Читать книгу The Black Sheep Heir - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 11

A n hour later, Lacey watched through the kitchen’s glass window while Connor helped Tag and Tamela put the finishing touches on something they called a “snow wookie.” It resembled a cross between a fuzzy dog and a long-limbed giant but, hey, the kids loved it.

Connor laughed—actually laughed—as he held up Tamela so she could meticulously sculpt the wookie’s plush lips. Lacey couldn’t believe this was the same man who grimaced at her every time she asked him a personal question.

But she ended up smiling, too, his happiness tickling her.

They finished their work of art, standing back, the children checking to see if Lacey was paying attention by waving at her. She gave a thumbs-up sign and continued with her hot cocoa preparation.

Moments later, they’d disappeared, and Lacey could hear them in the mudroom, stomping the snow off their boots. Then, they entered the kitchen, Tamela and Tag trailing Connor, their eyes fixed on him with a fascination you could only get away with as a child.

“Your creation is really something,” Lacey said, handing the steaming beverages to the kids. Tag grabbed his mug with one hand, since the other was merely a nub—a disfigurement he’d been born with, not that it mattered in the least to him.

When Lacey gave Connor his cocoa, she tried to avoid his gaze, but failed. Instead, they locked glances, both of their hands on the mug.

Adrenaline surged around her heart, poking at it, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d been this attracted to a man. In fact, Lacey couldn’t ever remember a feeling this intense, not even with the one serious postclinic boyfriend she’d dated, made love with, been rejected by.

“Much obliged,” he said, still looking at her while bringing the drink to his lips.

Tamela started walking into the living room, where Lacey had stoked a roaring fire. “Tell your friend to help us with the origami.”

“I’m sure my friend would like to relax.” Lacey followed the kids into the next room. A floor-to-ceiling window lent light to the area, emphasizing hickory floors and lodgepole-pine-logged walls. The stone fireplace, with its built-in mosaic of faded oriental-themed tiles, dominated the room. She wondered if Conn would think her taste off-kilter. She wondered why she cared.

Tamela sighed and settled on a thick rug across the large room with Tag to practice the Japanese art of folding paper into shapes. Lacey had taught the kids origami for baby-sitting days like this, when her family and friends needed “couple time” with each other.

As the children began their task, the Renos’ two cuddly Maltese dogs wandered over and nestled against Tag and Tamela, completing the cozy picture.

Lacey sat on an overstuffed couch opposite the fire, and was surprised when Conn took a place next to her. For a full five minutes they merely watched the kids manipulating the squares of paper, Tamela helping Tag when he needed it.

Conn turned to her. “I didn’t mean anything by last night. Didn’t mean any hard feelings.”

“Of course not.” Did they really need to hash this out?

“Good,” he said, evidently thinking they were clear on the matter. “I don’t want ill will between us.”

She shook her head. “You make no sense to me.”

“That’s a good way to keep it.”

She kept her voice low, so as not to include the kids in the conversation. “Why in tarnation are you in my house, Connor? I thought you wanted to hide in that cabin.”

He paused, then laughed. “I got caught. By a little kid, no less.”

“So much for being a hermit.” It occurred to Lacey that he might crave companionship as much as she did. Who wouldn’t in the cold of winter, when everything seemed so bleak and removed?

She continued. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know where you were. Instead, you advertise your presence.”

Conn rested his mug on a thigh, drawing Lacey’s gaze to the firm muscles beneath his tan pants. She glanced away.

He said, “I told Tag and Tamela I’m an old friend who was driving through town and wanted to say hi to you. That should cover any questions your relatives might ask.”

“Yeah. You’ve got everything covered.”

“Lacey.”

Reluctantly, she looked over at him, regretting that every peek made her heartbeat thump a little faster, made it harder to catch her breath.

His hand drifted up, then jerked back, almost as if he wanted to touch her face again. Lacey’s belly warmed as she recalled last night’s fleeting caress.

“Don’t be angry with me,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about why I’m here or why I want to be left alone. All you need to know is that I’m not going to do anything to cause you harm.”

Didn’t he know his presence made her question her loneliness for the first time in years? And that, in itself, caused her plenty of pain?

A resounding knock on the kitchen door forced Lacey to bolt out of her seat. “I’ve got it.”

