Читать книгу One Small Secret - Meagan McKinney, Meagan McKinney - Страница 10

Three

Mark watched her go, and all in all he thought he showed admirable restraint. He’d simply stood on the veranda; he’d said nothing; done nothing. When what he really wanted to do was pull her back, take her hand and force her to sit inside, so he could look at her again, close his eyes and listen to her voice. Remember.

She’d been here all the time. Honor Shaw. Somehow, he hadn’t imagined she would still be at the Retreat. He’d thought she would be in a tract house on the outskirts of town, nesting with her husband and two-point-three kids. All those long, bitter nights thinking about the man who’d gotten her—the nice average guy he’d pictured in his mind—had been nothing but a waste of energy. The guy had to have been a loser. If she was divorced now, it was her ex’s fault. No man in his right mind would let Honor Shaw slip away from him. He knew that only too well.

He reached out to stroke Rosie, who stood at his feet. The dog, as always, was a comfort to him. She went everywhere with him. Rosie had been in more private jets and boardrooms than most Homo sapiens. The people he dealt with accommodated him, but he knew everyone thought he was just another rich eccentric who had to be indulged when he brought in his wolfhound. They didn’t know that Rosie was more than a dog. They didn’t know she was his walking, breathing tie to one summer when love had come up to him, put her hands gently on his face and pulled him down for a kiss.

He felt the tightness in his chest and realized he’d been holding his breath ever since she’d fled. But he still couldn’t comprehend that Honor Shaw, from the small, nowhere town in Mississippi, was still here, as fixed in time as she was fixed in his mind.

Calling Rosie, he left the veranda and went inside to the parlor. He poured a scotch and sipped it. In the background, the CD player played a lush melancholy tune.

He almost wanted to laugh. What a reunion. Honor Shaw had come back to him. But only for fifteen quick minutes, long enough to tell him that two people wanted him dead.

He already knew that. Everyone wanted something from him. They either wanted to rob him or profit from him or kill him. The whole world was draining him of his very soul, and the one person he would gladly have given it up for had just come and gone like an instant message on his computer screen, and she wanted nothing from him.

He reached out to stroke Rosie’s head again. The dog yawned and thumped her wiry tail on the polished floor.

Rosie was still his, though. The memories were still his. Sure, they’d been tainted by reality. He’d thought he and Honor had had something special that summer; she obviously thought it had been nothing more than a fling. He’d left for Zurich; she’d started Old Miss and dived right into another relationship.

Okay, so maybe the guy had soured on her; maybe she was free now. But it didn’t change anything. She clearly hadn’t felt what he’d felt that summer. He’d never even heard from her after he left the Hall. There was no way he would resume any relationship with her, knowing he couldn’t hold her heart.

He looked into his scotch. A darkness seeped into him. No, Honor Shaw would have to feel as allconsumingly about him as he had about her for almost nine years now. He was known as cold, tough, an all-or-nothing corporate raider, and he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than a hundred percent Especially not from some girl in a backwater town who thought she could pick up and toss away a man’s heart like it was so much river rock. If he could even imagine tangling himself up with her again, the first and foremost thing would be to teach her a lesson about men like him. She didn’t know his kind; he’d bet on it. He hadn’t been this man the last time he’d come to Natchez.

But the world had changed him. She had changed him.

A shadowed smile tipped the corner of his lips. And maybe it was time to let her see that.

“You look terrible, girl,” Doug announced as he sat in the Retreat’s kitchen the next morning.

“That’s because I’m spending way too much time making police reports.” Honor poured him a cup of black coffee. Her eyes were red, her cheeks pale, but they had nothing to do with police. Rather, they were the result of staying up way too late and crying a river of tears.

“I got it all down, and if those two ever show their faces in Natchez, I’ll take ‘em in for questioning. No doubt about it.” Doug sipped his coffee.

She sat across from him. Hopelessness seemed to weigh on her shoulders, holding her down. “He says he gets people threatening to kill him all the time. He was really blasé about my news. I have to say, it kind of shocked me. I didn’t know him anymore. Not really.”

“Maybe that’s the price you pay for all that money.”

“It’s frightening—all that money.” She suddenly pictured Lockey in front of an exclusive Swiss boarding school, bodyguards in tow, and herself, the girl’s own mother, being exiled by Lockey’s powerful father, forced to wave at her only child from behind the black iron gates.

