Читать книгу Call To Honor - Tawny Weber - Страница 10
ОглавлениеGOOD THINGS CAME to those who focused on what they wanted, then worked their butts off to get it.
That was Harper Maclean’s life motto, and she figured that she was living proof it was true. As she sautéed the mushrooms, onions and garlic with an expert hand, she looked around her kitchen with a smile of delight. From the glossy planks on the floor to the custom glass-fronted cabinets to the granite countertops, the kitchen—like the house—screamed luxury.
Holy crap, she was living in luxury. Harper added a giddy two-step as she added a dash of garlic salt to the vegetables. Six months ago, she’d been in an apartment so small, she’d had to put her desk in the coat closet. Now she was cozied up in a house five times as big and ten times as fancy.
It was all she could do to keep from doing a butt-wiggling happy dance as she pulled a golden piecrust from the oven. But butt wigging wasn’t ladylike, and Harper had spent the last seven years transforming herself into a lady. So she settled for a tiny shoulder shimmy.
“If I knew making me dinner would give you such a thrill, I’d have hit you up a week ago.” Andi Stamos strode into the kitchen in a wave of Black Opium, reaching around Harper to snag a mushroom out of the pan.
Used to greedy fingers trying to sneak food before it was ready, Harper tilted her head toward the center island. “If you’re hungry, eat an apple.”
“I’d rather have chocolate,” Andi muttered.
Who wouldn’t? “After dinner.”
“Fine, I’ll wait,” Andi agreed before snagging another mushroom.
“Hey,” Harper warned with a laugh, automatically shifting the springform pan out of reach.
Most people wouldn’t recognize the untidy waif with her black hair in a messy ponytail and her jeans ripped at the knees as Andrianna Stamos, thrice-divorced estranged daughter of Greek tycoon Maximillian Stamos, society darling and trust-fund baby. Andrianna wore leather and silk, spoke five languages and had a reputation for starting her day with a martini instead of coffee. Whereas Andi was happy wearing jeans to eat in a friend’s kitchen, handed out hundreds to the homeless and adored a small boy named Nathan.
They’d met three years before when Harper worked for Lalique & Lalique as an interior designer and had decorated the house for Andi and her new husband, Matt Wallace. Since Harper had had an easier time melding the Spanish architecture with Andi’s modern tastes and Matt’s preference for Louis XIV and rococo than the couple had in combining their lifestyles, she hadn’t been surprised when their marriage ended before she’d fluffed the last pillow.
By the time Harper had helped Andi get through the packing of Matt’s stuff, the redecorating and the heartbreak, their friendship was as solid as the gold-toned granite countertop Andi was currently leaning against doing her impression of a Vogue ad for wealthy bohemians.
In contrast to Andi, Harper’s gold-streaked blond hair swept straight and choppy to just above her shoulders. Her silk tank was the color of peonies and her linen Capris wrinkle-free. And she was pretty sure her entire outfit, right down to the diamond studs in her ears, hadn’t cost as much as the other woman’s threadbare denim.
“Drink?” Harper offered, moving to the refrigerator. “I’ve got a nice Pinot Grigio.”
“Water’s fine.”
Uh-oh. Harper gathered what she needed from the fridge, including a bottle of water. She set it, eggs and cream on the counter, then grabbed a lemon.
She sliced it and added a squeeze and a twist to a cobalt-blue glass before pouring in chilled water.
“I take it last night’s party wasn’t as much fun as you’d hoped,” she guessed as she handed her friend the drink.
“It was a deadly bore. Same people, same drama. I’m pretty sure it was even the same food as Monique’s last gala. The woman is tapping people for a thousand dollars a plate—you’d think she’d try a new recipe or two.”
While Harper shredded sharp cheddar over the golden crust for the quiche, Andi regaled her with wickedly disparaging tales of the rich and famous.
“So there he is, this big shot banking CEO, in the coat closet with his pants around his ankles and his hands down the front of this woman’s dress. His sister-in-law, it turns out. But does Monique care about the scandal? About a dozen guests seeing her closet used for an upright quickie? Of course not.” Andi paused to sip her water, then gave Harper an eye roll. “Monique’s only concern was whether they’d wrinkled the coats they were doing it against. To which the CEO responded in a dismissive tone, if her guests didn’t have enough class to wear quality, they deserved a few wrinkles.”
“He didn’t.” Harper laughed, entertained as always by the adventures of the rich and spoiled.