She left Conn sitting by himself, staring into the fireplace. Appropriate, since he wanted to be alone anyway. Didn’t he?

On the way to the other room, she passed the kids, who were still immersed in their art.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw a shape filling the door’s window. A husky, rag-padded woman with a ruddy complexion and slanted black eyes. The lady, known around these parts as The Wanderer, smiled, showing a gap where her two front teeth used to be. She resembled one of those apple dolls, skin sucked in and shriveled, clothed in tattered threads and third-hand shoes.

Lacey opened the door, knowing the old woman wouldn’t enter her kitchen. “How are you tonight, ma’am?”

“Fine as can be, Miss Lacey.”

She went to a cupboard, where she always kept a prepared sack of food for The Wanderer. The old woman didn’t come around more than a couple times a week, and Lacey felt compelled to help however she could, especially since most people in Kane’s Crossing liked to make-believe the homeless woman didn’t exist.

The elderly lady took the sack, bowing her head. “You’re a kind one.”

“Nonsense. I only wish you’d let me do more.” Usually, at this point, she asked The Wanderer if she had somewhere to sleep, if she’d like to stay in the cabin in the woods, but Lacey bit her tongue.

The old woman cast her a glance that clearly told Lacey she’d noticed the omission in their ritual, the lack of cabin talk. Then, after a beat, she said, “Well, thanks much. I got places to go.”

“You have a safe week.”

Lacey watched The Wanderer hobble away, wondering where the woman spent nights, wondering who she used to be—who she was.

God, Lacey had so much to be thankful for. A home, a family, her health…

She returned to the living room, bending down to give the kids a hug on the way inside.

Tag, like most boys his age, squirmed away, continuing with his project, oblivious to her emotional flare up. Lacey stood again, unable to hold back her grin, then headed back toward Connor.

His seat was empty.

Tamela piped up. “Your friend’s not here. He mussed up our hair like my dad does, then up and left.”

Lacey picked up his empty mug and looked out the window at the white landscape. Why had she expected him to stay? He was a stranger, a guy who’d holed up in a cabin on her property and that was that. He’d made it clear he didn’t need company. Heck, even now, he was probably huddled in front of his own fire, alone, staring into the flames without anyone to talk to.

But she shouldn’t worry about Connor. No, indeed. Because, in his exclusive club, it was obvious that no emotional ties were required there.

Day turned into night, then back into an inevitable tomorrow.

Connor found himself at the edge of the woods again, staring through his binoculars at the Spencer estate.

He was so absorbed in his boredom that he failed to hear the footsteps.

“Wow,” said Lacey’s voice. “This is progress. I see you’re working up a sweat to repair my cabin.”

Conn whipped the binoculars away from his face. Too late; she’d obviously seen them. “Taking another nature walk?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah, I am. I get cooped up in the house, preoccupied with the business. I think you felt stifled, too, yesterday, when you disappeared without even a goodbye.”

He chuffed, more because of disappointment in how he’d handled himself. Sure, he’d gotten muffled by the hearth-warmed intimacy, had felt the need to get out before he was trapped by firelight and Lacey’s presence. He’d also wanted to avoid whoever had been knocking at the kitchen door.

Lacey held her hands out to her sides, whirling around with a light laugh. “Besides,” she added when she’d finished, “the sun’s out, and it’s a beautiful day for spying. Isn’t it?”

He wanted to deny it, but that would be ridiculous.

She pointed to the binoculars. “What’s going on?”

Damn. If he told her about his preoccupation with the Spencers, he’d lose the advantage over them. She had the potential to reveal his presence, to show his hand before he was ready to take further action.

If he’d ever be ready.

He brushed off the thought. “I’m bird-watching,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

Lacey ran her gaze over the silent trees, making a show of hunting for the supposed birds. He should’ve been riled with her and her nosiness, should’ve been ready to order her to leave him alone, once and for all.

But Conn didn’t have the heart. He didn’t mind taking a minute to just drink her in, with her lively red scarf wrapped around her throat, with a matching headband holding back her flipped-up brown hair and covering her ears from the cold. Her skin was so wind-kissed that he wanted to cup her face in his hands, warming the chill away.

“Bird-watching,” she repeated. “Exciting stuff. I, personally, would rather keep an eye on those Spencers.”

Conn’s spine went ramrod straight.

