Читать книгу A Baby For Emily - Ginna Gray - Страница 9

Emily had barely slept since Keith’s death, and that night was no different. Merely knowing that Dillon was across the hall made her uncomfortable, but mostly it was grief and anger that kept sleep at bay.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tormenting herself, imagining her husband with his mistress, laughing with her, kissing her. Making love to her.

Why, Keith? she asked over and over. Why? How could you do this to me when you claimed to love me?

Had she missed something? Had there been signs all along? Subtle indications that her marriage was in trouble? Emily scoured her memory and spent hours soul-searching, but over and over she came up empty.

Keith had seemed perfectly happy with their life together. They never fought, rarely ever exchanged so much as a cross word. They enjoyed each other’s company, and their sex life was good.

He had often talked about their future, how, someday he would take a leave from his practice and they would spend a whole summer traveling through Europe, and how when he retired they’d buy a boat and sail around the world.

Emily frowned. Was that it? Could he have been worried that having a child would tie them down?

That didn’t seem likely. Keith had been as eager to start a family as she. Well…almost as eager. She had been thinking of little else for the last couple of years. But certainly he’d been overjoyed when Dr. Conn had telephoned them on Monday with the good news.

“So why did you turn to someone else,” she whispered to the shadows on the ceiling. Was it her? Something she’d done? Or hadn’t done? Wasn’t she pretty enough? Smart enough? Interesting enough? Oh, Lord, wasn’t she woman enough?

Like bees buzzing in her brain, Emily’s thoughts bedeviled her into the wee hours of the morning, until finally exhaustion overtook her. She slept fitfully, and woke a little before eight feeling sluggish and headachy. She was vaguely aware that something was different this morning—something besides Keith’s absence—but she was too muzzy-headed to work it out.

She staggered into the adjoining bathroom, downed two Tylenol and stepped into the shower.

Emerging a short while later wrapped in a long, terrycloth robe, her wet auburn hair combed back from her face, she headed downstairs for a wake-up cup of coffee. The instant she stepped into the hallway and her gaze touched on the guest room, she remembered Dillon.

She stopped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The door was open, and after a moment she crept across the hall and peeked inside. The bed was made and the room was neat as a pin. There was no sign of Dillon.

Of course, she thought with a sigh of relief as she glanced at the clock on the night stand. This was Friday. He had left for work hours ago.

Tightening the tie belt on her robe, she headed for the stairs.

The aroma of coffee and sausage drifted from the kitchen as she approached the door. Evidently Dillon had made himself breakfast before he left. Emily hoped he’d brewed a full pot of coffee and left some for her.

Pushing open the swinging door, she stepped inside the kitchen and came to a halt. “Dillon. What are you doing here?”

He turned from the stove and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good morning to you, too.” He looked absurdly masculine with a mixing bowl in one hand, a wire whisk in the other and one of Ila Mae’s ruffled aprons tied around his lean middle.

He went back to whipping the contents of the bowl with brisk efficiency. “Why are you surprised? I told you last night that I was going to stay here.”

“Yes, but…I thought you would be at work by now.”

“I’m not going in for a few days.”

“Oh, please. You don’t have to do that on my account. Haven’t you just started an important job? An office complex or something?”

“An indoor shopping mall.”

“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.”

“No problem. I have an excellent crew. My foreman can handle things for a few days. If something comes up, he has my cell phone number.”

He turned back to the stove. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I was about to cook pancakes.”

Only then did Emily notice that the table was set for two.

Dillon set the bowl and whisk aside, then filled a mug with coffee and plunked it down on the opposite side of the island counter and motioned for her to join him. “The coffee is decaf, so you don’t have to worry about hurting the baby. Come on over. You can keep me company.”

Keeping company with Dillon was the last thing Emily wanted, but she was still too muzzy-headed to think of an excuse to leave. Giving the belt on her robe another tug, she reluctantly crossed the room and hitched up onto one of the high barstools on the opposite side of the kitchen island from where he was working.

“I, uh…I had no idea you cooked,” she said, watching him pour batter onto a hot griddle.

Dillon darted her a look, his blue eyes glinting beneath ebony eyebrows. “There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.”

“Yes. I suppose there are,” she murmured. Oddly, she felt as though she’d just been chastised, though she couldn’t imagine why. Falling silent, she cradled the mug in both hands and sipped her coffee while she watched him deftly flip perfect, golden pancakes.

