Читать книгу Sugar Baby - Karen Young - Страница 9

WYONA LED everyone through the house to a bright sun room. Claire sat where Wyona indicated, then patted the spot beside her for Danny. There hadn’t been time to get more than a glimpse of the house, but Claire had an impression of high ceilings, wooden floors, spaciousness and traditional decor. Still, it appeared dated, not in the sense of out-of-fashion furnishings—costly antiques were everywhere—but it had an air of benign neglect.

Claire envied Danny as he looked around, openly curious. She’d have to keep her own curiosity to herself, at least for now. Angus and Wyona took seats opposite her. Mack stood watching, his back to the windows.

“We’ve been looking forward to this day a long time, Danny,” Angus said in his blustery way. “How do you like your daddy’s house?”

Danny’s eyes got round. “Did my daddy live here?”

“He sure did.” Angus pointed up. “He was born right upstairs, in the same bedroom as me.”

“Wow.” Danny stared at the ceiling as though he could look right through it. “I was born in a hospital.”

“Yes, well…” Angus cleared his throat.

“I’m five,” Danny informed him proudly. “It’s only a month until I start kindergarten, but I can already read some ‘cause my mommy’s a liberrian. She used to be a teacher, but not anymore.”

“That’s quite a speech,” the old man said.

Mack smiled. “Danny’s quite a boy.”

“I have to be,” Danny said, obviously considering that an odd remark. “ ‘Cause I can’t be a girl.”

As everyone laughed, Michelle suddenly appeared at the door. “That’s the only reason you’re here, Danny. Because you aren’t a girl.” There was a bitter twist to her smile.

Mack moved toward her, frowning. With a sinking feeling, Claire realized he was going to scold his daughter and provoke another confrontation. The man’s parenting skills definitely needed work.

“Danny and I were just getting acquainted with his grandparents, Michelle,” she said, patting a place on the other side of her. “Come and join us.”

Michelle hesitated, meeting Claire’s gaze with suspicion. But then she walked over and sat down. “So, how’s it going? Is the little heir measuring up to true McMollere standards?”

“Isn’t it a bit early to tell?” Claire said, smiling.

“Not really. He’s male, he’s healthy, he’s in.”

“I don’t understand you, dear.” Wyona looked dismayed.

“That girl needs a lesson in manners,” Angus said, glaring at Mack.

“I like her,” Danny said, leaning forward to look at Michelle. Suddenly, the teenager’s eyes filled with tears.

She dashed them away with some embarrassment. “Just what I need, a little twerp to fight my battles. Too bad you aren’t gonna be here but a weekend, kid. We might become buddies.”

“I think we’re staying longer than that,” Danny said.

“What’s this?” Angus straightened a little, looking at Mack.

“Danny witnessed an incident at the hotel this afternoon,” he said, glancing at Claire. “While Claire was talking on the phone with me, he says he saw a man shoot somebody.”

There was shocked silence and then everybody tried to speak at once. Mack held up a hand. “There’s a problem. Nobody else saw anything. The hotel claims it couldn’t have happened, but when Claire and Danny went to Star-Mart later, somebody—a stranger—approached Danny and tried to force him out of the store.”

“My God!” Angus said softly.

“Oh…oh,” Wyona murmured, touching her cheek.

“Jeezum!” Michelle said.

Mack crossed his arms over his chest. “So until we can be certain Danny’s imagination hasn’t run amok, it would appear that the safest place for Claire and Danny right now is here at Sugarland.”

CLAIRE ESCAPED after the first flurry of questions to take Danny to the bathroom. She needed a moment to get her bearings. It was suddenly so overwhelming. Here she was in Carter’s house, with Carter’s parents, de- pendent on the McMolleres because of a fluke—a criminal act that had thrown her child’s life in jeopardy. She felt as if she were caught in a tidal wave with no more control over her destiny than a sand castle at high tide.

Beside her, Danny was looking wide-eyed at everything. “I like it here, Mommy.”

“It’s a nice house.”

“I like Michelle.”

“She’s nice, too.” She turned a corner, but could see nothing that looked like a bathroom.

“And I like Uncle Mack.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did my real daddy look like him?”

Claire sighed inwardly. From the time he’d been old enough to realize that most kids had a father, Danny had been curious about his own. She hated questions about Carter, but she tried not to let Danny know that.

Danny tugged on her dress. “You didn’t answer me, Mommy.”

“No, they really don’t look that much alike, Danny.” And I hope there’s even less resemblance in their character, she thought.

“Oh.” Danny’s small shoulders sagged.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Cheer up. I think you look a lot like your grandpa McMollere. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” He wrinkled his nose. “But he’s really old, isn’t he?”

