Читать книгу A Proposal Worth Waiting For: The Heir's Proposal / A Pregnancy, a Party & a Proposal / His Proposal, Their Forever - Raye Morgan, Melissa Mcclone - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMARC let Torie go ahead and followed a few steps behind. This was her show, her quest. He wasn’t even sure why he was supporting her this way. She said she was here to find out what really happened fifteen years ago, whether her father was unfairly accused, whether he shouldn’t have been fired. If that was true, if that was really her goal, she was basically trying to prove his family’s actions wrong—maybe even illegitimate.
And where would that take them all? Did she think she could find the truth—or maybe even the treasure—somewhere and show them all her father had been slandered?
Not likely. Insurance investigators and the police had both taken their turns at searching for the gold. And then, through the years, treasure hunters had come sneaking onto the property to try their own methods. No one had found anything yet. As far as he was concerned, that treasure was at the bottom of the sea. His father’s goodbye note had said that was what he was going to do with it. Why did everyone keep trying to find something that just wasn’t there?
Torie was only the latest, and she said her search had a new twist. Was she lying? Was the treasure really all she wanted, just like everybody else? He was pretty sure that was what Carl was after. And she’d come with the man, so it all fit together.
And yet, he didn’t want to believe she was lying to him.
He groaned softly, hearing himself and hating his own weakness. He knew all about lying and being lied to. He’d been through it often enough to consider it a normal part of human relationships. Why would Torie be any different?
As they walked into the dimly lit tavern, he glanced about the room. People were scattered around at tables and along the bar, mostly men. There was one stocky, blond young man who waved, but he didn’t recognize him. There didn’t seem to be anyone there that he knew.
Torie was still flushed from his compliments a few minutes earlier and looking prettier than ever. He had to grin as he noticed one man after another stealing a glance her way. And true to form, she didn’t see it at all.
And then he saw the man they were after, sitting at a corner table, looking as if he’d staked a claim to it long ago and wasn’t going to give it up for love or money. He pointed him out to Torie and they made their way there.
Griswold was drunk. There was no getting around it. He was a pale, boney shadow of the dapper man he’d once been. He gazed up at Torie with bleary eyes and didn’t have a clue who she was, even after she told him. Jarvis Sands was a name that seemed to spark some recognition.
“Jarvis? Jarvis? You mean, the butler at Shangri-La? Sure. What about him?”
“Do you remember him? Do you remember what happened?”
He frowned at her. “I should have had his job, you know. They only made me chauffeur because the lady wanted to swan around in front of her friends. They didn’t need me. All I did was wash cars all day.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t remember nothin’.”
“How about the Don Carlos Treasure disappearing? You must remember that.”
He was frowning and it wasn’t apparent whether he had actually heard her question. “He told me not to go, but I went anyway,” he said sadly. “I went and he was right. I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Who? My father?”
He looked around as though he felt trapped and Marc reached out to pull her away.
“It’s not much use,” he said quietly. “He’s in no shape to talk. From what I hear, he never is. If he ever knew anything at all, it’s probably lost to history by now.”
She nodded reluctantly. She was bitterly frustrated. Somehow she’d been counting on finding employees from those days and now that she’d found one, he was useless.
“You know, its sort of crazy,” she said to Marc as they were leaving. “Almost everyone from that generation is either dead or ruined in some way. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Anecdotal,” he muttered as he led her out. “Don’t let life depress you. There are plenty of good things to think about.”
She looked up into his face and shook her head, still disappointed, but vaguely amused. “You’re giving happy-talk advice? Now I’ve seen everything.”
“I have my happy moments,” he protested. “I even get optimistic sometimes.”
“But not for long, I’ll bet,” she said dryly.
They were outside by now and they both noticed the blond man from inside the tavern had come out and was leaning against a huge black Harley. He waved as they approached, then straightened and came toward them.
“You don’t remember me?” he said, smiling in a friendly fashion.
Torie gasped. “Is it Billy Darnell?” she cried.
