Читать книгу That's My Baby! - Vicki Lewis Thompson - Страница 9

NAT HAD PREPARED himself for wealth, yet he was still blown away as the cab pulled up in front of the floodlit colonial mansion. In bandbox condition, the exterior was the color of ripe wheat, and the ivory trim looked as if it had been freshly painted that morning.

Jess had once lived here. The knowledge sent adrenaline rushing through his system, sweeping aside the fatigue of a transatlantic flight. Surely her parents would be able to tell him where he could find her.

The circular driveway had taken them up to an elegant entry, but the big draw of the house was obviously the view from the back, which sloped steeply down to the Hudson. On the way in, he’d caught glimpses of the majestic river through the trees, and the driver pointed with excitement when a barge, lit up like a Christmas tree, glided past, its engines thrumming in the night air.

Nat’s real estate training kicked in. He quickly calculated what the house alone must be worth, not even considering the grounds. Even in the dark they appeared extensive and manicured. The newspaper business had been good to Russell P. Franklin.

“Nice place.” The cabdriver switched off the engine.

“Not bad,” Nat agreed. But impressive as the house was, he wouldn’t want to live in it, and he couldn’t picture free-spirited Jess here, forced to spend her childhood behind locked gates. He was beginning to understand how lonely she’d been as the only child at Franklin Hall.

Opening the car door, he was greeted by the friendly scent of a fireplace in use. That heartened him, although he doubted the setting was as cozy as the living room at the Rocking D in Colorado. But he didn’t need cozy right now. He needed information. He hoped to God her parents had some.

He turned toward the driver. “Listen, I don’t know how long I’ll be, so I’m sure you could wait in the house, where it’s warmer.”

“Nah. Thanks, anyway, but I’d rather stretch my legs and have a smoke, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to go.”

“Okay.” Nat was too impatient to argue the point. “Knock on the door if you change your mind.” Leaving his backpack in the cab, he exited the car and mounted the steps to the front door, which looked as proper as a starched shirtfront. He lifted the brass knocker and rapped twice.

Almost immediately a uniformed butler opened the door.

Nat introduced himself. He was ushered quietly inside and relieved of his leather jacket. The butler had a strong British accent, and Nat remembered Jessica mentioning him. Barclay. Her father had hired him away from the Savoy.

The foyer lived up to the promise of the outside. A crystal chandelier sprinkled light over antiques that had been waxed and buffed until they shone. A table against one wall held a small bronze that Nat thought might be famous. He wasn’t up on art, but it looked familiar.

On a larger table in the center of the large entry, a bouquet of fall flowers filled a blue-and-white urn taller than a two-year-old child. Nat would bet the flowers were replaced every day. Their scent mingled with the tang of paste wax, and something else—maybe the smell of money, Nat thought. The contrast with the poverty he’d recently left made the elegant setting seem almost obscene.

“Mr. and Mrs. Franklin are in the library,” the butler said. “If you’ll follow me.”

As Nat walked down the hallway, an Oriental carpet that looked old and priceless cushioned his steps. He glanced at the gleaming railing on the stairway spiraling up to the second floor, and a vivid image of Jess sailing down the banister tugged at his heart. She’d only gotten away with it once, she’d said, but she’d never forgotten the joy of risking the forbidden.

He’d been having trouble finding evidence of her in this formal setting, but the banister looked as if it had been made for sliding down. Still, she’d probably never swung on a tire in the backyard or played hopscotch on the front walk. He was glad he’d seen this place, if only to understand Jess better.

His last picture of her tortured him—her long red curls tousled from lovemaking, her brown eyes filled with angry tears. Don’t you love me enough? she’d cried.

He’d left without answering the question, which effectively gave her an answer. He’d heard some object hit the door and shatter after he’d closed it behind him.

For Jess, love meant marriage and children. He hadn’t been willing to give her either one, because he’d thought he’d be lousy at it. He still thought so, but she’d haunted him the entire time he’d been gone. Another worker in the refugee camps, a sweet and willing woman, had offered herself. He’d gladly accepted, but to his chagrin he discovered that he couldn’t make love to anyone but Jess.