“I suppose, but he’s been sick. Maybe that’s why he seems old.”

“He talks sorta loud, too.”

“Maybe he can’t hear as well as he used to.”

“But I can,” Danny said logically. “He doesn’t have to yell.”

“Uh-uh.” Where was the bathroom, for heaven’s sake?

Danny looked up into her face. “What should I call him and my grandmother?”

She had no idea. “Maybe you can ask them that when we get back to the living room.”

“My grandmother’s funny.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t think she likes me.”

Claire stopped and put her hands on his shoulders. “Yes, she does, Danny. She and your grandfather wanted this visit more than anything in the world because they wanted to get to know you. That’s because they love you. Your daddy was their son and because of him, you’re special to them. That includes your grandmother.”

He gazed at her steadily from eyes so unmistakably like his uncle’s and grandfather’s. “Are you sure, Mommy?”

With her forefinger, she solemnly drew an X on her chest. “Cross my heart.”

“And Michelle likes me, too?”

“That’s right.”

“Uncle Mack, too?”

“You got it.”

He smiled. “Okay. ‘Cause I like them and I think I’m gonna visit Sugarland for the next zillion years.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Here’s the bathroom.”

“Good. I have to go really bad.”

But he balked at the door. “Mommy, you don’t have to go in here with me.”

“Okay, honey.”

That wasn’t good enough. With his hand on the doorknob, he gave her a stubborn look. “You can go back to the grown-ups, Mommy.”

Terrific.

As she headed down the hall, she could hear Mack’s calm, measured replies to his parents. Fifteen minutes in the house with them and Claire could tell that John McMollere, not Angus, was the glue holding the family together. It was odd that he seemed so inept in dealing with his daughter.

She turned one of the numerous corners and nearly bumped into Michelle.

“So what is it, a blessing or a curse?” the girl asked.

Claire gave her an exasperated look. “Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”

“I could have clomped up wearing combat boots and you wouldn’t have heard me. You were a thousand miles away.”

“No, I wish I was a thousand miles away.”

Michelle grinned. “Now, that I can sympathize with.”

“Is that why you’re so deliberately rude every chance you get? Especially to your father?”

She shrugged. “I guess so.”

“It’s juvenile, Michelle. Think of another way if you want people to respect you.”

“I don’t give a damn if they respect me.”

“How about loving you? How do you feel about that?”

She made a bitter sound. “That’s hopeless. Not from them. Never.”

“I’m sure your father loves you,” Claire said quietly.

“Oh, yeah? You’ve known him exactly…what? Half a day? And you can tell he loves me? Shows what you know.”

Claire sighed. “What did you mean just now—is what a blessing or a curse?”

“Being here at Sugarland.”

“I’m reserving judgment.”

Just then, Danny ran up to them. “I ‘membered to wash my hands.”

“Good boy.” She gave him a smile.

“Back to the lion’s den,” Michelle quipped.

Claire grimaced. She’d wondered what was causing the girl such pain and now she knew. The question was: why did Michelle think her father didn’t love her?

IT WAS MUCH LATER that night when Mack left the house and headed for the sheriff’s office in Abadieville, sixty miles north of LaRue in another parish. He wasn’t quite convinced that Danny had seen a man murdered, let alone that it was by a rogue cop, but to be on the safe side, he’d avoided taking his concerns to the local sheriff. Wayne Pagett, the sheriff in Abadieville, was a longtime friend, a man he knew he could trust.

The incident in Star-Mart could have been coincidental. However, in Mack’s experience, coincidences were as rare as white alligators. Claire clearly believed her son, otherwise nothing could have induced her to accept the hospitality of the McMolleres at Sugarland. He had to hand it to her for dealing with an awkward situation gracefully. He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife managing half as well in a similar situation. In the first place, Liz was incapable of putting her child’s welfare above her own. Michelle’s unhappiness was proof of that.

He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about his problems with his teenage daughter tonight.

At the courthouse, he pulled into a parking space reserved for a deputy sheriff and stopped the Jeep. He got out, stretching to ease the stiffness from his thigh. He was hardly ever aware of the old ‘Nam injury except when rain threatened. He viewed the sky with a frown, guessing that it would storm within the hour.

He slammed the door and clamped his hat on his head, then took the courthouse steps two at a time. Not much activity in Abadieville this time of night, he noted, but he bet he’d find Wayne Pagett still in his office.

