by Sharon Sala
“I’ll never be safe, Trace Logan. Thanks to that damn letter, my life is in a shambles. And the only home I have is hundreds of miles away. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll find my own way home. The only thing you can do for me is call a cab.”
“You know what, lady?” Trace said through gritted teeth. “I’m getting pretty damn tired of taking the blame for all the trouble you are going through. I didn’t write that blasted letter and mail it. I didn’t have anything to do with your disappearance when you were a baby. Hell, I barely remember hearing about it. I wasn’t more than ten years old. I haven’t done anything but try to make this nightmare as easy on you as possible. Well, if you don’t need anything from me but a cab, it’ll be my pleasure. If you need anything else, you’re going to have to ask.”
She turned, eyes flashing, head held high, and exited the offices as abruptly as she’d entered. Trace could only watch in dismay as she disappeared in a huff. He turned toward Irene’s desk, his heart heavy with a sense of foreboding, and did as he’d promised.
He went back into his office and watched out the expanse of window overlooking downtown Colorado Springs until he saw Honor’s tall, graceful figure exit the building. He watched her long, angry strides quickly cover the distance from the building to the outer gates, saw her speak to the guard, and then watched for several minutes until a bright yellow cab arrived. Then she was gone.
Trace had a sinking feeling that she didn’t just leave Malone Industries. He had a distinct impression that Honor O’Brien had mentally, if not physically, just departed from Colorado.
* * *
By the time Honor arrived back at the Malone estate, she’d calmed down considerably. It wasn’t her nature to hold grudges or stay angry for long periods of time. But she was more than tired. She was weary clear down to her soul. She couldn’t wait to get inside, take a long, hot bath, and then fix something to eat. She was starving. She let herself into the house, walked quietly through the long, paneled hallway and up the carpeted stairs to the door of her bedroom. She had most of her clothes off before she ever started running her bathwater. When the last article of clothing hit the floor, she sank wearily into the tubful of steamy relief.
A long time later she heard the front door slam with sudden force and sighed. J. J. must be home. And he was probably angry that she hadn’t waited for him. At the moment, she could care less. She debated about running some more hot water into her quickly cooling bath and then decided against it. Her stomach grumbled again and hunger won out over comfort. She pulled the plug with her toes and watched the water begin to swirl in a tiny vortex as it drained from the deep, old-fashioned tub. She caught a glimpse of her tall, slender form in the misty mirrors and sighed. Her personality was just about as distinct as her image. She felt disjointed in an abstract way. She could see herself, but not clearly. And that’s just the way she felt inside. She knew she was in there. She just didn’t know who to ask for.
“Oh, fudge,” Honor muttered. “Right now I don’t give a damn who’s looking back at me. Whoever you are,” she said to the foggy image, “if you’re as hungry as I am, let’s go get something to eat.” She began to dress.
“Miss Honor!” Trudy gasped, as Honor walked into the kitchen. “Was there something I could get for you? All you need to do is ring.” She pointed toward an intercom system on the wall.
“Pooh,” Honor muttered, walking toward the huge double doors of the restaurant-size refrigerator. “The day I can’t wait on myself is the day I need to stop eating. Do you have any ham?” Honor asked, poking curiously into the multitude of covered dishes and parcels.
Trudy Sinclair’s first reaction was to fuss. She didn’t allow anyone in her kitchen. It was her domain by right of passage. She’d withstood the insults of the Malone clan far longer than any of the other servants who’d come and gone.
After the death of J. J.’s wife, being in the house had become unbearable and most of them had departed for a more pleasant position. But something had made Trudy see past the anger and harsh words of the Malone family into the desperation of their actions. They were just lost. Megan Malone had been the anchor. Now they were just drifting. Trudy decided to tie down the remaining Malones as best she could. So she stayed and became, in her own way, indispensable.
She watched Honor’s tall figure bent over in the depths of the refrigerator, digging curiously through her dishes. Something clicked inside her heart. This one was special. She could tell.
