they’d done the unthinkable. A few hours before he’d died.

Before she’d gotten him killed, just to satisfy a selfish, ludicrous desire.

Sylvie swallowed the hard lump in her throat and fought off another stinging round of shameful memories. From the moment they scrambled into the back of the truck, to await the Quick Reaction Force, the truth and the official report diverged widely.

She would never bridge them, either.

Jon turned to face her once more. Mercifully, Rick disappeared from her mind as she watched Jon’s eyes moisten and cloud over. “Sylvie, I’m really sorry. I should never have said that crap about high school. You and Rick must have cared for each other. A lot, if you’re carrying his baby. And to watch him die….” His voice faded into a hoarse whisper. “You two were lovers. I’m only the brother.”

Something clamped hard around her heart. She wanted nothing more than to corral the ache and the shame and all the guilty memories that dogged her every minute. She clenched her jaw, fighting the mix that wouldn’t be corralled.

Seeing the torment, Jon swore and hauled her into his arms. She went stiff, taken aback by his sudden compassion, but he did not relent. He pulled her tighter still, pressing her head into the side of his neck, as he drove his hands and face into her short, unruly hair.

She could smell the faded scent of his soap. He’d missed a spot when he’d shaved that morning and it scraped her temple. For one instant Jon Cahill was human, suffering like her. She’d known him for two hours and already unwanted empathy forced her arms to wrap around him.

She tried her best to comfort him. He tightened his grip on her further, and strangely the embrace eased the aching within her instead.

“Thank you,” he said into her hair. “Thank you for giving me this chance.”

For the next few minutes they did nothing but hold each other. Every part of his front touched her. He’d managed to shift his feet to enclose hers, and from his ankles up, his body fed hers with comfort. The whole long, firm length of him.

She sighed. Too soon to be offering such personal comfort, a part of her warned. He pulled back, only enough to see her face. She lifted her head, expecting to see tears still welling inside of his eyes.

But the look wasn’t angry or grieving or anything she’d expected. Her heart reacted first, tripping up into a higher gear, as though it knew exactly what the look on his face meant before she even understood it herself.

His eyes, already dark in color, deepened, heating and stirring embers inside of her that should be left to grow cold. They’d sparked to life once, and look where she now found herself?

Jon’s gaze dropped to her parted lips, and then back up, slowly roaming her face, as if in search of something.

Then, with smooth precision, Jon lowered his head. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted to feel those smooth, firm lips on hers.

Panic burst inside of her. He didn’t want to kiss her. He couldn’t. They shouldn’t. He wasn’t thinking about it. Was he?

As if arcing across to him, the panic flared in his own eyes. He pushed her away, driving his fingers into his hair, looking around the kitchen at everything except her.

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you show me what you want me to do? You can ask this Lawrence guy to show me the bunkhouse later, okay?”

He’d nearly kissed her! What the hell was he thinking of?

He wasn’t sure if he even liked her, for Pete’s sake. She was far from the woman he’d mentally pictured Rick would end up with. On the exterior, Sylvie seemed like most single women in positions of authority.

But there was also a part of her that kept pushing him, provoking him…telling him both openly and subliminally that he would never learn what really happened the night Rick died.

And still, he’d wanted to kiss her?

Jon followed Sylvie out the door, the horror of his intentions smacking him like the dry, mountain air.

At home, he and Rick had never been competitive. He’d been preparing for college when his mother had announced her pregnancy. He’d just turned seventeen when Rick was born, his arrival a joy in the household. Jon had accepted his younger brother from the moment Rick first spat breast milk down the back of his favorite shirt.

This sudden need to kiss Sylvie wasn’t born of jealousy. He refused to believe that. So what the hell was it born of, then?

Outside, the sun beat down on them. Squinting at Sylvie, he asked, “Do you have a hat? It’s hot out here. You don’t feel faint, do you?”

Sylvie stopped at the fence that enclosed the nearest paddock. She spun her heel in the dirt to face him. “Let’s get one thing clear. First up, pregnant women can vomit at the drop of a hat and then feel like heaven for the rest of the day. I know. I’ve had eight weeks of doing just that. And secondly, I’ll let my doctor and my own good sense tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. All right?”

Good. She’d raised that defensive wall again. He needed that. “I don’t want you to embarrass yourself in your own backyard, that’s all.”