“Yo, Jerry. How’s it going?” He waved at a deputy manning the front desk, then caught a glimpse of Wayne through the glass door of the office. If the sheriff hadn’t been in, Mack would have had no hesitation in driving out to Wayne’s house. God knows he’d spent enough time there when he was growing up. Mike, Wayne’s oldest son, had been his best friend throughout high school. Mack couldn’t count the lectures he’d received from this man. Sometimes Wayne Pagett had seemed more like a father to him than Angus McMollere. Sometimes Mack had wished he’d been Wayne’s son.

He paused before knocking. Wayne spent most of his time now in his office. Mike had told Mack that after his wife died, his dad didn’t have much incentive to go home. With his kids grown, Mike living in Houston, and Kayla in Orlando, the big house was too empty. Wayne had even taken to bringing his big yellow Lab, Barney, into the office with him. It was the dog who spotted Mack first.

In the quiet of the courthouse, Barney’s bark sounded like the boom of a cannon as Mack pushed open the door. Wayne’s head came up and instantly his frown turned into pleasure. “Mack! Son of a gun, this is a surprise.” He got up, sending his chair crashing back against the wall, and leaned over his desk, his hand outstretched. “Of all the folks I expected to walk in here tonight, you’re the last. How are you, boy?”

Mack shook the man’s hand. At his feet, Barney was wagging his tail in joyful recognition. “I’m doing fine, Wayne. How about yourself?”

“Good…good. Yeah, I’m doing all right.” He sat again, then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a cigar. “Have a seat. I’d offer you one of these, but I know you hate ‘em. How’s Angus? Last I heard, he was up and about, ornery as ever.”

“He’s doing okay.” Mack rubbed Barney’s ears, smiling as the Lab licked his hand, then he settled back.

“A little shaky on his feet, but if he follows the doctor’s orders, he manages just fine.”

“I can imagine how eager he is to follow doctor’s orders,” Wayne said dryly.

Mack grinned. “His health was affected by his stroke, his personality wasn’t.”

Wayne grunted, nodding his head. “And your mama. How’s Wyona?”

“Same as ever.”

“Give them both my best.” He paused to light the cigar, then surveyed Mack through the smoky haze. “It’s a little late for a social visit, isn’t it, boy?”

Mack leaned forward in the chair, lifting his ankle to rest on his knee. “We’ve got a couple of visitors at Sugarland.”

“Oh?”

“Carter’s son, Danny, and the little boy’s mother.”

“Well, well. So Martin Thibodaux finally came through for you. Last I heard, he was trying every legal trick in the book to try and arrange a visit, but the woman was hanging tough.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, I’ve got my sources, don’t you know.”

Mack knew he wouldn’t get a name from Wayne, so there was no sense pushing it, but he wondered if Martin Thibodaux, who’d been Angus’s lawyer for more than thirty years, realized that sensitive information about one of his most influential clients was being leaked.

“Her name’s Claire Woodson,” he said.

“I know her name.” Seeing Mack’s frown, Wayne went on, “Miriam met her once. It was at an education conference in Baton Rouge about six months before I lost her. Sort of a coincidence, you might say, seeing as there was a connection between Miriam and the McMolleres.” He paused to take a puff of his cigar. “Anyway, she came away from the conference, Miriam, I mean, with a good impression of Claire Woodson. Naturally, Miriam knew how Angus and Wyona resented being kept from knowing their grandson, and that they had no positive feelings about Miss Woodson. Miriam expected somebody harder, more…ah, flamboyant, I suppose, but Miss Woodson was very nice. In fact, Miriam mentioned that she acted in every way a lady, positively straitlaced, she said.”

“She’s a redhead,” Mack said abruptly, then shifted uncomfortably at Wayne’s laugh.

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t look anything like I expected.”

“You mean in all this time you never had a look at the woman you were fighting for custody of Carter’s child?”

“Just once. And it was years ago when she and Carter were having the affair.” Wayne’s attitude made him feel defensive, as if his parents’ long, hard-fought legal battle was in some way unjust. “My folks weren’t fighting for custody of the boy. They were just trying to assert their natural right to see Danny occasionally, to arrange a visit to Sugarland once in a while. As the boy’s grandparents, don’t they deserve that?”

“Well, it sounds reasonable,” Wayne said, leaning back until he was nearly horizontal in his chair. Smoke curled lazily from his cigar. “And Miriam told me that Miss Woodson seemed like a reasonable young woman, very sensible. Makes you wonder why she fought access so hard.”

It was something Mack had wondered about, too. He wished he had an answer. “She’s not exactly what I expected.”

“You’re probably not what she expected,” Wayne said, smiling faintly.

“How do you mean?”