Despite his success and wealth, she had always thought of Dillon as tough and brawny, slightly rough around the edges, but yesterday at the funeral he had looked astonishingly smart in his custom-made suit. However, this morning, dressed in jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, he looked more like the Dillon she was accustomed to seeing—that is, if you overlooked the apron around his waist. That bit of ruffled material might have made some men look effeminate, but not Dillon. If anything, by stark contrast, it emphasized his compelling maleness.

The sleeves of his sweatshirt were pushed up to his elbows, and Emily’s gaze zeroed in on his muscled forearms and broad wrists, sprinkled with short black hair. His big, workman’s hands wielded the spatula with amazing grace and dexterity that spoke of long practice.

As always, just being in the same room with Dillon made Emily uneasy. His great size and that staggering masculinity alone were intimidating. Added to that, he was too intense, too remote and brooding.

It was funny how siblings could be so different, she mused, sipping her coffee. In looks, Dillon was a rough-cut version of Keith, bigger, brawnier, more intense, but with the same black hair and clear blue eyes, the same strong facial bone structure. In Keith’s case the combination had added up to debonair and handsome, whereas in Dillon’s the same features had produced a rugged, harshly masculine face.

In personality, however, Dillon was nothing at all like either his vivacious older sister or his glib, charming younger brother.

He had never been anything but polite to her, yet she’d always sensed that he didn’t want her as a sister-in-law.

“There. All done.” He came around the end of the island carrying a platter piled high with pancakes and sausage and put it on the table. “C’mon, let’s dig in while it’s hot.”

“I’m really not much of a breakfast person,” Emily began, but he silenced her with a look, and when he held out a chair for her she sighed and slid off the barstool. She just didn’t have the energy or the will to fight him.

Dillon settled into the chair across from hers. He picked up the platter and filled first her plate, then his own.

“Oh, no, please. I couldn’t possibly eat all this.”

“Eat,” he commanded, giving her a stern look. “You need to keep your strength up. These past three days you’ve barely touched your food. That’s not good for you or the baby.”

She wanted to argue, but of course he was correct. Trust Dillon to hit upon just the right argument. With a sigh, Emily poured syrup over the pancakes and picked up her fork.

Though the food was delicious, she had no appetite, and she had to force herself to take small, nibbling bites. It was as though the grief and depression weighing her down had numbed all her senses. She seemed to be functioning in a haze, oddly disconnected from the world around her—even from her own body. Except for her heart. It was an aching knot in her chest.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Concentrating on finishing her meal and getting out of there, Emily jumped when Dillon spoke.

“Would you answer a question for me?”

Her head came up and she shot him a sharp look. “That depends on the question.”

“I know that for years you’ve been wanting to start a family, and that you were overjoyed to finally get pregnant, but how do you feel about the baby now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want it?”

Emily’s fork clattered to the plate. She stared at him, stunned. Reflexively, her hand splayed over her flat tummy. “Of course I do. How could I not? I don’t know how you can even ask such a—” The look on his face stopped her. “Oh. I see. You mean, now that I know Keith’s true colors, do I want his baby?”

“Something like that,” Dillon admitted, watching her in that intent way he had.

“Just because Keith fathered this child, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will inherit his character flaws. This will be my child, too.”

“If that’s how you feel, then why didn’t you tell anyone you were pregnant?”

Emily looked down and fixed her gaze on her fingers, plucking at the napkin in her lap. “I don’t know, exactly,” she mumbled. “I just didn’t want to.”

Lord, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to talk, period. Or be around anyone. All she wanted was to be left alone. Then she could crawl back into bed and curl up under the covers and give in to the terrible pain and lethargy that threatened to smother her.

“Why not?” Dillon persisted.

“For one thing, I didn’t want to give the wagging tongues anything else to gossip about.” She kept her gaze lowered, avoiding his, and plucked at the napkin.

“You could’ve told the family. The news may have mitigated Mother’s grief a bit and maybe even gotten her off your back.”

Emily shook her head. “Actually, if I had a choice, I’d never tell Adele. You know how she was about Keith. I’m afraid she’ll see this baby as a substitute for him and try to take over. Once I tell her, I’m sure I’ll have a battle on my hands. I’m just not up to that right now.”

Emily raked her spread fingers through her hair. It was almost dry now, and curling around her face and shoulders. “Anyway…I…I wanted to hold on to this one thing, the one bright point in this whole mess. My little secret.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, I think so. Actually, you’re probably doing the smart thing keeping the news from Mother for as long as you can.”