“He did,” Andi assured her as she helped herself to more water. “And even that couldn’t liven up that snoozefest of a party.”
“You sound so jaded.”
“Sweetie, I am jaded.”
“No. You’re bored. You need a project. Actually, you need a career. But since you won’t do that, you really should find a project.”
“Not won’t. Can’t,” Andi corrected meticulously, her fingers tapping a quick beat on the counter. “Any income I bring in will impact my divorce settlement. That weasel cheated on me enough while we were married. I refuse to allow him to cheat me out of anything else.”
Harper couldn’t blame her. Matt was a complete dog. The jerk had been caught with his pants down twice in less than a year of saying his vows. Harper wasn’t sure if that betrayal had damaged Andi’s heart, but she knew it’d done serious damage to her confidence. For that alone, Harper believed he should pay.
Something Andi was doing her best to ensure. But it’d already been eight months and was looking like it’d be at least a year more before they settled. Doing nothing for that long would drive Harper crazy.
Still, Harper couldn’t complain. Not when the divorce settlement was the reason she was living in this gorgeous house with a huge kitchen.
Since she’d gained control of the California properties three months ago, Andi had rented the place to Harper for a quarter of its worth. If not for that, there was no way Harper could have afforded a house in the exclusive Santa Barbara neighborhood.
Oh, sure, over the last three years, Harper had made a strong name for herself as a visionary interior designer. But last year she’d risked it all—her savings, her security and, sometimes she thought, her sanity—when she’d left Lalique to go it alone. But she was making it work. Homes by Harper had an exclusive client list, a sterling reputation and a solid portfolio.
Most people had no idea that beneath her sophisticated demeanor, Harper was obsessed with saving for her son’s college fund, worried about being a year behind on her career goals and often frantic trying to be a good mom, raise her son to be a better man than what he’d come from and still find time to polish her nails.
Whenever she thought about trying to juggle it all, she remembered living on welfare, wearing church-donated hand-me-downs because her mom couldn’t afford to both feed and clothe her only child, and finding the safest route home from school in a neighborhood where drive-by shootings were simply shrugged off.
And that, she decided as she sprinkled more cheese over the vegetable mixture, was the only use she had for her past. As a yardstick for how far she’d come.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the first person to actually cook in this kitchen,” Andi observed, her words muffled through a mouthful of the apple she’d finally given in to.
“Now, that’s a crime against kitchens.” Harper broke a dozen or so eggs into a thick pottery bowl, added cream, then with a careless shake of a few spices, whipped it together. “I can’t believe you lived in this house for two years and never cooked.”
“I’d lived in various other places twenty-six years before that and didn’t cook in any of them, either.” Andi looked around the rich, airy space with its touches of red pottery, midnight-blue fabrics and cozy eating nook. Three low-backed stools bellied up to the sleek island with its prep sink and marble top. When Andi had lived here, that island was often decorated with fresh flowers or, more often, caterers’ supplies. Now it held a blown glass bowl in bleeding greens that contrasted sharply with the bright red apples.
“You suit the kitchen, this house, much better than I ever did,” Andi said with an easy shrug. “Not only because you decorated it. For all your sophistication, you fit in suburbia. As much as I tried, I never could.”
“You’re definitely more comfortable downtown than you were here. And your penthouse is a better showcase for your personal style.”
“The penthouse is closer to the dating scene,” Andi corrected with another casual shrug at odds with the discontented look in her eyes. “Speaking of dating...”
“We were talking about decorating, not dating.”
“Then let’s change the subject.” Andi leaned her elbows on the counter and propped her chin in her hand, still munching the apple. “You need to start dating.”
“I’ve dated.”
“When was the last time?” Andi challenged.
Harper had to think about that.
“Sometime late last year, since I wore my black knee-length boots and that gorgeous three-quarter-length peacoat I got on sale at Nordstrom.”
That Andi didn’t question that Harper filed her memories according to outfits was just one of the reasons they were such good friends.
“Did that date end in sex?” Andi inquired.
“No. It ended in the stomach flu.”
“The guy gave you the flu on a date?”
Laughing at Andi’s confused expression, Harper shook her head.
“Not quite. The babysitter called while we were finishing the entrée to tell me that Nathan was throwing up. End of date.”
Nothing came before her son. Not men, not work, not even her own memories.
“Obviously it’s time to step up your dating life. I’ve got some ideas on that.”
“Why don’t we work on your dating life instead? Or better yet, what do you think about adding a fountain to your foyer? Something in metal. I saw a gorgeous piece last week at one of the art galleries.”
