by Nora Roberts
"I kinda like it. Come here." He drew her against him, cradling her aching head on his shoulder. "Ice water," he murmured. "Stick your face right into a bowl of ice water, try to get some food in your system, then you just have to tough out the rest of it."
"Okay." She'd have preferred just staying there for the rest of her life. "I have to go. I shouldn't have slept here last night." With her face pressed against him she didn't see the disappointment and the hurt shadow his. "I can't imagine what everyone will think."
"Right." His eyes were impassive again when he drew her away. "You go on and shore up the damage to the Templeton name."
"I didn't mean—"
"Forget it." He wasn't going to let it touch him. "Forget it," he repeated. "Why don't you go riding with me tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?'' She pressed her fingers to her eyes. If she didn't get them out of the sun soon they were going to implode. "We have the treasure hunt."
"We'll go in the morning. You'll be back for Seraphina."
Riding. It had been years since she'd ridden in the hills, through the forest. "All right. I'd love it. Can we go about eight? That way I can—"
"Sure, eight." He gave her a quick pat on the cheek before walking away. "Don't forget the ice water."
"No, I—" But he had already disappeared around the side of the building. Baffled by his rapid shift of mood, she considered following him. Then she looked at her watch and accepted the reality that her obligations for the day didn't allow time to puzzle out the enigma of Michael Fury.
No one asked questions, demanded answers, or voiced disapproval. When Laura tucked her children into bed that night, she realized she had gotten through the entire day without having anyone question her absence from her own bed.
Oh, there'd been vibes in the air. Worry, curiosity, but she'd dodged even those. She'd survived a hangover as well, and the world had not come to an end.
Maybe, just maybe, Laura Templeton did not have to be perfect after all.
She left her daughters and crossed the hall to her own room. There she freshened her lipstick, brushed her hair. She needed to go and join her parents and the old friends who had come for dinner. She needed to make certain everyone was comfortable and entertained.
And, oh, she needed to stretch out for five minutes. Just five, she promised herself as she lay down crosswise on the bed. A quick catnap would set her up, help her get through the rest of the evening.
The minute she closed her eyes, she was dead to the world.
"Something has to be done, Mrs. T." Hands gripped tight at her waist, Ann stood in Susan's quiet sitting room in the tower suite. "It has to be."
"All right, Annie, sit down." It had been a long evening, and though she'd been pleased to see old friends, Susan had hoped for a few moments of solitude before bed. The look on Ann's face warned her she wouldn't get it. "Now what's the trouble?"
"You know what the trouble is, Mrs. T." Too fretful to sit, Ann wandered the room, fussing with curtains, realigning candlesticks, fluffing pillows. "You saw how pale and tired Miss Laura was today. You had to see for yourself."
"Yes, I did see. And I've been pale and tired myself the day after I've overindulged in champagne."
"Oh, as if that was all of it. And that's something she's never done before him, either."
Perhaps she should have, Susan thought. She sighed. "Annie, stop tidying the room and sit down."
"She spent the night with him. The whole of it. Over there with him above the horses."
Because her lips wanted to twitch, Susan glanced down at her own hands as Ann sat across from her. "Yes, Annie. I'm aware of that."
"Well, it can't go on." And that, Ann felt, was that.
"Just how do you expect to prevent a grown woman from doing as she chooses? The fact is, Laura is very attracted to Michael, perhaps more than attracted. She's been lonely and unhappy, and now she isn't."
"He's taking advantage of that. He's a bad influence. Why, she didn't even come down and say good night to her guests. She's never shirked her duties that way."
"She was tired, Annie, and the Greenbelts are my and Tommy's friends. Which isn't the point at all, really. You can't worry yourself so about all of this."
"You're her mother, but you know I love her, just as you love my girl. When Margo had troubles, you worried yourself for her."
"Yes." Understanding, Susan laid a hand over Ann's. "They're our children, and that's as it's always been. But children grow and go their own way no matter how we worry. That's how it's always been, too."
