Because of Audrey

by Mary Sullivan

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  At her puzzled frown, he continued, “For frightening you yesterday. I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. I hadn’t thought you were that kind of person.”

  That shame burned a hot spot in his chest, and he said, “I’m not. I’m under a lot of pressure these days.” He glanced at her and then quickly away. “But that’s no excuse. Sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  He could feel the lovely heat of her full body warming his right arm even though she was a couple of feet away from him. Her face, though? That was pure, innocent. Did she understand what she did to men? Did she get how sexy that contrast was?

  He looked out his window toward the cars streaming past them, counting them, doing anything to distract himself from her as a woman. And God, she was a woman.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Denver.”

  Denver. Exactly where he needed to be today.

  “For the day or overnight?” he asked.

  “Just for a couple of hours. I’m interviewing occupational therapists for my dad.”

  “Dad says Jeff’s got macular degeneration.”

  “Yes. He has trouble doing anything on his own, and I need someone to come in to train him to take care of himself. I’m trying to build up my business. I’m away from the house hours on end every day.”

  Must have been tough to deal with. Gray still had his reservations about paying Jeff a retirement rather than making the man go on disability. He planned to pay Jeff a visit one day soon to determine how severe his vision problem was. No need to share that with Audrey, though. No sense in giving them a warning that he was coming. He needed to know exactly how bad or how good Jeff was. Was the retirement really necessary?

  Audrey was going to be in Denver for only a couple of hours, but that was all he would need to determine whether the woman blackmailing Dad was a fake.

  If he asked to hitch a ride with Audrey, would she ask what he was doing in Denver? Did it matter? He could always lie.

  Despite plotting behind her back to check out her father, he asked, “How would you feel about having company for the drive?”

  “You?” He heard the glint of humor in her voice. She had a beautiful smile that lit up the interior of the car. “I don’t mind, but on one condition.”

  Gray tensed. “What?”

  “No talk about my selling the land. No pressure. No mention of it at all.”

  He glanced at her and noted signs of tension around her mouth and eyes, despite the humor. She had issues, too. Worry about her dad, he guessed. If it was more than that, he didn’t want to know. They were on opposite sides of a business battle, and that precluded any and all intimacy, including simple curiosity about her life. Enough said. He ignored the tension on her face.

  “No talk of selling.” He’d pushed her yesterday. She’d said no. If the blackmailing woman he talked to today was a fake, some of the pressure would be off. He could take his time persuading Audrey to sell for the future benefit of his parents and Turner Lumber.

  “I’m waiting for a tow truck. Are you in a rush?”

  “I have an appointment, but I have a little ti—”

  At that moment, they heard the truck pull up behind them.

  Gray got out to talk to the driver, who popped the Volvo’s hood and looked at the engine.

  He tested the battery and it was fine.

  “Not sure what your problem is,” he said. “Maybe the alternator.”

  “My parents need a newer car.”

  “Hey,” the guy responded. “These things happen to all cars. This one’s in good shape. You should see some of the junk I’ve picked up off the roads. This car’s been cherished.”

  Yes, Gray knew that. His dad took care of his vehicles, and they lasted forever. Too bad it had to break down today, though.

  “Do you want it towed to Denver?” the tow truck driver asked. “My buddy’s got a shop. He does great work.”

  I’ll just bet he does and you get a kickback. The thought was uncharitable—Gray’s frustration working overtime—but probably accurate. The guy was just trying to make a living.

  “No,” Gray replied. “Take it to Accord.” He named the mechanic his dad had used for years and gave directions.

  Audrey moved her car forward so the driver could pull up and hook up the Volvo.

  Gray paid using a credit card, retrieved his briefcase from the Volvo and then folded himself like an accordion into Audrey’s passenger seat.

  “Cripes,” he said, “I need a can opener to get in here.”

  She stared at his body while he climbed in. Even though it was surreptitiously done, Gray caught the admiration. She found him attractive? Well, well. Interesting.

  Would he consider using it against her? You bet. Anything to help his cause.

  He stared around the interior, suspicious. “You said you scrimped and saved to buy that land, and yet you’re driving a Mini. They aren’t cheap. And how can you possibly run a florist shop and greenhouses with something so impractical to drive?”

  “It was one of my few splurges. This, and the vintage Chanel suit.”

  “The one you were wearing yesterday with that ridiculous hat?”

  Audrey laughed. “You have something against pillbox hats?” She sobered. “I didn’t know Dad was having vision problems when I bought this. He hid them for a long time. Had I known, I would have used the money differently.”

  “I imagine, especially given the business you now run.”

  “When I have to make deliveries, I use Dad’s pickup truck.” Her smile dimmed. “It was his pride and joy. It’s got enough chrome on it to sink a ship.”

  Was? “What’s wrong?”

  “With his macular degeneration, he’ll never drive it again.”

  That bad? The sadness throbbing in her voice had Gray looking at Audrey differently. She put on a good front.

  “What are you doing away from the store today? Shouldn’t you be in town drumming up business?”