She returned to her walking. When they reached the small barn closest to the house, she threw open the door and stepped into the dark building. He followed.

“I’ll give you one thing, Jon. You’re not intimidated by a tough woman, are you?”

He stepped into the dimness after her. “There won’t be much you can do or say that will faze me, sweetheart, so don’t bother scaring up all your worst military habits to try and oust me. My ex-wife was a social worker in Toronto’s Chinatown. She was every bit as tough as you and I managed to hold my own with her.”

“Before or after you two divorced?”

If he’d expected capitulation, he’d have been as big a fool as he’d been during his farce of a marriage. His ex-wife had been pregnant, into her second trimester and he hadn’t even noticed. Had she hidden it that well, or had he just stopped caring?

Ahead, Sylvie had become a shadow in the dimly lit barn. But he saw enough to notice her hand stray to her still-flat belly.

He crushed the urge to swear. Loudly. At Sylvie. She had exactly what he wanted. She could give him Rick’s last hours, make that connection—be that connection—to his lost brother. She carried his only living relative and…she was also keeping a secret. He’d worked with enough suspects to know the difference between those who openly admitted they weren’t going to talk, and those with a secret to keep.

But Sylvie fitted both and it pissed him off.

Inhaling the smells of hay and animals, he became thankful that she couldn’t make out his features and guess his thoughts, in case she could read him as easily as he read her.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he searched for the words to gloss over the memory of that day his ex-wife announced she was carrying some other social worker’s child. “My ability to hold my own with my wife had no bearing on our marriage or our divorce. We simply grew apart, living separate lives until she announced one day she was moving out. I couldn’t think of a single good reason for her to stay.”

She studied his face, exactly as he expected her to. “And you’re telling me this because you want to show me you’re sincere, right?”

For a moment he wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. His words didn’t even ring true in his own ears. “I’m not telling you this to prove anything. You asked,” he finally answered.

She shrugged and turned her attention to a small room nearby.

Anger swelled in him. All of this foolishness could be avoided, if Sylvie would tell him what he wanted to know. “How did Rick die?”

Sylvie stiffened as she swung away from him. “I told you I can’t talk about it. I signed a nondisclosure agreement. You’re familiar with those, aren’t you? Legally binding documents that say you can’t say anything—even if you want to? Look, I know you’re hurting, but recounting Rick’s last hours isn’t going to bring him back. It’s only going to torture you.”

She didn’t meet his steady gaze. She was hiding behind a rule, a contract, just like his ex-wife had hidden behind her own privacy when he’d asked her who the father was.

Sharply, he pulled the anger in. He wasn’t angry with Tanya. She’d been lucky enough to find love again quickly. Her baby had been a shock and a complication, and he still wasn’t sure how to take it, but now he focused on the fact that the kid would be loved and cared for.

Would Sylvie’s baby have that good fortune? Of course. Whether she realized it or not, Sylvie was already displaying strong protective instincts. She wanted Rick’s baby…and she didn’t want him.

A knot formed in his stomach. “Your candor isn’t going to shock me, Sylvie, so don’t try to use it as a weapon.”

Her expression suddenly softened. “Rick was like that, too. Never bothered by my forthrightness. I admired that in him. A lot of soldiers resented me and my attitude. I could never figure them out. They didn’t mind women in the army, and would say we had to be ‘one of the guys.’ So I was one and they resented that. But Rick didn’t care. He was—” she paused “—reasonable.”

The knot tightened. “Reasonable? That’s all you have? Rick was a hell of a lot more than reasonable. He had to have been to father that child of yours!” He tried to clip his growing irritation, but hell, how could she just tag on some blasé term?

Sylvie reddened, a reaction he hadn’t expected to see. He plowed on, regardless. “Rick must have cared for you. He wasn’t the kind of person who would screw a woman simply because it felt like a good idea.” The coarse words tasted bitter on his tongue. He hated them. But looking at her go from red to white, he was glad he’d struck a nerve.

“I know what Rick was like. We did talk when we were stuck alone in that truck.”

“You did more than talk.”

“What we did and why we did it are none of your business.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you really mad at, here? Me, Rick, or the ex-wife you grew apart from?”

Any sharp retort he had inside snapped back at him like a taut rubber band. She spun away from him and bustled into a small room.

