Читать книгу Donovan's Child - Christine Rimmer - Страница 8

A wheelchair.

Nobody had mentioned that he was using a wheelchair.

Yes, she’d heard that he’d had some kind of accident climbing some snow-covered mountain peak in some distant land. But that was nearly a year ago. She’d had no clue the accident was bad enough for him to still need a wheelchair now.

“Oh, God. I had no idea,” she heard herself whisper.

He kept on rolling, approaching her down the endless length of the room. Beneath the long sleeves of the knit shirt he wore, she could see the powerful muscles of his arms bunching and releasing as he worked the wheels of the chair. He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of her.

And then, for several excruciating seconds, he stared up at her as she stared right back at him.

Golden, she thought. He was as golden up close and personal as in the pictures she’d seen of him. As golden as from a distance, on a stage, when she’d been a starry-eyed undergraduate at Rice University and he’d come to Houston to deliver an absolutely brilliant lecture on form, style and function.

Golden hair, golden skin. He was a beautiful man, broad-shouldered and fit-looking. A lion of a man.

Too bad about the cold, dead gray-blue eyes.

He broke the uncomfortable silence with a shrug. “At least you’re no doormat.”

She thought of the apology she probably owed him. She really should have considered that there might be more going on with him than sheer egotism and contempt for others.

Then again, just because he now used a wheelchair didn’t mean he had a right be a total ass. A lot of people faced difficult challenges in their lives and still managed to treat others with a minimum of courtesy and respect.

She returned his shrug. “I have a big mouth. It’s true. And my temper rarely gets the better of me. But when it does, watch out.”

“Good.”

It wasn’t exactly the response she’d expected. “It’s good that I never learned when to shut up?”

“You’ve got guts. I like that. You can be pushed just so far and then you stand up and fight. You’re going to need a little fighting spirit if you want to have a prayer of saving this project from disaster.”

She didn’t know whether to be flattered—or scared to death. “You make it sound as though I would be doing this all on my own.”

“Because you will be doing this all on your own.”

Surely she hadn’t heard him right. Caught by surprise, she fell back a step, until she came up against the hard edge of the drafting table. “But …” Her sentence trailed off, hardly begun.

It was called a fellowship for a reason. Without his name and reputation, the project would never have gotten the go-ahead in the first place. The San Antonio Help the Children Foundation was all for giving a bright, young hometown architect a chance. But it was Donovan McCrae they were counting on to deliver. He knew that every bit as well as she did.

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his perfectly symmetrical mouth. “Abilene. You’re speechless. How refreshing.”

She found her voice. “You’re Donovan McCrae. I’m not. Without you, this won’t fly and you know it.”

“We need to carry through.”

“You noticed. Finally.”

A slow, regal dip of that leonine head. “I’ve put this off for way too long. And as you’ve already pointed out, there’s a need for this center. An urgent need. So I’ll … supervise. At least in the design phase. I’ll put my stamp of approval on it when I’m satisfied with what you’ve done. But don’t kid yourself. If it gets built, the design will be yours, not mine. And you will be following through in construction.”

Abilene believed in herself—in her talent, her knowledge, and her work ethic. Yes, she’d hoped this fellowship would give her a leg up on snaring a great job with a good firm. That maybe she’d be one of the fortunate few who could skip the years of grunt work that went into becoming a top architect. But to be in charge of a project of this magnitude, at this point in her career?

It killed her to admit it, but she did anyway. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“You’re going to have to be. Let me make this very clear. I haven’t worked in a year. I doubt if I’ll ever work again.”

Never work again?

That would be a crime. She might not care much for his personality. But he was, hands down, the finest architect of his generation. They spoke of him in the same breath with Frank O. Gehry and Robert Venturi. Some even dared to compare him favorably to Frank Lloyd Wright. He blended the Modern with the Classical, Bauhaus with the Prairie style, all with seeming effortlessness.

And he was still young. Not yet forty. Many believed an architect couldn’t possibly hit creative stride until at least the age of fifty. There was just too much to learn and master. Donovan McCrae’s best work should be ahead of him.

“Never work again …” She repeated the impossible words that kept scrolling through her mind.

“That’s right.” He looked … satisfied. In a bleak and strangely determined sort of way.

“But why?” she asked, knowing she was pushing it, but wanting to understand what, exactly, had happened to him to make him turn his back on the kind of career that most would kill for. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with your brain, is there?”

An actual chuckle escaped him. “You do have a big mouth.”

She refused to back off. “Seriously. Have you suffered some kind of brain damage?”

“No.”