Finally he’d faced the truth. Sometime during the year he’d been seeing Jess, while he’d thought he was guarding his heart, she’d crept past the gates and set herself up as a permanent resident. He could either live the rest of his life alone, or he could try to overcome his fears and give Jess what she wanted.

Bad risk though he was, she’d been eager to take a chance on him once. He wondered if she still would. In the refugee camps he’d dealt with people who’d been ripped away from loved ones by force and had to scratch for every bit of human connection. After witnessing that, tearing himself from Jess seemed like ego run amok. He’d been offered so much, and he’d foolishly rejected it.

The thought of having kids still scared him to death, but maybe, in time, he could get used to that, too. If he expected to create an adoption program for war orphans, he’d be a real hypocrite if he didn’t at least consider that option for himself.

But first he had to find Jess. And he had no clue where she was. For seventeen months he’d pictured her in her little Aspen apartment. When he hadn’t been able to locate her there, he’d gone slightly crazy.

The butler paused in the doorway of the library to announce him, and Nat was so lost in thought, he nearly ran into the guy.

“Mr. Nat Grady to see you, sir,” the butler said.

“Show him in, Barclay,” boomed a voice from the interior of the room.

The butler stepped aside and Nat tried to control his eagerness as he walked forward. These people could lead him to Jess.

Russell P. Franklin, a robust, silver-haired man, rose from a leather wingback in front of the fireplace and came toward him, hand outstretched. Mrs. Russell P. remained seated in her wingback. She strongly resembled Jess, but Nat assumed the red hair was a beauty-salon copy of the color she’d been born with. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that this might be how Jess would look in twenty-five or thirty years. He wanted to be around to see that.

Adele Franklin smiled a greeting, but at the same time she surveyed him carefully. Under her scrutiny Nat remembered how grungy he was in comparison to his hosts. No doubt their sweaters and slacks were everyday casual wear, and they probably cost three times what Nat would spend on his hotel room tonight. Good thing neither Adele nor Russell knew yet that he had designs on their only daughter, or he’d probably be thrown out on his ear.

“Glad to have you stop by, Grady,” Russell said. His handshake was warm and firm. “Come over by the fire. What will you have? A drink, something to eat?”

“Scotch would be great.” Nat didn’t plan to drink much of it, but he’d been a real estate broker long enough to know the value of accepting someone’s hospitality if you wanted to make the sale. This might turn out to be the most important sales call of his life. He would have preferred a beer, but this didn’t look like a beer-drinking household.

“Good.” Russell looked pleased as he signaled to Barclay. “And have the cook rustle up a few sandwiches,” he added. “This man’s been existing on airplane food.”

Airplane food was gourmet fare compared to what the refugees had to eat, Nat thought. But this wasn’t the time to tell them that. “I hope you’ll excuse the way I look.” He stroked his beard. “I came straight from the airport.”

“No excuse necessary,” Russell said. “A man involves himself in a cause such as you have, he doesn’t have time to worry about appearance.”

“It does rearrange your priorities.” Nat sat on a love seat positioned between the two wingbacks and directly in front of the marble fireplace. The stout logs crackled smartly, as if aware of the honor of adding heat and ambience to Franklin Hall.

Windows on either side of the fireplace looked out on the inky flow of the river and the dark shore beyond, where only an occasional light showed signs of civilization. Books, mostly leather-bound, lined the other three walls of the room. There was even a rolling ladder to reach the top shelves.

Adele and Russell each had a book resting on a table beside them, a bookmark inserted in the pages. Then he realized there was no television in the room. Apparently the Franklins still believed in reading as a way to pass an evening.

Nat’s career in real estate had centered primarily on land, but he’d handled a few homes, and some had been real showplaces. None of them equaled this house. The cost of running Franklin Hall for a day would probably feed a refugee family for months.

Adele leaned forward. “You are quite a humanitarian, Mr. Grady. The rest of us may have sent a little money over to help those poor people, but you invested something far more precious—yourself. I commend you.”

Her voice startled him. Jess’s voice. He wanted to close his eyes and savor it. “I don’t really think of it that way, Mrs. Franklin,” he said. “I just had to go.” And not only to escape his demons concerning Jess. That was another thing he needed to settle with his ladylove. If she’d found out about his work in the refugee camps, she probably thought he’d only run away from her. But his decision to help the war-torn country was far more complicated than that.