He nodded. “You got it.”
Torie reached out and grasped his hand in hers. “You remember Billy,” she said over her shoulder to Marc. “Alice was his mother. The cook at the estate back in our younger days.”
“That’s me,” Billy said, looking pleased.
“It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. She lives down in LA now. She likes being close to my sister and her family.”
“Of course.” Torie thought quickly, going over the past. Billy was a year younger than she was. Being children of the Shangri-La staff, they’d spent some time together, though they’d never been particularly close. But when you were eleven and twelve and there was no one else around to hang with, you made do.
“Billy and I used to go on day-long mineral-collecting trips with your father,” she told Marc. “We would trek out along the cliff at dawn, backpacks full of drinks, snacks and lunches, and your father would lead us to the most interesting places, nooks and crannies that you would never think existed if you just drove by them. And he’d find some quartz or some rocks with hornblende or muscovite and he’d use his rock hammer to break specimen-sized pieces out of the rock. Then Billy and I would wrap them in paper and pack them away in canvas bags and then tote the bags home for him.” She grinned at Billy. “We had a glorious time.”
“That we did,” Billy said, grinning right back.
Marc nodded at the reminder and listened to them reminisce, but the whole thing created a bit of an empty feeling in his soul. He’d known his father was interested in rock collecting, but he’d never really paid much attention. He’d only listened with impatience whenever his father tried to talk to him about it. Which might have been why he never got invited along on any of these expeditions. Probably because he was too old when the hobby began to appeal to his dad. He’d been seventeen when Torie was twelve.
Still, he wished he’d known, wished he’d participated. It seemed more and more that there was a whole side to his father that he had known nothing about. He would have been a good man to get to know.
Too late now. He grimaced. He wasn’t used to feeling this sort of regret. It made him uncomfortable. He looked at Torie, and for some reason, he felt a little better. She was like a light into the past that he’d been ignoring for years. She was helping him clear up some things. For the first time, he realized he was actually glad she’d come back to Shangri-La.
Torie brought up the treasure and Marc began to listen more carefully. Billy remembered it, but he claimed he didn’t know anything about what had happened to it, other than the newspaper accounts about Hunt having dumped it in the sea, and didn’t think anyone else knew anything new about it either.
“There’s really no one else still left around who was working at the place in those days,” Billy said earnestly. “Except Griswold, of course. But he’s not much use these days.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Torie gave Billy a hug and they said good-bye. He rode off on his motorcycle; they got back on the horse.
“I’ll drop you at the house,” Marc told her. “I’ve got to get this little lady back home before she starts to worry about lunchtime.”
She smiled, liking that he had a sense of understanding for a horse. Okay, it was time to admit it. Down deep, she knew him well enough to know he was a pretty good guy. Unless something had changed him while he was overseas, he was one of the best men she’d ever known. Maybe his family had been cruel to her father—he hadn’t been involved. Not directly anyway.
Closing her eyes and letting the sway of the ride take her, she mused on life and the U-turns she seemed to find all along the way. So far, it had been a disappointing day as far as her aims and goals were concerned. What if she never found out the truth about her father? What if the truth was hidden somewhere and no one alive knew where it was? Could she live with that? Could she go back home and find a way to be happy? Could her mother snap out of the depressive state she’d been in for years?
Not likely.
Even more scary, what if she found out the truth and it was worse than she’d ever believed? What if her father was really and truly guilty? What if there was even more to it, more things he had done? Her mind cringed away from those stray thoughts. Some ideas were just too painful to explore.
Too soon, Shangri-La loomed on the hill ahead. She remembered she’d told Carl she would be back in time to go over the map with him again. That hadn’t happened. The time had long passed. He was going to be angry.
Oh well.
She turned back to look at Marc.
“Can I come with you to your neighbor’s?” she asked him. “I don’t want to go back to the house just yet.”
He nodded, his face unreadable. “Sure,” was all he said.
