“Depends.”
“Maybe if you talked to him.” She was testing uncharted waters, as she rarely ever asked her brother for anything, especially when it pertained to something personal. She never felt she could count on him.
“Wow, hold on a minute. You’ll have to take care of this one on your own. It’s your baby, you’ll have to burp it. Besides, I’ve got enough problems of my own.”
She still couldn’t count on him, she thought, and not without a trace of bitterness. “Problems seem to go hand and hand with this family,” she said on an emotional note. “And that shouldn’t be. Both of us have the best of everything.”
Tim cut her a sharp glance. “Speak for yourself.”
Lindsay cringed against the whine underlying his succinct statement. It grated on her nerves.
“Oh, come on, Tim, you should be on top of the world. You have a wonderful wife, a practice that other doctors would die for, since you took over all Daddy’s patients. And what about your side business, your chain of pharmacies? My God, you shouldn’t have a worry in the world, especially a financial one. Yet—” Lindsay broke off when she saw the scowl darken his face.
“I always seem to be broke,” Tim finished with a sardonic laugh. “Was that what you were going to say?”
“Yes, and I don’t understand why, unless you’re still playing the stock market and losing.”
“You got it.”
Lindsay glared at him. “You’ve got to stop.”
“I’m trying, only it’s not that simple.”
She knew her brother was addicted to playing the market. From the look of despair on his features, she suspected he might even have depleted the trust their mother had left each of them.
“It is that simple, brother dear. Just stop playing Russian roulette with your time and money.”
Tim clenched his jaw. “Sorry, I forgot I was dealing with Miss Perfect, who never makes any mistakes.”
Lindsay flushed, then murmured, “That’s a cheap shot.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth. If things were simple, you wouldn’t still be here under Daddy’s roof, at his constant beck and call.”
“You don’t know that,” Lindsay said tersely, her eyes flashing.
“The hell I don’t. And what do you have to show for getting up every morning? I don’t see you setting the world on fire.”
Following that outburst, Lindsay fell silent, her insides churning. He was right, of course. Who was she to be giving advice? To date, she hadn’t done anything with her own life that counted for a hill of beans, except her work with the women’s shelter. And at times even that failed to use up all her energies.
But she hoped to change all that. In fact, she’d been mulling over an idea for some time now and had worked herself into the excited stage. Even so, she wasn’t ready to share her innermost thoughts with anyone, least of all her brother.
“Look, sis—”
“If you’re about to apologize, don’t. I had it coming. But I wouldn’t count me out—not just yet, anyway.”
Tim didn’t respond. However, a few minutes later, after their glasses of iced tea were empty, he broke the silence. “Do you ever think about Mother?”
That starkly spoken question so surprised Lindsay that, for a moment, she couldn’t say anything.
“Hell, you don’t have to answer that,” Tim said, his features pinched. “Just forget I asked.”
“Of course I think about her.” Lindsay’s chest constricted. “Every day.”
“Me, too.” His tone was harsh, but with a sad undertone.
Lindsay felt a sting behind her eyelids and blinked. She dared not cry—not now, not when she was already feeling vulnerable from Cooper’s accident and his pressuring her to marry a man she didn’t love. If the tears ever started, she might not be able to stop them.
“Do you ever ask yourself why she did it?”
“You know I do,” Lindsay responded softly, staring into the agony twisting her brother’s face, agony that she knew was duplicated on hers.
“Sometimes I hate her,” Tim muttered fiercely, “for what she did to us, to our family. Maybe if Garnet was bigger, without the Peyton Place mentality, it would’ve been different.”
Lindsay curled her nails into her palms and felt them pierce her skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Heart pain—through the years, she had learned it was the worst kind. Once it got its grip on you, it wouldn’t let go.
“Sometimes I hate her, too,” Lindsay admitted. “And no matter where we lived, it would not have been different.” Her voice caught. “But she was sick. Believe me, I understand that now.”
“I know you do.” He paused, then added, “God, if it had been me who had…” His voice trailed off.
“Found her lying in her own blood, dead,” Lindsay whispered, barely getting those words out before her own voice faded into nothingness.
Tim blanched, then nodded.
In some respects, Lindsay couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Tim. Always before, he’d refused to talk about their mother’s untimely and tragic death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
At the time, he had retreated into his own shell of personal pain and fear. She hadn’t faulted him then, nor did she now. Besides, she’d been too distraught herself to think about anything other than her own broken heart and shattered dreams.
Even though Cooper was the strong one in the family, the one who made the major decisions, Lindsay had nonetheless adored her mother, even if it had been from afar. She had learned early on that Emily was different from other mothers.
Emily had had deep bouts of depression, which often sent her away from home for long periods. It hadn’t been until Lindsay was older that she realized her mother was in a private sanitarium for treatment, something Cooper was ashamed of and tried to cover up by refusing to acknowledge or discuss his wife’s problem.
Only after Lindsay found her mother’s blood-splattered body and plunged into that same world of dark depression did Cooper respond.
