Читать книгу The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes - Emilie Rose - Страница 16

Morning came too soon. Tamra heard the clang of pots and pans, the familiar sound of Mary fixing breakfast.

Was Walker awake, too? Was he sitting at the kitchen table, pretending that he hadn’t sneaked out of the house last night? Or crept back in several hours later?

She sat up and reached for her robe. She could still feel Walker’s touch—his mouth, his hands, the strength of his body, the erotic sensation of flesh against flesh.

Although she kept telling herself it had been lust, a hard-hammering, desperate-for-sex release, she knew better. Because after the sex had ended, they’d remained in each other’s arms, not wanting to let go, to break the spell.

And now, God help her, she was nervous about seeing him, anxious about facing the man who was seeping into her pores, the man playing guessing games with her emotions.

They were getting too close too fast, and it scared her. Yet she liked it, too. She envisioned marching into the kitchen or her bedroom or wherever he was and kissing him senseless. But she wouldn’t dare, not in front of Mary. Walker’s mom had slept through the entire event.

Tamra washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she didn’t take a shower or get dressed. She simply tightened her robe and headed down the hall. She wanted Walker to see her this way, to look into her eyes on the morning after, to appreciate her tousled hair, to remember running his hands through it.

She entered the kitchen, but he wasn’t at the table. She took a deep breath and decided he would awaken soon. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would sleep the day away.

“Oh, my. Look at you.” Mary turned away from the stove, from the old-fashioned oatmeal she was stirring. “Did you have a rough night?”

Tamra blinked, forced a smile, fought a wave of guilt. “Rough?”

“Did I keep you up?” The older woman sighed. “I was snoring, wasn’t I? I need one of those mouthpiece devices. Or a nasal strip or something.”

“It was fine. I hardly noticed.” Because she’d been parked on the plains, having carnal relations with Mary’s son.

A sin she was sure to repeat.

Dodging eye contact, she poured herself a cup of coffee, grateful it was thick and dark and blasted with caffeine. “Do you need help with breakfast?” she asked, adding sugar to her cup, giving herself another artificial boost.

“Sure. You can fry the eggs. But it’s just the two of us. Walker already left this morning.”

“Left?” Tamra spun around, nearly burned her hand on the sloshing drink, then set it on the counter. “He went home?”

“No, honey. He drove to Gordon. He said he had some banking matters to take care of.”

Her pulse quit pounding. There were no banks on the rez, no financial institutions. “That makes sense.”

Mary checked her watch, then went back to the oatmeal. An early riser, she was already dressed for work, wearing a freshly laundered uniform and squeaky nurse-type shoes. Her gray-streaked hair was tucked behind her ears. “Walker seemed preoccupied today.”

“He did?” Tamra opened a carton of eggs, took inventory, tried to behave accordingly. “How so?”

“I think he was anxious to see you, hoping you were awake.”

“Really?” A teenybopper reaction, a bevy of wings took flight in her belly, making breakfast an impossible task. But she cracked several eggs into a pan, anyway, then realized she’d neglected to turn on the flame. She glanced up and noticed Mary watching her. She’d forgotten the oil, too.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“Me and Walker?” Caught red-handed, Tamra faked her response, feigning a casual air. “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Friends, my foot,” his mother said. “I think you have your eyes on each other.”

Uh-oh. Trying to stay calm, she dumped the mistake she’d made into a bowl, deciding she would fix scrambled instead of fried. And this time, she put a pad of butter in the pan, igniting the stove. “Would it be okay with you if we did?”

“Did what?”

“Had our eyes on each other.”

“Of course it would,” Mary told her. “But I’d hate to see you do something rash.”

Unable to keep pretending, she gazed at the lady who’d raised her, who’d given her everything a child could hope for. “I already slept with him.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Mary fanned her face. “So soon?” She turned off the oatmeal, ignoring their half-made breakfast. “You need to be careful, honey. And so does he. This is all so new.”

“We can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she admitted, “I’m not. But what choice do we have? We’re already involved.”

“For how long?”

“It doesn’t have to last forever. And he promised he wouldn’t hurt me.”

The older woman frowned. “Not purposely, no. But what if you fall in love with him? What then?”

It was a question Tamra couldn’t answer. A question she feared. Because she knew that when Walker went home, she would have to cope with her loss.

With missing him desperately.

