“Should I pull around by the garages?” Maggie asked.
“Just take the circle and stop at the front door.” At least he wouldn’t have far to hobble.
“O-kay,” she said doubtfully, taking a breath.
The front door swung open before the Ford had even rolled to a stop. His mother was smiling and crying and putting her hands to her mouth. She was dressed as elegantly as usual in wine-colored knit slacks, matching cardigan, gold earrings, and thick gold bangles on her arms.
“I told you, Brian,” she said to his father, who appeared, glowering, over her shoulder. “I told you it would be today.”
Tris opened the door and grabbed his crutch. Best swallow his pride and let them see just how unprodigal he was. He eased himself down so he wouldn’t betray how much pain he was in after ten hours in a truck. Still, his mother gasped.
“Tristram!” She hurried forward. “Oh, I knew something had happened.” She touched his good shoulder, and then ran her fingers lightly over his sling. “You just come right in and I’ll.…”
“Mother,” he said sharply to prevent her revealing too much. “We have a guest.” He nodded to where Maggie was getting out on the far side of the truck cab.
His mother glanced at Maggie and suddenly went still. Uh-oh. Matchmaking? Or just horrified at the jeans and the boots? Or maybe at the bruise that still colored Maggie’s cheek. He and Maggie made quite a pair, with his scabs and sling and cast.
Maggie came around the hood, looking a little like she was putting a toe into a snake pit. The corner of Tris’s mouth wouldn’t behave. Not afraid of wild horses and bulls, but the Tremaines were apparently another story. She had her hat gripped in her hands like it was a lifesaver in high seas. “Maggie O’Brian, meet my mother, Brina Tremaine. Maggie saved my life and gave me a ride down here from Reno, Mother.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tremaine.” Maggie kept her distance, but managed a polite, if shy, nod of her head.
“Saved your life?” his mother asked, horrified. “I knew you were in trouble.” Then her gaze found Maggie again, her blue eyes intent and examining. Tris didn’t like that look.
Maggie radiated discomfort. “Just got him to a hospital. Doctors did the saving.”
“What kind of an accident?” His father’s tone brought Tris’s attention back to the doorway. Kemble came up behind his father. Amazing how much alike they looked. The king and the fucking heir apparent to the Tremaine kingdom. He’d bet they assumed he’d been driving drunk. Many times they’d have been right. Why deny this particular one?
“Probably just what you think,” Tris said, his voice flat.
“Actually,” Maggie said, “a semi clipped him head-on. Didn’t even stop.” Her clear voice seemed to cut the tension. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
“Yes,” his mother said. But she was still examining Maggie. “He’s very lucky. You look hurt as well. Did that happen while you were helping my son?”
Maggie blushed. “No. That ... that was later.”
“I’m sure we can take care of that.” She glanced to Tris. His mother could take care of it. of that he was sure.
“Did you report the incident to the police?” Kemble asked sharply.
“I did,” Maggie said. “He was in no condition.”
“Did they find the driver?” his father asked.
“No,” Tris replied. His father frowned. He’d blame Tris for that. Too drunk to give a description. Tris could practically hear his father’s mind working.
Maggie stepped in. “With the shock of it all, I didn’t get the plate number, and his doctor said the concussion gave him amnesia.”
“So you were actually there when it happened.” There was a gleam Tris didn’t like in his mother’s eyes. “Oh, you must come in and tell us all about it.” She approached like Maggie was a wild bird or something, slowly reaching out to take her arm. Maggie did look ready to run.
“I … I should be getting over to Anaheim Hills, ma’am. I’m due to drop my horses at Camp Atchatawanee, and it’s getting on toward five.”
His mother had gathered Maggie in and was leading her toward the door. “Nonsense. You must have been driving all day. It’ll be hours over there now, what with rush hour. They’ll all be gone, I’m sure, by the time you could get there.”
Maggie chewed her lip. Tris could see his mother’s noose tightening. He wasn’t sorry. Maggie was game, though. “I’m sure they’ve got a caretaker on the premises, so I can unload. I know a motel over by the camp, ma’am. I’ll overnight there after I drop them. .”