“Then why would you stop working? I just don’t get it.”

Something flashed in those steel-blue eyes of his. She sensed that he actually might give her an answer.

But then he only shook his head. “Enough. I’ll take that memory stick.” He held out his hand.

She kept her lips pressed together over a sarcastic remark and laid the stick in his open palm.

He closed his fingers around it. “Ben will show you to your rooms. Get comfortable—but not too comfortable.” He backed and turned and wheeled away from her, disappearing through a door beyond the looming edifice that served as his desk.

“Abilene?” said a quiet voice behind her. She turned to face Ben Yates, who was slim and tall and self-contained, with black hair and eyes to match. “This way.”

She grabbed her bag off the back of her chair and followed him.

The house was a marvel—like all of Donovan McCrae’s designs. Built into the side of a rocky cliff, it had seemed to Abilene, as she approached it earlier, to materialize out of the desert: a cave, a fortress, a palace made of rock—and a house—all at the same time.

It was built around a central courtyard. The back half nestled into the cliff face. It had large glass doors and floor-to-ceiling windows all along the courtyard walls, giving access to the outside and great views of the pool and the harsh, beautiful landscaping. The facade side had windows and glass doors leading to the courtyard, as well. It also offered wide vistas of the wild, open desert.

Abilene’s rooms were on the cliff side.

Ben ushered her in ahead of him. “Here we are.”

The door was extra wide. The one to the bedroom was wide, as well. She ran her hand down the rough-hewn doorframe.

Ben said, “Donovan had all the rooms made wheelchair-accessible, so it would be possible for him to get around anywhere in the house.”

She set her leather tote on a long table by the door and made a circuit. First of the sitting room, then of the bedroom. She looked into the walk-in closet where her own clothes were already hanging, and also the bathroom with its open shower and giant sunken tub.

The walls of the place seemed hewn of the rock face itself. And the furniture was rustic, made from twisted hunks of hardwood, starkly beautiful, like the desert landscape outside. French doors led out to the pool, and to the paths that wound through the courtyard.

Donovan’s assistant waited for her near the door. “The pool is yours to use as long as you’re here. There’s also a large gym downstairs. Check with me if you want to work out there and I’ll give you a schedule. Donovan uses the gym several hours a day and prefers to do so alone. The desk, computer and drafting table you used today in the studio are yours whenever you need them. Anytime you’re hungry, the kitchen is to your left as you exit your rooms. Just keep going until you reach it. Or you can ring. Press the red button on the phone. The housekeeper will answer and see that you get anything you need.”

“I know I’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.”

“I had your suitcases unpacked for you.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You assumed I would stay?”

“I did, yes.”

“I have to tell you, it was touch and go back there in the studio. Your boss can be rude.”

Apparently, Ben felt no obligation to leap to Donovan’s defense. He spoke in his usual calm, unruffled tone. “Don’t let him run you off.”

“I won’t. It’s a promise.”

“That’s the spirit.” Did he almost smile? She couldn’t be sure. “Drinks at seven, just you and Donovan.”

“That sounds really fun.” She said it deadpan.

Ben took her meaning. “Only if you feel up to it. If you’d prefer, I can have something sent here, to your rooms.”

“I definitely feel up to it.”

“Excellent. If you follow either the courtyard breeze-way or the interior hall in either direction, you’ll eventually reach the front living room off the main entrance. Or you can simply cross the courtyard. It’s chilly out, but not too bad.”

“I’m sure I can find my way.”

“Good, then. If you need anything—”

“I know. Press the red button on the house phone.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned to go.

“Ben?”

He paused in the doorway, his back to her.

“I had no idea Donovan was in a wheelchair.”

A silence. And then, reluctantly, he turned to her again. “Yes. Well, he’s very protective of his privacy lately.”

“A little communication goes a long way.”

“You should be discussing this with him.”

“Probably. What happened to him?”

Ben frowned. She was sure he would blow her off—or tell her again to ask Donovan. But then he surprised her and gave it up. “You may have heard about the ice-climbing accident.”

“Just that there was one.”

“He fell several hundred feet. Both legs sustained multiple fractures. His right tibia was driven up through the knee joint into the thigh.”

She forced herself not to wince. “So … it’s not his spine? I mean, he’s not paralyzed?”

“No, he’s not paralyzed.”

“Will he walk again?”

“It’s likely. But with … difficulty—and I’ve said more than enough. Seven. Drinks in the front living area.”

And he was gone.

