Countess in Cowboy Boots

by Jodi O'Donnell

  The penetrating look he gave her was drawn out for several seconds before he said huskily, “Well, don’t go pinning a medal on me just yet. It’s occurred to me I haven’t been all that aboveboard in my actions lately, and the experience has sure enough shown me I could do with some improvin’. Man,” he gave an impatient click of his tongue, “maybe I am a—how did you put it?—an interfering, domineering ringtailed control freak, I believe was your expert appraisal.”

  Now it was Lacey’s turn to blush with shame. “I was pretty condemning, wasn’t I?”

  “Darlin’, if you could bottle the blisterin’ quality of your tongue, you could sell it for varnish remover and make yourself a cool million.”

  They both broke out in laughter at that.

  “You’re miles from being like Nicolai, Will,” Lacey averred. “I mean, he was controlling for the sake of power alone.” She paused, thinking, her fingers idly tracing a pattern on his shirtfront. “Maybe your way of having to run the show is more a sign that at heart you care deeply for the welfare of people, you know?”

  Will said nothing in response, just brushed a lingering tear from her cheek with his thumb, his palm cupping her cheek.

  At that tender touch, Lacey found herself held motionless as she’d been before, torn between flight and fascination, at war with her instincts and her experience. For the scene which leapt vividly to mind was as he’d danced with her, every move attuned to hers—before he kissed her.

  As then, Will now evoked in her the same fear. It was the last she must face, the biggest and deepest of all.

  And what Lacey feared most was that she could never trust or love a man again, because both made you vulnerable, and she’d learned from Nicolai Laslo the infinite number of ways such vulnerability could be used against you. As much as she believed in her strength of spirit which had seen her through her eight-year ordeal, she feared as greatly that the damage done to her heart during that time was irreparable.

  She stared up at Will, their faces so close she could see every nuance of gray in the irises of his eyes. So often had she perceived them as shadow, she was startled to discover how clear and sharp, like shards of glass and slivers of silver, was each striation. Clear and sharp and steady.

  Could she trust Will? But even as the question rose to her mind, she knew this wasn’t a matter for intellectualizing or rationalizing. It was a matter of the heart, of feelings and instincts which came from a place inside a person that wasn’t logical, though that didn’t make their influence any less powerful.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips parted on an intake of breath, and she watched, completely captivated, as he came closer....

  She felt as if she were balanced high up on the ridgepole of a house, with the prospect of a devastating fall on either side of her. And she knew in a flash of comprehension that only if she maintained her equilibrium, held on to her perspective and stayed true, kept her chin up and kept aiming for the stars, would the risk be worth it when she finally spread her wings and took off.

  Lacey wrenched herself from his arms, pushing herself to her feet, where she stood shaking like a leaf.

  Now was not that moment. Not yet.

  “Lacey...” From behind her, he touched her hand. On pure reflex, she jerked away, knowing she must seem as erratic as a weather vane in a storm.

  “Th-thanks for everything, Will,” she

  babbled.

  She meant for lending her his ear and shoulder to cry on—it had meant so much to her for him to give them to her—but Will obviously chose to take another meaning, because he said from behind her, “If you need anything for your resource center, Lacey—I mean, more than someone to run interference with the bank or city hall—you’ve just to say the word, you know that, don’t you? I mean, now that I know what it’s all about, I’d like to...to lend a hand.”

  Lacey turned to look at him, and she couldn’t prevent a tinge of sadness from creeping into her voice as she said, “I didn’t tell you what had happened at the bank and city hall—or with Nicolai—so you could take care of things for me, Will.”

  His eyebrows lowered and his mouth tightened but he didn’t say anything in reply.

  Which was a good thing, Lacey reflected as she walked out. She wanted to hold on to the real support he had given her which she’d need in the coming weeks to take care of things herself.

  * * *

  THE HEADLINES SAID IT ALL.

  “Laslo: Countess Needs Help” shouted the Dallas Morning News spread out on the kitchen table. “Fractured Fairy Tale? Not So, Reveals Count” screamed the Austin American-Statesman. “This Time, Prince Charming Waits For Cinderella” was the header blazoned across the Houston Chronicle’s entertainment page.

  “Entertainment!” Lacey exploded. “I can’t believe it! Not only is Nicolai feeding the media this crazy story about us, he’s turned our personal tragedy into entertainment!”

  “He sounds awfully sincere,” Rachel said reasonably, pointing to one article.

  Leaning over the table, Lacey shoved the papers together into a pile as if hauling in poker winnings. “Of course he does! He’s a master at this sort of thing, twisting and turning the facts to his advantage, portraying the situation in a way that seems completely logical and so of course everyone believes it’s true!”

  Her mother made an impatient sound. “But he’s saying he’ll take you back. How is that twisting the facts?”

  Her arms still outstretched around the heap of newspapers, Lacey bent her head briefly. “Can’t you see, Mother? He doesn’t want me. He wants control over me.”

