Sugar Baby
Sugar Baby
Karen Young
Women Who Dare"Karen Young is a spellbinding storyteller…" – Romantic TimesShe could lose her son, after all.Little Danny Woodson witnessed a murder, and now the killer is after him. Claire Woodson will do anything to protect her son. Even if it means living with the enemy. And Mack McMollere, Danny's uncle, is the enemy. The wealthy Louisiana sugar baron is fighting Claire for custody of the boy.Mack–and the powerful McMollere family–swear they can keep Danny safe. But now there's new danger. Danny is fitting in too well with his late father's family. And when she's with Mack, Claire's finding it all too easy to forget that the McMolleres want her son….Exciting and emotional–a compelling new novel from RITA Award winner Karen young, author of The O'Connors trilogy and Having His Baby.Women Who Dare
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u28313231-9397-55d1-a4ac-e4cbd7ac90f1)
Excerpt (#u7dea2fbd-d3e8-53af-b882-600b4ac67ea6)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u8b18c084-8d67-5859-bd25-c2ef22ae0338)
Title Page (#u7847171b-a4e1-57cd-bd99-8e622ffc4d21)
Dedication (#u6f84392a-3ec9-5d89-a577-1063c50ae5ba)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue7d92d6e-1c6a-5847-a25a-2e09898de8a5)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc66fb887-43ae-53a4-aa46-e9c6b603629a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u08228356-a5ae-5d4e-b916-214a32650be8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud4e828d7-4fba-5aa9-8d94-aa3cc426a60b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You planned to steal my son!”
Before Mack could respond, Claire continued. “Don’t deny that the purpose of your lawyer’s visit was to get me to agree to have Danny’s name changed to McMollere. The man rattled on and on about the wonderful heritage Danny has here at Sugarland, about how as Carter’s son, it’s rightfully his. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and presto! Danny’s a McMollere and everything’s just peachy keen.”
Mack was shaking his head long before she finished. But she paid no attention to him.
“I’ll be out of here just as soon as possible. And I’ll be taking my son with me. My son, Daniel Woodson.”
Mack took a deep breath, obviously coming to a decision. “The problem with Danny’s name was going to resolve itself,” he said. “At least, that’s what I was hoping.”
“How?”
“I was thinking that you’d change Danny’s name to McMollere—if that was your name, too.”
Claire’s heart was suddenly in her throat
“I’m talking…marriage, Claire.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RITA Award winner Karen Young needs no introduction to Superromance readers. This talented author has published eleven books for the line. Sugar Baby is set in Louisiana, where, until very recently, Karen and her husband lived. The couple has now moved to Jackson, Mississippi, which means Karen—a native Mississippian—has come home. An added bonus is that they’re close to their daughter and her family, including three grandchildren.
Be sure to watch for upcoming tides by Karen Young. This Christmas she appears in Harlequin’s Christmas anthology (Merry Christmas, Baby!) with a short story entitled “It Takes a Miracle.” Then, early in 1998, her first mainstream novel will be published under the MIRA imprint
Sugar Baby
Karen Young
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the Ladies of the Club—the Thilbodaux Literary Guild.
Thanks for the memories.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_118c2f37-8fd5-5d79-ae49-d825953dd2ec)
“POLICE…FREEZE! FREEZE!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
“Officer down! We need backup!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
With her face buried in a hand towel, Claire Woodson froze. Oh, great! Just what she needed. Danny was channel surfing with the remote again. Thanks to the hotel’s free premium channels, she could just imagine what he was watching. Muttering a word she never got to say out loud, she balled up the towel and tossed it in the sink, then with blood in her eye, she marched out of the bathroom.
Her five-year-old son sat cross-legged in front of the TV, his nose no more than a foot from the screen. “Oh, boy, shoot ’im, shoot ’im.”
“Danny! What are you watching?”
His eyes were glued to a scene in which a man lay covered in blood, his body in a grotesque sprawl. “This guy just killed a policeman, Mommy. Bullets were everywhere! It was neat!”