"She'd listen to you, Mrs. T. I've been thinking on it." The words came out fast now and seemed so logical to her. "Miss Laura, she hasn't gone away with the girls for such a long time. She's been working hard and hasn't had a holiday. The spring vacation's coming up for Ali and Kayla. They could go away for a while. You know how the girls love to go to Disneyland. If you put the notion in Miss Laura's head, she'd take them. And it would give her time, and distance. She'd have a clearer eye about what she's doing."
"I think Laura and the girls deserve a break, but a week in Disneyland isn't going to change her feelings for Michael, Annie."
"She's just caught up right now. If she had some time without him clouding her mind, she'd see that man for just what he is."
At a loss, Susan threw up her hands, let them slap down on the arms on her chair in a show of impatience. "For God's sake, Annie, what is he? Why do you dislike him so intensely?"
"He's a brute is what he is. A brute and a user and probably a fortune hunter as well. He'll hurt her in more ways than one, and I'm not having it." She pressed her lips tight together. "I'm not."
To clear her own temper, Susan took a long breath. "I want you to explain to me what he's done."
"You know very well that when he was no more than twelve he was sneaking around this house."
"He was Josh's friend."
"And giving Mister Josh stolen cigarettes, daring him into all manner of foolishness."
"Boys do foolish things at twelve. Christ, Annie, I taught my best friend how to smoke when we were fourteen. It's stupid, but it's children."
"And was it a child's foolishness that sent him to jail?"
"What's this?" Susan's face paled a bit. "Michael was in jail? How do you know?"
"I hear things. He was locked up for fighting. In a bar. Oh, they didn't keep him but overnight, but they locked him up right enough. The man likes to use his fists."
"Oh, for heaven's sakes, I thought he'd robbed a bank or killed someone. I may not approve, but I can't condemn a man for sleeping in a cell overnight because he punched someone in a bar. You don't even know who started it, or why, or—"
"How can you make excuses?" Suddenly furious, Ann sprang up. "How can you? The man is with your daughter night after night. He'll use them on her eventually. She'll do or say something and he'll use his fists on her the way he did on his own mother."
"What are you saying?" A jiggle of fear settled low in her stomach.
"A man who will strike his own mother, bloody her mouth and blacken her eye, won't think twice about doing the same to another woman. She's so small and delicate, Mrs. T. I can't bear the thought of what he could do to her."
"You believe Michael Fury beat his own mother?" Susan said slowly.
"She told me so herself. Came looking for him here with her poor face all black and blue. I took her into my room and did what I could for her, and she told me Michael had come home the night before, drunk, and had hurt her, had driven her husband off, then left her there alone. I wanted to go to the police, but she wouldn't have it."
She whirled away, emotions choking her. "Ah, he belonged in a cell. He belonged in a cage. If you had only seen her face. If that man raises a finger to Miss Laura, I—"
"Annie, I did see Michael's mother." Susan rose. "I did speak with her."
"Then you know. He ran off to sea just after that rather than face what he'd done. Mrs. T, we have to make him go away from here. W
e can't have a man who's capable of what he is near Miss Laura and her babies."
"I'll tell you what she told me, Annie, after she came to shout at me for keeping Michael here after that night."
"Here?" Ann had to press a hand to her outraged heart to keep it in place. "That man was here? You let him stay here in this house after—"
"He slept in the stables until he shipped out. He never laid a hand on that woman."
"You saw her. She told me—"
"She blamed him. She couldn't blame herself, not then. But I had the truth out of her. It was her husband who beat her, and who had done so before. She had come to work with black eyes before, and Michael didn't put them there."
"But she said—"
"I don't care what she said," Susan shouted. The memory of it still made her blood burn. A mother blaming a child for her own failings. "That boy came home and saw his stepfather beating his mother. And he protected her. The thanks he got for giving that beast what he deserved was having his own mother kick him out of the house, tell him he had no right to interfere, that he was to blame."
