Читать книгу On Temporary Terms - Джанис Мейнард, Janice Maynard - Страница 13

Four

By Thursday evening, Abby’s spirits hit rock bottom, and her opinion of Lara’s romantic advice fell lower still. Forty-eight hours had passed and not a single word from Duncan Stewart. The man kissed her as if she had been the only oasis in a trackless desert, and then he had simply walked away.

She almost opted out of dinner with friends. It was difficult to fake a good mood when all she wanted to do was watch romantic comedies and mope around her small house. In the end, she went, but only because the outing took her mind off Duncan and the affair that never was.

No matter how many times she told herself it was for the best—that it was completely inappropriate for her to date the grandson of one of Mr. Chester’s influential clients—she didn’t believe it in her heart. How long had it been since a man was really interested her? Almost never?

Duncan Stewart might ruin her for other men, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Even knowing he would be in Candlewick a limited amount of time, maybe only two years (and that their affair would likely be far shorter than that), was not a negative.

He fascinated her. For once in her neatly planned life, she wanted to make the rash, dangerous choice. She wanted Duncan.

When dinner wound to an end, she decided to leave her car at the restaurant and walk the relatively short distance home. She’d had several glasses of wine, so she didn’t want to take any chances that she might not be in full control. The night was crisp with a hint of autumn, but not cold. Other people were out and about on the streets even at this hour.

Crime was virtually nonexistent in Candlewick. Some people compared their little town to the fictional Mayberry. In many cases, that description wasn’t far off.

By the time she made it to her street and up the block to her own sidewalk, it was late. Sleepy, and still caught up in wondering about Duncan, she didn’t spot the intruder at first. Then something moved in the shadows, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Frozen with fear and in quick succession disgust, she called out to the shadowy figure. “What are you doing here, Daddy?” She stayed where she was out at the road, not wanting him to follow her into the house.

The large hulking shadow turned into an old man under the harsh glare of the streetlight. Once upon a time her father had been handsome and dapper. Even now—when he wanted to—he could clean himself up, get a haircut and present to the world a reasonable facsimile of a sophisticated adult.

Unfortunately, his demons—both mental and pharmaceutical—now controlled him to such a degree that most days he was a broken-down shamble of a man.

“I wanted to see my baby, but I couldn’t get in the house,” he said. The words were slurred. When he moved closer, she smelled alcohol on his breath.

Abby clutched her purse more tightly in her arms. “Well, you’ve seen me. I need to get to bed. It’s late.” She took a breath. “The reason you couldn’t get in is because I changed all my locks.”

He held out his hand, his expression half cagey, half pitiful. “You’re doin’ mighty well in that lawyer job of yours. How ’bout giving your old man a loan? I’m running a little short this month.”

Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. The mantra had preserved her emotional health and sanity on more than one occasion. “I have to go,” she said. No matter how unfounded, waves of guilt battered her self-esteem. It was not even the middle of the month. He received several pension checks, one from the government and a couple of others from his few stable periods of employment. There was no reason in the world for him to be out of money.

Even if he was, it wasn’t her responsibility. She turned her back on him and took a step. But Howard Lander was not giving up.

He scuttled up beside her. “A hundred, Abby girl. That’s all. And I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

Fury rose inside her chest in a choking cloud. Good parents provided a loving, nurturing environment for their children to succeed. Not only did Abby’s father not support her as a teen and young adult, he had actually harmed her and nearly derailed her academic successes.

“If you don’t stay away from me,” she said, her throat raw with tears, “I’m going to take out a restraining order against you.”

The old man stumbled and gaped, genuine puzzlement in his half-vacant expression. “Why would you say that?”

Abby laughed, though she wanted to sob. “Every time you come inside my house, you steal from me, Dad. Money, jewelry, prescription drugs. Did you somehow think I never noticed?”

Even in his addled state, he didn’t bother to deny her accusation. “I’ve had a few hard times. No reason for a man’s daughter to be cold and cruel.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Daddy. If you won’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll move to the other side of the country. It’s embarrassing enough that the whole town knows what kind of man you are.”

He’d been a door-to-door salesman back when that was still a thing. A combination of charm and dogged persistence had given him moderate success. In between bouts of selling encyclopedias and household items, he’d chased one get-rich-quick scheme after another, always convinced that his fortune was just around the next corner.

By the time Abby was eight, Howard Lander stopped wasting his money on babysitters, instead choosing to leave her at home alone after school and on the weekends. Fortunately, she had been mature for her age and not prone to wild stunts that might have endangered her life or burned down their home.

For Abby, high school graduation brought a moment of release, of freedom. College and grad school had been some of the happiest years of her life. Coming home to Candlewick and working for the Chesters’ law firm, on the other hand, had been a mixed blessing.