  “I’m closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. My big days are on the weekend.”

  “Why were you in the shop yesterday when I stopped in?”

  “Just because the store isn’t open doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do.”

  She broke the ensuing silence. “Big business in Denver today?”

  “What do you mean?” There was no way in hell he was telling why he was heading into the city.

  “Are you conducting a big business deal in Denver? Do you need a lot of time?”

  To either find out the blackmailer was lying and rip her to shreds, or determine that she might, might, be telling the truth? “Nope. An hour should be more than plenty.”

  Considering that Gray had broken down more than halfway to Denver, and the drive total was an hour long, they traveled for a good fifteen minutes in silence, because Gray found it hard to concentrate on conversation when Audrey’s scent and heat and sheer feminine presence filled the cramped interior like thick humidity from a summer storm.

  Gray had a fondness for making love in the summer, loved the slip and slide of sweaty bodies during sex.

  For the rest of the drive, he tucked his hands under his thighs and gratefully counted telephone poles to kill the temptation to reach for the curves that would make sweaty summer sex sublime.

  Sex with Audrey would be nuclear. How could he be so sure of that? He just knew. With her sense of drama and his pure lust, between the two of them they could conjure up one hell of a summer storm. Thunder, lightning, a tornado or two. The whole nine yards.

  Once in downtown Denver, he asked to stop at the lab where he needed to get the test kit.

  “I’m sorry to ask, but can you wait?” It was too far to walk fr
om the lab in this industrial and commercial development to the woman’s house. Man, he hated being dependent on people.

  “How long will this take?” she asked.

  “Five minutes.”

  She relaxed. “I have time. Go ahead. I’ll wait and then drive you to your other address.”

  He almost stumbled getting out of the car, to escape those hot images that had driven the temperature in the small vehicle into the stratosphere, despite the air conditioning going full blast.

  In the lab, he bought a DNA test kit, then returned to the car.

  Ten minutes later, Audrey dropped him off in front of a coffee shop. They arranged a pick-up location, then she drove away.

  Paranoid creature that he was, Gray had purposely asked her to leave him a couple of blocks from the woman’s address. He didn’t want anyone from Accord knowing about her, least of all someone who might somehow use it against him in their battle about the land.

  He walked the rest of the way, his outrage growing with each step.

  Even if, if, this woman was for real, she had no right to blackmail his father. She was no better than an opportunist taking advantage of an old man, trying to stir up trouble in a stable, respected family.

  He felt better with each step.

  Action.

  First, he’d take her by surprise by showing up. She wouldn’t expect him. If she expected anyone, it would be Dad, an old man past his prime. Possibly, she thought she could manipulate him. She wouldn’t expect Gray, though.

  Next, if the kid was home, he’d get a good look at him. Photographs lied, could be interpreted wrongly.

  Third, he’d get that DNA test. He was sweating again, the shirt he’d put on fresh this morning already drenched.

  Fourth, he’d find out why she needed so much money. Four hundred thousand dollars. Mom and Dad were well-off and Gray was a successful businessman, but that amount staggered him. Floored him. His pace picked up.

  And last, he had to figure out the worst-case scenario. What if she did take her photos and birth certificate to the papers? Who outside of Accord would care? Mom and Dad had often attended fund-raisers in Denver and had been part of an active community. Were they still? How many of their peers were still alive? Would it matter if this got out?

  This morning, Mom had been so excited about the latest book she’d bought about Jackie Kennedy. She’d sat in the living room in her gracious and graceful glory with her cup of tea, a civilized woman who’d raised a civilized son. But, at this moment, he wanted to do serious damage to a woman who threatened his family.

  When it came right down to it, what people thought didn’t matter, neither those in Accord, nor Mom and Dad’s acquaintances in Denver. What mattered was Mom and what this would do to her.

  If it were true.

  He stopped in front of an old, run-down house, breathless because he’d been practically running in his need to settle this.

  Gray double-checked the address on the slip of paper on which he’d jotted it. Yep, right place.

  A rusty bike lay on its side on the front lawn, but otherwise, the house was tidy, the grass trimmed.

  Everything needed a coat of paint, but both the walkway and the veranda had been swept recently.

  Acid churned in Gray’s belly. He knocked on the front door. Despite his resolve to get rid of this woman and the anger that ate at him, his pulse beat erratically in his throat.

  What if it was true? What if he was about to meet his sibling?

  A moment later, a young boy stood in the open doorway and Gray’s breath caught. The photo hadn’t lied, had been an accurate portrayal of the towheaded boy in front of him, a miniature version of Gray himself.

  No, no, no. He did not want this to be true, hated that Dad could have betrayed Mom.

  “How old are you?” he blurted.

  “Nine. Who are you?”

  “Tell your mother Grayson Turner is here.”

  A woman entered the hallway behind the boy and stared at Gray, eyes wide and filled with a certain amount of fear.

  Good. She should be afraid. Even if she was Dad’s daughter, blackmail was evil.