She stopped for a moment, struggled to calm herself. "And when Michael was gone, when she knew she'd lost him, she sat right here in this room and broke down. She told me everything."
"But she told me… I believed…" Ann sank down in a chair. "Oh, sweet God."
"She begged me to help her find him, to persuade him to come back. She was alone, you see, and Michael's mother was a woman who didn't know how to be alone. I want to believe that somewhere inside, she regretted what she'd done, what she'd said to him, and she loved him. But all I saw was a miserable, selfish woman who was afraid to be without a man, even if the man was the son she'd driven away."
"Oh, Mrs. T." Ann pressed her hand against her mouth. The tears that swam in her eyes were tears of guilt and pity. "You're sure of this?"
"Annie, forget what she told you, even what I've just said, and tell me, honestly, what you see when you look at him. As if you knew nothing more about him than what you've seen since he came here."
"He works hard." She sniffled and tugged a tissue from her pocket. "He's good with children and his animals. He's kind to them. He's got the devil in his eye, and something hard comes into it. He doesn't watch his language as he should around the children, and I don't think…" She trailed off, wiped her eyes. "He's good to them. And he's been good for them. I can't deny it. And I'm ashamed."
"There's no shame in worrying over the ones you love. I'm sorry you were living with the fear that Laura had gotten herself involved with the kind of man you thought he was."
"I've hardly slept since he's been here. I kept waiting for him to—Oh, the poor boy. What a terrible thing to go through. And him barely old enough to shave regular."
"You'll sleep better now," Susan murmured.
"But I'm still keeping my eye on him." She managed a weak smile. "Men who look that way, they're not to be trusted around a woman."
"We'll both worry." Susan squeezed Annie's hand. "We know our Laura, don't we? She needs home, family, love. When everything else is brushed aside, that's what she is. I don't know if she'll find that with Michael, or what it will do to her if she doesn't."
She'd found something else. The thrill of streaking over the hills, of racing through low-lying fog that hugged the ground like a river. Of hearing the thunder of hooves and feeling the strong, sleek mount beneath her gather itself to jump.
She sailed over a fallen log and burst into a clearing where the sun flashed white.
"Oh, God, it's wonderful!" After reining in, she leaned low over the horse's neck. "I'll never be able to do without this again. You're a clever man, Michael Fury." She straightened and turned to study him as he sat easily on Max. "How could I buy a horse for myself and not buy that mare for Ali?"
"I'll give you a hell of a deal on three. The little bay gelding fits Kayla like a glove. You ride like a demon, Laura." He reached down to pat the neck of the mare Laura rode. "And Fancy here suits you. I figured she would."
"Apparently you know your horses, and your women."
His eyes flicked up to hers. His woman. For the moment. "Apparently. You look…" Stunning, vital. "Rested."
"I slept like the dead last night. Nearly ten hours." Trying her hand at flirting, she sent him a sidelong look under her lashes. "Did you miss me?"
He'd reached for her half a dozen times during the night.
"Nah." When her face fell, he laughed. Grabbing her by the shirt, he tugged her sideways just enough to meet her lips. "What do you think?" He dismounted, "Let's give them a rest. We've been riding them hard."
He tossed the reins over a branch as she slid agilely to the ground. "Did you find any more coins yesterday?"
"Nothing. Not even a bottle cap. I can't—Oh, I didn't tell you, did I? The other night—"
"I heard." For reasons he couldn't pin down, it had annoyed him that she hadn't come running to him with her coin. "Good for you."
"It was the oddest thing." She stretched muscles unused to riding. "I put my hand right on it. Just the way you would if you'd dropped a quarter and reached down to…"
She blinked, lost her train of thought. He was standing there, just standing there with the sun at his back and his eyes focused on her face. "What is it?"
"You said you'd dreamed of me. Now, and years ago. On the cliffs, in your room, in the forest. You'd turn and I'd be there."
"Yes." Wasn't it foolish to have her heart lodged in her throat? To feel both fear and anticipation prickle hot on her skin. "Michael."