“Lindsay, are you all right?”
Jerking her thoughts out of the past, Lindsay tried to swallow back the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. No, she wasn’t all right, she wanted to scream. Instead, she made the swing go faster, as if to outrun her mind.
Why now, of all times, did Tim have to bring up their mother’s suicide?
“Of course you’re not all right,” Tim muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.
Lindsay licked her dry lips. “I’m okay, really. Mother was not something I expected to discuss, that’s all.”
“Me either,” Tim admitted, his weak chin jutting slightly. “I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to feel guilty for talking about her.”
“But I do,” he said harshly. “It all happened so long ago.”
“The summer I graduated from the university and you were in med school,” Lindsay acknowledged in a dazed voice. “Even at that, it seems like yesterday.” Her voice had suddenly turned hoarse, and she cleared her throat.
“Let’s change the subject, okay?” Tim said abruptly. “‘To hell with her’ is the way I see it. If she didn’t want to stay with us, then we’re better off without her.”
“Tim, please, don’t talk like that. What would Daddy think?”
“Who gives a damn? Haven’t you ever considered that he just might be partly to blame?”
“Of course I’ve considered it,” she responded, a wealth of sadness in her tone.
“His stable of women has always been the talk of the town.” His tone was bitter. “Because of that, I’m sure Mother was the brunt of a lot of jokes.”
“Tim, don’t do this, to yourself or me. It’s not healthy, for more reasons than one.”
“You know, life sucks.”
Lindsay blew out a heavy breath, realizing the tiny moment of closeness she had felt with Tim earlier had dis
integrated. He was once more his brooding, untouchable self, while she was becoming anxious, a feeling that frightened her. She didn’t want to talk about Cooper’s penchant for women or dissect his role in her mother’s death. It wasn’t healthy.
“I’d rather not talk about this any more,” she said stiffly, voicing her thoughts.
His face darkened. “Ditto.”
Lindsay stopped the swing. “I guess I’d best get back and check on Daddy.”
“Ah, he’s all right. If not, we’d have heard.”
Lindsay didn’t argue. However, she got out of the swing, walked back to the railing and stared into the distance. What a lovely and tranquil place, she thought, aching for some of that tranquility to filter into her soul.
“Why do you stay?”
Lindsay gave her brother a taxing look, trying to curb her temper. Another unsettling question out of the blue. This was a side of Tim she hadn’t seen in a long time. He usually had very little to say to her. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He’s just too selfish and ornery to do so.”
“It’s not all him.” Lindsay’s voice suddenly shook. “I’ve never wanted to be by myself.”
“I can understand that.”
A short silence followed his bleak words. Lindsay broke it by saying, “My main concern right now is convincing Daddy once and for all that I’m not going to marry Peter.”
“Well, good luck. You’ve got a daunting task ahead.”
Another silence ensued as Lindsay’s eyes returned to the colorful grounds. It was then that she saw a man sauntering across the nearby lawn as if he owned it. He was a big man, with a loose, long-limbed gait that bespoke of self-assurance, if not a bit of arrogance.
An attractive hunk, she thought wryly, unable to remember the last time she’d been affected by any man. Of course, she wasn’t affected by him, she corrected herself quickly, except in a purely objective way. After all, he was obviously an employee, and much too old for her, to boot.
Still, her gaze lingered. He had a strong, rugged profile, and dark hair that curled slightly at his nape. But it wasn’t his face that held her attention. It was from the neck down.
He was shirtless, and even from where she stood, she could see the contour of his body. And a fine body it was, too.
For a moment Lindsay forgot all about Cooper, Timothy and—especially—Peter. She was intrigued and wondered who the man was, though she had never before taken an interest in the people who maintained the huge estate.
As if he sensed he was being watched, he swung his head sideways, and their eyes met. She was trapped. Caught staring. Her face flooded with color, especially when he seemed to be surveying her with guarded eyes.
What was he thinking? More to the point, why did she care?
Suddenly, his brows arched in a deliberate and dismissive gesture, then he turned his head.
Lindsay didn’t know why, but that look irritated her no end. She had never considered herself a snob, but she felt like putting him in his place, wherever that might be.
She yanked her gaze away from him and back to her brother. “Who’s that man?”
Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean Mitch Rawlins?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“He’s our new estate manager.”
“Don’t you mean head gardener?” Lindsay asked in a catty tone.
Tim gave her a perplexed look, then said with a touch of mockery, “I’d say he’s a bit more than that. Why do you want to know?”
“No reason,” Lindsay snapped, even as her hungry eyes once again sought the man out.
Three
Mitchum Rawlins, known as Mitch by his friends, continued to stare at the boss’s daughter. Or rather, the lady of the manor, he corrected himself with a smirk, long after she had turned her haughty little nose up and away from him.
He wondered if she thought her snubbing him made any difference. His smirk deepened as he rubbed his stubbled chin. Having only been working on the estate as its main caretaker for a month, he’d never had the opportunity to meet Lindsay Newman firsthand. Word had it that she had gone to Europe. He guessed her old man’s accident had brought her back home.