“So…you won’t tell her?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “We don’t communicate all that often. Trust me, she won’t hear it from me.”

Emily’s shoulders drooped with relief. Despite his less-than-perfect relationship with his mother, she had half expected him to take Adele’s side.

“You do realize that you’re going to have to tell her eventually, don’t you?” he prodded gently. “Pregnancy isn’t something you can hide forever.”

“I know. But I’d like to put it off for as long as I can.” Secretly, she harbored the fantasy that she’d never have to tell her mother-in-law.

Adele had never cared for her. It wasn’t personal—at least, Emily didn’t think so. Keith’s mother simply had not believed any woman was good enough for her precious younger son. Emily didn’t expect to hear much from Adele in the future, if she heard from her at all, which suited her just fine.

Listlessly, Emily picked up the fork again. Nibbling a bite of pancake, she let her mind drift. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want to think about anything.

Covertly, Dillon watched the way she picked at her food. She was so withdrawn she was barely conscious of him or anything else. Surely that depth of depression couldn’t be endured for long, he thought.

He was trying to think of a way to distract her when the telephone rang, shattering the quiet of the kitchen.

Emily jumped. “Oh, Lord, who can that be? I…I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Take it easy. You don’t have to. I’ll get it,” Dillon said, rising.

Snatching up the receiver of the wall telephone, he growled, “Maguire residence.”

“Dillon. I was hoping I’d find you there,” his sister said. “I tried calling your place but I got no answer.”

“I’m helping Emily with the legal red tape.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. I suppose someone from the family should, but to tell you the truth, it just never occurred to me. I guess I was too focused on getting Mother home before she made another scene.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that. So, why’d you call, Charlotte?”

“Well, it’s Mother. She, uh…she says she needs to get away for a while. So she’s decided to go home with Roger and me.”

“What about her job?”

“She’d already talked to the head of the university about taking an emergency sabbatical, and they’re being very understanding. Midterm starts soon, so it’s a fairly good time. It’ll be difficult, but President Toomy is sure he can find a substitute professor to fill in for Mother.”

“How long does she plan on being away?”

“Until the fall semester starts.”

“I see.” Typical, he thought. His mother was going to be gone for nine months or so, but she couldn’t bring herself to call and tell him herself. She had to get Charlotte to do it for her.

“I’m sorry, Dillon,” Charlotte said softly. He didn’t have to ask for what. Both of his siblings had always been aware of their mother’s animosity toward him.

“Yeah, well, par for the course. Tell her I hope she enjoys her visit.”

“Uh…actually, there is one other thing.”

“Shoot.”

“She wants to know if you’ll keep an eye on her house while she’s away, maybe stop by every few days and water her plants and make sure everything’s all right?”

Dillon gave a snort of mirthless laughter. “Sure. Why not.”

“Oh, good. She’ll be relieved. She said to tell you she’d leave the key under the mat.”

She’d have to, Dillon thought. She refused to give him a key of his own to her elegant little town house.

“So, when are you leaving?” he asked.

“Actually…we’re heading for the airport in a few minutes. We’re booked on an early afternoon flight to Sarasota.”

Silence stretched out as Dillon absorbed that. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that she’d bothered to let him know at all. If she hadn’t needed him to look after her precious plants, she probably wouldn’t have. “I see. Well, have a good flight.”

When he turned from hanging up the receiver, Emily held her coffee cup cradled between her palms and gazed out the window at nothing.

“Looks like you got a reprieve,” he said, taking his seat again. “Mother is going home with Charlotte and Roger. They’re flying out this afternoon.”

Emily blinked and looked at him. “Really? Just like that? Without even saying goodbye?”

“Apparently.” He polished off his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Can you be ready to leave by ten-thirty?”

“Leave?”

“You have an eleven o’clock appointment to meet with your attorney. I’ll drive you.”

Emily groaned. “Do I have to? I know what the will says. Everything comes to me.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Life goes on, and the first of the month is coming up.”

“So?”

“So you’ll have to pay bills—car payments, mortgage payment, utilities, that sort of thing. Then there’s the funeral costs. Your attorney will have to file the will with the Probate Court before all the assets can be released to you.”

“I suppose you’re right. Oh, Lord, I have no idea where to start. Keith always handled those things.”

Dillon frowned. “Are you telling me that you have no knowledge of your personal finances? How much you have? What you owe? What your investments are? Dammit, Emily, that’s crazy.”

“You don’t have to act as though I’m a twittery fluffbrain. I did offer to take on the job after we married, but Keith insisted on turning everything over to Bob Larson. He’s our tax attorney and business manager and an old friend of Keith’s.”

