by Jane Toombs
“Five courses?” Mari said to Russ once they were alone. “I’ll never manage to get through them all. I wonder if the hotel was anything like this when it opened in 1887.”
“Other than necessary restorations, I’d say not much is different. It’s always been a showplace.”
“Isabel must have come to the hotel sometimes. What do you suppose she thought of it?”
Russ shrugged. “Probably she took it for granted—the Grand was just part of the island.”
“It’s so sad she left and never came back to see her father.”
“Joe took a long time to mellow.”
Mari nodded. “Isabel must have been as stubborn as he was. Schisms within families tend to be hard to heal.”
“I know.” The words were out before he realized it. He met her inquiring glance with a wry smile. “My dad wasn’t exactly enthusiastic when I decided to raise horses instead of going into his law firm. He more or less cut me off, like Joe did Isabel. If it hadn’t been for a small inheritance that my grandmother had left me, I’m none too sure I’d have been successful.”
“You seem to be okay with him now, though.”
He could hardly tell her the truth. Taking a deep breath, he said, “We’re getting there.” With relief he greeted the return of the wine waiter with the champagne. Why he and his father had reached a rapprochement was definitely not something he wished to discuss with Mari, especially not during dinner at the Grand Hotel.
Watching Mari’s enthusiasm as she tasted each of the dishes set before her enhanced the meal for Russ.
Despite her prediction about not getting through five courses, she made a valiant try. Unlike Denise, she had no affectations and never appeared bored. Everything interested her. Luckily, even him.
What would happen if he told her why he’d come to Nevada? He closed his eyes momentarily, imagining her scorn. He’d misrepresented himself as truly as that Danny jerk she’d rejected, if in a different way.
By the time they left the hotel, his thoughts had grown so dark he had trouble keeping up an agreeable front.
“It’s such a beautiful night,” she said. “Let’s walk. I can’t believe these long twilights on the island. By now in Nevada, the sun is behind the Sierras and it’s pitch-dark.”
“Do you miss your ranch?” he asked.
She sighed. “Sometimes a lot. I feel like I’m running in place here, accomplishing nothing. If it wasn’t for you—” she smiled up at him, making him feel worse than ever—“I don’t know if I could’ve stayed here this long.”
Though he hadn’t consciously planned to, he found their walk was taking them toward his father’s cottage. Well, why not? When they reached it, he said, “This is where I’m staying. Want to sit on the porch for a while?”
She stopped to examine the house. “I never before realized how attractive Victorian architecture was.”
“There are some horrible examples of it, too.” He led her up the steps to the chairs on the front porch. She chose a wicker settee, but, restlessness gripping him, he lounged against one of the porch pillars instead.
The yellow tomcat from next door came over to greet them, jumping onto the settee beside Mari, who began petting him. “Yours?” she asked.
“He acts like he lives here, but he belongs to the neighbors.”
“Listen to him purr—he’s a sweetheart.”
“You wouldn’t say that if he woke you up at four in the morning caterwauling with other toms over the affections of a female.”
She lifted her head, sniffing. “Do I smell lilacs?”
Welcoming the chance to move, he held out his hand to her, saying, “Backyard.”
Skirting the house, he led her to where lilac bushes nestled around a small gazebo.
“What a glorious scent,” she cried, dropping his hand to break off a bloom. “I love it. And the gazebo is charming.” She climbed the two steps to the octagonal structure. “I have friends in Nevada who have a gazebo in the yard at their ranch. I’ve always wanted one.”
He gazed at her standing in the dimness of twilight, dazed by the perfume of the lilacs and the beauty of Mari framed by the white gazebo. When she held her hands out to him, for an instant he couldn’t move, then in a couple strides he mounted the steps and clasped her hands in his.
“My lilac lady,” her murmured, gazing down at her, knowing he’d remember this moment all his life.