She continued. “Ages ago, when we didn’t know any better, Ashlyn Spencer and I used to play in these woods together. Heck, she always wanted to distance herself from her family anyway, so we never minded how her father used to yell at her for lowering herself, keeping company with the townspeople. I, myself, never had any problems with the Spencers. Not until Johann took over the family’s holdings recently.”

Conn was hungry for more information. His blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin, yet he tried to act like he couldn’t care less. “Sounds interesting. But I’m out here to enjoy mother nature.”

“Undoubtedly.” Lacey came to stand next to him, turning toward the Spencer estate herself. “Remember that glass castle I told you about?”

“How could I forget?”

She smiled. “I know—it’s wild. And more of a problem than I ever thought it would be. The Spencers used to own the land I bought for the castle, and now they’re trying to strong-arm me into selling it back to them.”

Conn’s interest was definitely piqued. “Great ventures take great risks. Don’t they?”

Lacey peered up at him in apparent wonder. “Exactly. I tell myself the same thing every morning. Then I tell myself the Spencers aren’t going to get that land back.” Strength supported her words. “Not if I can manage it.”

Ironic. Conn had been doing research in libraries, spying on the Spencers, when all along he should’ve been pumping information out of this woman.

He needed her more than he could’ve predicted. “I thought maybe I could come by your place, get some of those tools tonight, start work on the cabin in the morning.”

Lacey nodded. “I might conjure up a pretty good dinner if you happen to be around at seven o’clock.”

“If I happen to be around,” said Conn, “I’ll be sure to knock on the kitchen door.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

She walked toward her home, and Conn watched the sway of her slender hips under her tight ski pants.

He wondered if she would rescind the invitation if she knew who she’d just asked to dinner.

Okay. Maybe she’d gone a little too far with the lit candles and Spanish guitar music.

As Connor sat at the other end of the pine table in her ambient-glow dining room, he appeared as comfortable as a nail at a hammer convention. He caught her staring, then nodded in response.

“The food’s great.”

She smiled at the compliment; her culinary efforts made her proud. But instead of talking around the subject once again, maybe some straightforward conversation wouldn’t do any harm. “When I cook, I go all out.”

Overcompensation—the story of her post-Hazy-Lawn life.

She added, “The candles and music only add to the menu.”

Sure. Was it the Chicken and Sausage Paella with the Patatine E Carote in Salsa Verde that had inspired her? Or had she been thinking more about Connor’s blue eyes and let-me-undo-that-ponytail hair?

Potatoes and carrots indeed. It was the eyes and hair that had caused the overkill.

This afternoon, when she’d caught him spying on the Spencers—or, er, bird-watching—Connor had taken one step up on her mystery-man scale of attraction. She couldn’t help it. The man hid secrets, and Lacey had always been a pushover for guys who reflected her own position in life.

Her doctors would’ve told her that she was sabotaging relationships before they started, that her self-confidence chose men who were impossible to win over in the first place so it wouldn’t be her fault when they rejected her. She was protecting herself from hurt. Well, duh.

But old habits were hard to break.

The only thing she could think to do was enjoy Connor’s company while she could, then forget about it. After all, if they ever got to the point where they talked about her past, he’d be out of her life lickety-split anyway.

Connor had already finished his meal and was casting an appreciative gaze around the room. “I envy you. This is the kind of place I’ve always dreamed of. Hell, I’d be happy if I could just build a house like this.”

“That’s right,” she said. “The handyman from Raintree. Of course you’d be fascinated by it.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure. But I didn’t have much to do with the construction.” She tried to see the room from his point of view, tried to take a fresh gander at the arched hammerbeams, skip-peeled posts and beams, milled logs. “I was lucky enough to buy this place after taking over my family’s company. But I’ve added some touches here and there.”

Connor fixed her with one of his spiked-through-the-heart gazes. Lacey felt the heat rise from her belly to her face.

“You mentioned your brothers. How is it that you run the business and they don’t?” he asked.

“Phew. That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time on my hands.”

“All right,” she said. “You asked for it.”

She used her fork to push around some rice from the Paella on her plate, and decided to start her story after her stay in the clinic. She didn’t think he’d want to know about it anyway.

“Here’s the abridged version. My mom, who’d been wed twice before, married into the Shane family, and we moved to Kane’s Crossing. I wanted—needed—something to excel at, and the business was it. My stepdad delighted in my interest and mentored me to succeed. He died of a heart attack running Shane Industries and, at first, it seemed like my stepbrother Matt would take over from there on out.

