Читать книгу For Jessie's Sake - Kate Welsh - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Abby set the glass of vanilla-flavored soy milk and a plate of cookies on the tray, then added the crystal bud vase and the rose she’d picked earlier to save it from the approaching storm. She surveyed her work and nodded in approval. She wanted the evening to be special for Jessie since Torthúil had been such a disappointment to her. Besides, she thought every little girl should feel like a princess at least once in her life.

She smiled, remembering when she and her sisters were that age. All those magical bedtime rituals— snacks and stories, kisses and special toys. They always had their mother and Hannah Canton, their ever-faithful and affectionate housekeeper, fussing over them. Apparently Jessie had no one but a father who clearly didn’t even know how to avoid tangles in her hair.

With that thought fresh in her mind, Abby stopped as she passed the linen closet. She pulled down the satin pillowcase she’d mentioned and tucked it under her arm before moving like a rusted tin soldier toward the end of the hall.

She stood frozen at the door to Number Ten, afraid to face Colin again. What was the matter with her? This nervousness was a far cry from the righteous anger she wanted to feel. Should feel. In spite of what he’d done, this was attraction. Dangerous attraction. Her unwavering love for him hadn’t faded even after he’d rejected her so cruelly in front of his friend. Abby had held out hope that he’d arrive at Hopewell Manor to tell her he’d been trying to protect her reputation from Harley’s wagging tongue. But when she’d learned he’d left town ahead of schedule, Abby had buried her foolish, passionate dreams.

She’d forced herself to date two other men since that awful night. One had been a political science major in her sophomore year of college, the other a hotel manager who’d stayed at Cliff Walk during the first Hopetown Arts Festival a couple of years ago.

She’d been marginally attracted to both of them and tried to take both relationships to the next level, but she’d always frozen, instinctively pulling back when things got physical. When she’d asked for more time, neither had taken her request well. Both had cruelly dismissed her needs. Finally she’d decided to act as cold and remote as they’d accused her of being. Fear of making another mistake, of trusting her own judgment, had simply paralyzed her.

She’d learned her lesson not once but three times— she just wasn’t cut out for romance. Passion was an unruly, dangerous emotion, and she wasn’t willing to risk her heart again. So she’d carefully built a quiet, secure life for herself.

So what if some people thought it was too quiet. Too sterile. So what if she’d been called an ice queen by her ex-boyfriends? So what if the title now fit. It was comfortable.

Safe.

Abby stiffened her spine, refusing to dither any longer. Checking her expression in the hall mirror, she was gratified to find a cool look firmly in place. Colin could never know what he made her feel. He’d gloat or try to take advantage of it.

She took a deep breath. Ready to see him, she rapped on the door. As it swung open, Abby’s heart started thundering behind her ribs, but it was Jessie who answered. “Hi. Daddy’s gettin’ changed on account of he says he’s wet through his Skivvies. Is that my snack?”

Abby blinked away the flash of Colin sans Skivvies. “Y-yes,” she stammered, trying to drag her mind off that disturbing enticing vision. “And here’s the pillowcase I promised you.”

Jessie sucked in a deep breath, a sweet little gasp of awe and gratitude. Then she took the pillowcase and ran it across her cheek. “Oh, Miss Abby. So soft and silky.”

Abby smiled. “That’s why it works. Your hair will just slide over it and not tangle.”

The door to the bathroom flew open at the moment Jessie charged into her arms, wrapping her in an exuberant hug. Abby managed to steady the tray as Colin asked, “Jessie, who are you—” He froze in the doorway, frowning.

Abby could only stare. He was bare chested. His jeans were zipped, but the button was undone and he had a towel tossed over one strong, muscular shoulder. He still had those damned six-pack abs.

With loose-limbed grace, he walked toward her and reached for the tray. When his fingers made contact with hers, Abby jerked her hands away, nearly upsetting the glass. “I—I’m s-sorry.” She backed away toward the door. “I hope you like your snack, Jessie. Breakfast is at nine. Enjoy your stay at Cliff Walk.”

She made it to the hall and pulled the door closed. Heart pounding, she rested her forehead on the cool door and took a deep, calming breath. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let his mere presence rattle her like this. He was nothing more than a rat in men’s clothing. Very little clothing to be sure, but a rat was a rat. No matter what he did or didn’t wear.