“Call me Adele,” Jess’s mother said with a warm smile.

Her eyes were gray, not brown like Jess’s. But otherwise she reminded him so strongly of her daughter that he couldn’t stop looking at her. She wove her fingers together in her lap the way Jess did, and when she spoke she wrinkled her forehead slightly, as if putting real thought into what she was about to say. He remembered loving that about Jess.

“By all means,” Russell said. “Let’s not stand on formality.”

At that moment Barclay arrived with Nat’s scotch, a tray of sandwiches, and what looked like mineral water for Adele and Russell.

“Here’s to your dedicated efforts on the part of the refugees,” Russell said, raising his glass toward Nat. He took a swallow and sat back. “Now, why don’t you tell us what you have in mind?”

“I’ll be glad to.” He was passionate and absolutely sincere in his dedication to the war orphans foundation, but he’d used it without remorse as his ticket into Franklin Hall. Once he’d discussed the foundation, he planned to casually mention Jess. He forced his attention away from Adele and concentrated on Jess’s father.

Russell had brown eyes the color of Jess’s. But where her gaze had reminded him of a wild fawn’s, Russell’s could have belonged to George Washington when he led his troops across the Potomac. The man was a fighter and an empire builder. No one who looked carefully into those eyes would underestimate Russell P. Franklin.

Nat thought briefly of his own father. Nobody underestimated Hank Grady, either, least of all his son. Nat especially didn’t underestimate his father’s ability to be cruel. Yet Nat had been fed and clothed. Now he appreciated the luxury of that.

Shutting out the image of his father, Nat carefully outlined his plan for a foundation that would oversee the welfare and possible adoption of the orphaned children he had recently left. He had several potential backers in mind for the project. If Jess had still been living in her apartment, as he’d expected when he’d called from London, he wouldn’t have put Franklin on the list and risked causing Jess problems. But she hadn’t been in her apartment. The phone had been disconnected.

Both Russell and Adele seemed eager to hear the details of his plan, and he realized that getting their support for the foundation was a done deal. He was happy about that, but it wasn’t the most critical part of the interview.

“We’d be honored to have the Franklin Publishing Group be part of that effort,” Russell said when Nat finished. “I’ll talk to my accountants in the morning and see how much of your budget we can cover. Your ideas are well thought out.”

“Thank you.” Nat smiled. “I’ve had a lot of thinking time.”

“Some people could think for years and not come up with a practical scheme,” Russell said. “I appreciate dealing with someone who has a head for business. Philanthropy is a fine thing, but some of these confounded do-gooders quiver at the very idea of fiscal responsibility, and that makes me nervous. It’s too easy to pour money down a rat hole if you don’t have some checks and balances in place.”

“That’s why it was important for me to be over there so long,” Nat said. “I’ve lined up some excellent people who are ready to help run the program.”

Russell nodded and sat back in his chair. “Are you planning to approach other backers about this while you’re in town?”

“Yes, I am. But I wanted to see you first.”

The older man regarded him like a benevolent uncle. “I’m sure you’ll get the backing you need. But I should probably warn you that not everyone is as liberal as I am. You might want to shave.”

“I probably will.” Growing a beard had been practical when hot water and shaving gear had been scarce and cold wind had chapped his bare skin. He’d also blended in better with the refugees, and after a few months, the beard had seemed natural to him. Now that he was back in this country, seeing it in the mirror every day would serve to remind him of his mission. Still, Russell had a point. And then there was the matter of Jess. She had very tender skin….

“I rather like your beard,” Adele said.

“Yes, but you’re not a conservative businessman, Adele,” Russell said. “Some of these fellows get suspicious if they see a lot of facial hair. A mustache, now that’s no big deal, but a full beard conjures up the idea of radicals and hippies, y’know. It could affect whether Nat can get them to turn loose of their money.”

“I understand,” Nat said. “Besides, I might give my secretary a heart attack if I walked into the office looking like this.”

“You sell mostly unimproved land out there in Colorado, don’t you?” Russell said.

“That’s right.” Nat spied an opening. “Have you ever visited the state?”

“No, I never have. Flown over it many times, but never did stop. Pretty country, I understand.”