“Matt did a good job for a while, but started following in Dad’s footsteps. He worked so hard that he alienated his family. Then one day, he disappeared and no one knew what happened to him. That’s when I took over.”

“Damn,” said Connor. He’d leaned his elbows on the table, listening to her. The candlelight flirted over his sun-tinted skin, making Lacey long to touch the planes of his cheekbones, the shadow of a beginning beard.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, Matt came back last year, but that’s another story. Suffice to say that he, his wife Rachel, Tamela and the baby in Rachel’s tummy are one big happy family again. Especially since Matt decided I should still run the company.”

“You have another brother, though. Right? What about him?”

Lacey smiled at the mention of Rick. She’d always held a soft spot for her smart aleck brother. Not that she didn’t love Matt, too, but they’d never been as close.

“Rick’s another long tale. He and Dad had a falling out years ago, and Rick joined the army and fought in the Gulf War. He never wanted anything to do with the business, so he asked me to run it. Good decision, too, because now he has his own happy ending with Daisy, the woman he just married.”

“And that leaves you,” Connor said softly.

She wished he hadn’t caught on to that part. Had she told her stories with such obvious yearning for someone to treasure her? Was it so clear that she didn’t belong to anyone?

“I’m fine on my own,” she said. “I’ve got lots of work to keep me busy. And I can make it by myself, especially since Dad left me a tidy sum of money when he passed away.”

“Oh.” Connor broke eye contact and stared at a candle, as if suddenly realizing she was a bread winner and he was a…what?

What the heck was he?

He must’ve sensed the question balancing on the tip of her tongue, because he said, “As for me, no epic stories. I’m just a simple guy.”

If the muscles in his jaw hadn’t jumped after the comment—an action similar to the kick of a rifle after it fires—Lacey would’ve let the words fade.

“You’re not fooling me, Connor.”

He leaned back, silent, watching her as intently as he’d been watching the Spencer estate this afternoon. Lacey wanted to glance away, to disengage before the look stretched into discomfort. She didn’t want him peering too hard at her, because there was so much to hide.

She broke the tension. “What?”

“Nothing. Just looking.”

“You do a lot of that.”

“You’re a very pretty woman.”

Lacey tried not to act surprised. It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say. Embarrassment crept up her neck.

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

Connor shrugged, as if it meant next to nothing.

Lacey was more than aware of the fact that she talked too much when she felt under the spotlight. Probably because she’d slung so much bull at her doctors when they expected answers that she hadn’t ever learned to break the habit.

“Usually,” she said, her voice an octave higher than usual, “I have to deal with this whole ‘cute’ label. You know, like a cheerleader or kitty cat or bunny—”

Connor’s brows lifted.

“—but it’s a relief to hear someone say ‘pretty’ instead of ‘cute.’ Not that I look in the mirror every morning and ask, ‘Who’s the fairest of them all?’ Because I don’t care much about that…”

She let the sentence trail off into the air. What a ditz.

But then Connor came to her rescue, changing the subject. “You’re dressed differently tonight.”

Lacey looked down at her attire. For the last week, she’d been on a sixties ski-princess kick. Tonight she was riding the wave of her menu and cultivating a Spanish style, with her hair pulled back into a small, sleek bun and her silken, flared red dress covered by a black, fringed shawl.

Her propensity to change images tickled the people of Kane’s Crossing, but Lacey liked the fact that she had control over the way she appeared to them. The more she manipulated her appearance, the less power they had to shape it.

“I get a bit bored with the same wardrobe,” she said, leaving it at that.

“Hell. Candlelight, music, gourmet food…” Connor stood from his chair, grabbing his plate as he prepared to clear the table. “If I was the type who loved ’em and left ’em, I think I’d be completely overcome with your charms.”

Wings seemed to flutter in her belly, then stopped, a heavy sense of failure diving into her stomach instead. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I was trying to seduce you.”

He grinned. “No matter what your intentions were, you’re safe with me. Unlike you, I don’t intend to follow in the footsteps of my own deadbeat dad.”

Then, with a wry expression, Connor walked to the kitchen, causing Lacey to wonder what he’d meant by that last cryptic comment.