Abilene got out of her tired traveling clothes and jumped in the shower. In twenty minutes, she was freshened up and ready to go again. She considered exploring the house a little but decided to ask Donovan to show her around personally later. It might be a way to break the ice between them.

If such a thing was possible. The man was as guarded as they came. She had her work cut out for her, to try to get to know him a little.

Stretching out across the big bed, she stared up at the ceiling fixture, which consisted of tangled bits of petrified wood interwoven with golden globe-shaped lights that seemed strung on barbed wire. With a sigh, she let her eyes drift shut. Maybe what she really needed about now was a nice little nap….

The faint sound of her cell ringing snapped her awake. She went to the sitting room to get it. The display read Mom.

She answered. “I’m here. Safe. Don’t worry.”

“Just what I needed to know. Your father sends his love.”

“Love to him, too. Did Zoe and Dax get away all right?” Saturday, which had been New Year’s day, Abilene’s baby sister had married her boss and the father of her coming baby. The newlyweds were to have left for their honeymoon on Maui that morning.

“They’re on their way,” her mother said. “Dax says to say hi to Donovan.” Zoe’s groom and Donovan were longtime acquaintances. “And your sister says to tell your new mentor that he’d better treat you right.”

“I’ll give him the message—both of them,” Abilene promised.

“Have you … spoken with him yet?” Aleta Bravo asked the question carefully. She knew how upset Abilene had been with the whole situation.

“We spoke, yes. We … had words, I guess you could say. He was rude and dismissive. I was forced to tell him off.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Not as of now. I’ll keep you posted.”

“You can always simply come home, you know. It won’t be that difficult to find a place for yourself. You’re a Bravo. And you graduated at the top of your class.”

“Mom. There are plenty of architects. But an architect who’s worked closely with Donovan McRae, now that’s something else altogether. A fellowship like this—one-on-one with the best there is—it just doesn’t happen very often.”

She considered adding that Donovan had been facing some serious challenges lately and possibly deserved a little slack for his thoughtless behavior. That he used a wheelchair now.

But no. Ben had made it painfully clear that McRae didn’t want the world butting into his private business. She would respect his wishes. At least until she understood better what was going on with him.

Aleta said, “You’re determined to stay, then?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then I suppose I won’t be changing your mind….”

“No. You won’t.” And then, from her mother’s end of the line, faintly, she heard the deep rumble of her father’s voice.

Aleta laughed. “Your father says to give him hell.”

“I will. Count on it.”

After she said goodbye to her mom, she checked in with Javier Cabrera.

Javier was an experienced builder—and the first person she’d called when she got the summons yesterday from Ben. He owned his own company, Cabrera Construction, and had been kind enough to hire Abilene to work as a draftsperson on a few of his projects over the endless months she’d been waiting to get started on the fellowship. He’d even allowed her to consult with him at his building sites, giving her the chance to gain more hands-on experience in construction. He had become not only her friend, but something of a mentor as well.

His connections to her family were long-standing and complicated. Once the Bravos and the Cabreras had been mortal enemies. But now, in the past few years, the two families seemed to have more in common than points of conflict.

“Abby,” Javier said warmly when he answered the phone. “I was wondering about you.”

“I’ll have you know I have made it safely to Donovan McRae’s amazing rock house in the middle of nowhere.”

“Did he tell you how sorry he was for all the time he made you wait and wait?”

“Not exactly.”

“You get in your car and you come back to SA. I have work for you. Plenty of work.”

She smiled at the driftwood and barbed-wire creation overhead. “You’re good to me.”

“I know talent. You will go far.”

“You always make me feel better about everything.”

“We all need encouragement.” He sounded a little sad. But then, Javier was sad. He was still deeply in love with his estranged wife, Luz.

Abilene confided that Donovan had said her design was crap.

Javier jumped to her defense, as she had known that he would. “Don’t listen to him. Your design is excellent.”

“My design is … workmanlike. It needs to be better than that.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I have to be hard on myself. I want to be the best someday.”

“Stand tall,” he said. “And call me any time you need to talk to someone who understands.”

“You know I will.”

They chatted for a bit longer. When she hung up, it was ten minutes of seven. She combed her hair and freshened her lip gloss and walked across the courtyard to the front of the house.

Donovan was waiting for her.

He sat by the burled wood bar, watching, as she approached the French doors from the courtyard.

She wore a slim black skirt, a button-down shirt with a few buttons left undone and a long strand of jade-colored beads around her neck. Round-toed high heels showed off her shapely legs, and her thick chestnut hair fell loose on her slim shoulders.

She pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside as if she owned the place. There was something about her that had him thinking of old movies, the ones made way back in the Great Depression. Movies in which the women were lean and tall and always ready with a snappy comeback.

From that first moment in the afternoon, when Ben ushered her into the studio, he had felt … annoyed. With her. With the project. With the world in general. He wasn’t sure exactly why she annoyed him. Maybe it was all the energy that came off her, the sense of purpose and possibility that seemed to swirl around her like a sudden, bracing gust of winter wind.

Donovan didn’t want bracing. What he wanted was silence. Peace. To be left alone.

But he had chosen her, sight unseen, by the promise in the work she’d submitted, before it all went to hell. And he would, finally, follow through on his obligation to the Foundation people. And to her.

They were doing this thing.

She spotted him across the room. Paused. But only for a fraction of a second. Then she kept coming, her stride long and confident.

He poured himself a drink and set down the decanter of scotch. “What can I get you?”

“Whatever you’re having.” She nodded at the decanter. “That’s fine.”

“Scotch? Don’t women your age prefer sweet drinks?” Yeah. All right. It was a dig.

She refused to be goaded. “Seriously. Scotch is fine.”

So he dropped ice cubes into a crystal glass, poured the drink and gave it to her, placing it in her long-fingered, slender hands. They were fine hands, the skin supple, the nails unpolished and clipped short. Useful hands.

She sipped. “It’s good. Thanks.”

He nodded, gestured in the direction of a couple of chairs and a sofa. “Have a seat.” She turned and sauntered to the sofa, dropping to the cushions with artless ease.

He put his drink between his ruined legs and wheeled himself over there, rolling into the empty space between the chairs. “Your rooms?”

“They’re perfect, thanks. Is it just you and Ben here?”

“I have a cook and a housekeeper—a married couple, Anton and Olga. And a part-time groundskeeper to look after the courtyard and the perimeter of the house.” He watched her cross her pretty legs, admired the perfection of her knees. At least she was a pleasure to look at. “Did you rest?”

“I had a shower. Then my mother called. She told me to tell you that Dax sends his regards and my sister says you’d better be nice to me.”

“Your sister and Dax …?”

“They were married on Saturday. And left on their honeymoon this morning.”

“I hope they’ll be very happy,” he said without inflection. “And then what did you do?”

“Does that really matter to you?”

“It’s called conversation, Abilene.”

Her expression was mutinous, but she did answer his question. “After I talked to my mother, I called a … friend.”

He took note of her hesitation before the word, friend. “A lover, you mean?”

She laughed, a low, husky sound that irked him to no end. A laugh that said he didn’t intimidate her, not with his purposeful rudeness, nor with his too-personal questions. “No, not a lover. Javier is a builder. A really good one. I’ve been working for him over the past year, on and off. He also happens to be my half sister Elena’s father. And the adoptive father of my sister-in-law, Mercedes.”

He sipped his scotch. “All right. I’m thoroughly confused.”

“I kind of guessed that by the way your eyes glazed over.”

“Maybe just a few more details …”

She swirled her glass. Ice clinked on crystal. “My father and Javier’s wife, Luz, had a secret affair years ago.”

“An adulterous affair, that’s what you’re telling me.”

“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. Luz was married to Javier. My dad to my mom. The affair didn’t last long.”

“Did your father love your mother?”

“He did—and he does. And I believe that Luz loved—and loves—Javier. But both of their marriages were troubled at the time.”

“Troubled, how?”

She gave him a look. One that said he’d better back off. “I was a toddler when all this happened. I don’t know all the details, all the deep inner motivations.”

“Maybe you should ask your father.”

“Maybe you should stop goading me.”

“But I kind of like goading you.”

“Clearly. Where was I? Wait. I remember. Javier—and everyone else except Luz—believed that Elena, my half sister, was his. But then, a few years back, the truth came out. It was … a difficult time.”

“I would imagine.”

“However, things are better now. Slowly, we’ve all picked up the pieces and moved on.” She uncrossed her legs, put her elbows on her knees and leaned toward him. With the glass of scotch between her two fine hands, she studied him some more through those arresting golden-green eyes of hers. “So what did you do while I was busy talking on the phone?”

“Mostly, I was downstairs in the torture chamber with one of my physical therapists.”

“You mean the gym? You were working out?”

“Torture really is a better word for it. Necessary torture, but torture nonetheless.” And he had no desire to talk about himself. “What made you become an architect?”

She sank back against the sofa cushions. “Didn’t I explain all that in my fellowship submission?”