Tamra tried to focus on her job. She sat at the desk in her cluttered office, telling herself to quit thinking about Walker. She had more important issues to deal with: flyers to design, schedules to coordinate, donations to secure for an end-of-the-month powwow.

Obsessing about a man wouldn’t accomplish a thing.

A knock sounded on her door and she reached for her coffee, her second cup that day. “Come in,” she called out, assuming it was Michele. Her friend had offered to stop by to help with the powwow details. The Oyate Project intended to host a raffle this year, giving away as many prizes as they could wangle.

She glanced up, saw that she was mistaken. It wasn’t Michele. Walker crossed the threshold, wearing jeans and a denim shirt, similar to the one she’d torn off his body.

He moved closer, and her heart went haywire.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She started stacking folders, trying to compose her senses, trying to look busy, to pretend that she hadn’t been thinking about him. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He reached for an ancient folding chair in the corner and opened it, positioning it across from her. A pair of mirrored sunglasses shielded his eyes, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

For him, she had all day. All night. All year. “Sure. What’s going on?”

“I just got back from the bank.”

“Mary told me that’s where you went.”

“I opened a checking account in Gordon. I figured that would be the most convenient location.” He removed his sunglasses and hooked them onto his pocket. “You and Mary will have to go into the branch to fill out some paperwork. Unless you already do your banking there. Then I can add your names online.”

She merely blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand? It’ll be a joint account. I’ll make a deposit every month, and you and Mary can use it for whatever you need.”

“You’re volunteering to support us?”

“Not completely, not unless you want to quit your jobs. But I don’t see that happening. You’re both so dedicated to what you do.”

“Then why are you doing this?” She sucked in a much-needed breath, wondering how he could sit there—so damn casually—and offer her money. “Is it because you slept with me?”

A sudden flare of anger burst into his eyes, like fire. Like brimstone. Like a man who was used to controlling other people’s lives. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? That I’m trying to turn you into my mistress?”

“That’s how it seems,” she said, refusing to be intimidated by his temper, the all-consuming power that could drain a woman dry. The muscle ticking in his jaw. The hard, ready-to-explode, king-of-the-universe breathing.

He stood and pushed away his chair, nearly shoving it against the file cabinet. “I was just trying to help. To make life easier for my mom.” He paused, drilled his gaze into hers. “And for you, too. But I don’t keep mistresses. I don’t reward my lovers for sleeping with me.”

She didn’t say anything, so he leaned forward, bracing his hands on her desk. “I can’t believe you think so little of me. Don’t you get it, Tamra? Don’t you see why this matters to me?”

“No, I don’t. Mary and I can take care of ourselves.”

“I know. But my mom’s car looks like it’s on its last leg and you’re lending money to friends, cash you can barely spare. I don’t want to go home and worry about you.”

She sighed, wishing she hadn’t provoked an argument. Walker was confused, she thought. And he was comparing his life to hers. “You don’t have to feel guilty for being rich.”

“Easy for you to say, Miss Do-Gooder.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to ease the tension, to make him stop scowling. It was the best she could do. Other than fall prey to his machismo and touch him. Kiss him. Tug his stubborn mouth to hers. “Listen to you, Mr. Write-a-Check.”

He smiled in spite of himself. Grateful, she flicked a paper clip at him. He grabbed the worse-for-wear chair and parked his butt down again.

“You should see my office at Ashton-Lattimer,” he said. “And my condo. Not to mention the apartment I have on my family’s estate in Napa Valley. It’s inside the mansion, on the second floor with a spectacular view.”

She couldn’t even fathom his lifestyle. Edward had been wealthy, but not compared to the Ashtons. “Those are the kinds of things Mary wanted you to have.”

“Will you talk to her about the account?” he pressed.

“No, but you can. If you want to help your mom and she’s willing to accept your offer, then it’s okay with me. But I don’t want to be part of it.”

“Because you’re not comfortable taking money from me?”

“Edward used to give me gifts. He used to buy me trinkets.”

“That jerk who hurt you? It’s not the same thing.”

“When it ended, when he broke up with me, I felt cheap.” And for her, it had been the worst feeling in the world. “I don’t want to go through that again. Not ever.”

“Don’t compare me to him. We’re nothing alike.”

She almost reached across the desk to hold his hand, but she curled her fingers, keeping her distance, recalling the ache that came with being in love. She couldn’t bear to fall for Walker, not like that.