  Rising, she stalked to the kitchen wastebasket, depressed the pedal to open the lid, and threw the newspapers into it, letting the lid slam closed again with a satisfying clack. The gesture accomplished little, though, in relieving the claustrophobia-like fright that threatened to engulf her.

  It didn’t help that they’d had to close every curtain and shade in the house to protect themselves from the prying eyes of the dozen photographers and reporters who’d camped outside since the news hit the street earlier this morning.

  It wasn’t that the story was big news, Lacey knew, it was just terribly juicy. And Nicolai would have known it would take something scandalous to draw this kind of attention to her.

  Fighting panic, Lacey crossed her arms over her middle and clutched her sides, but it didn’t stop her shaking. She should have seen this attack on her coming, or at least something of this sort. But she hadn’t, which made her fear she wouldn’t be able to anticipate where and how he would strike next. That her own responding actions, or lack thereof, would affect his tactics almost pushed her over the edge into sheer hysteria.

  Drawing a deep breath, she tried to go over the facts, one by one, as she knew them.

  From what she could tell, Nicolai had apparently given an interview to a French newspaper in which he had “reluctantly revealed for the first time” how he was devastated by their divorce. A newspaper in the States had picked up the story and interviewed Nicolai themselves. That’s when he’d strategically spilled his guts. The problem was, he didn’t just reveal their private and personal business, he out-and-out lied about how one day they had been happy and so in love, and the next she’d bewilderingly announced she didn’t want to be married any longer. As if she changed her mind and direction as capriciously as a feather floating on the breeze!

  According to the rest of the story, which had by then been picked up by a number
of major newspapers around the country, Nicolai had tried to convince her to stay and seek counseling, but she’d not only refused, she’d up and left one day without a goodbye, walking out with just the clothes on her back—making her sound even more erratic.

  Unbelievably, it got worse. More than merely painting Lacey as a rather emotionally unstable woman, Nicolai had no trouble convincing the interviewer that she was, in his loving opinion, “deeply psychologically troubled,” since it was obvious no woman in her right mind would not just leave him, refusing all monetary support, but also return to the wretched existence he’d plucked her from. And the coup de grâce? He said it had nearly destroyed him to learn she was scrabbling—unsuccessfully—to make ends meet and keep her parents in their home, when he would give her the moon without her asking!

  Lacey pressed her knuckles to her lips, combatting tears of utter terror. She’d gathered he would know where she’d gone, but how would he know even a little about what she was doing here in Abysmal? It made her feel personally violated, defenseless within the one domain where she thought she could count on a measure of privacy and protection.

  How did he know what she was doing, since any outsider would have stuck out like a flamingo in a crowd of crows? Who here would have told him?

  And most importantly, did he know about her resource center? For some reason, she felt it would be the most grievous invasion of her privacy of all.

  At least, Lacey comforted herself, Nicolai wouldn’t actually invade her sanctuary. He’d cut off his right arm before he’d step foot in Abysmal.

  She didn’t even know her mother had come up behind her until Rachel said, “What did Nicolai do to you, Lacey? And this time I’m not going to take an evasion for an answer! Did he drink? Cheat on you? Strike you...or w-worse?” She sucked in a fortifying breath. “I want to know the truth!”

  Lacey turned and looked at her. Yes, why not tell Rachel the truth? What did she—or actually, either of them—have to lose?

  “Yes, Mother,” Lacey said in a flat voice. “Nicolai Laslo is guilty of all of the above. Every day he hit me—with a barrage of criticism on everything from my looks to my speech to my background. Every day he betrayed me—betrayed my trust and love, making a mockery of them by wielding them over me to impose his will on me. Every day he abused not some substance but me—used me to keep from dealing with his own lack of self-worth by sucking away at mine.”

  Her expression dazed, Rachel walked jerkily to the table and sat down. She shook her head. “But Nicolai knew when he married you what you were and where you’d come from.”

  Lacey took a chair kitty-corner to her mother’s. “Yes, he knew—I was a nobody. Someone he could feel superior to in every way. And someone he could assure himself he’d always have power over by taking a poor little sow’s ear and making a silk purse out of her. But things didn’t go his way from the first.”

  “So why...why did you stay?” Rachel asked.

  “Because, at first, I was in love with him,” she answered truthfully. “He was my husband, and I was committed to him and the marriage. And even after things began to change between us, it was nothing overt, nothing you could define as a real reason to leave, like physical abuse, infidelity, addiction. You couldn’t even call it verbal abuse. Nicolai was always ever so cordial in his suggestions for me and how I should behave. But the message behind those helpful words...the message was toxic. He meant to make me believe I could do nothing, and was nothing without him.”

