Читать книгу His Wife - Muriel Jensen - Страница 11

Brian’s General Store and Boat Rental was a six-hundred-square-foot building typical of East Coast waterfront construction circa 1880. Its bright green board-and-batten front had faded to a comfortable mossy color. The natural-wood window boxes that graced the four-over-four windows were devoid of flowers at the moment. When Brian had bought the building, he’d removed the dead stalks that had been all that was left of the previous flowers, and hadn’t found time yet to replace them.

Two benches, flanked by pots of flowers, stood on the porch on either side of an old carved front door. Sawyer remembered the cigar-store Indian that had stood there, a beautiful wooden carving that had fascinated the local children and tourists. But in the interest of political correctness, he’d been donated to the museum and replaced by a wooden fisherman in full Gloucester gear.

Sawyer climbed the wide steps and let himself into the store, ignoring the Closed sign. He knew Brian had left the door open for him.

Inside, the goods were arranged on shelves as old as the building. In the middle of the floor was a potbellied stove with chairs pulled up to it. The former owner had used it to display sale merchandise, but Brian planned to use it for its intended purpose come winter.

Blue-and-white café curtains graced the windows and provided privacy for the small cubicle that served as a fitting room at the back. Near it in two old wooden wardrobes were a few items of clothing—Losthampton T-shirts and sweatshirts, a few light jackets for those who visited unprepared for the sometimes cool nights. In the open drawers at the bottom was an assortment of the usual souvenirs—spoons, mugs, pencil cases. The same blue-and-white fabric also concealed a small office-cum-stockroom at the back.

Brian walked out from behind it as Sawyer rapped on the old wooden counter, also original to the store. A yardstick was nailed against the edge on the clerk’s side from the days when yard goods were sold.

Sawyer had loved this store as a child, and couldn’t quite believe that the brother he hadn’t even known about in those days now owned it.

“Hey!” Brian greeted him, holding the curtain aside for him to join him in the back. “You get paroled?”

Brian was lean and long-legged, with the same dark blond hair and blue eyes Sawyer had, but with an angular line to chin and cheekbone that reminded Sawyer of Killian.

Sawyer knew there’d be jokes on the subject of his “scrape” with the law for some time to come. “They decided I was innocent after all. You ready?”

“Yeah. But are you sure you still feel like doing this?”

“Yes. But if you have other things to do, say so.”

Because of an ongoing feud between their families over the years, Sawyer had been conditioned to think of Brian as an enemy. His new status as brother and friend was welcome but disorienting. Brian, too, seemed wary of it sometimes.

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Brian insisted. “It’s just that it sounds like you’ve had a rough couple of hours and I don’t want you to feel obligated….”

Sawyer drew an exasperated breath. Brian was beginning to remind him of Campbell and his conviction that he didn’t belong in the Abbott family because he was from their father’s second marriage. Considering that Sawyer and Killian both loved Chloe, Campbell’s mother, and she was still very much the matriarch of their household, he had trouble figuring out where Cam’s lack of confidence in his position came from.

“I don’t feel obligated because you’re my brother,” Sawyer said with impatience, “but I do want to make up for lost time. We spent most of our lives fighting with each other, and that seems like a terrible injustice to me.”

Brian looked momentarily startled, then said gravely, “I thought you’d feel obligated because I saved your life at great risk to my own, and I didn’t want that. But if you want to feel obligated because you’re my brother and you owe me a lifetime of doing things for me, taking the blame for me, helping me with difficult tasks, that’s all right, too.”

Sawyer stared at him, just beginning to understand that Brian had what was proving to be a very Abbott sense of humor, even though their connection was on their mother’s side of the family.

“You have me confused with Killian,” Sawyer said finally. “I never did any of those things for Campbell, and I’m not doing them for you. But if you want help painting a few of the rental boats, I’m willing to do that in exchange for the fried clams you promised.”

“You won’t even help me with my rent now that my father’s disowned me?”

“I happen to know you got this place for a song, and that you inherited your grandmother’s house free and clear.”

Brian blinked at Sawyer’s bald refusal. “What about my wounded sense of self-worth?”

“We’re all dealing with that one. You’ll just have to keep up.”

“You won’t even help me find a woman now that Killian has the only one I ever cared about?”

Brian was acquainted with Cordelia, Killian’s wife, since college, before she knew Killian. Because Brian’s family had always been in competition, businesswise, with the Abbotts, the children had grown up enemies. Brian had enjoyed flirting with Cordie to hurt Killian and civilities had been strained—until they’d learned Brian and the Abbotts were related.

“Ah. I may be willing to help you there. I do seem to have something that makes them flock to me.”

“It’s money,” Brian said, digging his keys out of his pocket.

“I thought it was charm and wit.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not. Come on, we’ll take my car to Yvonne’s.” Yvonne made the best fried clams in the Hamptons.