As if he remembered some essay she had written to go with her original concept for the children’s center. As if he’d even read her essay. Essays were of no interest to him. It was the work that mattered. “Explain it again. Briefly, if you don’t mind.”

She turned her head to the side, slid him a narrow look. He thought she would argue and he was ready for that—looking forward to it, really. But she didn’t. “Four of my seven brothers work for the family company, Bravo Corp. I wanted to be in the family business, too. BravoCorp used to be big into property development.”

“And so you set out to become the family architect.”

She gave him one slow, regal nod. “But since then, BravoCorp has moved more into renewable energy. And various other investments. There’s not much of a need for an architect at the moment.” She set her drink on the side table by the arm of the sofa. “What about your family?”

He put on a fake expression of shock. “Haven’t you read my books?”

She almost rolled her eyes. “What? That was a requirement?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then all right. I confess. I have read your books. All four of them, as matter of fact. Will there be a quiz?”

“Don’t tempt me. And if you’ve read my books, then you know more than anyone could ever want to know about my family.”

“I’d like to hear it from you—briefly, if you don’t mind.” Those haunting eyes turned more gold than green as she gave his own words back to him.

He bent to the side and set his drink on the floor, then straightened in the chair and braced his elbows on the swing-away armrests. “I hate all this getting-to-know-you crap.”

“Really? You seemed to be enjoying yourself a minute or two ago. But then, that was when you were asking the questions.”

“You are an annoying woman.” There. It was out.

She said nothing for several seconds. When she did speak, her voice was gentle. “You’re not going to scare me off, Donovan. If you want me to go, you’ll have to send me away—which means you’ll also have to admit, once and for all, that you’re backing out of the fellowship.”

“But I’m not backing out of the fellowship.”

“All right, then. Tell me about your family.”

He was tempted to refuse. If she’d read his books as she claimed, she knew it all anyway. But he had the distinct impression that if he refused, she would only badger him until he gave it up.

So he told her. “My father was never in the picture.”

From where he sat, without shifting his gaze from her face, he could see out the wide front windows. He spotted the headlights of a car approaching down the winding driveway. When the car pulled to a stop under the glow of the bright facade lights, he recognized the vehicle.

A red Cadillac.

He ignored the car and continued telling Abilene what she no doubt already knew. “My mother was a very determined woman. I was her only child and she set out to make me fearless. She was a force to be reckoned with. Adventurous. Always curious. And clever. It was her idea that I should write my autobiography when I wasn’t even old enough to have one. She said I needed to cultivate myself as a legend and an authority. And the rest would follow. She died when I was in my early twenties. A freak skydiving accident.”

Abilene had her elbow braced on the chair arm, her strong chin framed in the L of her thumb and forefinger. “A legend and an authority. I like that.”

“It’s a direct quote from my second book. If you really had read that book, you would remember it.”

“This may come as a shock, but I don’t remember everything I read.”

“How limiting for you.”

She gave him a slow smile, one that told him he was not going to break her. “Did you ever find your father?”

“To find him implies that I looked for him.”

“So that would be a no?”

An atonal series of chimes sounded: the doorbell. Abilene sent a glance over her shoulder and shifted as if to rise.

“Don’t get up,” Donovan said.

“But—”

“Olga will take care of it.”

Abilene sank back to the couch cushions as his housekeeper appeared in the wide-open arched doorway that led to the foyer. Olga cast him a questioning look. He gave a tight shake of his head.

Olga shut the thick archway doors before answering the bell. Seconds later, there were voices: Olga’s and that of another woman. The heavy foyer doors blocked out the actual words.

He heard the front door shut.

And then Olga opened the doors to the living area again. “Dinner is ready,” she announced, her square face, framed by wiry graying hair, serene and untroubled.

“Thanks, Olga. We’ll be right in.” Out in the driveway, the Cadillac started moving, backing and turning and then speeding off the way it had come. Abilene had turned to watch it go. He asked her, “Hungry?”

She faced him again. “Who was that?”

“Does it really matter? And more to the point, is it any of your business?”

Abilene stood and smoothed her skinny little skirt down over those shapely knees. “I can see this is going to be one long, dirty battle, every step of the way.”

“Maybe you should give up, pack your bags, go back to San Antonio and your so-helpful builder friend, who also happens to be the father of your half sister, as well as of your sister-in-law. To the loving arms of your large, powerful, wealthy family. To your father, who loves your mother even though he betrayed her.”

Her eyes went to jade, mysterious. Deep. “I’m going nowhere, Donovan.”

“Wait. Learn. The evening is young yet. You can still change your mind.”

“It’s obvious that you don’t know me very well.”