“She probably thinks that since you’re Carter’s brother you share other characteristics.” He reached over and gently rubbed the ashes from the end of his cigar. “Nothing could be further from the truth, as anybody who knows you could tell her.”

“Wayne—”

“Aw, now, don’t go getting that look on your face. I’m not saying anything bad about your brother, ‘specially now he’s gone and can’t defend himself.” He hunched a little closer to his desk, looking Mack directly in the eye. “Let me give you some advice, Mack. Don’t assume things are as they seem with Claire Woodson. I know you’ve got a lot on you, son. You’re on the board of that oil company now, you’re the biggest sugarcane farmer in four parishes, you’re struggling to learn to be a parent to your little girl. The two of you hardly know each other at all after all these years Liz kept her from you. And now you’ve got Claire and her little boy and her feud with your folks dumped in your lap. Angus can’t help much, he’s sick and your mama…well, your mama is hardly the lady she was before Carter died in that airplane crash.” He put his cigar in an ashtray that was an open alligator’s mouth, and shoved it aside. “But you need to wait a while before judging Claire. See if you think she’s the kind of woman who’d arbitrarily deny decent grandparents the right to have a relationship with their only grandson. And if the answer’s yes, then take a minute to ask yourself why in the world she would feel that way.”

At Mack’s feet, Barney whined, his soft brown eyes full of concern. Mack chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re making me feel about ten years old, Wayne. How do you do it?”

“Comes with age, son. You get old as me, you get to say whatever you please, even if it’s none of your damn business.” He eyed Mack over his bifocals. “So, how long is Miss Woodson’s visit?”

Mack drew in a deep breath. “Longer than she counted on. That’s why I drove over here tonight to see you, Wayne. She’s having to stay at Sugarland whether she likes it or not because the boy claims he saw a man murdered this afternoon at the White Hotel.”

“What the hell!” Wayne wasn’t shocked often. “You’re gonna have to explain that in a little more detail, son.”

Mack gave him the whole story, including his own doubts. Unlike Mack, Wayne was inclined to accept Danny’s account of what he saw. When he repeated the incident at Star-Mart, the sheriff frowned ferociously.

“You say Miss Woodson believes the boy saw what he claims to have seen?” he asked.

“Yeah. She said she had doubts at first because they’d been watching something on TV that had a lot of violence, and she’d made Danny turn it off and watch cartoons instead.”

“Sounds to me like she’s a conscientious mama as well as a sensible person,” Wayne remarked.

Mack grunted. “Whatever. But the hotel found no signs of a struggle or blood or anything that lent any credence to what Danny said.”

“A mother usually knows her child, Mack.”

“Yeah. That’s why I drove over here. I don’t know what you can do without stirring up a hornet’s nest, but I’d appreciate your looking into this,” Mack told him. “As you guessed, I’m going to be busy at Sugarland. I’ve got an office in Lafayette, but since Dad’s heart attack and especially now that Michelle is with me, I’ve been trying to manage at home.” He stood up, frowning at the window where lightning flashed intermittently through the ancient oak trees on the side of the courthouse. “It’s too risky leaving her alone to do much investigating on my own.”

“Who, Michelle?”

“No, Claire.” Bumping his hat restlessly against his right thigh, he missed Wayne’s sharp look. “She wanted to drive back to Houston, can you believe that? I told her no way. A woman alone, some nut out there looking for her, she needs a keeper, for God’s sake.”

“It’s a nasty job, but I guess somebody’s got to do it.”

“You can’t be too careful,” Mack said, ignoring the taunt. He settled his hat on his head. “As you pointed out, I have a family responsibility here, Wayne. This is Carter’s son, the only other grandchild my folks are likely to have.”

“I don’t know as I’d say that, not just yet,” Wayne drawled, rising from his chair. “You’ve still got a few good years. What are you now, Mack, thirty-nine, forty?”

“Forty-two last month, Wayne,” Mack said dryly. “And I don’t plan on producing any other heirs. For that, a man needs a wife, and I don’t intend making that mistake again.”

Wayne shook his head. “That Liz sure did a number on you, didn’t she?”

“It wasn’t just Liz,” Mack said, wincing as a crash of thunder shook the windowpanes. “We never should have married in the first place. I knew she was out of her element when I brought her to Sugarland. She was a city girl. She was miserable from day one.”

Wayne gave a snort. “What about her vows? A woman’s supposed to stick with her man.”

“It was thirteen years ago, Wayne,” Mack said. He took no offense at his friend’s frankness, possibly because Liz’s desertion no longer hurt the way it once had. “It’s in the past.”