But he didn’t complain when she leaned back against him. He was strong and warm and she had a sudden fantasy of letting him be her champion in the world. She could use one. The only problem was, she had a feeling he wasn’t in the market for a girl like her. After all, she tried to get his attention before, when she was a chubby young adolescent. That hadn’t worked out so well.
Now she was back and he only cared because she was threatening his family’s reputation with her crazy theories and searches. But at least he was paying attention now. She smiled at the irony of it all.
“How can big things happen—big, important things that change the shape of our lives—and a few years later no one remembers anything about them?” she asked him over her shoulder.
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally he leaned forward and spoke softly in her ear. “The people who are directly affected remember. Sometimes it takes a surprise to get them to open up to the past once they’ve tried to put it behind them. But they remember when they have to.”
She wasn’t sure she bought that. It seemed as though her father had passed through this life without anyone much noticing him. He’d tried so hard to be a good man and good at his chosen profession—and he’d done well at both. But when his heart got broken, so did his spirit—which started the chain of tragedy that pretty much ruined her whole family. And no one seemed to care.
If only the treasure had never disappeared. If only they had stayed and she’d finished her childhood here where she belonged. He would still be alive today, and her mother wouldn’t be the faded shell of a woman that she was. Everything would have been so different.
She glanced back at Marc. His father might still be alive, too. And Ricky? She didn’t really know what had happened there and Marc definitely bristled whenever she asked questions.
If only she could pretend she was any closer to finding out about her father. She’d always had a feeling deep in her heart that clearing his name would change everything. It wouldn’t bring any of those people back to life, of course, but it would surely brighten her mother’s life—and her own.
Funny, but in some ways she had begun to realize that she felt close to Marc. He was a part of her past. She might even venture to call him a part of her present. There was a reserve in him that appealed to her.
And then she frowned, wondering if it was really just a certain dignity that set him apart—or was it actually a wariness, and a basic distrust of her and who she was.
They delivered the horse to the neighbor and got into Marc’s long, low sports car. She expected him to turn for home, but instead, he took a side road that took them on a curvy two lanes into the hills. He pulled into an overlook and turned off the engine.
“Wildflowers,” he said by way of explanation.
She looked out and sighed. “Wow. How beautiful.”
The hills were covered with masses of golden California poppies fighting for space with sky-blue lupine and bright yellow mustard, all dancing in the breezes. In the distance, looking back at the way they’d come, she could see the blue ocean. Oaks and flowering purple bushes filled the valleys. It was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen.
They got out and walked to the edge of the overlook, leaning against the guardrail that had been put up for just that purpose. She breathed in the beauty, but all the while, she couldn’t ignore the sense of presence in the man beside her.
She finally turned and smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but his eyes were warm and she was beginning to think they might have a tender moment, if she played her cards right. Her heart began to thump a bit harder.
And then he pulled her right back into the maelstrom.
“Have you decided what it is that Carl’s looking for yet?” he asked her.
Carl. Her shoulders sagged and she felt a pang of guilt. He must be wondering where she was. But she knew he would want more than simple work on the map. He was going to insist she come with him to the caves and show him what she knew. She wanted to avoid this at all costs.
“Uh...no,” she responded evasively. “Why? What’s your theory?”
He shrugged and looked out at the hills. “I think he’s after the same thing most people who come nosing around here are after: the Don Carlos Treasure.”
“But...” She hesitated, biting her lip. This was what really bothered her. “I thought your father sent it to the bottom of the sea when he sailed out that awful day. Wasn’t that the story? And then his boat capsized and he...he...”
“He went down with the treasure. At least, that was what his suicide note said he was planning to do.”
“Is there really any proof that he took the treasure out there with him? Does anyone know for sure if it’s really down there?”
He didn’t answer. She watched as his handsome face turned to granite. Reaching out, she touched his arm.
“I’m sorry, Marc. I know it brings up unhappy memories to talk about it.”
He turned and stared down at her. “If we don’t talk about it, we’ll never get to the truth. And this may surprise you, but I want the truth as much as you do.”