While she was in no way hard on the eyes, she caught his attention mainly because everything about her seemed to radiate a restless energy. And usually, where there was energy, there was passion.
Although she appeared on the thin side, she was still well-proportioned. Her small, jutting breasts and narrow waistline bore that out. But it was the strawberry-blond hair swirling around her face that was the eye-catcher.
He would bet anything she had the freckles that usually went along with that coloring. He would also bet she had dark eyes. As for her age, he was less sure about that. He’d put her somewhere in her middle to late twenties.
Finally realizing what he was doing, Mitch let go of a stinging curse, then forced his mind off the spoiled brat who wouldn’t have cared if he took another breath.
The last thing he needed was to have anything to do with Dr. Newman’s daughter. More to the point, he didn’t want anything to do with anyone, especially a woman.
For the first time in years, he was sleeping like a baby. Using his hands, he did an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Suddenly Mitch peered down at those large, tanned hands, which were both callused and strong, and thought again what a lucky son of a bitch he was.
When his wife, Wendy, left him and his other job became intolerable, he’d walked away in the opposite direction, leaving behind a world filled with responsibilities and sleepless nights.
Regrets?
None whatsoever.
Anything would beat what he’d done and where he’d been. Now he felt free in every sense of the word. He could grow anything, build anything, repair anything. God-given talents—all of them. And he was using them wisely. The only thing that bugged him was an occasional loneliness, a real need to touch and be touched by another human.
But that feeling didn’t come often or last long. Nope, he wouldn’t change the new direction his life had taken for a minute, nor was he about to let a woman anywhere near him, certainly not an obviously spoiled brat like Lindsay Newman.
Still, he found himself casting another glance in her direction. His stomach tightened. He had never even talked to her, for God’s sake. And yet the intensity of the attraction he felt for her was staggering. It was as if his eyes had caught sight of an unattainable “perfect” woman and a lust-adrenaline cocktail had hit him in the gut.
Well, he would just have to get over it. He was not about to self-destruct over another woman, no matter how hot he was for her.
He turned and stomped back inside his living quarters.
But even after he had slammed the door behind him, Mitch kept seeing the lovely lines of her face, something that made him mad enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two.
What was wrong with him? What was there about her that had brought about the impossible? Stirred him up? Maybe he had been alone too long. Maybe it was time to scratch this sudden itch before it got any farther out of control. Maybe he should call up an old girlfriend and enjoy a roll in the hay. Even if the lady of the manor wouldn’t be interested, he knew several who would.
Nah.
In the end, it wouldn’t be worth it. The price was too high. He would just take a cold shower, drink a cold beer, then crawl into a cold bed.
Alone.
“Still feeling better, Daddy?”
It was the evening after she had returned from her trip that she decided to pay Cooper an impromptu visit. She hadn’t seen him all day, as she’d been busy unpacking, reading through mail and returning phone calls.
Even though she knew he was okay, she couldn’t blot out the morbid trick her mind continued to play on her. She envisioned walking into her daddy’s suite and finding him on the floor, dead, just like she’d found her mother.
“I’m still fine,” he said in a gruff voice. “I wish you wouldn’t fuss so.”
“I wish you’d do like your cardiologist told you and take it easy,” she said. “Which didn’t include playing a round of golf.”
Cooper’s bushy white eyebrows drew together. “I see Dolly’s been running her mouth.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I didn’t play,” he announced in a petulant tone. “I just rode around with a friend, and I’m none the worse for it. And as you can see, I’m already in bed, though I don’t like it, mind you.”
Probably because he was without a woman beside him, Lindsay thought, recalling her conversation with her brother. Like Tim, would she ever accept the unvarnished truth that her daddy was a ladies’ man, that he had most likely been unfaithful to her mother? She doubted it. After all these years, that fact still rankled. Yet he’d never married again, which had always puzzled her. But then, she had never pretended to understand her daddy, and knew that she never would.
“You look nice, my dear,” Cooper said, bridging the short silence.
“Thanks,” Lindsay murmured, looking not at him but out the French doors.
“Are you about to have dinner?”
“Shortly.”
“With Peter?”
Lindsay smothered a sigh. “No. I’m dining alone, actually.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he snapped. “I’m sure Peter would be more than happy to join you.”
Lindsay wanted to lash out and say that Peter was his pet, not hers. But she didn’t. Instead, she told him, “I didn’t feel like company. I’m still suffering the effects of jet lag.”
“I meant what I said last night, Lindsay.”
So much for her good intentions. However, she hadn’t been called her father’s daughter for nothing. She could be—and often was—as stubborn as he was.
“Daddy, I—”
He held up a hand, halting her flow of words. “I know what you’re about to say.”
“Then let me say it.”
Cooper’s lips tightened. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I know, but—”
He interrupted again. “It’s past time you were married.”
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