His mother smiled. “A motel? Of course not. You’ll spend the night with us.” No one could resist that smile. The woman counted on that.
“My … my horses can’t stand in the trailer overnight.” Maggie was pulling back a little. She didn’t know she was trying to argue with a force of nature.
“What do we have that big stable for?” his father asked, lending his force of personality to his wife’s. Maggie was a goner now. “It only has two occupants. Plenty of room.”
“You can come back out in just a minute and turn them out in the ring. I’ll bet they’d like to kick up their heels a little,” his mother soothed.
“I … I couldn’t impose on you all, ma’am.”
“Call me Brina, dear. Of course you could. With seven children and their assorted friends staying at the house, one more won’t matter.”
His father laughed. “Resistance is futile, Miss O’Brian. Brina’s made up her mind.”
Maggie looked nothing short of dazed.
His mother turned to Kemble. “Kemble, call the camp. Tell them the horses will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Will do,” Kemble said, frowning. But he didn’t look like he was in a hurry.
His mother raised her brows. Kemble disappeared.
Tris was relieved. He’d see Maggie at dinner. Maybe the kids would talk her into a game of croquet or cards, if they hadn’t grown ashamed of liking such things. He could watch her. He liked watching Maggie, even if that was all he could do.
At that moment, Tris heard a shriek behind him. “Tristram!”
He half turned. Tammy had shot up in the last year. But her flaming red mane was no tidier, and she must have spent the summer out in the sun because her freckles had multiplied. He held out a hand in warning, before she threw herself on him. “Whoa, girl.”
She screeched to a halt like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons. “You’re hurt!”
“Little stove up is all.”
“I knew you’d come. You never got a chance to see Cally, and how well he’s coming along.” Her mouth rearranged itself from glee at seeing her older brother into a pout. “And you left without keeping your promise to watch me jump him.”
Tris saw again Tammy’s face in the rearview mirror as he drove out in violation of his promise. “Sorry about that, kid.” He glanced to his father. The argument they’d had that afternoon had pushed Tris over the edge. He wasn’t proud of disappointing Tammy, but it had been bound to happen sooner or later. His father must be remembering too. Was that pain in his eyes? Not likely.
“Well, he’s way better now. We’re jumping three feet. So you better not leave again until....” Tammy peered around Tris at Maggie. “Who’s this?”
“Maggie O’Brian,” his mother said. “She’s staying the night. Maggie, my youngest, Tamsen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Tamsen.”
“Pul-eese. Call me Tammy. Everybody does, except the Parents.” Tammy glanced to the trailer. “Are these your horses?” She peered inside and gasped. “Mustangs?”
“Yup. Rescues.”
“Oh … my … God. That’s so cool! Are they still wild? We can put them in the in-and-outs.” She was talking a blue streak as she took Maggie’s other arm.
“What’s up?” Drew came up from the path around to the pool. Her long black hair was wet from her swim. She wore a sleek red bikini covered by some sort of semi-transparent serape-looking th
ing with flowers. Jane was with her, as always, her modest one-piece suit a kind of brownish color, two shades darker than her hair. The girls had been best friends since they were children, though Tris was never sure why. Jane was as self-effacing as his sister was flamboyant. Even now, she hung back, in the shadows of the huge fern by the door.
“Tristram’s home,” his mother called over her shoulder. “And this very nice young lady saved his life and brought him all the way from ... where did you come from, my dear? Someplace in Nevada?” Maggie shot Tris a panicked look as she was being swept inside. Tris shrugged. What could you do? His father stepped aside to let them pass. “Brian, can you make sure Tristram gets into his room? I’ll be right there.”
Other voices issued from the foyer. He could hear Kee and Devin. Of course they would be together. They were inseparable, almost like twins.
Drew gave Tris a once-over. “Looks like you did it up right, brother. Better get in and let Mother fix you.” She chucked him under the chin and ducked into the house, Jane trailing after her. Jane was about the only one outside the family who knew about his parents’ powers. She accepted them in her calm way as if being a Healer or an Adapter was a talent like playing the piano. Speaking of which, Tris could hear the intricate strains of some classical piece rising and falling in the background. Lanyon. Tris wished his youngest brother would show up to relieve the tension that stretched between Tris and his father.