She searched his eyes. Was that really true? What do you know? Just as he had decided that, she was becoming more ambivalent. What if the truth only made things worse?
But Marc seemed to be transitioning into a philosophical mood. He leaned out over the railing and looked toward the ocean in the distance and went on, almost as though to himself.
“You know, I hadn’t thought about it all, the whole situation, for a long time. Years. I was sort of blocking it out.” He glanced sideways at her. “There were a lot of people at the time who asked the same questions you just asked. How did we know the treasure was truly gone? We had people coming here in droves, sneaking onto the property, digging up the rose garden, moving logs around, trying their best to find out where he’d actually hidden the treasure. It was like the California gold rush all over again.”
“How awful.” She glanced away, wondering if he looked at her as one of those scavengers. Why not? In a way, she was like them. Only she already had a part of the treasure. He just didn’t know about that, and she hoped she was going to leave without him finding out. What she was after was the explanation. That was all.
“It didn’t let up for a long time. Marge was always calling the police, and then there would be a confrontation. I didn’t have to deal with it, since I was overseas. But I sure heard a lot about it.”
“From Marge?”
“Yeah. She wanted to sell from the beginning. I kept trying to talk her out of it.”
“But she kept things going around here.”
He nodded. “I’ve got to give her that one. She did okay for a good long while. She kept writing me about these great offers she was getting, and then they always fell through. After awhile, she gave up. I hadn’t heard from her about selling for about five years now.” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “But this time she’s determined. This time, she’s going to sell.”
“And this time, you want to stop her.”
He was silent and she stood beside him, so close and yet so far. She could feel that he hated this, that he didn’t want his family estate going to strangers. She wasn’t sure how finding out the truth about the treasure would help him deal with that. A part of her wished she knew a way to help him. There was nothing she could do.
“So you’re not in the military anymore,” she said, more to fill the silence than to find out anything new.
“Not really. But when you’ve been in as long as I have, a part of you will always be in there. It gets in your blood.”
She nodded. That made sense to her. The military could be a pretty intense experience, one that changed many people forever. She looked at him candidly. “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”
He laughed, leaning back with both elbows on the railing. “That’s what I like about you, Torie,” he said, his gaze ranging over her in a way that made her tingle. “You don’t play games and beat around the bush. If you want to know something, you just ask.”
She gave him a quick smile. “You, on the other hand, try to change the subject and don’t give straight answers.”
“You want an answer? Here goes.” He took a deep breath and gazed off at the horizon. “I got experience in a lot of things in the service. Security, business management, electronics, diplomacy, espionage.” He looked at her. “I even filled in as a wedding and bar mitzvah singer from time to time.”
“You’re kidding.” The picture that conjured up made her laugh out loud.
“No,” he protested, half laughing himself. “I was pretty popular at it.”
“I’ll bet.” She could see the young girls swooning now.
He rolled his eyes at her amusement, but he went on.
“So when I got out, I started looking around at opportunities. But my mind kept going back to Shangri-La.”
“Of course,” she murmured. Her mind did too. All the time.
“I started wanting to come home. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to pull at me.” He turned to look at her more closely.
“You know, this is a wonderful place. There are a lot of options right here on the land. My grandfather made his fortune as a breeder of racehorses. My father spent a few years developing a world-class vineyard, selling his grapes to the best wineries along the coast.”
“I remember that.”
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “What do you think of me putting in a winery right here?”
“It would take a lot of start-up money, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yes, it would.” He shrugged and the faraway expression was back in his eyes. “Aw, what the heck. No point living in dreamland. Marge is going to sell, come hell or high water. She’s got that look of determination in her eyes. She wants out of here. And I don’t have the resources to stop her.”
There it was again, that note of pain the tore at her when she heard it. “Will she give you a part of the proceeds if she does sell?”
“Why would she do that?”
She shrugged. “Maybe because you’re like a son to her. Stranger things...”
