Читать книгу Sugar Baby - Karen Young - Страница 8

EVEN BEFORE Mack pulled into Star-Mart’s crowded parking lot, he was scanning the store entrance for a glimpse of Claire Woodson, but there was no tall redhead with a little boy anywhere he looked. He followed behind a slow-moving Suburban, his thumbs drumming with impatience on the wheel, his blue eyes sharp beneath the brim of his Stetson. Where was she?

He’d hung up after her S.O.S. totally baffled him. Why had she changed her mind? Why did she now want him to pick her up, when not an hour before she’d acted as though riding with him was second only to a touch of ptomaine? He’d been left with the definite feeling he wouldn’t hear from her again until she arrived at Sugarland with Danny. Had he only imagined a hint of panic in her voice?

Pulling the Jeep Cherokee to a stop at the front door, he scrutinized every departing customer, but still no Claire. Hell, he might not even recognize her. It had been five…no, more like six years since he’d seen her and then it had been for only a few minutes. But as much as he’d resisted it all these years, the picture he had of her was pretty clear in his mind. And God knows, he had resisted it.

A small boy darted through the automatic doors and behind him was a woman in a long denim dress. Mack knew her instantly. Six years, and not much had changed, he thought, feeling a little kick in his gut. She was a tad slimmer. And maybe slightly taller than he recalled. Her hairstyle was different, too. Pulled back tight like that, she must be trying to look like a librarian, he decided. But its rich auburn color was exactly as he remembered, as was the disconcertingly candid look of her wide gray eyes as she stared right at him.

There was no warmth in that look.

She hurriedly opened the back door of the Jeep Cherokee before he could get out and hustled the boy inside. Mack beat her to the passenger side only because his legs were six inches longer than hers. Hers, however, were extremely interesting from what he could see when she stepped to get into his Jeep. They were long and shapely. God, yes, he remembered Claire Woodson.

He also remembered what she’d done. She’d wrecked his brother’s marriage. She was heartless and selfish. She had spent the last two years throwing up every obstacle possible to keep Carter’s son from knowing his grandparents.

Beautiful she might be, but he wasn’t going to be taken in the way Carter was.

He waited for her to tuck the tail of her dress inside, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He drove away from the entrance before glancing over at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”

She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she seemed to be studying the people in the parking lot as he drove through. “I recognized you.”

Her interest in the pedestrians puzzled him. “You find something especially interesting about the folks shopping at Star-Mart?”

“What?” She spared him a glance. “Oh, no, not really.”

“You’re looking for someone in particular?”

“Someone, yes,” she murmured, her eyes busy again.

She was acting nothing like he’d expected. Where was the hostility that was so palpable in every telephone encounter they’d had since he had made that initial call over a year ago? Her eyes were darting everywhere. She seemed distracted, even fearful. She was pale. But that might be natural in a redhead.

“What’s this all about, Claire?”

“It’s going to sound like something out of a movie when I tell you…” She turned to see that Danny was safely belted in before settling back herself. She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that Danny and I may have stumbled into a nightmare.”

“If this is about the weekend with my parents, you’re overreacting, Claire. They’re going to do everything they know to make you and Danny feel welcome. They don’t want to alienate you, they just want to get to know Danny. And you.”

She was shaking her head as he finished, rubbing her temples. “It’s not that. At least, right now it’s not that.” She glanced over her shoulder once more. Danny was scrutinizing the town of LaRue with the intensity of any child in a new place. “It’s something a lot worse. Danny thinks he witnessed—” She shook her head. “This is going to sound so crazy!”

“Just say it and let me decide what’s crazy.”

“He was on the balcony of the hotel while I was talking to you on the phone and he claims he saw a man shoot somebody.”

He stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

She dropped her head against the back of the seat wearily. “Don’t I wish.”

“He saw a man get shot?”

“He says he did.”

“Kids say things.” He looked in the back seat where Danny sat with his nose practically pressed against the side window. “He’s an only child. They say lonely kids have big imaginations.”

She was again rubbing her temple. “Being an ‘only’ doesn’t necessarily make him a ‘lonely only.’ And he does have a vivid imagination, but this time I think he actually witnessed what he says he did.”

Mack snorted. “A murder at the White Hotel?”

“Yes.”

“You called security, I assume.”

“I called the front desk after Danny kept insisting that he wasn’t making up the story.”

“And they said?”

“Pretty much what you just said, ‘Murder at the White Hotel? No way, lady.’”

“Nobody believes me,” Danny piped up from the back seat.