Her father stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. “I never meant to harm anyone. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I had good intentions.”

Sadly, that part was probably true. There was no malice in the old man. Only unfounded optimism, a total misunderstanding of finances and an ability to con people out of their money one way or another.

“Good night.” Abby made herself walk away, but her father was in one of his more stubborn moods, fueled by alcoholic courage.

“You owe me,” he shouted. “I could have given you up for adoption when your mother died, but I didn’t. That’s worth something. Wouldn’t look too good for you if I start telling everyone how badly you treat the only parent you’ve ever known.”

The callous, calculating threat put another crack in her shattered heart. She had paid for her meal that night with cash. The change was in her pocket. Seven dollars and thirty-two cents. She fished it out and shoved it at him. “Take it and go. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”

She ran up the walk and into the house, slamming the door and bolting it behind her. The tears came in earnest, blurring her vision and knotting her stomach. The bedroom was too far. She fell onto the sofa, buried her face in the cushions and cried until her bones ached.

Every time she tangled with her father now, she felt dirty. She had worked so hard to make something of herself...to lead a decent, normal life. Yet always, her past hung over her head, reminding her that she might forever be tainted by his dishonesty.

At ten, she dragged herself down the hall to take a shower. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and smeared mascara made her resemble a rabid panda. It was a good thing Duncan Stewart couldn’t see her now.

As if she had summoned him somehow with her thoughts, her phone dinged. She picked it up and read the text.

We never made a plan for tomorrow night, did we?

They hadn’t. She had agreed to see him again only if she could speak with Miss Izzy first about the prospective buyer. She gripped the phone, torn about how to answer. She knew that dating Duncan Stewart was a dead end and a bad idea. Ethics aside, they had nothing in common. He was wealthy and had lived a life of relative ease.

She was sure he’d never had to worry about having the electricity or the water turned off because the bills hadn’t been paid in three months. And she was equally positive he had never been forced to eat boxed macaroni and cheese five nights in a row because it was the only thing in the pantry a kid could microwave easily. Or the only food available, period.

Wistfully, she did the grown-up thing.

I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other socially, Duncan. Too many layers of complications.

Thirty seconds passed. Then sixty. At last, the phone dinged.

What about that kiss?

Despite her low mood, she smiled.

What about it?

Don’t be coy, Abby. We’re both adults. I want you. You want me.

She tried to be incensed by his careless arrogance, but damn it, the man was right.

Not all itches have to be scratched.

You don’t know me very well yet, but here’s the thing, lass. I rarely take no for an answer.

Neither do I! She threw in a few emojis for good measure.

Fine. I’ll take you to see Granny before dinner. But don’t be surprised when she says no to your buyer.

And if she says yes????

Abby could almost feel the frustrated male silence on the other end. Maybe Lara was right. Maybe Duncan was conflicted about letting Abby get to his grandmother, because if the offer was good enough, he’d be off the hook and headed home to Scotland.

At last, he answered. I’ll pick you up at five thirty. We’ll have hors d’oeuvres with her, and you can make your pitch. But no bullying or hard-sell tactics. If she says no, you drop the subject. Period.

You’re an arrogant ass, Duncan Stewart.

Aye, but you like me anyway...

She turned off the phone and tossed it in a drawer, as if it had the power to regenerate and bite her.

Duncan was dangerous to her peace of mind for many reasons. Clearly, he knew women well enough to recognize mutual interest when he witnessed it. Abby could protest ’til the cows came home that this relationship was a terrible idea. All Duncan had to do was kiss her until she forgot the many reasons why she should stay away from him.

* * *

Friday was an exercise in torture for Duncan. Every time he saw his granny’s smiling face, he felt guilty. Tonight, he was going to let a lawyer with her own nest-feathering agenda get close to his grandmother, just so he could find his way into that lawyer’s bed.

Any way you sliced it, that made him scum.

In the moments when he wasn’t thinking about Abby, he pondered the escape clause in the will. He had come here to America, fully expecting his grandmother to live for another decade or more. It was possible. The women in her genealogy had all closed in on the centennial mark, several of them passing it. Granny Isobel could very well celebrate her hundredth birthday here in Candlewick. She was in good health and of sound mind.

To hear that his indenture had an escape clause troubled him. Without it, he had no choice but to dive headfirst into Stewart Properties and make a new life for himself. But knowing there was a carrot dangling out there—the chance to go home to Scotland in two years—meant that he would always be marking time. In many ways, the possibility of reprieve made things worse.

In a difficult situation, a man needed to hunker down and make the best of his fate. How effective would Duncan be if he were always looking wistfully over his shoulder from whence he had come?

Somehow, he made it through the day. Granny Isobel was beside herself at the prospect of company. She had ordered a trio of fancy appetizers from a local caterer, along with a selection of wines to have on hand for Abby’s visit.