“Will you at least accept a check for your charity?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity in them. And then she realized how foolish she was, refusing to hold his hand, to touch him. She knew they were going to sleep together again. Sex was inevitable. “You already wrote one, didn’t you?”

“Yep.” He removed it from his pocket and handed it to her.

She glanced at the denomination. “That’s a generous donation.” And sex wasn’t love, she told herself. There was nothing wrong with continuing their affair.

“It’s tax deductible.” He picked up the paper clip she’d tossed at him. Toying with the metal, he altered the shape, bending it back and forth. “Besides, it’s for a worthy cause. I know the Oyate Project will put it to good use.”

“Thank you.” She wrote him a receipt, and when she gave it to him, their eyes met and held.

An intimate look. A deep, heart-thundering stare.

“Will you come home with me, Tamra?”

“Home?”

“To Napa Valley. To the estate.”

Panic, instant anxiety, leaped to her throat. His family’s mansion? The winery? The place where he grew up? She shifted her gaze, breaking eye contact, dragging air into her lungs. “What for?”

“Because I want to take you and Mary there. It would be the perfect place for my mom to meet Charlotte. And you and I could spend some time together.”

“What about the rest of your family? Spencer’s wife? Your cousins?” When she and Mary lived in Northern California, they used to scan the society pages for tidbits about the Ashtons, and they’d come across their names quite a few times. “They might not like us staying there.”

“Spencer is dead, and he’s the only one who would have forbidden it. The others won’t interfere.”

“That’s not the same as welcoming us.”

“Fine. Whatever. If I tell them to welcome you, then they will.”

His bulldozing did little to ease her mind. “I’m not sure if I can get the time off.”

“I’m only asking for a week. Seven measly days. You don’t take vacations?”

“Yes, but—”

“But what?”

Tamra fidgeted with the paper clip he’d bent. What could she say? That she was nervous about being thrust into his world? That she didn’t belong there?

“I’m sure Mary would be more comfortable if you came with us,” he said. “And so would I.”

“Would this include a trip to San Francisco?” she asked.

“Definitely. It’s only fifty miles from the estate. And it’s where I live most of the time, where I work.”

“How often do you commute to Napa Valley?”

“On the weekends mostly. But I’ve been spending more time at the estate since Spencer was killed. I can’t help but miss him.”

She glanced out the window, felt the cloud of death that floated between them. “I’d like to visit Jade.” To kneel at her baby’s grave site, to whisper to her little girl.

“We can visit her together. We can take her the flowers I promised.” He released a rough breath. “We can do other things, too. Just the two of us. But we’ll have to tell my mom what’s going on. We can’t keep sneaking around.”

“I already told her.”

“That we’re lovers?” He sat back in his chair, frowned a little, pulled his hand through his hair. “How’d she take it?”

“She said we needed to be careful. That this is all so new.”

“But it won’t be.” His gaze sought hers, holding her captive. “Not after we get to know each other better.”

“Then I’ll go with you. I’ll arrange to take some time off.” To be with him, to meet his high-society family, to discover who Walker Ashton really was.

Walker sat on the steps of his mother’s porch. Tamra was still at work, and Mary was inside, puttering around the kitchen, doing whatever domestic things women did. She’d returned from her job about an hour ago, giving him the opportunity to talk to her, much in the way he’d spoken with Tamra earlier. And just like her non-Hunka daughter, she’d left him with mixed emotions.

Good and bad, he supposed.

“You’re not brooding, are you?”

“What? No.” He turned to look at Mary, who’d come outside with a glass of lemonade in her hand.

She handed him the drink. “Then you must be deep in thought.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He took a sip and noticed that she’d added just the right amount of sugar.

“Are you upset about the checking account?”

“That both you and Tamra turned me down? Yeah, it bugs me. I’m trying to do the right thing, and no one will let me.”

She sat beside him. “The thirty thousand Spencer gave me was enough. I don’t want to take money from my own son, too.”

He squinted at her, trying to shield his eyes from the late-day sun. “I thought Indian families were supposed to help each other. I thought that was the message around here.”

“It is. But I’m not poor anymore. I’m not struggling to pay my bills.” She smoothed her blouse, a polyester top she’d probably bought at a discount store. “I was ashamed of my house when you first got here, but it was wrong for me to feel that way. It’s nicer than what most people have around here.”