“Not the way I see it.” Wayne clamped his cigar in his mouth. “What with her dumping little Michelle on you after poisoning her against her Louisiana relatives, including you.” He fumbled around, moving things on his desk top, looking for a match. “The woman’s a piece of work, that’s what she is.”

“She’s a little spoiled,” Mack agreed, heading for the door. “But she’s Victor DeBartolo’s problem now, not mine.”

Wayne squinted at Mack through a fresh cloud of smoke. “He’s still in Washington, I guess.”

“You know as well as I do where Vic is. You know everything else.”

“Good place for him.” Wayne reached for his suit coat and shrugged into it. “Her, too.”

Mack laughed. “Next time Liz calls, I’ll be sure and mention you send your regards.”

They went out together, both chuckling.

At the door, Mack stopped. “One thing you can do for me now, Wayne. I need to get Claire’s luggage, but it’s probably best for somebody besides me to pick it up. If the boy did actually witness something and somebody’s watching the room, I wouldn’t want them to make the connection that Claire and the boy are at Sugarland.”

Wayne turned to the deputy. “Jerry, call Al and tell him to pick up Claire Woodson’s things at the White Hotel, then tell him Mack will meet him at Melrose Crossing in about thirty minutes to take ‘em off his hands. Tell him to give no information to the hotel.” He looked at Mack. “Thirty minutes ought to do it, huh?”

“It should. Thanks, Wayne.”

“No problem.”

They were walking through the office, when another mighty clap of thunder shook the place. At the door, Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “My Miriam was a redhead, did you know that?”

Mack clamped his hat on his head, getting ready to make a run for it. “I don’t remember her hair ever being anything but snow-white.”

“Yeah. Turned that way nearly overnight. She wasn’t a day over forty…She always blamed it on you and Mike.”

It was still raining, but Mack was smiling as he dashed for his Jeep.

HE DROVE through a steady downpour all the way to Sugarland. Just as Wayne ordered, one of his men was waiting at Melrose Crossing with Claire’s luggage. Not much to it, he thought as he stored a suitcase and an overnight case in the back of the Jeep. If the visit lasted more than a week, she’d probably need to get a few more things.

He tried to convince himself he didn’t care whether she was there a week or a day.

As he turned in the curved driveway, the Jeep’s headlights swept over the house. Except for the garage area, which was separate from the main house, the whole place was dark. He stopped the car and got out, heading around to the tailgate. As he pulled it open, he glanced up at the second-story bedroom where Claire and the boy were staying. That, too, was dark. Apparently she wasn’t losing any sleep worrying about her situation. He slammed the tailgate and started up the steps.

“Is that my luggage?”

Startled at the sound of her voice, he almost dropped the bags.

“Sorry, I guess you didn’t see me.”

“What are you doing out here?” he said. “This is a hell of an electrical storm. You could be struck by lightning.”

“I couldn’t sleep. And storms have never made me nervous.” She took the overnight case, leaving the larger piece for him to carry. “Thanks for picking this up.”

He didn’t waste any time getting the door open and urging her inside. There was just enough light to reveal what she was wearing. And how she looked. A big T-shirt and shorts. In the denim dress today, he’d guessed that her legs were fantastic. He’d been right. The only wrong note was her hair. He wondered what it would be like not tied back. Earlier her hair had been pulled back and pinned in some severe-looking twist. Now it was braided, starting at the crown of her head. He imagined her red hair all loose and flowing. He could almost feel his fingers sift through it. He could almost see it spread out and—

He caught himself up abruptly. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about this woman? He cleared his throat. “I see that you found something to wear.”

“Michelle generously offered this workout set.” She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to stretch the garment to midthigh. “One size fits all. I was glad for the clothes, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own things.”

“They couldn’t look any better on you.”

She was instantly on guard. Like a doe caught in headlights.

“I’ll just take this on up to my room,” she said, slipping past him to hurry up the stairs.

Watching her escape—there was no other word for it—he wished he could take back the remark, but the words had been out before he could stop them. Why was she so skittish?

Frowning, he climbed the stairs himself, but at a pace that gave him time to contemplate the contrasts and complexities of Claire Woodson. There was a remoteness about her that didn’t fit the way he’d thought of her for years. He recalled that night in Houston when she’d been with Carter. Mack remembered her smiling, almost sparkling with emotion as she clung to Carter on the dance floor. And then Carter had spotted him, had made the introductions reluctantly.

The picture of Claire Woodson as she’d been that night had stayed with Mack. As for this woman with the severe hairdo, the disconcertingly direct gaze, the calm grace and quiet manner, she did not fit that other picture. Just who was the real Claire Woodson?