“Here,” Trudy fussed, scurrying toward the open doors. “I think there’s a piece of ham in this meat cooler.”
“Oh, yes,” Honor said gleefully, as she pulled out her prize. “Great! I’m starving. And I can’t think of anything that sounds better than some ham and eggs and homemade biscuits.” She turned toward the stove with the paper-wrapped meat in her hands. “Do you mind?” she asked, knowing that this was Trudy’s kitchen. “I’m quite competent in here.” She indicated the appliances with a sweep of her hand. “We use stuff like this in my restaurant. And I’ve certainly taken my turn at chef more than once when an emergency arose. I promise I won’t make a mess that I don’t clean up.” Her anxious, hesitant expression won Trudy’s heart.
“You just have at it, honey. If you can’t find something you need, just ask.”
She bustled busily back to her chore at the sink. She had been cleaning some vegetables for J. J.’s evening meal. Soon both women were busily engrossed in their own meal preparations.
When J. J. burst into the kitchen, his angry voice booming into the silence, it startled them both.
“Trudy!” he yelled. “Have you seen Honor? She stormed out of my office and I can’t find her anywhere.”
“If you’d calm down and turn around,” Honor said quietly, “you’d find me a lot faster.”
The look of relief on J. J.’s face was obvious. “My dear,” he said as he turned toward her, “you frightened me. I thought you’d gone back to…I mean, I thought you might be—”
“I know what you thought,” Honor interrupted, as she stirred the long wooden spoon into her bowl of biscuit dough. “And don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. But,” she grinned, as she turned the dough out onto a bread board and began to knead it lightly, “my stomach got the better of me. I was too hungry to run away. Maybe tomorrow.” She reached for the cookie cutter she was using to cut out her biscuits.
“What in hell are you doing?’ J. J. bellowed, as he realized that Honor was actually in the kitchen…cooking her own food.
“I’m fixing my supper,” she answered mildly. “Where I come from, the evening meal is not dinner, it’s supper. And the noon meal is not lunch, it’s dinner. And,” she continued, briskly cutting the soft, fluffy dough into perfect circles and placing them on the greased baking sheet, “I like to cook, and I’m good at it. And I was hungry for biscuits, ham, and eggs.”
J. J.’s eyes lit up. He hadn’t had such plain, simple fare in years. Possibly not since he’d become successful and his Megan had hired a cook instead of preparing the family meals herself. It had been so long since he’d sat in a kitchen and listened to the chatter. Smelled the wonderful, homey smells of food cooking and listened to the pots bubbling away as the women worked. A sharp, painful longing pierced the crusty armor of his heart. He tilted Honor’s face toward him, looked with pride at the smudge of flour on her chin and down the front of her borrowed apron, and sighed in contentment.
“I think you’re gong to be good for me, girl. I think you may be good for all of us. Sometimes a body forgets what matters most in this world.” His sharp blue eyes teared, but he blinked furiously, refusing to allow them access to any more of his buried emotions. “Do you think you made enough for all of us? I can’t remember when I’ve had eggs, biscuits, and ham.”
Honor looked at J. J. Then she turned and looked at Trudy’s face, saw her argument disappearing, and smiled at them both. “I think I made enough to feed an army. My eyes must have been bigger than my stomach. Momma
always said they were. I’d be happy to share.”
Trudy’s insistence that she not be included was ignored, and soon three places had been set at the kitchen table. A platter of fried ham, a bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs, and a plate of golden-brown steaming hot biscuits became the focal point of the evening. Trudy located a jar of homemade preserves, some butter, and a jug of milk. The food was delicious, but it was the camaraderie between the three that was special that night. For the first time since his Meggie died, J. J. Malone didn’t feel lonely. And Honor felt, for the first time since her arrival, that there just might be a possibility of learning to belong here, just as she had in Odessa.