“Really? What form? Colored metal or brass? No, wait.” She threw up one hand and scowled. “Don’t do that. Don’t distract me with pretties.”
“But if we talk about decorating, we’re both happy and both get something we want,” Harper pointed out, getting cranberry and passion fruit juices and the seltzer out of the fridge. “If we talk about dating, you end up frustrated and I get a headache. Why should we do that to ourselves?”
“The real question is, why would you do this to yourself? At least I’m trying to get back out there. But you? You’re a gorgeous, vital, interesting woman. And you’re cutting yourself off from the opposite sex. You need to get out there, live it up.”
“I’ve hardly cut myself off from the opposite sex. I date when I feel like it. I have a member of the male species living with me. And I deal with male clients, designers and contractors all the time.”
“Your son doesn’t count, nor do business relationships. I’m talking about the possibility of sex, Harper. Something every woman needs in order to be healthy, energized and sane.”
Harper’s lips twitched. Poor thing sounded as frustrated as if it were she who was going on eight years without doing the deed. She probably shouldn’t have shared that sad little truth, but she’d been trying to comfort her friend over a bottle of wine while Andi lamented her eight sexless months. If nothing else, the revelation had shocked Andi out of her funk and into a frenzy to ensure she didn’t end up in the same dry spell.
“I’m doing okay without it.” Before Andi could argue that okay wasn’t enough—after all, they’d had this conversation so many times, Harper could recite it in her sleep—she gave her friend a sad shrug. “I really am. I’ve heard that some people simply aren’t very sexual. Maybe I’m one of them.”
Pretending her best friend wasn’t looking as if she’d just punched her in her perfectly toned belly, Harper set the ingredients aside and leaned her own elbows on the bar, resting her chin on her fists.
“I don’t miss it. The few times I have wondered if maybe I should, I think about everything that’d have to be done to actually have sex. And it’s just not worth it.”
“What’s to be done? Find a hot guy. Do the deed.”
Harper rolled her eyes.
“Sex requires knowing the guy, which requires more than three dates, which means being away from Nathan. That requires a babysitter, which until recently, was a luxury I couldn’t justify. Now that I can, I find I don’t really want to.” Harper straightened. “It’s just not worth the trouble. Or the risks.”
Andi opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’m not trying to psychoanalyze or anything. Believe me. But do you think that’s the reason you aren’t interested in sex? That the last guy you had it with got you pregnant, then walked out?”
Harper didn’t physically move, but she did withdraw. She could actually feel herself pulling away, closing in. She didn’t talk about that time in her life. Partly because there wasn’t a whole lot to brag about when it came to teenage pregnancy. And partly because she hated talking about her past. She hated even thinking about it.
But mostly she kept quiet because she was afraid. The last thing Brandon had said to her after she’d told him she was pregnant was goodbye.
Right before he’d uttered that word, though, he’d warned her that if she didn’t get an abortion, his parents would take the baby. If they knew they had a grandchild, they’d insist on raising it to be a proper Ramsey, and there was nothing she’d be able to do to stop them.
Harper had believed him.
She hadn’t obeyed him, of course.
But she’d definitely believed.
She’d kept her pregnancy a secret from everyone she knew, cleaned out the college savings she’d been hoarding since she was eleven, stuffed her clothes in a backpack and ran. She’d changed her life. She’d become the opposite of where she’d come from. And she’d kept quiet. Because she had no doubts about the reality of Brandon’s threat. If his parents knew about Nathan, they’d try to take him.
She had built a life that would be hard for them to challenge if it went to court. She was an upstanding citizen with a thriving career; her son was happy and healthy and attended one of the best private schools in Santa Barbara. Their lifestyle wasn’t as affluent as the Ramseys’, but it was good. Solid. No custody court would say otherwise. If it ever came down to it, nobody could justify taking Nathan from her.
It wasn’t until she felt Andi’s hand close over hers that Harper realized she’d been silent for way too long. And that her hand was trembling.
“Sorry,” she said, dismissing her anxiety with a laugh.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“It’s been a long time. It’d be pretty stupid of me to let him control my choices after all these years, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Harper. Maybe leaving you high and dry, never contributing a penny to help raise his child and never once contacting either one of you is a good enough reason to avoid sex.”
Harper frowned.