“We keep all the tools in here,” she gritted out. “I need you to fix the zoo paddock first. Bruce, he’s the pot-bellied pig, keeps slipping under the fence. He’s already dug through a camper’s garbage. I’m thinking that if you take some of the wire that’s behind the barn and bury it where he’s been digging, we should thwart him good. When you’ve done that, the front steps need nailing down again.”

She was ready to leave him to his chores, stalk right past him, in fact, when she frowned at his clothes. “You should change.”

He looked down at his shirt. He had packed one set of old shorts and a couple of T-shirts, in case he could squeeze in some jogging, but that was all. He hadn’t figured he’d be sticking around all summer.

He looked into the toolroom. Well, at least he’d still be exercising.

“Sylvie?” A voice called from deep within the barn.

She slipped past Jon. “Yes, Lawrence?”

Jon followed her out of the toolroom. A tall, wiry, white-haired man appeared. He looked at Jon with a sharp frown.

Sylvie made the simplest of introductions. “Jon is the brother of one of the soldiers I knew in Bosnia.”

Lawrence nodded, silently taking in Jon and his toodressy-for-the-barn clothes. The old man turned back to Sylvie. “Heard you puking again this morning.”

Jon also looked at him. Apparently, the idea of mincing words didn’t exist on this ranch.

“You’ll notice Lawrence has learned the Mitchell art of diplomacy,” Sylvie said. “He’s worked for my father and grandfather.”

“I’m too old to beat around the bush.”

Sylvie drew in a long breath, steeling her shoulders at the same time. “I’m surprised you’ve waited so long to say something. I’m pregnant, okay?”

Lawrence shrugged and headed into the small toolroom, talking as he went. “You want me to do the wagon tour tonight? The sign-up list at the office is full.”

“Yes, thanks.” She shut her eyes, and Jon watched her swallow.

Behind both of them, Lawrence chuckled. “Hard to believe after all those rough roads and ol’ army trucks, you’re brought to your knees by a homemade prairie schooner and a simple pregnancy.”

“Thanks, Lawrence, you always make me feel better.”

He turned to Jon. “Here camping?”

“Sylvie offered me a job for the summer.”

“Really?” Lawrence squinted at him. “Can you ride?”

Jon glanced over at Sylvie, who also waited for his reply. “I did a two-year stint with the mounted unit in Toronto.”

Lawrence quirked an eyebrow at Sylvie, who added, “Jon’s a police officer in Toronto. But he’s only needed here to do the yard work and general maintenance. I don’t see any reason to have him riding around with you all day.”

“Then you may want him to run into town with you. The shipping company called. Your unaccompanied baggage has finally arrived.”

“Good. It’s about time.” She smiled at Lawrence. Hardly broad, it was gentle, patient, so different. “Why don’t you help me with it? I have a gift for you in it.”

Lawrence chuckled and smiled back.

Now that was interesting. She was obviously very attached to the old man. Jon tucked that mental note away for future possibilities.

But the old man shook his head. “Not today, I’m afraid. We’ve got four stupid head of cattle that have broken through the fence and wandered up the trail. They gave three hikers quite a scare when they chased them.”

Jon spoke up. “I’ll take you into town, Sylvie. It’ll give me a chance to buy more appropriate clothes. And you can get your car, if you’re feeling up to driving home, that is.”

At his subtle challenge, she shot him a suspicious look. Then, catching sight of the uplifted corner of his mouth, the look shifted. Her smooth, lush lips parted, her eyes widened.

The mote-filled air around them heated and thickened. And the moment lingered.

Jon stared at her. In his line of work, he only ever saw the innocent, haunted look Sylvie now wore on the faces of child victims.

Innocent? Surely he was mistaken. He had to be missing something here. Damn it, something to do with Rick?

He stared harder at her, silently willing her to speak. Tell me what you can’t say, Sylvie.

She blinked away the haunted expression, and immediately the coolness returned. “Sure we can go now. I’m fine.”

No, she wasn’t, his intuition whispered. Jon pursed his lips into a tight line. Maybe the look had been a product of heat and hormones. Pregnant women glowed, they said.

“Then it’s settled,” Lawrence said, oblivious to the disturbing undercurrent flowing between Jon and Sylvie. “Better take the truck.”