“I do now, honey,” Claire said, reaching back and giving his knee a pat. She turned, looking at Mack. “We called you because someone tried to grab him in the store a few minutes ago. We were afraid to get back in the car in case the man was watching us.”

Mack stood on the brakes, swearing, and stopped at the curb with a jerk. He turned in his seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “You’re telling me somebody actually tried to snatch Danny in front of all the customers?”

“That’s right.”

“So where is this guy? What happened to him?”

“No one knows. He just disappeared.”

“If he was ever there.”

“Danny says he was there. He screamed. Everybody in the whole place heard him and—”

“And nobody in the place saw this mean ol’ molester?” Mack said sarcastically.

Claire breathed in deeply. “That’s right, Mr. McMollere.”

“Jeremy saw him,” Danny said, ever helpful.

“Jeremy.” Mack met the boy’s eyes in the mirror.

“My new friend.”

“You’ve already made a friend in LaRue?”

“Uh-huh. At Star-Mart.”

“And he saw the bad guy, too?”

“He sure did!”

“Where were you two when this happened?”

“We were in the Nintendo stuff.”

Mack glanced at Claire. “Without your mom?”

Danny seemed to sense sticky territory ahead. “Jeremy said it was okay,” he said cautiously. “Our moms were just a coupla aisles over.”

“Are you quite finished?” Claire demanded, giving Mack an icy look.

He was shaking his head. “Why didn’t you just call the cops?”

“Danny says the killer is a cop.”

Mack glanced at Danny before bearing down on Claire again. “How could the killer be a cop?” He bumped his hand against his forehead. “How could there even be a killer? The hotel would surely have found a body.” He paused to add, “They did actually take a look, didn’t they?”

“I assume so,” Claire said. “The desk clerk certainly stated in no uncertain terms that there hadn’t been a murder on the premises. Then, before we left, we saw security guards milling around the housekeeping area.”

“Is that where the incident happened?” Mack asked Danny.

“Yes, sir.”

Mack forced himself to ease up. “Are you sure about this, Dan?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid met his gaze with the same candid quality his mother employed. For the first time, Mack allowed himself to study Carter’s son. There wasn’t much resemblance that he could see. Carter’s face had been fuller, his mouth smaller. Carter’s hair had been sort of chestnut. Danny’s face was narrow. And he had black hair, like Mack’s own. And his mouth…it was like his mother’s—full and made for smiling. Although neither of them had favored him with a smile since getting into the Jeep.

No surprise there. He hadn’t exactly been the doting uncle to Carter’s son, nor had he been particularly warm to the boy’s mother. Carter’s former lover.

“So, tell me about the guy who approached you in the store. What did he look like?”

“He was tall!” Danny cried, eager to cooperate.

“He says that every time he’s asked to describe him,” Claire said.

“He was real mean!”

“That, too,” she said dryly.

“He has something funny on his hand.”

Claire’s and Mack’s eyes met. “Like what, a tattoo?” Mack asked.

“No…” He screwed up his face, thinking hard. “You know…like a…”

“Like a scar?” Claire suggested.

“Yeah.” He nodded vigorously.

“You never mentioned that before, Danny,” she said.

“I just ‘membered it. I saw it when he touched me in the store.”

“Can you tell us anything about how the scar looked?”

Danny looked at his mother. “I don’t know, it was like when you hurt yourself and it gets all better.”

“It’s okay, son,” Claire said, giving him a smile. “You’re a good detective, isn’t he, Uncle Mack?”

“You bet. Just one more thing, Danny. Where on his hand was it?”

“Here.” He stuck out his fist, palm down.

“What did he say when he came up to you?”

“He tried to talk me into coming with him. He said we’d go get a treat at McDonald’s, but my mommy always says don’t go anywhere with strangers, so when he started sorta making me walk beside him, that’s when I started yellin’ my head off.” He settled back. “It worked, too.”

Mack smiled. “You did the right thing, hotshot.”

“Ryan’s dad calls him hotshot,” Danny said.

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh. Do you have any kids?”

“One,” he said, shooting a quick look in Claire’s direction.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A girl.”

“Oh.”

He saw more questions in the boy’s eyes and was relieved when Claire spoke.

“Now you know why we didn’t feel safe returning to the hotel.” At his nod, she touched her hair, smoothing a few wisps that had worked free. “What do you suggest now? Should we drive back to Houston tonight or wait until tomorrow? I thought perhaps you could accompany us to the hotel, help us get our things into my car and then follow us onto the interstate for a few miles, perhaps all the way to Beaumont.”