“If he’s the reason I’m avoiding it, maybe it’s time to reconsider,” she murmured, half to herself. At Andi’s whoop of delight, she shook her head and rushed to add, “I said reconsider. Not run out and have tons of wild, sweaty sex. Just, you know, maybe consider keeping a guy around for a third date.”
“That’s the only opening I need,” Andi all but sang. As she patted Harper’s hand in support, she asked, “So, what’s your preference? Dark hair or light? Working class or businessman? Butt or biceps?”
“Butt or biceps?”
“Yeah, which is your trigger? I’m going to find you the perfect man,” Andi vowed with the fervency of an evangelical minister on cable television.
Harper was rescued from having to decide by the back door swinging open. In swirled her very own seven-year-old tornado.
Her heart melted just a little at the sight of her son dancing into the room. His elegant features were alive with delight, smudges of dirt on his chin and cheek and his hair, the same burnished gold as her own, tumbling over his brow.
“Mom, guess what. Louie Dryden’s cat had kittens. Five of them. She had ’em on his bed, too. He got pictures on his iPhone and it was, like, so gross.” He stopped talking long enough to drop his prized baseball onto the counter next to the bowl of apples.
He threw his arms around his mother for a quick hug, grabbing his ball again before remembering to offer the same to the other woman. “Hey, Andi. Do you want a kitten? Now that all the gross is off them, they’re really cute. Tiny, with lots of black hair. Kinda like you.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” Laughing, Andi squeezed him tight before ruffling Nathan’s hair. “And what am I supposed to do with a kitten?”
“Love it, of course,” Nathan said in the same tone he’d use to remind her the sky was blue. “You’d have to take care of it and give it food and stuff, like Mom does me. You pet it a lot and maybe let it sleep on your pillow next to you. Then you’ll have something to play with, and you won’t get lonely.”
He turned guileless brown eyes on his mother, his wide smile all the more enchanting for its missing teeth.
“If Andi gets one, you should, too, Mom. It could keep you company if I went to summer camp.”
The pitch for a kitten had been going for several weeks now, with Harper standing firm on her no. But camp was new. Ever since he’d found out a few days ago that his best pal, Jeremy, was going, Nathan had been begging to attend. But it was two weeks away, on an island, with strangers. Three strikes, no camp.
“Nice try,” Harper murmured, shaking her head both at his ploy and at her quite possibly overprotective concerns. “Dinner is in a little less than an hour. Why don’t you go play until then?”
She knew his face as well as she did her own—better, actually. So Harper could easily read the struggle in his eyes as he fought the urge to push.
Then he shrugged.
“I’m seriously starving. Can I have something to eat before dinner?”
“An apple.”
“Thanks.” Nathan grabbed the apple and his baseball, then headed out of the kitchen. At the arched doorway, he glanced back. “Do you think kittens like stories? I bet I’d get a lot of extra reading done if I had to read to a kitten every day.”
Harper smiled as she got the glass pitcher down to mix the juices into Nathan’s favorite.
“He’s only seven, and he already knows when to push and when he’ll get more by simply walking away,” Andi murmured with an appreciative shake of her head.
“The rest of the time, he uses charm, guile and a golden tongue,” Harper agreed. In that respect he was so like Brandon.
Andi waited until they heard his footsteps fade up the stairs before giving Harper an arch look.
“How long do you think you’ll hold out against getting him the kitten?” Andi asked.
“Hopefully another year.” Harper blew out a breath. “If not that, then I’d like to at least get through this Little League season before he takes on that big of a responsibility.”
That she’d give in was a given. But she figured as long as Nathan didn’t realize that, the power balance was exactly where it should be.
“And camp? Why don’t you want him going?”
“The longest he’s been away from home is a sleepover. This is two weeks. And it’s not like it’s space camp or baseball camp, which I could understand, given his obsession with those. This is adventure camp. Rafting and climbing and sleeping outdoors.” Harper gave a mock shudder. “All of that aside, I can’t afford it.”
There. That sounded perfectly reasonable.
“He’d have fun. And wouldn’t it do him good to explore other interests?” Andi gave her a look that said she saw right through all that reasoning. “You always say you want to give Nathan as many opportunities as you can. This is an opportunity.”
“So is circus school. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be signing him up for trapeze lessons.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re in tiger mode.” At Harper’s blank look, Andi curled her fingers into claws on either side of her chin. “You’re like a momma tiger protecting her cub from danger.”
Before Harper could ask what was wrong with that, Andi straightened one hand to wag her finger in the air.