She smiled at him so trustingly that his heart turned over. She wasn’t the impostor; in a different sense, he was, because he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. Russ Simon wasn’t what she thought he was—just a guy interested in her. Interested was putting it mildly, but the undercurrent of “is she or isn’t she the missing heir” flowed continuously, even though he now believed her to be on the island honestly.
Gathering her to him, he covered her mouth with his, doing his best to put all he felt into the kiss.
The touch of Russ’s lips was so gentle and loving that it almost brought tears to Mari’s eyes. He seemed different tonight, but that wasn’t necessarily bad. Maybe their relationship was changing, becoming as intimate emotionally as it was physically.
Love? The thought both intrigued and frightened her. She wasn’t ready, was she?
He deepened the kiss and she flowed against him, intensely, passionately aware of his hard body pressing against her.
A raucous yowl startled them both into pulling apart. The yowl was followed by another, then such furious growling and hissing that Mari realized the arguing toms must be somewhere in the lilac bushes circling the gazebo.
“What’d I tell you?” Russ said. “Your ‘sweetheart’ is showing his other side, like most males do, sooner or later.”
She wondered at the thread of bitterness in his voice.
Taking her arm, he led her, back around the house to the street, and they resumed walking, somewhat to her surprise. Was there some reason he hadn’t invited her into the house?
It took a few minutes to orient herself as to where they were on the island, and when she did, she found they were headed in the direction of the Haskell house. So he was taking her home. Well, that was okay; she’d invite him inside.
“Why do you think your uncle didn’t consult you before sending a letter to Joe?” Russ asked.
Taken aback by the question, which seemed to come out of nowhere, she said, “I suppose because he didn’t want an argument.”
“You would have vetoed the idea?”
“I’m not sure at this point. I think I might have—at least at first. After I thought it over, I don’t know. What he told me altered my entire past from the way I always believed it to be. That’s quite a shock.”
“So you think in the end you would have agreed that the letter be sent.”
Slightly annoyed, she said, “I told you I don’t know. Why do you keep asking?”
“Just curious.”
Okay, but why was he curious? she wondered. Somehow the questions had been a tad off-kilter. Disturbed, she drew into herself. Since he said nothing more, they continued walking in silence.
When they finally reached the Haskell house, she’d changed her mind about inviting him in. Which was just as well since, after seeing her to the door, he brushed his lips over hers with a “See you tomorrow,” and was down the porch steps before she’d closed the door behind her.
Climbing to her room with a heavy heart, Mari tried to sort through the evening. What had gone wrong, and when? His questions on the walk home had been all but confrontational. Why?
In her room, undressing, Mari found an answer. His father. Lou Simon was in New York with Joe Haskell, and he was Haskell’s attorney. It had crossed her mind before that a lawyer might view with suspicion her tentative claim to being Isabel’s daughter, since she had no real proof. That possibility connected with Russ’s father made her wonder for the first time whose side Russ was on. Before this evening she hadn’t really thought about there being two sides where Russ was concer
ned. How naive she’d been!
Hadn’t she asked herself before about the coincidence of Russ showing up in Nevada and then being so conveniently on hand when she reached Mackinac? A pang shot through her chest. Was it coincidence or had he been sent to Nevada, then here, by his father?
The tears didn’t start until she remembered their time in the cupola. How could she have been so wrong about him? After Danny Boy, she knew better than to trust any man, but Russ had somehow got past her defenses. Once her storm of crying abated, though, it occurred to her she might, after all, be misjudging him. Was it fair to condemn him without asking him if what she’d conjured up had any truth to it? Clinging to this fragile hope, she was finally able to sleep.
Even closed windows failed to keep the perfume of the blossoming lilacs out of Russ’s bedroom, the last scent he wanted anywhere near him. It was obvious his questions had antagonized Mari. He realized now that may have been an unconscious decision on his part. If she got angry with him, that pretty well killed the chance of any lovemaking. While he’d urgently wanted to be with her, Russ knew he couldn’t face himself if he didn’t clear things up between them first. Since he’d been unable to make the confession, he might well have used the questions to distance them.
