“I had no choice.” Backing away from Deanna, Phyllis wrung her hands. “Baxter threatened to hire a private detective to find you. He wanted his grandchild. He would have discovered that you were at Millones and then the whole world would have known that you were...that you were...”
“The whole world would have known what? That your daughter had suffered a severe nervous breakdown and miscarried, and was confined to a private clinic in California?” Deanna’s lips curved into a soft, sad smile. “You preferred for Luke to believe that I had deliberately aborted his child, for his hatred of me to fester inside him, than to have told Baxter McClendon the truth. A truth you still haven’t been able to accept.”
“What mother could accept the truth that her daughter was insane?”
“I wasn’t insane,” Deanna said calmly. “I had a nervous breakdown. I witnessed my father’s murder. I lost part of my memory. My own mother threatened to have my child aborted. I was forced to testify in court against the man I loved. And I lost a child I desperately wanted. Is it any wonder I suffered a mental breakdown?”
“Everything that happened to us—to you—was that damn Luke McClendon’s fault! If he’d stayed where he belonged—”
“I chased after him, Mother, and you know it.” Deanna laughed, the gesture freeing her to say things she’d never been able to say. “I wanted him from the first minute I saw him and I decided that I’d have him, come hell or high water. I chose Luke to be my first lover because I was wild about him.” Deanna grabbed her mother by the shoulders. “Do you hear me, Mother? I was wild about Baxter’s quarter-breed bastard. And you know what? I still am.”
“Then go to him, damn you. Maybe the two of you deserve each other!”
“I hope we do,” Deanna said. “I sincerely hope we do.”
“If I thought I could stop you—”
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. You can’t stop me. You have no power over me, not anymore.” Deanna released her mother, picked up her suitcase and makeup bag and walked around Phyllis and out into the hall. She paused momentarily and glanced back into her bedroom. “I’m going to regain my memory, if at all possible. Somehow, someway, Luke and I are going to find out who really killed Daddy.”
“You’re going to be sorry,” Phyllis said. “You’re going to hurt not only yourself by doing this, but others as well. And if you think Luke will ever forgive you, you’re wrong. Once he’s gotten what he wants, he’ll kick you out.”
“I hope you’re wrong. I hope, for his sake more than mine, that Luke will eventually forgive me. And as far as him kicking me out—he won’t have to. Once I know the truth and clear Luke’s name, I’m going back to Jackson.”
Chapter 6
“Not once have I tried to tell you how to live your life.” Kizzie McClendon planted her hand on her hip, then lifted her other hand and pointed her index finger in Luke’s face. “Not when you burned down Baxter’s granddaddy’s old cabin. Not when you rode out of here and stayed gone for a week at a time. Not when you refused to come to dinner when I had company. Not when you found your comfort with the likes of Corrine Watkins. But moving Deanna Atchley into the cottage behind the house is more than I’m going to take.”
“You don’t have to see her while she’s here,” Luke said. “I’ll tell her plainly that she’s to stay away from you and any family members that happen to come by.”
“Do you think I’m upset because I don’t want to see the girl? Do you think I hate her the way you do?” Kizzie huffed loudly. “You listen to me, boy. I could kiss Deanna Atchley’s fancy behind every day if I thought her being here was a good thing for you.”
“She can’t hurt me,” Luke said. “You’ve got to love somebody before they can hurt you. And I haven’t loved Deanna in a long, long time.”
“That’s the problem, son.” Taking a deep breath, Kizzie clenched her fists, then opened her palms toward him in an obvious impulse to reach out and comfort. “You haven’t loved anybody in a long, long time. Hate is what rules you now. I’ve watched that burning anger eat away at you, eroding every human emotion inside you. You might help that girl find out who really killed her daddy, but in the process your hatred could well destroy both of you. I can’t bear to see that happen.”
“What if I promise that I won’t let it happen?”
“But it’s already happening,” Kizzie said. “Do you think I don’t know that you spent the night with her at the Stone Creek Motel? I had four phone calls before noon today from people who couldn’t wait to let me know what they’d heard.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t let it upset you.”
“If I didn’t know you met her there just so everybody in Luma County would be aware of what the two of you were doing, then I wouldn’t have gotten upset. But your hatred made you want to shame that girl, made you do something I’d wager you’re none too proud of today.”
“Kizzie, I—”
“No!” She held up her big, bony hand in a gesture for him to back off. “You have every right to bring whomever you want to Montrose. I think you’re making a big mistake, but if you’re determined to do this...You just remember that I don’t approve of her coming here and I’m warning you that unless you deal with your feelings for that girl, you’ll wind up worse off than you are now.”
“I don’t have any feelings for her. I’m going to help her because I want to set the record straight. I want to clear the McClendon name. I would have thought you’d want that, too.
“In case you’ve forgotten, hatred is an emotion. It’s the flip side of love. And often there’s a very fine line between the two. You hate Deanna because you loved her so much it nearly killed you when she betrayed you, when she took her family’s side instead of yours. But mark my word, Luke, buried somewhere deep down inside you, past all that dark, sick, tortured misery, is the root of that love. And that’s what you hate the most—the fact that you can’t rid yourself of your feelings for her, despite everything that happened all those years ago.”