Sawyer climbed into Brian’s new black pickup. He’d traded in his Porsche for it as a sign of dedication to his new life. “Younger brothers,” he said, “are supposed to be respectful and blinded by hero worship.”

Brian grinned at him as he slid in behind the wheel. “You should have explained that to me before I agreed to this whole brother thing.” They roared away.

It was almost midnight by the time Sawyer got home. They’d put a coat of paint on three of the small boats Brian had acquired with the rental part of the business, then had a beer on the front porch before going their separate ways.

Sawyer had enjoyed Brian’s company, and was surprised by how connected he felt to him despite the lifetime spent at odds. And though he made light of it, he knew Brian had come to his rescue without hesitation that day on the water when Sawyer’s waterskiing stunt had gone wrong, and he would always feel indebted for that.

As Sawyer walked into the house, it was clear that someone was quarreling with someone else. One of the raised voices coming from the living room was male, the other female.

Winfield greeted Sawyer at the door. He was sort of a butler-bodyguard Campbell had hired last year, convinced their security was lax. Winfield was built like a tank, had a voice like a grinding motor and possessed a gentle nature completely at odds with his appearance.

“They’re at it again,” he said, closing the door.

“What are they fighting about?”

“Not sure. Anything and everything.”

“I’ll go see what I can do.”

Sawyer would have just let them have at it as Killian had advised when it was obvious, the day of China’s arrival at Shepherd’s Knoll, that the two were not going to get along. But if she was Abigail, and they’d been without her all this time, it was criminal that warfare should ensue when she’d finally been restored to them.

And if she wasn’t Abigail, then he was still in sympathy with her.

Campbell had voted against letting her stay until Chloe came home, convinced she was lying for purposes of her own, but Sawyer and Killian had outvoted him. That had happened a lot in his life because of their different personalities rather than their different mothers, but all Campbell knew was that he often lost to his elder brothers. This time, it seemed, he didn’t mind taking his frustrations out on China.

Sawyer found them standing toe-to-toe in the large living room. Campbell, tall and dark-haired, with Chloe’s milk-chocolate eyes and fine-boned face, had more of an air of aristocracy than did Killian and Sawyer combined. Add to that his sense of loss and his moody personality had all the stuff of a Gothic hero.

China, on the other hand, exuded cheerful practicality, and had little patience for the drama he brought to every moment. She was average in height, with a slender grace that reminded him of Chloe. Or it could be a simple femininity many women had in common.

Her long hair was caught at the back of her neck with a chased silver clip.

“I didn’t forget to take a message,” she was saying with hot annoyance as Sawyer approached them. “I told you! I put it with the stack of mail Kezia put aside for you on the hall table. If you lost it after that, it isn’t my fault.”

Campbell was pulled up to full-pride height, but maintained his cool flawlessly. Only Sawyer, who fought with him often, recognized the tight muscle in his jaw.

“Had you done that,” he said, “it would have been there when I picked up my mail.”

“Had you come home that night,” she retorted, “instead of partying, it might still have been there, instead of possibly blowing off when someone walked by or opened the door.”

“Maybe you should have put it in my hand, and not on top of my mail, so that it wouldn’t have blown off!” he said darkly. “I alerted everyone that I was expecting a call back from the Barrow estate and that it was important.”

“That would have required my being in your presence,” she snapped back, “and that’s usually a regrettable experience!”

“Whoa!” Sawyer caught her arm as she would have stormed off. “I happen to know that Kezia put that message on your computer keyboard,” he said to Campbell, “because she knew how important it was to you. But you never close your door against Versace.”

Versace was Cordie’s cat, left in their care while she and Killian were second-honeymooning. He was fat and gray, his long coat making him look the size of a spaniel. He was also mean-tempered, and spent long hours on the porch swing since Cordie had been gone. “I’ve seen him sleeping on your desk more than once. He might have knocked it off. Check under and around the desk.”

“Thank you,” Campbell said grudgingly.

“Sure.”

To China, Campbell said with what seemed to require superhuman effort, considering the way he squared his shoulders and drew a breath, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you are not,” she disputed. “I have tried to be polite, but you resent me, and now I’m not wild about the thought that we could be related, either. Let’s just agree to dislike each other. I’m comfortable with that.”

Campbell shook his head at Sawyer. “This can’t be the little sister we’ve missed all these years.”

Sawyer had to smile at that. “You don’t really know what it’s like to have a younger sibling because we didn’t have her very long. But however you’ve idealized that relationship, what you two are experiencing now is much closer to reality. Younger siblings are always making your life difficult.”

Campbell turned to China with an aggrieved expression. “Heaven help me.”

She muttered a scornful sound. “I think you’re looking for help in the wrong direction. Good night, Sawyer.” She stalked off toward the stairs.