In Walker’s eyes she was still poor. Not destitute, like the out-of-work population on the rez, but a two-bedroom mobile home and a tired old Buick certainly didn’t make her rich. “At least you and Tamra agreed to go to California with me. I’m glad about that.”

“So am I. I can’t wait to see Charlotte.”

“She’s anxious to see you, too.” A rabbit darted by, scurrying into the brush. He watched it disappear, feeling like a kid who’d missed out on his childhood, a boy who’d grown up too fast. “I wish you’d reconsider about the money.”

“Goodness gracious. You’re just like your father.”

“Stubborn?” he asked.

“Pigheaded,” she replied.

He snorted like a swine and made her laugh. He knew they were still trying to get used to each other, to have stress-free conversations. “Did my dad have a temper, too?”

“Not as bad as yours.”

“Gee, thanks.” He bumped her shoulder, and she smiled. He wondered if his father was watching them, if angels existed. Walker couldn’t remember his dad, at least not to any degree. But he couldn’t remember his mom, either, and she was sitting right next to him.

She sighed, her voice turning soft. “I loved David so much.”

Suddenly he didn’t know what to say. He’d never been in love. He’d never given his heart to anyone. A bit lost, he stared at the grass, at the coarse, wild groundcover.

“Do you know how I met him?” she asked.

“No. How?”

“I was hitchhiking, and he picked me up. It was my second day on the road, and I wasn’t getting very many rides.”

“Is that the first time you left the rez?”

She nodded. “I was twenty-three years old, determined to get away from this place and never come back.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Omaha. I figured it was big enough to find a job and start my life over.”

“Did my dad offer to drive you there?”

“No. He offered to take me as far as Kendall, the town where he lived.” Her tone turned wistful. “You should have seen me when I climbed into his truck. Talk about nervous. He was so handsome, so tall and strong, with the greenest eyes imaginable.”

Curious, Walker studied her, noticed how girlish she seemed—a woman reminiscing about the man she loved. “I guess you never made it to Omaha, considering Charlotte and I were born in Kendall.”

“David offered me a job. He said he was looking for a housekeeper, someone to cook and clean for him and his farmhands. But later I discovered that he just wanted to keep me around.”

Walker couldn’t help but smile. His old man must have been quite the charmer. “Crafty guy.”

“And proud and kind. Everything I could have hoped for. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him.”

He glanced away, then frowned, his memories as tangled as the weeds spreading across the plains. “What happened on the day he died?”

“Your father had a heart attack behind the wheel. I was with him, riding in the passenger seat. We were on our way home from the mortgage company, trying to get them to discount the loan, but it was too late. They refused to work with us, to help us save the farm.”

“Did you try to take the wheel?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t. Everything happened so fast. We hit a tree. Between the heart attack and the accident, David didn’t stand a chance.”

“Charlotte and I were at a neighbor’s house. An elderly woman.” He remembered a gray-haired lady, but he couldn’t recall his own parents.

Mary blinked back tears. “She was a widow who used to baby-sit now and then. That’s where you stayed until Spencer came and got you.”

“What did my uncle tell her?”

“That he was going to care for my children until I was well enough to take you to the reservation. She had no reason to question his motives.”

As silence stretched between them, he placed his lemonade on the step. The glass had been sweating in his hand, making his palms damp. He wanted to comfort Mary, to abolish her pain, as well as his own. But he didn’t know how. He was still struggling to bond with her, to behave like her long-lost son.

“I should get started on dinner.” She stood and dusted off of her pants, looking old and tired.

He got to his feet, envisioning her when she was young, like the pictures he’d seen in her photo albums. “How do you say mother in Lakota?”

“Iná,” she told him.

“Iná,” he repeated.

Her breath hitched, causing a lump to form in his throat. “I’ll help you with dinner,” he said, even though he was a lousy cook.

She touched his cheek, her hand warm against his skin. They gazed at each other, but they didn’t embrace. Before things got too awkward, she led him into the kitchen, where she taught him how to make Indian tacos.

Walker was out of his element, but he did the best he could, trying to please his mother. By the time Tamra arrived on the scene, he was knee-deep in fried dough, lettuce, tomatoes and a pan of ground beef.

Tamra pitched in, and the three of them prepared the evening meal. But soon, he thought, they would be in Napa Valley. On the estate. The mansion where he was raised.

The place Walker called home.