Her conscience had been rebuking her all evening. She knew she’d been particularly rude to Trace. He’d come to her defense so quickly when she and the policeman had entered the offices. He had instantly assumed the role of protector and she’d just as quickly attacked him and his motives when she knew good and well that he was not to blame. She was ashamed of herself. Honor didn’t know why she kept pushing Trace away. It wasn’t like her to be so suspicious or unforgiving. Tomorrow, she told herself, she’d call him. If it was okay with J. J., she’d even invite him for supper. She smiled and mentally corrected herself. It would have to be dinner while she was here with the Malones. They weren’t supper kind of people.
She finished her nightly grooming routine, laid her hairbrush down on the dresser, and crawled into bed. She sighed, closed her eyes, and wished heartily that she was back with the supper kind of people right now. If she were home, she’d be doing the books, or possibly filling in for one of the staff. She wondered if they were busy or if they’d had problems that couldn’t be resolved. She made a mental note to call Charlie’s first thing tomorrow. If she had to, she’d be on the first flight home.
Just before she drifted off to sleep, she nearly let herself drift back into the sadness and regret that she’d experienced after visiting the library. But she refused to allow herself to feel any responsibility for the events that had followed her disappearance. She had to keep telling herself it just wasn’t her fault. And try as she might, she couldn’t fault her mother as stringently as she knew she should. She’d loved Charlie O’Brien too much. Soon she was asleep and as she slept, she dreamed.
And in her dreams she stood alone, sandwiched between shadowy figures whom she recognized but could not touch. Behind her was the fading image of her mother, small, blonde, and gentle, urging her to take a step forward. In front of her stood several tall, judgmental figures, accusing, pointing, demanding more of her than she could give. She struggled beneath the covers, trying in vain to turn around and go back with her mother. But she couldn’t seem to move.
Then she heard his voice, deep and gentle, persuasive and compelling. She saw his tall, strong figure standing beside her. She imagined that she could feel his touch sure and strong. She relaxed. She knew as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that no matter what happened, no matter who demanded things of her that she was unwilling or unable to give, that if she would let him, Trace Logan would be beside her. And that would be enough.
Chapter 7
Honor wandered aimlessly through the Malone mansion, mentally noting the absence of personal mementoes in the empty rooms. Such a huge, opulent home and so devoid of the things that give meaning and pleasure to life.
A phone call home had assured her all was running smoothly at Charlie’s despite her absence. It was obvious that Hank, her bartender, and several of the day staff were more than curious about her prolonged stay. It was also obvious that rumor had already spread of Charlotte O’Brien’s secret, even back home. She hadn’t denied nor acknowledged anything to which Hank had alluded, but his vehement assurance that nothing could change their opinions of Charlie made her feel better. It had gone a long way toward healing the ache in Honor’s heart.
Her sleep had been troubled. She suspected it was her conscience telling her what a fool she’d been to alienate Trace when he’d been the only person who’d shown sincere concern for her since this whole nightmare had begun. It was past time to apologize. She hadn’t been raised to hold grudges. And she couldn’t forget the hurt that had appeared in Trace’s eyes when she’d stormed out of Malone Industries.
Of all the people involved, Trace Logan was the one most innocent of any blame. He wasn’t part of her family, past or present, and yet he’d been the one she’d made to suffer most.
Honor went to the phone and made her call.
“Malone Industries,” a woman’s voice answered.
Honor bit her lower lip in frustration. She’d forgotten all calls would go through a switchboard.
“Trace Logan’s office, please.”
When Irene answered, Honor repeated her request.
“May I speak to Trace Logan, please?”
“I’m sorry. He’s on another line,” Irene answered in a businesslike manner. “Would you care to leave a message?”
She muffled her dismay. She’d been ready to apologize, and all she kept getting were receptionists.
“Just tell him Honor called,” she said softly. “He has my number.”
She hung up too quickly to hear Irene urging her to hold.
He’d been so angry yesterday and his accusations had been all too true. She had been blaming him for the past few days of turmoil when none of it had actually been his fault. He’d just had the misfortune to be the one who’d first made her aware of her mother’s deception.
That was at the bottom of most of her anger. She and Charlie had shared everything. At least she’d believed that to be true up to the day Trace Logan had knocked a hole in her world and let out all the safety and trust. It was just going to take time to patch the hole. The trust would come later.