Tomorrow morning, he promised himself. This has gone on long enough. Too long. She deserves to know what I got myself mixed up in.
Russ figured he should notify his father first, and decide to call him before going to see Mari in the morning.
Only then did he fall into a troubled sleep.
In the morning, his father didn’t answer his cell phone. Russ left a message with the answering service for him to call as soon as possible, and took his own cell phone with him before he set out to meet with Mari. When he arrived at Joe’s, Pauline opened the door and told him Mari wasn’t up yet.
“Come and have breakfast while you wait,” she invited. “Diana and I have already had our waffles, but she has plenty of batter ready and waiting. I’ll run up and check on Mari.”
Since he hadn’t yet eaten, he made his way to the kitchen, recalling with anticipation Diana’s peerless waffles. He’d just finished a plateful when his cell phone rang.
“What’s up, Russ?” his father asked from the other end.
Involuntarily, Russ glanced at Diana. She nodded and pushed through the swinging door, leaving him alone in the kitchen.
“It’s a long story,” Russ said.
“So get started.”
Russ did his best.
Mari had been awake when Russ arrived. She’d cracked open her bedroom door and heard Pauline invite him to breakfast. What am I going to say to him? she asked herself. Unsure, she quickly showered and dressed, but when she was done, she still hadn’t made up her mind what to do.
Deciding Diana was probably feeding him breakfast at the kitchen table, considering how welcome he was in this house, Mari chose to go down the back stairs, which led to the kitchen. When she was near the bottom, she saw the door was ajar, and she heard Russ’s voice.
“Listen, Dad,” he was saying, “I did what you asked.”
Mari froze for a moment. Was his father here? She inched down to the last step and peered through the crack. No, Russ was on the phone.
“Of course Mari doesn’t know—why should she? She thinks I’m Mr. Straight Arrow.” Stunned as she was by his words, she hardly noticed the bitterness in Russ’s tone.
Her worst-case scenario about him was true. Blinking back tears, she fled back the way she’d come as quietly as she could. She’d been in her room for only a minute when someone tapped on the door.
“Mari, are you awake?” Pauline called. “I heard your shower running a little while ago.”
Thinking fast, Mari kicked off her shoes and slid under the covers, pulling them up to her chin. “I did take a shower, but it didn’t help this terrible headache I have,” she said, unshed tears roughening her voice. “I’m back in bed and I think I’ll rest till it goes away.”
Pauline opened the door and looked in. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks. I have medicine.”
“I came up to tell you Russ is here.”
“Oh, dear, my head hurts too much to see anyone. Would you please tell him so? Maybe tomorrow.”
Pauline nodded and closed the door. Mari eased from the bed, smoothed the covers back into position and reached for the quilt on the rack near the footboard. Then she stretched out again and pulled the quilt partly over her, suspecting that Diana would be coming by to ask if she could bring her something to eat.
Telling lies was more trouble than being truthful, Mari thought.
Sure enough, a few minutes later Diana knocked at her door and then looked in on her, refusing to be fobbed off with Mari’s, “I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll fix you some milk toast,” the cook insisted. “That’s what my grandmother always made for us kids when we were sick. And tea. Tea is good for headaches.”
Feeling more guilty by the minute for putting her to extra trouble, Mari stayed where she was until the milk toast and tea arrived on a tray, which Diana set on the bedside table. “Drink the tea while it’s hot,” she said before leaving.
Mari sat up. She really wasn’t hungry; what she’d overheard on the back stairs had taken her appetite away. But she felt obligated to at least try the milk toast, something she’d never even heard of. It turned out to be buttered and sugared toast with hot milk poured over it. Though mushy, it tasted much better than it looked.