“Except this isn’t danger. It’s camp. Singing around the campfire and learning to tie knots. It’s swimming and tire swings and hikes. It’d be a great learning experience. After all, education isn’t found only in the classroom.”
“What’d you do, swallow their brochure?” Harper muttered, her words lost in the refrigerator as she pulled out berries for dessert. But Andi still heard.
“I served on a board for underprivileged kids a couple of years ago. We had to provide a study of the benefits of programs like this in order to get funding. It really does make a difference for some kids. The independence, the skills and the friendships can be priceless.”
Harper’s scowl was hot enough to rot the glossy strawberries, but she couldn’t argue any of those points.
“Besides, if you don’t start letting go, you’re going to end up with a wimpy momma’s boy.” She paused for effect before adding, “Like Matt. You know, the man who wanted to bring his mother along on our vacations, whose mother still bought his underwear and who after being kicked to the curb for cheating, moved home with Mommy, who now makes him breakfast every day.”
Cute at seven, iffy at seventeen. And at thirty-two it was definitely pathetic. Even as they shared a grimace, Harper knew she’d be poking through her bank account later to see if she could juggle the registration costs. Not that she was totally convinced. But she was teetering.
“I’ll cover the fee,” Andi offered, giving her that last push over the edge. “Call it my contribution to loosening your inhibitions.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“If Nathan’s safely away at camp, you can do more than reconsider having sex. You can have it.”
And that was supposed to convince her?
The doorbell chimed before Harper could do more than shake her head in dismay.
“I’ll get that—you start reconsidering. When I get back, we’ll find that perfect third-date guy.”
“I’d put money on Nathan getting a kitten sooner than that happening,” she murmured as Andi swept from the room.
“I heard that,” the other woman sang out, her words echoing down the hall.
Harper’s frown intensified. All of this dating and sex talk was stupid. All it did was stir up thoughts of Brandon, bad memories and hurt feelings. And like anything to do with Brandon Ramsey, the second one thought occurred, a million followed. He was the poster boy for taking a mile when an inch was all she’d offered.
No more, she ordered herself. He wasn’t a part of her now, and her past was over.
“Registered letter for one Mr. Nathan Ramsey, care of Harper Maclean,” Andi said, coming back waving a large envelope. “Who’d get his name wrong?”
The bowl of cleaned berries suddenly shaking in her hands, Harper set it on the bar with care and stared. Her chest hurt. She couldn’t think for the buzzing in her ears.
Ramsey.
Harper’s heart raced so fast, it tripped over itself. How was that possible? Why whould Brandon contact Nathan? As far as he knew, she’d followed his instructions to end the pregnancy. How did he know she’d had the baby? How did he know Nathan’s name? Had he always known?
The air locked in Harper’s chest, vicious and tight, cutting off her breath, sending shards of pain knifing through her.
Why was he contacting her? Contacting Nathan? Was he going to try to get custody?
Or had his parents gotten wind of unaccounted Ramsey DNA and tracked down their heir apparent?
Harper looked toward the stairs with a desperate gaze. She should get Nathan. They should go. Now.
As soon as she thought that, Harper squared her shoulders.
To hell with that. Nathan was her son. This was her home. She’d be damned if Brandon or his rich parents were going to screw with either.
Still, her hand trembled so much as she took the letter that she dropped it onto the marble countertop as if it were on fire.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Andi poked at the letter with one perfectly manicured nail. “It’s from a Dane Adams, US Navy, registered mail. It’s gotta be important.”
Dane Adams? The Navy?
Relief poured through her so fast, so strong, that her legs almost gave out. Irritation followed fast, because it was still all about Brandon. So Harper eyed the envelope with intense distaste.
“Harper,” Andi moaned. “You’re killing me. Open. Open. Open.”
Knowing Andi would keep it up until she did, she huffed out a hot breath. Sliding her thumbnail under the flap, Harper reluctantly tugged the paper out.
She noted the official-looking insignia and the fancy lettering denoting it to be from Admiral H. M. Cree, Special Ops commander.
Her brow creased as she read.
The room narrowed, and all the air disappeared. The words spun into a swirling blur of black on white. She needed to sit down. But she managed only a single step before her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, the letter clutched in her hands.
“What is it?” Instead of pulling her back up, Andi dropped down next to her, gathering Harper into her arms. She tried to read the paper, but Harper couldn’t let it go. “Sweetie, what does it say?”
“He’s dead,” Harper murmured, her voice sounding as if it were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “Brandon is dead.”