Claire marched over and took the remote. “It isn’t neat to kill policemen, Danny.”
“But he was really bad!”
“That was make-believe. In real life, policemen are here to help us.” She began flicking through the channels. “You know you’re not supposed to watch adult channels. Look, here’s something good.” She stopped at a cartoon.
Danny crossed his small arms and poked out his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna watch dumb ol’ cartoons. Why won’t you let me see anything I like? Ryan gets to watch whatever he wants on TV.”
“Too bad. I don’t happen to agree with Ryan’s parents.”
“I wanna go home! I don’t like it here.” Scrambling up from the floor, he stomped across the room to the French doors.
Join the club.
With a sigh, she let him go out. Their room had a balcony overlooking a courtyard. He could hardly get into mischief from the third floor.
She sank onto the bed and willed away the start of a headache. She was here in LaRue and she would make the best of it. Hadn’t she been making the best of things for about six years? This situation wouldn’t be any different.
Rubbing her temple, she gazed around the room. At any other time, she might have enjoyed the place John McMollere had recommended.
Complete with slowly revolving ceiling fans and patrons in rumpled suits and Panama hats, the White Hotel was like something out of a Hemingway novel. Built in the days of Louisiana’s rice and sugarcane barons, it was garishly grandiose. But just as those were bygone days, the hotel was past its heyday.
Not that any of this mattered. Claire was in no mood to appreciate decor. Her thoughts were on the upcoming meeting with her son’s grandparents, the McMolleres. Because of their power and arrogance, they’d won this round, but she was determined they weren’t going to win the war.
They were not going to take Danny away from her.
She glanced at her watch. Three hours before she and Danny had to meet them. Just the thought sent up a flock of butterflies. She touched her stomach, and her troubled gaze strayed to the balcony and Danny. He was usually a happy, good-natured boy, but lately he was picking up on her anxiety. Somehow she was going to have to keep from communicating her distress to him. Closing her eyes, she vowed to do better at keeping her fears to herself.
The telephone rang.
She stared at it, knowing the caller had to be one of the enemy. If not the lawyer, then old Angus McMollere, himself. If not him, then John McMollere, the older son—the one everybody called Mack. He was the one she most hated dealing with. Not that she’d seen him during the negotiations for this visit. They’d communicated only by telephone. Knowing that she was being silly—even childish and cowardly—she allowed the telephone to ring four times before she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Claire Woodson?”
The voice was dark and deep and confident. Not cold, but not friendly either. She recognized it instantly and sighed. John McMollere. Strangely enough, a picture of him flashed vividly in her mind even though she’d only seen him once. Six years ago in Houston on a night that had changed her life forever.
“Claire?” he repeated.
“This is she.”
“John McMollere here.”
“Yes.”
“I expected to hear from you earlier.”
“The appointment is for seven. Has that changed?”
“No. Nothing’s changed. But a woman and a child traveling alone, I thought—”
“Danny and I are used to traveling alone, Mr. McMollere.”
“Mack.”
She murmured something. She wasn’t ready for a chummy relationship with any of them.
He waited a beat. “Satisfied with our hotel?”
“It’s…interesting.”
“How’s Danny?”
Her gaze went to Danny who was leaning over the balcony railing obviously interested in something going on below. “He’s fine. Bored with no one to play with, but he’ll be okay.”
“He’ll like it here at Sugarland. No little kids, of course, but it’s a big place. He can explore to his heart’s delight. His grandparents can’t wait to see him.”
Two days. Only two days and we can go home.
She clutched the receiver. “I need directions to get there.”
“No need. I’ll pick you up.”
“No! I mean…ah, that’s not necessary. I’m—”
“I know it’s not necessary, Claire,” he said patiently. “But you’ve been on the road most of the day. It’s another twenty miles out here with twists and turns you might miss.”
“I can follow directions.”