“You’re wrong. You’re dead wrong!”
But a small voice inside Luke’s head taunted him. Maybe Kizzie’s right.
“Deanna’s moving into the guest house tonight. And I don’t want to hear another word about it!” He stalked off, stormed out and slammed the door behind him.
Following Luke’s directions—up the road and around the main house—Deanna found the guest house easily. The cottage was a small limestone structure, with an arched doorway leading to a porch and a small rock patio encircling it, similar to the one at the main house. Luke stood in the open front door, his left shoulder braced against the facing. Apparently, he wasn’t going to keep her waiting this time.
Deanna parked her car on the left side of the rock cottage, got out and opened the trunk. Silent and watchful, Luke made no move to help her with her suitcase. After adjusting her purse and makeup bag over her shoulder, she set the suitcase down on the patio, grabbed the leather strap and rolled it along behind her as she approached her temporary home.
It didn’t matter that she wasn’t staying at the main house, that Luke had relegated her to a place where she assumed unwelcome visitors were sent. Visitors with whom the family didn’t want to share their home. Luke’s inviting her to Montrose had been a concession; she had no problem with meeting him halfway. Anything was better than another rendezvous at the Stone Creek Motel.
“I had Alva air out the place,” Luke said as she approached. “She put fresh linens on the bed and stocked the refrigerator.”
So she wasn’t going to be joining the family for meals, either. Deanna knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Luke had invited her to Montrose for his convenience, but he wanted to keep her separate and apart from his family. The tables were turned now. Once she had been the one who’d been afraid for her family to know she was involved with Luke. Now, he obviously didn’t want their relationship flaunted in his stepmother’s face.
“Thanks.” She stopped several feet from the entrance a
nd looked her fill at Luke.
Big, broad, ruggedly handsome Luke. Apparently, he had showered and changed clothes after working all day. His clean, faded jeans sculpted his lean hips and long legs. The short-sleeved black-and-white-striped shirt revealed his strong, muscular arms, tanned to a rich copper by the sun. His black hair, cut conservatively short, appeared a deep blue-black in the bright porch light.
Butterflies danced in Deanna’s stomach. Just looking at Luke made her weak in the knees. It always had. She guessed it always would.
“Have you had supper?” he asked.
“Yes, I had dinner with Patsy Ruth Dawkins and her family. You remember Patsy Ruth, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I remember her.” Luke stepped out of the way when Deanna came toward the door. “I’ve seen her and her husband and kids in town a few times. How many have they got now? Three? Four?”
“Four. Two boys and two girls.”
Luke let out a long, low whistle. “Four kids, huh? She’s not much older than you, is she?”
“Two years. She was the best friend I ever had,” Deanna said. “Neither of us had sisters, you know. Just big brothers.”
“Speaking of big brothers—how did Junior take the news that you were moving onto Montrose?” Luke asked.
“I didn’t see Junior before I left the Circle A,” she said. “I’m sure Mother will tell him where I am. You’ll be pleased to know that Mother was furious.”
Deanna walked past Luke and into the guest house. The main room, a living room-kitchen combination, was neat, plain and clean. She could well imagine Kizzie McClendon decorating this cottage. It possessed the same no-nonsense style that epitomized the woman herself. A dark, plaid sofa had been used as a divider between the two areas, and the only other furniture was a matching chair and two small tables. A milk jug filled with fresh wildflowers sat in the center of the wooden kitchen table. Deanna’s breath caught in her throat as impossible thoughts filled her head. Had Luke? No, of course he hadn’t. Kizzie? Surely not. The housekeeper wouldn’t have been told that the McClendons’ guest wasn’t to be given any special treatment. Then who?
Luke closed the door. Whirling around to face him, Deanna dropped her makeup bag and purse on top of her suitcase. “This is very nice. I should be quite comfortable here.”
“Our housekeeper, Alva, doesn’t know everything about you. About us. She just knows you were trouble for this family once,” Luke said. “She’s been working for us less than two years now. Margie retired and moved up to Montana to live with her daughter.”
“Margie is the one who used to pack all those wonderful picnic lunches for us, isn’t she?”
Luke’s face hardened. His eyes narrowed to slits as he glowered at Deanna. Apparently, he didn’t want to be reminded of the happiness they’d once shared—before her father found out about their love affair.
Luke turned and opened a door to his left. “The bedroom and bath are in there. You might want to go ahead and put your things—”
“Am I not allowed to talk about any of the good times?” she asked. “I may have lost my memory of some things, but I do remember what it was like when we first fell in love. How we—”
“Yeah, I remember what it was like, too.” Luke kept his back to her. “We had to sneak around to see each other. You didn’t want your parents to know about us. You were too ashamed of me for us to have real dates like other couples.”
“I wasn’t ashamed of you!” Deanna left her belongings in the middle of the living room floor, crossed the room and came up behind Luke. Her hand hovered over his shoulder. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was afraid of how he might react if she did.