No matter what he did to her senses.

Determined to find her center and calm her troubled mind, Abby closed up her house for the night and retreated to the tower room. It had once been the maid’s room, but now it was her retreat. She stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for the familiar sense of peace the place always brought her, but instead of feeling the comforting shelter the space usually gave her, an oppressive loneliness seemed to descend on her. Everyone in her life had someone but her. When she was upset her refuge was a place, not a person.

But that was the way she wanted it, she reminded herself. That was the way it had to be. Rather than wallow, she yanked at the buttons of her blouse and moved toward her dresser. It was simply the turbulent weather working on her. Or the shock of seeing Colin again.

Or maybe it was nothing more than the rapidly fading feeling of Jessie’s grateful hug. Or Colin’s touch.

Shaking herself loose of her useless observations, Abby stripped out of her clothes and got into her leotard. Then she sank to the yoga mat in front of the tall Victorian windows. After a deep cleansing breath, she moved into her first position, ignoring the flashes of lightning, the rumble and crack of the thunder, and sought her center—her peace.

An hour later she had twisted and stretched into every yoga position she’d mastered and had tried a few she hadn’t. Fresh from a shower, she climbed into bed and acknowledged the truth.

The past still haunted her.

She told herself that other than having a father who expected his children to earn his love, her early life had gone along just fine. All the trouble and turmoil had really started when she’d decided to stay at Tracy’s house on graduation night nine years ago.

She’d just turned out the light in Torthùil’s kitchen after washing the few dishes from her midnight snack when Colin’s voice had drifted in the back screen door of the McCarthys’ farmhouse.

Abby had loved Colin with all her heart and soul for years and had grown tired of being ignored and treated like a little girl. So she’d adopted what she’d hoped was a sexy stance, hoping he’d realize she really had grown up in his absence.

She’d called his name in her best Marilyn Monroe “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” voice and hope had stirred in her heart when her soldier boy seemed nervous. So she’d stood on tiptoe and brought her lips within inches of his.

To his credit he’d tried to warn her off after a hearty gulp of air, but it had been too late. She’d tasted victory. So she’d run her index finger down his chest and across those sexy abs. And passion had exploded between them…

Abby sprang up in bed. The storm raged outside her snug tower lair, but she was soaked to the skin. Soaked in sweat. She’d gone back to where she’d sworn she’d never go.

And all because Colin McCarthy was under her roof.

Colin sat in the chair by the window watching Jessie sleep. He didn’t have that luxury. Seeing Abby again had brought back memories of the painful series of incidents that had been a huge turning point in his life.

And what about her life?

She seemed so very different. Yet with Jessie, she was as sweet and kind as he remembered her being with his younger sisters. Abby had always worn a smile. Her eyes had always shone with joy. She’d been a little impish, with a verve for life that had always made him pause and see the enjoyment in the simplest things when she was around the McCarthy house— which was often.

It was the new coolness in her eyes that shocked him, almost as much as her presence at the B and B. The last time he’d seen those eyes they’d been filled with hurt and tears. He closed his own now, trying to forget what had caused the tears, and the price he’d been forced to pay for them the next day.

When that didn’t work, he realized he needed to do something he’d been avoiding since his decision to return to Hopetown. He needed to reexamine his part in the mess that had followed those stolen moments with Abby in his bed. Colin forced himself to examine how he’d handled his mistake.

The moment his mind had cleared of the effect of maybe one too many beers and Abby’s scent, the consequences of what they’d done had crashed in on him like a ten-ton weight.

Colin had felt panic rise just as he had the out-of-control desire not long before. She was still a kid who didn’t seem to see the mess they could have caused. First, he hadn’t used protection and she’d clearly been a virgin. They both had years of school left. And he’d also belatedly remembered he’d been lying with her naked in his arms and his room had barely been more than a converted porch off his parent’s kitchen!

When Harley Bryant walked into the kitchen, he’d jumped up and tossed his clothes on, ordering Abby to do the same. Harley Bryant had had the biggest mouth in two counties. Colin had stepped into the kitchen pulling the door shut behind him, assuming Abby would stay hidden, but she hadn’t. Harley had figured out what had happened, so Colin denied it. But he’d done it clumsily. If Abby had so much as touched him, she would have confirmed Harley’s suspicions and the whole town would’ve known. So the best he could do was to sneer that she was so young that her having made a pass at him was a joke. Then he’d coldly sent her off to bed.