“It is that.” Nat thought he saw a flicker of emotion in those brown eyes. Adele gazed down at the fingers she’d laced tightly in her lap. Nat waited to see if either of them would mention that they had a daughter living in Colorado. Neither of them did. He’d have to plow this furrow on his own.

His pulse rate spiked. This was undoubtedly a touchy subject, but he didn’t intend to leave without getting into it. “Unless I’m mistaken, your daughter, Jessica, lived in Aspen for a while.”

The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. The camaraderie disappeared as Adele and Russell tensed and looked uneasily at each other. Finally Adele gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if to let her husband handle the comment.

“And how would you happen to have come by that information?” Russell asked. His question was quietly phrased, but the tone was one of command.

“I met her.”

They regarded him in stony silence.

Nat forged on. “But I’ve lost touch with her. I tried calling her from London and found out the number I had for her isn’t good anymore. I thought you might be able to tell me where she is,” he finished, matching his tone to Franklin’s as he met his gaze.

Russell had not changed position in his chair, but somehow he seemed bigger, more formidable. The publishing tycoon had replaced the affable philanthropist. “What is she to you?” he demanded.

“She saved my life.”

Adele gasped.

“And exactly how did she do that?” Russell asked. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Nat had wondered if she’d ever mentioned the incident to her parents. “She might have told you about helping four clueless cowboys who’d decided to go skiing,” he ventured.

“No, she did not.” Russell continued to drill Nat with his gaze.

“We…she’s a very independent person.” Adele laced and unlaced her fingers. “She doesn’t fill us in on all her doings.”

“That’s an understatement,” Russell barked. “So, what happened out there in Colorado?”

“Well, some friends and I went skiing and stayed at the lodge where she worked at the desk. I guess she figured out we were beginners who might get in trouble, so she offered to go along and watch out for us. Unfortunately we didn’t give enough credit to her warnings. We blundered into an avalanche, and I was completely buried. She figured out where I was and told my friends how to dig me out. If she hadn’t been there, I might not have made it.”

Adele sagged back against her chair, her face pale. “An avalanche.” She glanced over at Russell. “She could have ended up in it, too, Russ.”

“Of course she could have!” Russell’s jaw worked. “But she thinks she knows best, so what the hell are we supposed to do?” His voice trembled with obvious pain and frustration.

Nat had only heard Jess’s version of the difficult relationship she had with her parents, and of course he’d sided with her in her bid for independence. But seeing the strain they were under because of her leaving, Nat couldn’t help sympathizing with them. She was their only child, and they were frantic with worry because they could no longer watch out for her. Nat could relate.

“Is she still up in Aspen?” he asked.

Russell lost his tenuous hold on his composure. “We don’t know where the hell she is! We—”

“Russell.” Adele’s quiet authority stopped his tirade immediately. “Jessica calls,” she continued, sitting up straighter and sending another warning glance at her husband. “She updates us every couple of weeks. About six months ago she decided to see a bit of the country, so she’s traveling around.”

A cold chill zipped up Nat’s spine. Something about this scenario didn’t sound like the Jess he knew. She was a nest-builder, not a vagabond. She’d loved her setup in Aspen, and she’d told him it was the perfect place to begin her study of herbs. “Traveling where?” he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“God knows. She’s behaving like a damn gypsy!” Russell shot a belligerent glance at his wife.

Her voice remained low and well-modulated. “Russell, we don’t know this young man that well. I think perhaps you should—”

“I think I should reconsider supporting this foundation, is what I think!” Russell turned back to Nat. “Tell me, Grady, how did you know that Jessica is our daughter? As I recall, she wanted to ‘fade into the woodwork’ as she put it, so she could—and I quote—‘live a normal life.’ She didn’t intend to tell anyone she was related to me. How did you find out?”

“She told me,” Nat said. Concern for Jess tightened his chest. “After the avalanche we became friends.” It was all he dared admit in this charged atmosphere. “I don’t think she ever told anyone else, but she told me. Now that I’m back in the country, I wanted to…say hello.” Yeah, right. Say hello. And then kiss her until neither of them could stand. And make love to her for about three days straight.

Adele leaned forward, her gray eyes intent. “Did you have a close relationship with our daughter, Mr. Grady?”

He’d been demoted from that first-name basis pretty quick, Nat thought as he wondered how to answer her.