She shut her eyes to the vision. “As long as those two are gone and probably aren’t coming back, then I’m happy to get on with my life and forget about it.”

“I talked to Griffin this morning. Described the two. He thinks they might work for someone he knows. Zurich’s sending some infa‘mation.” He finished his coffee and stood.

“You know, girl, you might not do too badly to fix yourself up pretty and go be friendly with the neighbors. He don’t seem like a half-bad guy, if you don’t look at that big ol‘ net worth of his.”

Honor didn’t know if she wanted to faint or throw up. “He’s got issues, Doug. Big issues. I’m not sure if I can deal with him right now.”

“What kind of issues? What, with that girlfriend of his dying? Just makes him need some comfortin‘, is all.”

She cringed inside. “Look, what would a rich guy like him want with a woman like me, anyway?”

“Hell, you’re the smartest woman I’ve ever known, and when you get riled, it brings out the fight in you, just like it should. Then there’s that wicked wit you tote around, puttin‘ all the boys in place in this here redneck backwater. And I ain’t even talked about your damned good figure and that angel’s face. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want you?”

“Well, maybe he’s not in his right mind. Maybe that’s the problem,” she muttered.

“Eccentric. That’s what they call rich people who ain’t in their right mind. Eccentric. You see? You can forgive ‘em that and get on with things.”

She shook her head. “Maybe he’s not eccentric. Maybe he’s just plain, old-fashioned—”

“Crazy?”

Honor gasped at the unexpected voice. She looked up through the kitchen screen door to the back veranda. Griffin was standing at the top of the steps, obviously having heard most of Doug’s diatribe.

“Look here. Well, I do think I got to be going.” Doug fixed his police hat on his head. “Good morning to you, Mr. Griffin. Honor.” He nodded and walked out the door without even his usual thanks for the coffee.

Hiding her trembling hands under a dish towel, she went to the screen door. “I...I didn’t expect to see you here this morning. I know you’ve already talked to Doug.” She finally realized how rude she was being. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll be happy to make some more coffee....”

She opened the door.

Mark walked into her kitchen, as big as life.

She was swept up in the feeling that this wasn’t real. She’d imagined him walking into her kitchen for ages. Now that he was actually doing it, she felt unsure and out of sync.

“I was hoping you’d be home.” He looked at her but didn’t greet her with a smile. The desolate expression on his face was the same as she remembered from last night.

She was weakened just when she’d wanted to be strong. “Then come in and sit down. Here’s a cup.” She was grateful for the distraction.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She poured him a coffee and sat down as far away from him as she could politely manage.

His gaze swept the kitchen. “It hasn’t changed much since I last saw it. Your father should be here, though, cooking up eggs and bacon for the guests. He sure did like to cook, didn’t he? And he was good, too, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, he was.” She’d almost forgotten how much her father had liked Mark. He’d practically spent the entire summer at the Retreat, and her father had really taken to him. Joseph Shaw had thought it a damned shame the young man spent so much time alone, and when Mark had explained that he was used to it, because his parents were always away traveling, the old man had been saddened. He’d thought it a tragedy that one family could have so much, yet be blind to the only thing that mattered.

Joseph Shaw had taught her one fact: that only family mattered. Honor knew that was how she wanted to raise Lockey. To put family first. One of her nightmares was that Lockey would be acknowledged by a father too busy and important to spend time with her, and at the same time be depnved of her mother.

“I have to confess, I didn’t just come here to say hello and be neighborly. I was hoping you’d take a walk with me.”

She climbed out of her dark thoughts and met his gaze. “A walk? Where?”

“To the old creek in back of the Hall. Do you remember how much time we spent there? I was going down there to see it just now. I’ve pictured it a thousand times in my head, but I realized it wouldn’t be the same without you with me.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got laundry.” She groaned inwardly. The label of hausfrau suddenly seemed written all over her in indelible ink. She knew she couldn’t compete with the glamorous Ralia Pembroke, but she certainly didn’t want to bore the man with all the grinding domestic duties of running a small B&B.

“I won’t keep you long.” He looked right into her eyes. “I thought I’d go look for the cannon.”