His laugh was short and cold. “Not Marge. She wants to take the money and run. And she really doesn’t owe me anything. She’s the lonely widow. I’m the ne’er-do-well stepson. Never those minds shall meet.”
“It just seems...”
“Community property,” he said shortly, pulling himself upright and starting back toward the car. “I’m not a part of that.”
She followed behind, kicking her feet into the dirt. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
“My only claims are emotional and courts don’t much care.” He turned to look at her. “Besides. I’m a grown-up. I should be making my own way in the world.”
She stared at him, suddenly realizing that he was as much stymied by Shangri-La as she was. She couldn’t move on with her life because these unanswered questions haunted her.
And he was no better. He couldn’t stop loving Shangri-La, even though he had no hope of ever running the place as his father had done, and his grandfather and all the Huntingtons before that right into the days when Spaniards roamed these hills and tall ships cruised the coast.
They were a pair, lost and lonely, wandering in the wilderness, looking for a home.
“Making your own way is one thing,” she said softly. “Losing your home is another.”
They’d reached the car. He pulled her door open and held it. She appraised his tousled hair, his clear blue eyes, his incredible handsomeness, and she felt a surge of emotion. Was it affection? Or the sense that they were kindred souls who ought to join forces to fight the darkness? Whatever it was, the impulse took hold and she went on her toes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.
“Thanks, Marc Huntington,” she told him, smiling at his startled look as she stepped away again. “Thanks for helping me get home that day with Snowcone in my arms. Thanks for being here to help me now.”
“Anytime,” he murmured.
But he didn’t reach out and pull her into his arms as she had secretly hoped he would do, and his eyes were hooded, giving no hint at what he thought about what she’d done.
They rode in silence all the way back to Shangri-La, but she didn’t regret that kiss.
* * *
The group was lounging sleepily on the patio furniture arranged casually on the terrace, enjoying the scenery. The sound of the surf in the distance, the cries of seagulls, the platoons of dignified pelicans swooping past—all very seductive selling points for Marge.
Torie hurried past, giving them all a wave after she noted that her fake “husband” wasn’t with them.
Marge glanced up and scowled. “Where’ve you been?” she demanded.
Torie stared right back. “Out,” she said with an artificial smile. “Looking for facts. Looking for truth.”
“Truth,” Marge said in mock disgust, but she was looking more sharply at Torie, as if she was beginning to see something familiar about her. “Good luck finding any of that in this world,” she muttered.
Torie turned her back and headed for the stairs, wondering what it would be like to get that woman in a small room with third-degree lights shining in her lying eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few grizzled old investigators to help her crack the woman’s defenses. She smiled to herself.
“Oh, Carl said to tell you he was exploring the caves again,” Lyla called after her.
“Thanks,” she called back, taking the stairs quickly. And then she paused, looking at Carl’s closed door. If he was out at the caves, this was a perfect opportunity to take a look at what he might have in his bedroom.
Should she? Why not.
After all, she was looking for facts, wasn’t she? And Carl was looking for something else. She had a feeling she knew what that something was, but it would be good to confirm it. And anyway, she wanted to know what he was up to.
She looked up and down the hallway. There was no one coming. Quietly, she slipped into the room.
Carl seemed to be a very neat man. No discarded clothing littered the floor. Nothing was hung on the chair. His suitcase was closed and propped against the desk. Papers were stacked neatly on the nightstand and she looked through them quickly. They seemed to be old insurance claims and she didn’t see anything interesting on them. The corner of his briefcase was barely visible under the bed and she pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a sheath of newspaper clippings. The first one to catch her eye bore the headline: Gold Doubloons Show Up Along the Central Coast.
Gold doubloons. That was what the Don Carlos Treasure had been mainly made up of. She snatched the clipping, stuffed it under her shirt, and prepared to leave. The last thing she wanted was to be found sneaking around in Carl’s room. Just the thought gave her the shivers.
And that was the moment she heard footsteps coming down the hall toward where she was.