Honor wandered through the kitchen area, saw a note from Trudy indicating her whereabouts and what time she would be home. J. J. was at the office and wouldn’t be home until evening. There was nothing to do and no one to talk to. It was with no small amount of relief that the doorbell’s ring set Honor hurrying to answer its melodic summons.
“Erin!” Honor said, unable to disguise the surprise in her voice.
Her aunt was the last person she’d expected to come calling. She hadn’t seemed pleased that Honor even existed.
Erin smiled a cool, casual greeting, waved an antiseptic kiss toward Honor’s cheek, and escorted herself into her father’s home.
“My dear!” she gushed, while the smile in her voice didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’ve come to take you to lunch. Father said he’d left you all alone. He’s just too wrapped up in that job for his own good.”
Honor hid her shock at the invitation and refused to acknowledge an inward warning signal that told her Erin Malone was not sincere. She mentally rebuked herself. It wasn’t like Honor to be so suspicious and she decided to give her aunt the benefit of the doubt.
“Come, come,” Erin urged, looking down at her watch. “I’ve made a reservation at my favorite restaurant.” When she saw Honor’s hesitation, she added, “Father knows where we’re going. He said he might even be able to join us.”
“Well,” Honor relented. “Just let me get my purse. Will these clothes do or should I change?”
Erin looked coldly at the tall, fashionably dressed young woman wearing a crisp, winter-white pants suit and her mother’s face and pushed back the frown that threatened to wrinkle her high, round forehead.
“You look fine,” she replied, and then couldn’t resist a rude dig. “People as tall as you can wear any old thing off a rack and still look smart. Your little suit will suffice. Come, we need to hurry.”
Honor let the remark pass unheeded but made a mental note to be on guard. Somehow she didn’t think this lunch was quite the family outing Erin proclaimed it to be.
She exited the Malone house and missed Trace’s call by minutes.
Trace slammed the phone down in disgust, mentally cursing the fates that tied him to his job and told Irene to keep trying the number
until she reached Honor. He had to talk to her. He regretted his outburst the moment it had happened, but by the time Honor had exited the offices in anger it had been too late to take it back.
* * *
The restaurant was crowded, yet Erin was treated with obvious deference. Honor supposed money and prestige talked no matter where one lived. The food was fashionable, not memorable, but it didn’t matter. Honor wasn’t hungry and had the most overwhelming urge to bolt and run. She’d never felt so exposed. She watched her aunt’s agitation and noted how her eyes kept flashing nervously as her gaze swept the crowded room. Honor watched her nod occasionally at someone she would recognize, and once Erin even smiled and waved at a couple across the room. But she made no move to include Honor in her inner circle of acquaintances or even introduce her to any of the people who’d stop to say hello as they passed their table. She would simply excuse her rudeness with an offhand remark and a shrug.
“Those are just old family friends. No one you’d know or be interested in. After all, you’re only here for a visit, right?”
Her casual question was punctuated with a near-lethal stare as she waited for Honor to disagree.
Honor was spared an answer as she saw Erin’s face light up. She knew without turning around that the reason she’d been duped into coming here had obviously just arrived. And she had a terrible suspicion that it wasn’t J. J. Malone who’d just come into the restaurant.
“Darling!” Hastings Lawrence gushed, as he leaned over and kissed his fiancée on the cheek. He raked Honor’s cool beauty with a sly gaze and then wisely gave Erin his undivided attention. “Sorry I’m late, ladies. But duty comes before pleasure and I had to finalize a contract. I’m certain you both understand. Am I forgiven?”
Erin looked sharply at Hastings as he greeted Honor and then pulled herself back to the situation at hand. This was no time for jealousy. Hastings’s slow nod to her as he walked behind Honor’s chair assured her that all was going according to plan. She sighed with relief and then fidgeted through the dessert that Hastings insisted on ordering. Her niece sat in regal silence across the table from them. If Erin didn’t know better she’d think Honor was suspicious.