“And then what?”

“Well, we’d be able to tell if we were being followed on the highway, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. And if you were, what would you do?”

“Well, I’ve got a cellular phone.”

“And you’ll whip it out and call 911 to come and rescue you. And while you’re waiting, the bad guy is…where? Doing what?”

She shrugged. “So what do you suggest?”

With a sigh, he rubbed the side of his neck. “This is a hell of a mess.”

“It wasn’t my idea to come here at all, Mr. McMollere,” she said coldly. “And I certainly hadn’t planned on my son’s witnessing a murder.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “then you’ve got exactly one option, the way I see it.”

“I can hardly wait to hear it.” She looked out her side.

“You can’t go back to Houston tonight or tomorrow. If things are as you say, this guy knows you, knows Danny, knows your car. If he’s in law enforcement, he has access to records. Finding you in Houston will be a piece of cake.” Glancing at Danny who was once again taking in the sights from the back passenger window, he lowered his voice. “If this actually happened, you’re both in jeopardy, you and Danny. You won’t be safe until this whole thing is cleared up.”

“Gosh, I feel a hundred percent better.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “Don’t you see what I’m getting at?”

She turned to look at him. “I see that you’re trying to scare the daylights out of me. Why? Do you get a kick out of scaring single moms and five-year-olds?”

“I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his hair. Glancing at Claire, he saw that she’d put a hand on her throat. God, she was a beautiful woman, he thought, watching the beat of her pulse above her fingers. Even with that severe hairstyle and a minimum of makeup, there was no hiding the perfection of her face. He could almost understand why Carter had lost his head over her. Watching her mouth tremble, he reminded himself that she had willingly seduced a married man and selfishly wrecked a marriage without any thought of the hurt it would cause others.

But she was in deep trouble now if the kid had really seen a murder.

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“There’s only one thing to do.” His tone was brisk, businesslike. Be damned if he would fall for that soft, bruised look in her eyes. Reaching for the ignition keys, he started the Jeep. “You’ll have to go to Sugarland.”

“No.”

He could see it on her face. Sugarland was the last place in the world she wanted to go to for protection. “Then you tell me where I can drop you,” he retorted.

When she didn’t—couldn’t—find anything to say, he grunted something rude, rammed the Jeep in gear and took off.

Claire sat silently gazing at the town as John McMollere—equally silent—drove. How ironic, she thought, that the safest place for Carter’s son was in the bosom of his father’s family. The family who had rejected him outright from the moment they had learned of her pregnancy. For Danny’s sake, she would have to put that painful memory behind her.

Suddenly they turned off LaRue’s main street and she gave in to curiosity and stole a look at the man beside her. She wished she hadn’t argued with him. For her, it had been a no-win situation, but her pride had pushed her to challenge the man. He was right, of course. If she had to turn to others to help her protect her son, the McMolleres were surely the logical choice. And John McMollere—Mack—seemed tailor-made for the job. Even though she knew he disapproved of her, there was something about Mack that gave her a feeling of security. Still, she couldn’t just let him call the shots without at least letting him realize she was going along with his plan against her will. He didn’t have to know how relieved she was to have his help.

As they cruised a secondary street, she thought about what she knew about Carter’s older brother. Precious little, she concluded. He was a Vietnam veteran who’d flown helicopters during the war. In fact, it was Mack who’d taught Carter how to fly. She studied his hands on the wheel—hard, work-toughened hands—and then his face. He was less handsome, although his face was a good one, she decided, noting the strong jaw and firm chin. With those sunglasses concealing his eyes—lazerblue if she remembered right—it was hard to tell what he might be thinking, but she’d bet he wasn’t a man to advertise his feelings, anyway. She tried to remember what Carter had told her about his brother, but realized the information was vague in her memory. There’d been grudging admiration, she recalled that, and jealousy. Knowing what she now knew about Carter, she could well imagine that his weaker character had been swallowed up in this man’s quiet strength. He was nothing like Carter. One look at John McMollere and you sensed the difference in the brothers.

If only he wasn’t a McMollere.

A truck lumbered out from a side street forcing Mack to swerve and hit the brakes. He swore, then cast a wry look first back at Danny, then at Claire.

“Sorry, not used to kids,” he muttered, slowing to turn between two brick pillars. Claire said nothing, merely looked around with curiosity. Were they nearing Sugarland? Wasn’t the McMollere homeplace much farther out of town?