“Yeah, I know who Bob Larson is. He and Keith went through public school and college together.”

Emily shot Dillon a curious look. He’d made the statement matter-of-factly, but something in his voice told her that Bob Larson wasn’t one of his favorite people.

“That’s right. Anyway, Keith said he didn’t want me to be burdened with boring financial matters and he didn’t have the time to handle them himself.”

Actually, the arrangement had bothered Emily a great deal when she and Keith had first married. By then, at age twenty-two, she had been on her own for years and had been accustomed to paying bills and handling her own finances. That discussion had sparked one of the few serious arguments that she and Keith had ever had.

“Still, Keith should have kept you up to date on your financial picture,” Dillon insisted.

“I know,” she said wearily. “I tried to convince him of that, but whenever I brought the matter up it always seemed to anger him, as though he thought I didn’t trust him.”

“Well, you’re going to have to jump in with both feet now. Whether you take over your finances or you continue to retain Larson, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with your fiscal situation.

“Within a week or so you’ll have to start dealing with whatever obligations you have. You can probably access your joint accounts, but if there are any others solely in Keith’s name, neither you nor Larson can access those until the will has cleared probate.”

Propping her elbows on the table, Emily dropped her head in her hands and groaned again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“You don’t have a choice. Look, if it’ll help, I’ll sit in on the meetings with you. But this has to be handled.”

Emily raised her head and found herself looking into her brother-in-law’s intense blue eyes. She had never expected the time would come when she would be grateful for Dillon’s company. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. That’s what I’m here for.”

Emily stared at the attorney in disbelief. “What do you mean, there’s nothing left? There has to be. My husband was a physician with a highly successful practice.”

Bob Larson shifted in his chair, and looked at her pityingly. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

“But…we had investments—stocks, bonds, real estate, that sort of thing.”

“All gone.” Bob’s mouth compressed into a grim line. “I did advise Keith not to sell off his assets. Actually, I pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t listen. Over the past four years, one by one, he liquidated almost everything.”

“There was a sizeable life insurance policy. What about that?”

“He cashed it in about a year ago.”

“Our savings?”

“That, too. I’m afraid all you have is whatever is in your checking account.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Emily sagged against the chair back, dazed. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a bad dream. Surely she would wake up soon.

But it was real. Horribly real. Her husband had not only been unfaithful, he had deceived her in other ways as well. And apparently he’d left her penniless.

“Wait a minute,” Dillon said, leaning forward in his chair beside Emily. “How could Keith sell his stocks and other investments without Emily’s knowledge? Wasn’t she co-owner? If so, her signature would have been required, too.”

“Yes, of course. And I assure you, the documents were properly signed and executed.”

Dillon looked at Emily. “Did you ever sign anything for Keith without knowing what the document was?”

Emily shook her head slowly, still too stunned to speak.

“You must be mistaken, Emily,” Bob insisted. “Keith couldn’t have sold those assets without your signature.”

“Not unless he signed her name to them himself,” Dillon stated.

“Oh, I hardly think Keith would do that.” Bob gave a dismissive chuckle, but a look from Dillon turned the sound into an embarrassed cough.

“Apparently he did.”

Emily’s stunned gaze fixed on her brother-in-law. “Are you saying he forged my name?”

“Looks like it.”

She felt sick. Just when she thought she’d learned the worst of Keith, she discovered yet another layer of duplicity.

Emily felt as though she been beaten to a bloody pulp, knocked to the ground, then kicked while she was down.

“If that’s the case, let me assure you, I had no idea,” Bob asserted. “Had I even suspected such a thing, I would have done everything in my power to stop him.”

He drummed his fingers on the desktop and heaved a sigh. “I hate to give you more bad news, but I’m afraid you will be held responsible for all of Keith’s outstanding debts. As soon as I file the will with the Probate Court, the people to whom Keith owes money will be coming to you for restitution.”

“Yes, I know. Dillon has already reminded me to make the mortgage and car payments.”

Bob cleared his throat. “Well…uh…I’m afraid there are considerably more debts than that. Keith has several outstanding loans.”

“He borrowed money? Without telling me?”

“I’m afraid so. Of course, I had no way of knowing that he hadn’t consulted you.”

“I’d like to see those loan documents,” Dillon said in a brusque voice. “You do have them, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but, uh…I’m sorry, Dillon, but I can’t turn them over to you. That would be a breach of attorney-client confidentiality.”