“You were ashamed of me,” he said in a low, pained voice, then turned slowly and looked at her, his eyes hard and cold. “But knowing I was a worthless bastard quarter-breed, you still couldn’t stay away from me, could you? I realized you were bad news the first time I saw you sitting beside your daddy at the rodeo down in San Antonio. Baxter told me to stay away from you, that your daddy would have my hide if I messed with you.” Luke chuckled, the sound rough and agonized. “I should have listened to my father and run you off when you came sniffing around. But you were bound and determined to have me, weren’t you, babe?”
He knew exactly what to say to hurt her and he’d done it on purpose. If he was getting any pleasure out of her pain, she couldn’t tell. As if made out of stone, his face didn’t reveal his emotions.
Not moving an inch, Deanna stood her ground, looking directly at her tormentor. “Yes, you’re right. I was bound and determined to have you. I never wanted anyone else. Not ever. You made me feel things I didn’t understand, but they were things I wanted to find out about with you. With you, Luke. Only you. I loved you more than—”
“You wanted me! You’d gotten everything you wanted all your life, hadn’t you? Mommy and Daddy’s baby. Spoiled little rich girl, who got the hots for the wrong boy. But my being unsuitable didn’t stop you. You just had to prove to me and the whole world that Deanna Atchley always got what she wanted. Well, you got me all right. You got me good.”
“I was spoiled and selfish and used to getting my own way,” Deanna admitted. “You’re right about all that, but what you’re choosing to forget is that I was only seventeen and I had never disobeyed my parents. Not ever. I risked everything to be with you because I loved you.”
“Is that what you call it? Love?”
“Don’t, Luke, please don’t...” She laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t destroy what few beautiful memories I have by telling me that what we shared wasn’t love.”
He slung her hand off his arm. “If you had loved me, you would have left with me that night I came to the Circle A and asked you to marry me. If I hadn’t stayed around begging you to come with me, your father never would have caught us together.” Clenching his jaw tightly, Luke closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the woman who had betrayed him. “And if you had loved me, you wouldn’t have gotten on the stand and testified against me at my trial.”
“I wanted to leave with you, to run off and get married, but I knew that if I did, my daddy would have tracked us down and killed you.” Deanna shuddered. This is so much more difficult than I’d thought it would be—facing Luke and telling him the truth. “He’d already beaten you within an inch of your life only a couple of weeks before. I couldn’t...” She could tell by the expression on his face that Luke didn’t understand what she was trying to explain. “I’ve already told you that I barely remember the trial, but I do know that I was afraid not to testify. I was afraid of what my mother might do to me and to—to our baby.”
“We’re never going to remember the past the same, are we?” Luke moved away from her and opened the front door. “There’s no point beating a dead horse.”
“I’m sorry.” Deanna rubbed her hands up and down her hips, a deliberate effort to keep from reaching out to Luke. “I never meant for my loving you to hurt you so much.”
“Good night, Deanna. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can get around to the business at hand. But while you’re waiting for me to find time for you, think about who else had a motive and an opportunity to kill your father.”
“Think about—”
“Between the time I picked up that pitchfork and the time your father was found murdered couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. So who else was around—on the Circle A—who might have wanted to see Rayburn Atchley dead?”
Luke left, closing the door quietly behind him. Deanna stood there staring off into space, Luke’s words reverberating in her head. Who else was around on the Circle A? Who else? Who else?
Her mother. Her brother. Benita. And Eddie. And a few ranch hands. As far as she knew, none of them had any reason to kill her father. Or had there been someone else on the ranch that night? Someone hiding in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike?
Wearing only a pair of jeans, Luke walked out onto the back porch. He hadn’t been able to sleep.
His bed looked like he’d been fighting someone in it—or ravaging someone. He flung open the back door and went out onto the patio. The guest house was less than a city block away. It was usually empty—the last person he remembered staying there was a distant cousin of Kizzie’s who had come uninvited for a two-week stay. That had been nearly two years ago.
Tonight, Deanna Atchley was sleeping in the old maple four-poster, cuddled under the handmade quilt Kizzie had labored over so patiently. And he could have been lying there beside her. He could have taken her again, vented more of his frustration and anger. But he knew that even if she had allowed him to touch her, he would have been the one who regretted it the most. He couldn’t have sex with Deanna again and risk her getting the upper hand. He’d always been wild for her, hot to get her beneath him. She had held a power over him no other woman ever had—or ever would.
Without realizing he had wandered so far from the main house, Luke found himself outside the guest cottage. He wanted to be inside, in her bed, releasing his frustration and finding satisfaction in the arms of his enemy. For that was how he had thought of Deanna all these years—as his enemy. She had wounded him, his heart and his soul, in a way no one else could have. And he had hated his enemy, hated her with a burning rage. But the Deanna he had known—had loved beyond all reason—didn’t exist any longer. The spoiled, pampered little rich girl had grown up and Luke had no idea who she was now. Had she changed as much as he had? Had the years been as unkind to her as they’d been to him? What had happened to her fifteen years ago and where had she gone?
The answers to those questions shouldn’t matter to him. But they did matter. And so did Deanna. He realized it wouldn’t take much more persuasion on her part to have him doing the begging and pleading. For him to be the one looking at her with sympathy and concern in his eyes, instead of the other way around.
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