God, he’d been such a damned clod. He should have found a better way to disarm the situation than being so cruel to her. And he had been cruel. In trying to protect her, he’d hurt her more than gossip ever could have.

Lightning lit the sky outside the tall window in the front room at Cliff Walk at the same moment thunder cracked and literally rattled the windowpanes. Jessie sat up and screamed before Colin could make it to the bed. “It’s okay, honey. Daddy’s here.”

He settled on the bed facing her and Jessie covered her ears as another clap rolled overhead. “It’s so loud. I don’t like it.”

Colin scooped her up into his lap and snuggled her head under his chin. “It always helps me to remember that thunder can’t hurt anyone. It’s just the clouds banging together.”

Jessie yawned expansively. “Well, I wish they’d stop it.”

“Me, too,” he admitted. He turned so his back was against the headboard, still cuddling Jessie to his chest. He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her fears. “Try to sleep. Daddy’ll hold you till the storm passes, and tomorrow we’ll get started on our house. Once the repairs are done, you can help me pick the colors of the rooms.” He smiled in the dark. “You’re going to like it here. I promise.”

Jessie yawned. “Brown like my magic rock. I want the house to match my rock,” she told him then dropped off to sleep. He smiled a little sadly remembering when, like Jessie, he’d thought a daddy could fix anything. But he knew that, like his father before him, there were a lot of things he and Jessie’s “magic rock” couldn’t fix.

He’d picked up the rock she treasured on the morning he’d left Torthúil—all but run out of town on a rail by James Hopewell. He’d kept it to remind him of the home he’d lost so he’d never stop fighting to be as rich and powerful as the man who’d forced him to leave. That day he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see Torthúil again. He’d given the rock to Jessie when he’d known they would be returning because the closer the move to Pennsylvania got, the more anxious she’d grown of the changes to come.

And it was the things neither he nor the “magic rock” could fix—his own guilt and his anger at Abby—that were keeping him awake.

As he sat there nine years later, holding Jessie in his arms, revisiting what had happened that morning so long ago, things looked different. James Hopewell’s anger toward Colin looked different. Wouldn’t Colin go to nearly any length to protect Jessie? So, okay, maybe Hopewell showing up at Torthúil the next day was understandable. He’d still been shepherding two of his daughters through their teenage years, so having expected Colin’s parents to be involved in the meeting made sense. As was telling Colin to get out of town, to stay out so he and Abby had no further contact. That, too, fell in the forgivable range.

But the rest of what Hopewell had done was still simply unforgivable and inexcusable. He had threatened to see to it that the local bank foreclosed on the McCarthy’s farm if Colin didn’t agree to all his demands. Because their loan had been slightly delinquent and because Hopewell was powerful enough to make good on the threat, Colin had known it was a real possibility. And if Abby had turned up pregnant, nothing would have saved his family from her father’s wrath.

Then later that summer Hopewell had crossed the line into cruelty by refusing to allow Colin to return to Hopetown for his younger sister’s funeral.

Some would say Hopewell had done him a favor, and Colin acknowledged that it was probably true. He’d made Colin so angry that he’d worked like a Trojan to achieve the success he’d desired. But Abby had betrayed him by telling her father what had happened.

He hadn’t believed she’d gone to her father, had nearly denied the truth until Hopewell went on to explain that he’d met Abby when she’d come in that morning. She’d been crying, he said, so he’d comforted her, then pressed her for the truth until she confessed everything. Nothing would have convinced Colin to betray Abby but, he sighed, she had been young. Immature. Now that he’d seen her all grown- up, that fact was pretty hard to ignore, and harder to hold against her.

But there was still Tracy’s death and the belief he’d long harbored in his heart, that Abby had somehow played a part in his sister’s death. How else would Tracy have met the rich kid who’d been drunk behind the wheel of the boat the day she was killed? He’d no doubt been a member of the privileged crowd the Hopewells hung around with.

Well, James Hopewell was dead now. And that left Colin with a problem. What did he do with not just his anger toward Hopewell for his ill treatment but with this powerful attraction to the man’s daughter?