“What the hell kind of question is that, Adele?” Russell asked. “The man said they were friends. Don’t go making something more of it.”

Adele ignored her husband and continued to study Nat. “She never mentioned being involved with someone,” she said, “but I knew it had to happen, sooner or later. She’s a beautiful girl.”

Nat’s throat went dry. “Yes.”

“She didn’t trust many people,” Adele continued, her gaze steady. “If she trusted you enough to let you know who she is, then I suspect you’re more than a friend to her.”

He’d hoped to avoid getting this specific, but he wasn’t going to lie to her parents. “We’re more than friends,” he said.

“Oh, that’s terrific!” Russell said. “Are you telling me you left my daughter high and dry while you went running all over God’s creation helping strangers in that little piss-ant country over there?”

“I…” Nat cleared his throat and faced Russell. He’d come into this room thinking of himself as a world-weary champion of the underprivileged. But he was beginning to feel more like an irresponsible teenager. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid that’s exactly what I did. And I’d like to make it up to her.”

“You’ll have to catch her first.”

Nat damn well intended to do that. At least it didn’t sound as if she’d found herself another guy. “Do you happen to remember where she was the last time she called?”

Adele’s poise cracked a little. “She won’t tell us,” she said, a quiver in her voice.

The tightness in his chest grew. “What do you mean?”

Adele’s knuckles showed white under her delicate skin as she clenched her hands in her lap. “She only says she’s on a grand adventure and she’ll fill us in later.”

“What?” Nat set down his drink and stared at her, incredulous.

“She apparently uses a pay phone,” Adele said, “and she gets off the line before we can—”

“This is unbelievable!” In his agitation, Nat got to his feet. “I know she wants to live her own life, but refusing to tell you her whereabouts is ridiculous!”

“I wanted to hire somebody to track her down,” Russell said, sounding defeated. “Adele won’t let me. She says if we do that, we’re liable to lose her forever.”

“At least now she calls!” Adele stood, as well. “If you get heavy-handed, she’ll stop doing that!”

“Then I guess I’ll have to find her,” Nat said. And she’d better have a damn good explanation for her behavior when he did. Maybe her mother and father were overprotective, but it was obvious to him that they loved her. They deserved better treatment than this. Either something was terribly wrong, or his darling Jess had turned into a brat.

“Don’t tell her you came to see us,” Adele said. “Please. She might think we asked you to find her for us.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t involve you.”

Russell levered himself from his chair. “But if you want that foundation money, you’ll tell us where she is when you locate her,” he said.

Nat gazed at him. As fair as that sounded, he couldn’t agree to it. First he had to talk to Jess and find out what had caused her to take off like this. “I can’t make that promise. I will try to convince her to come out of hiding so you don’t have to worry so much about her, but under the circumstances, maybe I should withdraw my request for foundation money.”

“No, no, you shouldn’t.” Russell’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a grin. “But you can’t blame me for trying to use some leverage.”

Nat smiled at him. “No, I can’t.”

“My accountants will contact your Colorado office in a few days.”

“What if Jessica finds out that you’re helping with this foundation? Won’t she make the connection?”

Nat had had enough. He’d learned that life could be short and brutal, and he didn’t have time for games. “Look, the welfare of those orphans is too important to let Jess interfere with the fund-raising. Unless she’s a different person from the one I knew, she wouldn’t want to interfere, no matter what her personal situation is. And I intend to find out exactly what that is.”

“You sound so sure you will,” Adele said.

“That’s because I am sure I will.” He refused to consider any other possibility.

“You called her Jess,” Adele said. “Does she go by that now?”

Nat looked at her. “No. I just…I call her that.” He realized how familiar that sounded. Her parents didn’t shorten her name when they spoke of her.

“I see,” Adele said. Obviously she saw everything.

Russell cleared his throat. “I don’t know your exact relationship to my daughter, and I don’t think I want to know,” he said. “Maybe you left her high and dry and maybe you didn’t. But if you find her and can let us know, this number will get you straight through to me.” He handed Nat an embossed card.

“I’ll find her.”

Russell extended his hand, and there was an unspoken plea in his gaze. He was obviously too proud to voice it, but it was there, nevertheless. “Good luck to you, son.”