"And I'd touch you." He floated a palm over the curve of her breast, felt the quiver. There were parts of her life that were barred to him, parts of his that he would keep barred from her. But here… here was equal ground. "And taste you." Laid his mouth over hers, felt the heat. "And take you." Swept her into his arms, felt the ache. "And I will."
She lay beside him, naked in the sunlight, with birds singing in the trees. He hadn't torn her clothes. It amazed her that she wouldn't have stopped him from doing so even if she'd had to ride back to Templeton House bare as Lady Godiva.
Instead, he had been so gentle, so tender that even now she could have wept.
"I've never made love outside," she murmured. "I didn't know it could be so lovely." She sat up, stretched. "So many firsts. I don't suppose there are many firsts I can give you." She smiled down at him. "Bad Michael Fury's already done them all."
"And then some," he said with his eyes closed.
"There's so much you don't talk about." Knowing it was all too typical to pry into a man's past when you were in love didn't stop her. She traced a finger down his chest. "So many secrets inside."
"You told me a couple of yours last night. Quid pro quo?''
"No, of course not."
He opened his eyes. "You want to know something about me, ask."
She shook her head and started to shift, but he reached up and held her still. "Afraid of the answer?"
"No," she said steadily, "I'm not. And I'm surprised you'd think I would be."
"Fine. Ask."
"I—" she hesitated still, then gave in. "All right. You said you were married before, but you never mentioned her or what happened."
"Her name was Yvonne. We got divorced."
"All right." Miffed by the terse response, she reached for her shirt. "We should be getting back."
"Shit." He rubbed his hands over his face and sat up as she shrugged into the soft—and now wrinkled—broadcloth. "Okay, you want to know. I met her when I was racing. She liked to party with drivers."
"And you fell in love with her?"
"Christ, you're a child in so many ways." He stood and dragged on his jeans. "I fell into bed with her. We liked each other, we had good sex. So we kept falling into bed, and we kept having good sex. Then she got pregnant."
"Oh." She rose slowly and kept her eyes on her trousers as she slipped them on. "You said you didn't have children. I assumed—"
"D
o you want to hear this or not?"
She looked up, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. "Not if you don't want to tell me."
"If I'd wanted to talk about it, I probably would have." He swore again, then took her arm as she bent to retrieve her boots. "Sit down. Just sit, goddamn it. Nobody uses that wounded look the way you do."
He pressed his fingers to his eyes and struggled for control. Once he'd opened up this part of his life, he would have to open others. She would ask more questions, he would give her the answers.
He accepted it there, in the sun-washed woods, with his body still warm from hers, that this was the beginning of the end.
"Okay, she got pregnant. So we talked about it. The best thing for everybody was to go for the abortion. Simple, quick, done. So we made the arrangements."
"I'm sorry. That's a difficult decision. You—you never questioned that you'd been the one who—"
"That I'd gotten her pregnant? Yvonne wasn't a liar or a cheat. She said the kid was mine, it was mine. We were friends, Laura."
"I'm sorry. It was hard for both of you."
"We figured we were doing the smart thing. I was trying to make a name for myself on the circuit, she had just started a new job. A baby didn't fit. Hell, neither of us knew anything about kids, about parenthood. We were what we were." He looked her in the eye. "Scrabblers, looking for a good time."
She kept her gaze level. "Are you telling me it was easy? A casual shrug. An oops?''
"No." His eyes shifted, stared off into the trees, into the shadows. "No, it wasn't easy. It just made sense. We agreed it was the best solution. But the night before we were to go in for it, we figured out something else. We both wanted it. We both wanted the baby. It didn't make any sense, we didn't know what we were doing, but we both wanted the baby."
"She didn't have the abortion."
"No. We got married. We figured what the hell, let's do it, let's have a baby. She tried to knit things." A smile ghosted around his mouth. "She didn't have a clue. We read books. Went in for one of those sonogram things. Jesus Christ, it was just… beautiful. We argued about names and did all the things I guess everybody does."