Brian Tremaine made no move. Tris felt the accusation in his father’s eyes. His gut churned. “I came,” he said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “That’s all you get.”
“I just wish it had been because you wanted to see your mother, not just because you wanted her to heal you.”
Tris gritted his teeth. Two months in a motel room with Vicodin, Jack D, and delivery pizza wasn’t looking bad about now. “You really think that little of me.”
The expression that flashed across his father’s face was ... regret? Not likely. “What I think doesn’t matter,” his father said, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you’re not dead.” He looked pained and cleared his throat again. “We’ve had more than enough shocks here lately.” He looked sad.
Tris waited. He wouldn’t ask.
“Victor was murdered a few days ago.”
Shock wasn’t the word. Victor was almost part of the family. “How?” Tris asked.
“Throat cut in Las Vegas. Police are clueless.” His father frowned, his lips a thin line. “My private resources aren’t having any luck either.”
Tris didn’t know how to respond. He shook his head. Finally he said, “So, you’re glad I’m not dead.”
“I mean I’m glad you came.” This last was mumbled as his father pushed open the door wider for Tris to pass. As Tris hobbled by, his father hesitated, then patted him twice on the back.
What was that all about?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maggie felt as though she was at the center of a twister of Tremaines. She clutched her hat as though the whirlwind might snatch it. It seemed her only point of reference.
“So where did you get the mustangs?” Tammy was asking.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Tremaine waved to a very solemn-looking Japanese man just coming out of middle age, as he emerged from the huge kitchen at the back of the house. He managed to make a sport coat and slacks look like a military uniform. “Mr. Nakamura, can you bring us some refreshments out on the back deck? Miss O’Brian must be in need of sustenance after driving all day, not to mention putting up with my son.”
If Mrs. Tremaine only knew how exhausting sitting next to her delectable son really was. Actually, if she knew what Maggie always seemed to be thinking about her son, Mrs. Tremaine would probably throw her right out on her ear.
Mr. Nakamura nodded crisply. “Of course. And perhaps I can take Miss O’Brian’s hat?”
How did he know her name? And how could she give up her hat? Mr. Nakamura took one look at her face and his own grew, if possible, more impassive. “I could put the hat on the table by the front door, for easy access,” he said carefully.
“Uh....” But how could she refuse? You couldn’t carry a hat around all the time if you were staying the night. She managed to let go of the battered hat with one hand and extend it. Mr. Nakamura took it very gently and disappeared.
“Bring some of those lemon cookies, Mr. Nakamura, please!” Tammy called after him.
“Just what you don’t need, Tammy, a sugar high,” the older sister said, disapproving.
Two more Tremaines came down the stairs, a boy and a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen. “What’s all the fuss?” the girl asked.
“Miss O’Brian, I’d like you to meet my middle daughter, Keelan, and Devin.”
This was the handsomest family Maggie had ever seen. Keelan had hair as shade more chestnut thana most of the other Tremaines, but worn long and hanging in thick waves down her back. And the same light eyes, hers a kind of blue-green. They were all pale with beautiful skin. Maggie didn’t count Tammy’s freckles as a defect. Tammy’s hair was red, but her features were unmistakably Tremaine, her eyes almost turquoise like her mother’s. Only the boy, Devin, was different: tan, blond hair streaked from the sun, and melting brown eyes. He was gangly, but he’d grow to be killer handsome in his own right, just different. He must be the distant cousin the Tremaines took in. Was he an orphan? Mrs. Tremaine hadn’t called him her son, but she had said she had seven children. Maggie’s gaze shifted to the girl in the taupe bathing suit drifting in the shadows under the staircase, just outside the circle of Tremaines. She had plain brown hair and straightforward brown eyes, as well as a decidedly upturned, non-Tremaine nose. Not nearly as beautiful either. She hadn’t said a word so far.