Jon mentally yanked himself from his thoughts. He gave Sylvie his best poker face. “Yeah. Ready?”

Sylvie cleared her throat and nodded. She walked past the two men, Jon pivoting to watch her leave.

Was she really a victim here? She had been in the truck with Rick when it had been ambushed. Victim was the correct word.

So why was he here, waiting for just the right moment to squeeze out the private secrets of Rick’s last hours, in total violation of the legally binding agreement she’d signed?

What the hell kind of person was he?

A man in need of the truth, that’s what. The truth from a woman keeping more than a secret hidden inside of her.

“Oh, hey, Jon,” Lawrence interrupted his desperate thoughts. The old man scratched a stubby growth of beard. “Um, the library is right beside the shipping company. I’m going to call in and have a few books signed out. Would you mind picking them up while Sylvie’s getting her stuff? Under the name of Lawrence Fawcett. The librarian will know.”

Sylvie shoved open the barn door and escaped outside, inhaling the mountain breeze with hope it would clear her mind. She hadn’t wanted to go into town with Jon, suspecting he’d find it the perfect time to pump her for details she’d rather not give. Rather not? More likely, never give.

But when he lifted one corner of his mouth, with challenge in his eyes, she’d felt a stirring within.

God, he was gorgeous. It hadn’t really struck her until that moment. Suddenly, one night of passion—one of the most inappropriate events ever—had transformed her from…

She swallowed. From cool virgin to full, sensual woman.

Her temples pounded. She hadn’t wanted to get involved with Rick.

Until she faced death as a virgin.

Oh, Lord. She’d been so incredibly selfish. A man was dead just because she hadn’t wanted to die a virgin, and now she was pregnant, alone, and of all things, fatally attracted to her one-time lover’s bitter brother, who was hinting that he wanted to be a father to the child.

Wasn’t that dandy?

Directly in her vision stood the back of the house, or more pointedly, the kitchen. Had Jon actually considered kissing her? No. It was grief, and the way the shadows played on his face. For all she knew, he’d mastered the hungry sexual look years ago, and now wore it as a matter of habit.

“Are the keys in the truck?”

She jumped, knocking her attention from the house to Jon, who’d slipped up beside her, completely unnoticed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She tried to look calm. “It’s all right.”

The truck sat silent in front of her, its dark-green paint faded in spots by the brutal Alberta sun. Beside Jon, in a truck, while he drove?

His dark profile would show his concentration on his driving, like Rick’s had.

A sharp squeal cut through the hot air. She spun around to find the source.

Immediately Jon caught her arm. His warm fingers wrapped around her elbow as he pointed to the part of the front yard they could see. “It’s just the pig entertaining the kids. Relax.”

She sagged, letting out a whoosh of air. Of course. It was just Bruce. It wasn’t that night—

She offered Jon a foolish, wobbly smile. “Bruce is the camp favorite. But I swear if he roots through one more bag of garbage, there’ll be a pig roast on the next long weekend.”

Jon’s eyebrows creased together ever so briefly before he smiled and released her elbow. “Shall I drive?”

“No,” she snapped. Abruptly she cleared her throat and stiffened the smile she’d forced on her face. “Thanks. I’ll drive. I know where to go.”

When they reached the shipping company, Jon threw open the cab door. The bright sun beat down on him as he turned to face her. “I’ll just go get those books Lawrence asked for, then I’ll be straight back. Don’t lift anything, even if they say you have to, okay? I’ll do it.”

He threw her the firmest look he could summon after the relaxing ride back into town. She merely shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Jon climbed out and slammed the door. Sylvie had been quiet on the trip in. Her insistence on driving hadn’t struck him as odd, until they sat inside the old rattletrap and he’d realized that it was possible the last time she’d been riding as a passenger in a big truck was with Rick. And Rick, being the subordinate, would have done the driving.

She hadn’t wanted Jon to drive, and he understood her choice.

Walking across the pavement and through the scattering of various cars, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Thankfully, he had the experience of Toronto in the dog days of August. Now that was hot, especially in a bulletproof vest and dark pants. Here was a dry heat, he told himself. Tolerable.

So why didn’t he feel cooler? It was just barely June, for crying out loud.