Dillon drilled him with a narrow stare. “Your client is deceased. Emily is his sole heir and, as you pointed out, liable for his debts and obligations. I am here at her request to advise her. Now, you can either give us all records related to Keith now, or we’ll get a court order. Either way, you will hand them over.”

Bob’s mouth compressed. It was obvious that he wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t quite muster the nerve. “Very well, if you insist.” He flipped through a thick file folder, withdrew a single sheet of paper and handed it across the desk to Dillon. “Here is a list of all of Keith’s loans.”

Dillon barely scanned the sheet. “These are just totals. I want the loan documents and every other scrap of paper pertaining to my brother. Now,” he added when Bob’s expression turned mulish.

For several seconds the two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, their gazes locked, but Bob Larson was no match for Dillon.

“Oh, all right,” he snapped finally and shoved a thick file folder across the desk toward him.

“I don’t understand,” Emily said as Dillon flipped through the folder. “Why on earth did Keith need so much money? Where did it all go? Surely he didn’t spend it all on…on that woman.”

“I’d like to hear the answer to that, too,” Dillon said. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know what was going on. You and my brother were old friends.” He tapped the file folder with the back of his knuckles. “And with this kind of extravagant spending you must have questioned him.”

Bob’s face turned pink and he squirmed in his chair. Then he heaved a weary sigh, like a man about to come clean and unburden his conscience.

“All right. I guess there’s no reason to keep his secrets now. I’ve known for years that Keith was doing some risky financial maneuvering—taking out high-interest, short-term personal loans to pay off credit cards and other debts, sometimes to pay off a previous loan. He was always just a step ahead of disaster—what my grandmother used to call, robbing Peter to pay Paul. He did spend a lot on women, but—”

“Women?” Emily gasped. “You mean there was more than one?”

“I’m afraid so. Over the years Keith had a string of mistresses. For a time, each one occupied the town house.”

“I see.” The words hit her like a fist to the midsection. Emily’s heart contracted with pain, but she somehow managed to hold her head high.

“But that’s not where all the money went,” he continued. “It was a combination of things, really. As I’m sure you know, your husband had very expensive taste.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true.” Their home was a prime example. From the first, Emily had thought it too large and ostentatious, and much too expensive. She had wanted to purchase something a bit smaller, but Keith had insisted that a doctor of his standing needed a showplace home.

“While he made an excellent living, Keith insisted on enjoying a lifestyle far beyond his means,” Bob went on. “In addition to the condo and the Lexus he purchased for his mistress, there was the beach house and the boat, expensive cars for himself and you. And there was Keith’s gambling.”

“Gambling? My husband gambled?”

“Oh, my, yes. Last year alone he made five trips to Las Vegas. He bet heavily with local bookies, as well.”

If Bob Larson had leaped across the desk and hit her with a club Emily couldn’t have been more stunned. Or more devastated.

Keith had gone on gambling trips and she hadn’t even known. Thinking back, she realized that all those times he’d told her he was attending a medical convention he’d actually been gambling in Las Vegas. No doubt his mistress of the time had been with him.

Lowering her head, Emily cupped her hand over her eyes. She couldn’t bear this.

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Bob said softly. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I tried to reason with Keith. Honestly I did. But he wouldn’t listen.”

She shook her head, unable to reply.

“Dammit, Larson,” Dillon growled. “What kind of friend are you? You knew all about Keith’s carousing and extravagance and his gambling addiction, yet you never alerted his family to the hole he was digging himself into.”

“I…it wasn’t my place to interfere,” Bob blustered. “What did you expect me to do? Go tattling to his wife behind his back? So he was cheating. So what? That’s no big deal. A lot of husbands do it. As for his gambling, that was his business.”

“You should have come to me and explained what was going on. I would have stepped in.” Dillon snapped the file folder shut. “Is there more we should know? Anything else you’re covering up for my brother? Any other nasty little surprises?”

“Uh, no…no, that about covers everything.”

“Good. Then we’re done here. I’m sure you won’t mind if we take this folder with us.”

The other man looked as though he were about to object, but Dillon silenced him with a look. Tucking the folder under his arm, he stood and gently assisted Emily to her feet.

Normally she would have flinched when he slipped his arm around her waist, but she barely noticed. Moving like a zombie, she allowed him to lead her out of the office.

At the door, Dillon stopped and looked back at the attorney. “By the way, your services will no longer be needed. I’ll have my attorney file the will with the Probate Court.”