“I need to make a stop,” he told her. “My daughter’s here visiting a friend. I have to pick her up.”

Before she could reply, he pulled into a driveway and stopped. The house was all brick, large and luxurious with numerous windows. Off to one side, a magnificent oak tree dripped Spanish moss. Some distance back, along the crape-myrtle-studded driveway, was a detached three-car garage. Two teenage girls stood at the porch railing. Near them, a boy leaned against a square column. Claire judged him to be slightly older than the girls. The kids had obviously been expecting Mack since one of the girls straightened abruptly and started toward the Jeep.

She was there almost before Mack was out. Midteens, Claire guessed. Standard shorts and T-shirt, expensive watch and sandals. This was obviously his daughter. She had the same near-black hair and distinctive blue eyes. Although right now she was too tall, all arms and legs and too thin, one day all those characteristics would be assets and she would be drop-dead beautiful. Claire wondered about his wife. Ex-wife?

“You said you’d be here at five,” the girl said with undisguised hostility. She jerked open the door to climb inside, but Mack stopped her.

“Just a minute, Michelle.”

“What?” She looked straight ahead, her face sullen.

“I told you to stay away from Jake Reynolds. He’s bad news.”

“This is Ann-Marie’s house. I don’t have any control over who comes and goes here.”

“You’ve been here all day. When did Jake get here?”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“You know the rules, Michelle.”

She tossed her dark hair. “You have too many rules.”

“I have a right as your father to set boundaries. That’s your problem, Michelle, you’ve never had any rules.”

She turned then, her eyes shooting blue fire. “We’re gonna start in on my mother now? How bad she is? What a loser she is, right?”

He sighed. “This isn’t about your mother, Michelle.” He glanced in the Jeep and caught the expression in Claire’s eyes. “We’ll discuss it later. This isn’t the time or place.”

With a huffing sound, the teenager climbed into the back seat next to Danny. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t bring it up.”

Mack got in behind the wheel, but didn’t start up. He turned to introduce Claire and Danny, but his daughter interrupted him.

“You must be the scarlet woman,” she said, looking at Claire.

“Michelle!” Mack thundered. “Apologize…now!”

Instead of apologizing, Michelle muttered the S-word.

Danny looked intrigued. “Mommy says when you say nasty words it’s only because you can’t think of better ones.”

Michelle gave him a contemptuous look. “You must be Carter’s brat. But now that I look a little closer, you could be Mack’s. You look more like him than Carter and, after all, he’s been loose and fancy-free for twelve years.”

“Michelle, I’m warning you…that’s enough! And don’t call me Mack.”

“You’re definitely a McMollere, though. Don’t worry.”

“Am I going to have to stop this car and gag you?” Mack demanded through his teeth.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” Danny said, picking up on the only thing he understood in what Michelle had said. “Ryan’s a brat. Everybody says so.”

“Who’s Ryan, your brother?” The girl glanced at Claire. “There’s more where he came from?”

“Excuse me.” Claire spoke quietly, turning in her seat to give the girl a telling look. “None of this conversation is appropriate. If you have any other observations along these lines, please save them for a time when Danny isn’t present.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Mack said with a scowl. “We’re waiting for an apology, Michelle.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”

“What are you trying to do?” Mack said. “Embarrass both of us in front of these people?”

“You’re half right…Daddy.” She said this last with scorn.

“Meaning you only want to embarrass me.” For a long moment, he simply looked at his daughter. Claire sensed his anger and frustration. His bewilderment. She wondered what had caused so much hostility between father and daughter. Mack turned to Claire. “Sorry about this. You’ve guessed that this is my daughter, Michelle. I apologize for her manners. I wish I could say that it won’t happen again, but since you work in the library at a high school you know that no one can predict the behavior of a teenager.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

“I can do my own apologizing, thanks,” Michelle said.

He took off his sunglasses and with his thumb and forefinger rubbed his eyes wearily. Behind him, his daughter sat staring stonily out the window. The silence in the Jeep stretched uncomfortably.

Danny had watched and listened with fascination. His eyes were big now as he looked at Michelle. “You’re in trouble.”

His whisper carried easily to the adults in the front seat. Their eyes met. And for a second, Claire almost forgot where she was. Who he was. They were simply two single parents, each struggling with the problems of trying to rear children.

He leaned forward then and started the car and the spell was broken.