  It registered in Lacey’s mind that her voice had evened out, as if her mother were the one needing a calming hand. “What he did was just as wrong as if he’d hit me or cheated on me, I’ve come to realize. It was a form of emotional abuse. And Nicolai was a master at it. It took me a long time to realize the number he was doing on me, but I finally did. So I took steps to...to protect myself, still thinking to stay in the marriage if not be happy. But—”

  She hesitated, then decided there’d be no use holding this back, either. “Nicolai sensed I was slipping from his control. That’s what building the house was all about. Leverage—over me, through you. And I’m almost ashamed to admit it worked for a while, kept me from leaving Nicolai long after I should have.”

  Rachel gazed at her, and Lacey noticed how weary her mother looked, even more worn out than she’d seemed when Lacey had first come back and Rachel had been dealing with that development. And now there was this to contend with.

  Still, she said with conviction, setting her hand over Lacey’s, “I—I’m glad you told me, honey.”

  Lacey swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump of emotion which sprang to her throat so frequently these days. “I’m glad I did, too.”

  And she was. Not that she felt particularly unburdened, only that now the explanation was done. Hopefully, it brought her one step closer to putting the marriage behind her.

  She heard a key in the lock and the front door open. A cacophony of voices assailed her ears.

  “Mr. McCoy, how’s your daughter? Has she seemed unbalanced?”

  “When’s Cinderella going back to the count?”

  “You’re just a carpenter, sir. How do you expect to keep up paying for this mansion without Laslo’s support?”

  Her father’s voice was a low murmur, so she couldn’t make out what he said in reply, but it likely wasn’t anything too informative, judging from the closed expression on his face as he came into the kitchen.

  She rose and went to give him a fierce hug. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry for bringing this trouble on you and Mother—”

  “Now, none of that,” Hank said, giving her a squeeze and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I’ve dealt with infestations of termites that were more trouble than that pack out there.”

  “Were you able to find Jenna Barlow and let her know not to try to come to work here today?” Lacey asked.

  “I sure enough did.”

  Rachel glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. “What are you doing home so soon, though? I thought you were determined to finish up that job over at the Canfields’.”

  “I was, till I got drift of what was takin’ place in town.” Hank looked at his daughter with sympathetic eyes. “The whole of Abysmal is abuzz with your news, darlin’. Since you came back, people’ve been wonderin’ what had happened, and they’re kinda perturbed they’ve had to learn it from the outside.”

  Lacey stiffened. “And?”

  He scraped his palm down his cheek. “I have to tell you, Lacey, this isn’t gonna die down like you were hopin’. Those media people have been pumpin’ everyone in town for information. So far they haven’t said a word, but that’s mostly because they don’t know what’s going on. Pretty soon, though, they’re liable to start telling as much as they do know about what you’ve done since you came back.”

  She pulled out of her father’s embrace. “They will, will they? Well, they can tell the media what I’ve been telling them all morning—it’s none of their business!”

  Just then the phone rang for what was surely the fiftieth time that day. Her mother rose to go into the den and listen to the message after the answering machine picked up, in case it was someone they actually wanted to talk to and not another reporter.

  A moment later, Rachel returned. “Lacey, it’s Lee.”

  Lacey crossed the floor to pick up the extension on the wall. “Lee?”

  “I’m out front in my pickup callin’ on my cell phone, Lacey. Didn’t think you’d answer
my knock on your door with all those vultures hoverin’ there.”

  “You figured right.”

  “How’re you doin’?”

  Lacey grasped the receiver in both hands. “Oh, Lee! I so didn’t want for something like this to happen. I truly hoped by leaving Nicolai and asking for nothing that—”

  The line crackled with static. “Uh, look, Lacey, these kinds of calls can be listened in on so I don’t want to stay on the line. You want me to come in?”

  “I’d really like that.” The noise level outside rose, she suspected because of Lee’s presence. “I guess the only way to do this is for you to just muscle your way through the paparazzi to the front door and I’ll have Daddy let you in. I’m afraid they’re going to get in your face again,” she apologized, remembering how he’d told her of the media’s assault on his privacy eight years ago. “Are you sure you want to go through that?”

  “Depends. Do I get a crack at any of ’em along the way?” Lee asked.

  Lacey actually laughed. The restricting collar around her throat, which in the past six hours had become so tight she hadn’t been able to choke down a bite of lunch, eased just enough. “Well, try to keep it legal, okay?”

  As she hung up the phone, Hank was already on his way to the door. A few minutes later he appeared with Lee. He looked grim.

  “Man, if I wasn’t crazy already, bein’ held hostage in my own house by a buncha lowlifes like that would sure enough make me that way,” he said.

  Lacey bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Lee caught sight of the movement and was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Lacey, I didn’t mean that.”

  She nodded jerkily and decided she’d need to get a grip on her emotions.

  “The worst of it is, we may be in for a real siege,” she explained. “So I guess the best thing to do is figure out a strategy, just as if we were defending ourselves from one.”