  In her mid-thirties, she could be pretty with the right haircut and good clothes. She’d pulled her blond hair into a ponytail, and though trim in a white T-shirt and faded jeans, she looked tired. Gray wasn’t sure what he’d expected—maybe trailer trash. He’d always loathed the term, had thought it unduly harsh, but he’d been so rattled and angered by Shelly’s attempt at blackmail he’d used it in his mind as an invective when thinking of her.

  “I expected someone older.” Her voice trembled. “I’m Shelly Harper. Are you his son? I didn’t think anyone would come here.”

  “May I come in?” If his tone was cold, hard, too bad. This woman had the power to ruin his family. And, yeah, she could be his sister. There was an unsettling family resemblance in the cut of her cheekbones, in the lips and strong chin.

  She nudged the boy to go down the hallway and stepped aside for Gray to enter. The boy looked between the two of them, sensed the aggression in Gray and shook his head. His little lips thinned. “I’m staying with you, Mom.”

  Kid had balls.

  The smile his mother gave him, though tremulous, was sweet. “No, Sam. I’m fine. I need you to go to the kitchen and make peanut butter sandwiches. Take care of Tiffany and eat your lunch. Can you do that for me?”

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “Yes. I need to talk to Mr. Turner alone.”

  Sam glared at Gray before he turned to leave, a very grown-up warning in his childish eyes. Don’t hurt my mom.

  Gray had to admire the boy’s defiance, but he would destroy the kid’s mother if he had to.

  The woman stared at Gray, her face alive with curiosity, but also hunger. Why? It didn’t look like greed—more like need.

  “You do know that blackmail is illegal?” he asked. “A federal offense?”

  Her eyes looked haunted. “I know,” she whispered. “Come into the living room. Please. We need to talk.”

  She went through a doorway and Gray followed.

  A sound, a near moan, caught his attention. Propped among pillows on the sofa, his body twisting forward on itself, his head leaning to one side, a boy stared out through the front window.

  Shelly adjusted the pillows to support him better. The boy turned and smiled at Gray.

  “This is my son Joe,” she said.

  Gray didn’t know how to ask the question without being rude. “Is he...?” Mentally whole?

  Shelly guessed his concern. “He’s completely cognizant. Very aware. It’s just his body that doesn’t work the way it should.”

  Gray flushed. It must be a common question, but he was ashamed he’d almost asked it anyway.

  “He needs a wheelchair to prevent a spinal curvature that would interfere with his breathing,” Shelly said quietly, and he could tell that the effort it took to admit to her needs, to her own failure to provide as a parent, cost her in pride. If pride were a currency, this woman’s bank account was overdrawn. “He needs support for his scoliosis.”

  A high-pitched squeal erupted from the kitchen, and then the patter of tiny feet sounded down the hallway. A whirlwind of blond, pink outrage burst into the room.

  “Mommy, Sammy won’t let me have juice.” A tiny girl flew against her mother. Shelly picked her up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Gray wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a prettier little girl. He guessed she was about four years old.

  Like the toys scattered about the room, her sundress was old, most likely bought used, but it was clean and ironed. Her feet were bare.

  “You can have juice only once a day, sweetie. You know that.”

  “Want some more.” The girl hiccupped.

  “
I know.” A flash of pain crossed Shelly’s face. “Have water instead. Tomorrow morning you can have more juice.”

  The kid could only have juice once a day? Maybe Shelly was afraid of cavities. A woman without money wouldn’t be able to afford dental bills.

  “Hey, midget,” Sam called from the kitchen. “We don’t have the money. Get back here and eat your sandwich. I poured you some water.”

  When Shelly set her daughter onto her feet on the floor, she didn’t meet his eyes. Ah. The issue was money, but not about future dental bills. They couldn’t afford juice more than once a day.

  Gray thought back to his own childhood, when anything and everything had been available to him. The thought of restricting a child’s intake, not because it was bad for them or because it might rot their teeth, but only because you couldn’t afford to give them more, horrified Gray.

  Was Shelly even able to provide real juice? Or was it colored sugar water?

  No wonder the woman was all out of pride.

  It made Gray’s heart melt, just a little, to see such need.

  “Can you smile for Mommy?” Shelly asked.

  “’Kay.” The girl did.

  Gray stared around the living room. She had needs. Desperate needs.

  So what? Why should it matter to him? She wasn’t his responsibility.

  “Go eat your sandwich.” Shelly turned the child in the direction of the hallway.

  The girl started to leave the room, but noticed Gray for the first time and stopped, her tiny mouth open.

  She might be his niece, this tiny piece of extraordinary delicacy and beauty. She had his gray eyes. They might be related.

  She opened one little fist and, with her other hand, picked out a piece of a crumbled saltine and handed it to him.

  He hesitated, but she said, “You can have some.”

  He took it from her, and she smiled and, in that moment, Gray lost his heart.

  “Eat,” she said.

  Gray put it into his mouth, but he was awash in nerves, and his mouth was so dry he had trouble swallowing the bit of cracker.