WHEN THEY TURNED OFF the highway about twenty minutes later, Mack told her that they were on McMollere land—over two thousand acres of flat, treeless bottomland planted exclusively in sugarcane. Fields and more fields of the green plants had reached a height exceeding eight feet in the August sun. The crop was nearing maturity, he explained. Then in the fall, in a flurry of activity, it would be cut, the strappy growth burned off, loaded on large trucks and hauled to the processing plants. Also owned by the McMolleres.

“What are those things?” Danny asked, pointing to mechanical beasts moving slowly up and down in various spots throughout the fields, like pecking birds.

“Oil pumps,” Mack explained. “There’s oil beneath the surface of the cane fields.”

“That’s how you get it out of the ground?” Danny was spellbound.

“That’s right, hotshot.”

Oil wells and sugarcane. Black and white gold. Claire sat stunned, taking it all in. The McMolleres’ wealth was more extensive than she’d realized. As was their power. She fought the fear rising in her chest.

“Is it okay to call you Uncle Mack?” Danny asked suddenly.

“That sounds fine to me,” Mack said, ignoring the snicker from Michelle.

“Did you like my dad? He was Carter McMollere.”

Claire met Mack’s startled glance. Why was he so surprised? she wondered. Did he expect her to bring Danny to meet Carter’s family and not explain to the child just who Carter McMollere was? Did they think Danny had reached age five without asking who his father was and why that man wasn’t a part of their lives?

“Yes, I liked him. He was my brother,” Mack said.

“Did you play with him?”

Enough, thought Claire. “Danny, let’s save this conversation for later, okay?”

“When, Mommy?”

“Just later, sweetie.” To her relief, Mack turned the car into a narrow lane. Finally.

Michelle had the door open almost before the Jeep stopped. “Well, here it is, kid,” she said, giving Danny a hand as he scrambled out after her. “Your heritage. Take a look.”

“What’s a heritage?” Danny asked, squinting in the sun at the imposing residence.

“Ask your mommy,” Michelle said, throwing a hostile look in Claire’s direction. “I’ll bet she has the answer to that one.”

“Michelle. Go to your room.” Mack’s expression was fierce. The girl shrugged and turned, heading for the front door.

Claire was used to teenage behavior. Before she took the job as a librarian, Claire had been an English teacher and had experienced her share of impudence and sheer bad manners from teenagers. She had found that such behavior often came from a deep well of hurt in a child. What, she wondered, was causing this girl such pain?

But there was no time to ponder the problem. As Michelle entered the house, two people came out. Claire reached for Danny, pulling him protectively against her, then turned to face Angus and Wyona McMollere, her son’s grandparents.

Later she realized that Mack was the force that had eased those first awkward moments. He had introduced his mother first. Wyona McMollere was tiny, no more than five feet tall. Her skin was fair and unlined, her hair delicately blond. Her hand trembled as she touched Danny’s hair, then his cheek. Claire guessed the woman to be about sixty, but her vague and distracted manner made her seem older.

“Mama, meet Claire Woodson,” Mack said. “Claire, my mother, Wyona.”

“Hello, Mrs. McMollere.”

The woman extended her hand. “How do you do?” she said, obviously striving to be polite. “I thought you would be younger.”

“Because I was a student when I met Carter?” Claire asked.

“Well, yes.”

“My mother was ill, so I had to delay getting my degree,” Claire explained, guessing from the woman’s surprised expression that she hadn’t expected Claire to have enough character to care for a sick mother. “I’m thirty-four.”

“Claire, this is Danny’s grandfather, Angus McMollere,” Mack said. “Dad, Claire Woodson.”

She recalled that Angus had suffered a stroke right after Carter’s death. Age and illness had apparently taken a toll, because the stern and uncompromising tyrant that Carter had described hardly fit the slightly stooped, fragile-looking man before her. But his eyes— so like Mack’s and Danny’s—were still fiercely blue.

She shook his hand. “Mr. McMollere.”

“Well, the boy certainly has the best of both of you,” he declared, studying Danny’s face.

“You mean, Carter and me?” Claire smiled coolly. “Is that a compliment?”

“My grandson’s a good-looking boy,” the old man blustered.

She gave Danny’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I think so, too.”

“Michelle thinks he looks like me.” Everybody stared at Mack in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said, finding her voice first.

“That was a joke, Mama.”

Claire felt a hand beneath her elbow and realized it belonged to Mack. She had a wild impulse to turn around and run from these people who represented anything but safety to her and Danny. But Mack was urging her across the threshold, and she had no choice but to keep going. Behind her, the door closed.

“Welcome to Sugarland,” he said.