One of the receptionists took Isobel home at three so she could nap in preparation for her visitor. Duncan stayed at the office until the very last minute, going over spreadsheets and trying his damnedest to wrap his head around the ambitious construction schedule planned for the upcoming two quarters.

The business’s forward motion had slowed in the year since his grandfather’s death. First Brody, and now Duncan, had helped Isobel get the company back on track. It relieved Duncan more than a little to know that auditors would be coming in soon. If there were any problems, he wanted to know about them.

At five, he called his grandmother to see if she needed anything else to go with the food. She professed to have it all under control. He grinned to himself. In his grandparents’ heyday, they had thrown wildly lavish parties up on top of the mountain. Invitations to the big house were highly coveted. He’d heard more than one story about dancing until dawn and draining multiple cases of champagne and good Scottish whisky.

At five twenty, he locked up the office and headed out to pick up Abby.

When he bounded up her steps and knocked, she answered the door wearing a smile, black dress pants and a soft berry-pink cashmere sweater that clung to her ample curves. He scooped her up and kissed her, careful not to smudge her rosy lip gloss.

Abby was stiff in his embrace at first, but then she sighed and kissed him back. “You’re an outrageous man. I don’t know why I don’t smack you.”

He pulled back and grinned at her. “I’m guessing you have to be on your best behavior until you accomplish your damned objective. But I warn you, it’s a fool’s errand. Granny won’t sell.”

“If you’re really so worried about me talking to her, I could take you to meet the prospective buyer one day next week. You wouldn’t have to tell Isobel right away.”

“Oh, no,” he said, grimacing. “I don’t do secrets. They never end well. If we’re doing this, we’ll be upfront about your agenda.”

“Mr. Chester asked me to present the offer. I’m not responsible for the outcome.”

“If you say so.” He kept an arm around her waist as they walked out to the car. “Granny is beside herself with excitement that you’re coming. I suppose I hadn’t realized how much she has missed Brody and Cate and the baby since they left. With just me around, the house has been too quiet.”

“Maybe I could have lunch with her one day.”

He gave her a sideways frown. “Are you suggesting that idea as a lawyer or as a decent human being?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Abby said, glaring at him.

He helped her into the car and closed her door. Even when she was mad at him, he felt a sexual pull. That reality didn’t bode well for his peace of mind.

When he was behind the wheel with the engine running, he apologized. “I’m sorry. No more cheap shots about your profession today, I promise.”

She grinned wryly. “Only today?”

He shrugged, feeling lighthearted and pumped about the evening to come. “I’ll take the rest of the calendar under consideration, I swear.”

The trip up the mountain was quick. When they arrived, Abby stepped out of the car and stared at his grandparents’ house in admiration. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here. I’ve never been inside, though.”

“Some of the exterior upkeep has been let go. Brody and I put a lot of sweat equity into cutting back bushes and fixing gutters...things like that. For a long time after Grandda died, Granny couldn’t bring herself to stay here with him gone. But now that she’s back, she’s happy again. This house was something they built together, just like the business.”

After unlocking the front door, he stood aside for Abby to enter. He tossed his keys into a carved wooden bowl on a table in the foyer and motioned for Abby to follow him. Raising his voice, he called out. “Granny. We’re here.”

He’d half expected his grandmother to be hovering by the front door, ready to greet her guest. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”

“I love all the artwork,” Abby said. “Everything is warm and welcoming, but so very unique.”

“Aye,” Duncan replied, half-distracted. “They collected paintings and sculptures from all over the world. Granny. Where are you?” He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and his heart stopped. A small figure lay crumpled in the center of the floor.

“Granny!” He fell to his knees, his heart pounding. “God, Granny. Call 9-1-1,” he yelled, though Abby was at his elbow, her eyes wide, her expression aghast.

While Abby fumbled with her cell phone and punched in the numbers, Duncan took his grandmother’s hands and chafed them. “Talk to me, Granny. Open your eyes.” Abby finished her brief conversation. “Get me a wet cloth,” he said. “The drawer by the sink.”

Moments later, she crouched at his side and handed him a damp square of cotton. Duncan placed it on his grandmother’s forehead. Her lips were blue. His heart slugged in his chest. CPR. He needed to do CPR. He’d had the training. Instinct kicked in. He began the sequence of compressions and breaths. Counting. Pushing. Praying.

Abby took one of Isobel’s frails wrists and held it.

Duncan shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Anything?”

“No.” Tears welled in Abby’s eyes but didn’t fall.

“Damn it.” He repeated the CPR sequence again. And again. Until his chest ached and his arms ached and his heart was broken. “I just talked to her half an hour ago.” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.

Abby put her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his. “I think she’s dead, Duncan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”