After finishing the tea as well, Mari tried to think what to do next. All she really wanted was to be back at the Crowely Ranch. She missed her uncle and Willa, too. How she longed to talk to them. The nearest phone, she knew, was in the upstairs sitting room.
Her watch told her it was nine, which meant it was only six o’clock in Nevada. She hated to call before seven there. Since she was supposed to be suffering with a headache, she could hardly go downstairs to pass the time, so she was stuck up here for an hour. When her room began to feel like a cell, Mari padded down the hall to the sitting room, where she opened the French doors to the balcony. The fresh morning breeze carried the scent of lilacs, making her sigh. Would she ever be able to smell them again without thinking of Russ?
Sitting in a chair, she picked up a magazine and leafed through it without being able to concentrate on what she saw, much less read. By six-thirty Nevada time, she couldn’t stand to wait any longer and lifted the phone.
“Crowleys’,” Willa’s familiar voice said.
“Thank heaven you’re there,” Mari blurted.
“Came over early to fix Stan breakfast, seeing as how they called him last night to come help out at the casino today. The bartender wound up in jail.”
Mari heard the words without them quite registering. “Oh, Willa, I’m so miserable,” she cried.
“Find out you ain’t a Haskell?”
“No, not that, it’s Russ Simon. He’s been spying on me for his father, and all the time I thought he—well, liked me.”
“Whoa there. Russ is the young man who bought Lucy, right? What’s he doing on that island you went to? And what’s this about his father?”
Mari told her the story, leaving out only what had happened in the cupola and on the boat. “He—he betrayed me,” she wailed. “I want to come home.”
“What’s stopping you?” Willa asked.
Nothing was, Mari decided. Nothing at all.
“I’ll get a flight to Reno as soon as I can,” she told Willa.
Russ went home to change to work clothes, then headed for the stables, planning to spend the day with his Blues. He felt let down after his hardwon decision to tell Mari the truth, only to be balked because she wasn’t feeling well. His father hadn’t been happy with the news, but had finally accepted Russ’s decision, saying it really didn’t make any difference in the long run.
Russ hadn’t bothered to try to make his dad understand just
how much difference it made to him to stop living a lie. Mari deserved the truth, even if she never wanted to see him again after he told her.
He’d call around noon to see if she felt better. If he couldn’t talk to her, he’d give Pauline the message he’d forgotten to leave earlier. His father had told him a lab technician would arrive on the island today to take samples from Mari. Bad timing, if Mari didn’t feel well, but Russ knew she wanted to get it over with. Damned if he, like her, wouldn’t be glad when everything was settled.
He smiled wryly, hoping the results would surprise the hell out of his mistrustful father.
Chapter Ten
Mari had no sooner finished her call to the island airport when she heard the doorbell ring. Russ? Even though she hoped not, her heart leaped. Moments later there were footsteps on the stairs.
Figuring it must be Pauline, Mari stepped out of the sitting room. “Are you looking for me?” she asked.
“A laboratory technician is here with orders from Mr. Haskell,” Pauline told her.
Mari had forgotten all about the testing. “I’ll slip on my shoes and be right down,” she said.
“Are you sure you feel all right?”
Mari nodded. “The medicine helped.” She was beginning to believe she’d told more lies today than in her entire life to date.
Pauline had showed the technician, a fortyish woman, into Mr. Haskell’s study. Once Mari entered and introduced herself, the woman nodded, saying, “I’m Betty. What I’m here to do will only take a few minutes. Have you been told about the tests?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re here.” At last Mari was able to say something truthful. She desperately wanted it all to be over and done with, no matter what the outcome.
After she signed some papers agreeing to have the blood drawn and the DNA sample taken, Betty had her sit with her arm on the desk. Once the tourniquet was in place, Mari looked away, not caring to watch the needle go in or her blood drawn into the tube. Betty was so skillful that Mari scarcely felt the needle. Taking the DNA sample wasn’t painful, either, and the entire process lasted no more than ten minutes.