A chorus of laughter and noise greeted him as he entered the library. An elderly librarian was reading a story to a circle of youngsters, all of whom yelled out excitedly when a question arose in the book’s dialogue. Preschool morning, he presumed. He walked up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up some books for a Lawrence Fawcett.”

The librarian nodded and pulled three books from under the counter. “They’ve already been signed out, so you don’t need anything. Here’s the slip saying when they have to be back.” She showed him the narrow paper before tucking it into the top book. “Tell Lawrence I’ve bought a whole bunch of new westerns he might be interested in. Especially after reading these books.”

Jon glanced down at the short pile, his eyes widening. Breastfeeding—Nature’s Way. He lifted the book and read the next title. A Father’s Guide to Surviving Pregnancy. Almost too scared to look, he lifted the second book and peered down. Pregnancy and Birth—An In-Depth Look at the Details. Wonderful. Why couldn’t Lawrence have asked Sylvie to fetch them?

He scooped up the books. Jeez, she’d just told him this morning. Was Lawrence already planning to be Sylvie’s labor coach? Dazed, he walked back to the shipping company, stopping only to dump the books on the front seat of the truck. Over the hood he spied Sylvie, lifting a large duffel bag over her shoulder. At her feet were two large barrack boxes and a rucksack.

What the hell was she doing?

He swore, long and loud enough for her to hear him. “Damn it, woman, I said I’d do that!”

He jogged over to the cement docking ramp and leaped up to glare at the young, pimply faced worker beside her. “What’s wrong with you, anyway? She’s pregnant, you know. And you’re making her lift all of this by herself?”

The worker blinked. “No, sir. I was going to put it all on a pallet and forklift onto her truck. I didn’t know she was pregnant. Sorry.”

Jon drew in a tight seethe. Of course he wouldn’t know. And he bet Sylvie wouldn’t ask for help.

Sylvie threw the lightly stuffed bag onto the wooden pallet the worker had hastily retrieved. “Good grief, Jon, quit ragging on the kid. I know my limitations, all right? This duffel bag’s practically empty.”

“The rest of it will be heavy. I know. I’ve got all of Rick’s stuff still sitting on my living room floor.”

She grabbed the shipping order and scrawled out her signature, tearing off her copy with the ease of someone who had worked in shipping all her adult life. Folding it with clipped, jerky movements, she snapped, “You still have his stuff in your living room? I packed his boxes two days after he died. They left by Hercules aircraft the day we had his memorial service. Isn’t it about time you sorted through that stuff? You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Without waiting for his answer, she stalked down the steps to the truck.

Her expression still grim, she backed up the pickup, lining it up beside to the dock. Behind Jon, the young worker, now in the forklift, threw him a cautious look before carrying the pallet down a long ramp. When he reached the truck, he loaded the baggage onto the truck’s bed. “Um, I need the pallet back sometime, Ms. Mitchell.” He turned to Jon. “Is this all right?”

“Fine,” he muttered. Her stuff looked exactly like Rick’s. Rick’s stuff had had bright blue strips of cloth tied to the handles of the barrack boxes and duffel bag. Probably in order to easily recognize them in the sea of olive green Jon could imagine lined the floor of a Hercules cargo plane.

Sylvie’s strips of material were the same color.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Yet his insides chilled him. He hadn’t received Rick’s stuff until six weeks after he’d buried him. And then, sick of not getting the answers he needed, and encouraged by his chief, he’d dumped his brother’s effects into his living room and called the airline. All that was left of Rick’s life had been sitting in his living room for almost a month.

Damn it, Rick deserved better.

Jon searched the horizon, a flat line broken up by the outline of the library beyond. Could Sylvie be right? Had he been delaying the inevitable? But to go through all of Rick’s things, every last scrap? What the hell would he do with it all? Longing ached his bones. Damn it, Rick, why did you have to die so young?

He studied Sylvie’s profile in the back window of the truck as she peered into the bed at something. How had she felt, sorting through her lover’s clothes and uniforms, packing up his personal items?

Being one hell of a woman, Sylvie would have managed, just as she’d manage parenthood. But she couldn’t give her baby the one thing he deserved: someone who could tell him about his father.

Already he was thinking of the kid as a male. A boy, a lively blond boy just like Rick. A boy who needed a man in his life, like Jon and Rick had needed their own father even before some coward killed him.