“Nice to meet you, Miss O’Brian,” the two Tremaine newcomers said, almost in unison. The boy had an accent. New Zealand? Aussie? The girl said, “I’m Kee.”
“Call me Maggie.”
“And please, call me Brina,” Mrs. Tremaine said as she swept Maggie through the house.
“Okay,” she murmured. But the thought of being so familiar with the woman who was mistress of this house as to use her first name was horrifying. Her boots on carpets that must have cost more than the mortgage on Elroy’s place was shocking enough. Maggie glanced around and got an impression of understated opulence: hardwood floors, oriental carpets, comfortable, overstuffed furniture, and artwork everywhere. The only art she recognized for sure was a Remington, the bronze statue of the cowboy riding a bronco. She wouldn’t put it past them to have an original cast. Still, the place looked lived in. The rooms were open to each other. She could see Mr. Nakamura moving about in the kitchen. The dining room had a huge old wood table which must seat twelve. A lovely room with a fireplace had newspapers and magazines strewn around and an easel with a half-finished tiny canvas in bright colors. Somebody painted.
The sound of a piano she’d thought was a record stopped in mid-phrase and yet another Tremaine poked his head in, this one a shaggy boy, fifteen maybe? He had devilment in his blue eyes. “Who have we here?” he asked. “Packin’ a six-gun, ma’am?”
“That’s Lanyon, my youngest boy.” Brina waved at him as she ushered Maggie through French doors and out into a large and well-tended garden. “Though I’m ashamed to admit it.”
“Pay no attention to him,” Keelan said. “We don’t.”
The deck was set with upholstered teak furniture weathered to an elegant silver under a pergola covered with bougainvillea. Across a broad lawn, bluffs plunged a hundred feet to a rocky coast that showed a series of coves stretching south. Catalina Island loomed some miles offshore. To the north, the beach cities of Los Angeles ringed the huge bay all the way around to what must be Malibu. Planes hung in midair as they lined up to land at LAX.
This family actually lived here?
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Tremaine gestured to a sofa with big cushions and pillows. They were upholstered in white with green vines.
&nb
sp; “I’d get those dirty, ma’am. I’ll just sit over here.” She moved toward a wooden bench.
“You won’t be able to reach the lemon cookies from over there,” the older sister drawled, “and our dear Tammy will get them all. That would not be good.” She patted a chair next to hers.
“Never mind about the upholstery, my dear,” Mrs. Tremaine said. “I always say a house should look lived in.”
Indeed, the table was strewn with strangely marked cards, and another easel was set up next to a table out in the grass with paints and brushes scattered across it. A game of croquet had apparently been abandoned in mid-stroke. A dartboard hung on the wall of the house. Hummingbirds clustered around several feeders, and some small brown birds were splashing in a birdbath set in a nearby flower bed. The garden did look lived in, just like the house. Maggie sat gingerly in the chair next to where the elegant older sister was draped over a chaise lounge. What was her name again?
As if reading her mind, the girl leaned forward and held out a delicate hand. “Drew,” she said. “We weren’t properly introduced.”
Maggie found her handshake surprisingly firm. “Nice to meet you.”
“This is my friend Jane Butler.” She gestured to the girl in the taupe bathing suit sitting behind her in the most shaded part of the pergola, where some kind of vine grew thick above her.
“Hi,” Jane said. Her voice was soft and kind. She looked like she didn’t belong in such grand surroundings either.
“Hi.”
“You all get acquainted. I’m going to see my son settled.” With that, Mrs. Tremaine sailed back into the house.
All eyes turned to Maggie. She was acutely conscious that her cheekbone sported a purple and blue bruise.
“So, you ride Western?” Tammy asked eagerly.
Relief washed over Maggie. This was a question she was prepared to answer. “Mostly. Sometimes dressage.”
“Dressage?” Tammy squeaked. “Isn’t it kinda boring? I’d rather jump.”
Maggie couldn’t help but smile. “Makes you learn real balance, how to position your horse. Most people who jump don’t bother to learn it. But if you ride dressage between the jumps, you’ll really have an edge.”
01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin Page 14