Campbell groaned as though he’d taken all he could take. “It would be so satisfying to hit her on the head with a Tonka truck.”

Sawyer thought it interesting that he’d said that because he and baby Abigail had fought over just that the day she’d disappeared. He knew Campbell remembered because he’d mentioned it once or twice. Abby had crawled into his room, and while he was usually patient with her, he’d been in a mood that day and had yanked his truck away from her when she’d tried to play with it. Chloe had removed her, scolding Campbell for not being more understanding.

Abby had returned later that afternoon and he’d put her bodily in the hallway and closed the door in her face.

“While you could have gotten away with that at five and a half,” Sawyer warned, “you’d be in a lot of trouble these days if you behaved that way. And I wouldn’t want to make her really mad. Your mother’s ancestors sailed with Lafitte, remember?”

“I have the same blood,” Campbell reminded him. “I’m a match for her. God, she’s all attitude.”

“I suppose it’s hard to be agreeable with someone when you know he hates you.”

“I don’t hate her,” Campbell was quick to deny. “I just don’t like her—a lot.”

Sawyer couldn’t help but ask. “Why is that, anyway?”

“I don’t trust her,” Campbell replied without even having to think about it. “She’s not Abby.”

“How do you know?”

Campbell looked upstairs and said in a pained and puzzled tone, “Because Abby wouldn’t hate me.”

Sawyer didn’t know how to respond. That reply was indicative of the complex workings of Campbell’s mind and the deep mysteries it held. Did he really expect the behavior of a twenty-six-year-old woman to reflect the affections of a child he hadn’t seen in twenty-five years? Somehow, he did.

“I think I should take the DNA test,” he said, “and be done with it.”

They’d all agreed that wasn’t wise when she’d first arrived. “Come on, Cam. We don’t want to do that to Mom.”

“If she isn’t Abby,” Campbell argued, “we get rid of her before Mom even has to know she was here.”

“And if she is Abby,” Sawyer countered, “Mom missed the discovery of her daughter’s return. And would China stay if she knew the test would prove she wasn’t our sister?”

“Why not? Everyone’s been treating her like royalty. She’d want to keep it up as long as she could. Then, when the test proves she isn’t Abby, she can just claim she didn’t know.”

“How do you explain all the Abbott Mills things she found in her box?”

Campbell sighed. “I don’t. I try hard to remember the night she disappeared, but all that comes to me is the nanny screaming, Mom crying, Dad not talking to anybody for days. And I remember you and me climbing into Killian’s bed and talking about running away to find her. But Killian said we shouldn’t ’cause Mom and Dad were already too upset.”

Campbell drew back from the memories suddenly and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m going to see if I can find that message.”

“Do you think you got the job?” Sawyer asked. Campbell was always applying for jobs on other estates, convinced he’d never truly discover himself until he was out from under the influence of Killian and Sawyer.

“No idea.” Campbell stretched both arms and yawned. “At interviews, I think I make a good impression, but when the question comes down to why I’d want to leave Shepherd’s Knoll for another position, it’s a tough one to explain without getting into a lot of personal stuff, and I think they all begin to believe there has to be something wrong with me.”

“There is,” Sawyer confirmed. “You’re nuts.”

Campbell accepted that assessment with a nod. “Thanks, bro. Just the vote of confidence I needed.” He started to walk away, then turned back again as though he’d just remembered something. “How was your dinner with Brian?”

“Good,” Sawyer said. “You should have come.”

“I had to go over China’s work on the house budget before I pay bills tomorrow.”

“How’d she do?”

“Very well,” Campbell admitted in mild surprise. “She seems to have a good grasp of what it takes to keep the place going, though I’ll have to explain Mom to her.”

When Killian suggested that China work with Campbell until Chloe came home, Campbell had given her the job he hated most—the household accounts. Chloe was a little bit of a spendthrift and cheerfully defied any and all efforts to make her account for her purchases, insisting that their father never had. It made organizing the books difficult.

For the representative of a charity to appear with a handwritten note from Chloe promising a sizable donation wasn’t at all unusual. Sawyer had tried to remind her that that was what the foundation was for, and with better controls, but she would just dismiss his objections with a very Gallic wave of her hand and do it again the following week. With foundation funds committed to distribution in a very particular way, such donations were paid for out of the household money.

Then there was the time she replaced her bedroom furniture and wrote a check for it the same day Campbell had paid the staff, the car insurance, the utilities and the quarterly taxes.

Kezia’s paycheck had bounced. Fortunately, she’d understood her employer’s foibles and explained the problem to Campbell, who had promptly covered it for redeposit. Sawyer hated to think what could have happened. Facing down a bounced check at the IRS would have been bad enough, but having the car insurance expire the way Cordie drove might have been disastrous.