“I know this whole thing is stressful for you. It’s not exactly easy for us on this end, either.”
“What does that have to do with whether or not I drive myself to Sugarland?” she asked. Even to herself she sounded negative and testy. She heard him draw in a deep breath.
“I think we should all try to make this visit a happy one, Claire. For Danny’s sake.”
She gripped the receiver even tighter. “Where was all this concern for Danny when you people first learned of his existence, Mr. McMollere?” she asked. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I’m here only because a judge ordered it. And we both know he ordered it because of the prestige of the McMolleres. You’ve got what you wanted—a weekend to meet my son. And contrary to what you might think, I will do everything I can to see that nothing upsets Danny. As his parent—his only parent—how could I do otherwise?” Touching her head, she wished for a pill to take away the headache and the weekend. “Maybe that’s the one thing you, your parents and I can agree on,” she ended in a weary tone.
“Then there’s no problem.”
“Fine.” The man sounded as though he agreed with everything she’d said, which was impossible. “Good. So how about those directions?”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“The directions, please.”
There was a moment when she thought he’d argue, but he made a sound—surely not a chuckle?—then began to rattle off a string of instructions which would get her to Sugarland.
Birthplace of Danny’s father.
“Thank you.” she said stiffly.
“See you at seven.”
Quietly she replaced the receiver. Above her, the ceiling fan sliced slowly through the humid air. After a minute, she looked up and sighed.
Are you satisfied, Carter?
SHE’D MET Carter McMollere when she was a student at Louisiana State University after her mother died. It was her second attempt to obtain her degree. An only child of divorced parents, she never knew her father except through her mother’s bitter memories. Shy, imaginative and intelligent, she had studied liberal arts at LSU that first time around, but left before earning her degree to care for her mother who’d become ill. When her mother died, Claire reenrolled and like a bird out of a cage, she wanted to try everything she’d missed.
She’d missed love. Loving. Sharing the singular joy of passion with a special man. She’d fallen eagerly into Carter’s hands. He’d made her feel special for the first time in her life. When she was with him, the long years devoted to caring for her mother seemed part of another lifetime, one she was only too happy to forget. Carter had painted a glowing picture of their future together, and she had happily pictured a life as his wife. He’d been vague about his background. She never knew Sugarland by name. She’d learned later it was one of the few sizable sugarcane operations remaining in southern Louisiana. In her naiveté, Claire had believed every promise Carter made. She’d been heartbroken to learn that he was a married man, and had broken off with him that same night.
It was even worse when she discovered that she was pregnant. Believing Carter had a right to know, she’d phoned to tell him. He’d immediately urged her to get an abortion. Painful as it had been to discover that her lover had a wife, to hear him coolly suggest that she destroy their baby was devastating. Everything in her rejected the idea. She had wept an ocean of tears before finally deciding that Carter wasn’t worth such heartfelt despair. He might casually dismiss the tiny life growing inside her, but she never could. From that moment, the baby was all that mattered. Her baby.
The bond that was forged then with her unborn son had sustained her through all the misery and fear of the months that followed. She’d lost her job as a teacher in a small parochial school when her condition became obvious. She’d been forced to leave her friends and relocate to Houston. Her pregnancy had been a difficult one and she’d gone through it alone. But good can come from bad things and Daniel was a constant source of joy to her. And now, with Carter dead, the McMolleres wanted their only grandson.
They weren’t going to take her son away from her.
“Mommy, Mommy! Come quick.” Danny dashed in from the balcony and grabbed her hand. He began tugging her toward the French doors. “That policeman just killed somebody! Come and see!”
“Danny, don’t be ridiculous!” With only a glance at him, she pulled away and headed for her luggage. That’s what happened when kids were allowed to watch unlimited violence on TV. Their imaginations went wild.
“Mommy, please, this is not radickalous.” He stood before her looking distressed. “Those men were fighting! Honest, they were.”
“What men?” She bent to unzip her cosmetics bag.
“Those men outside,” Danny repeated impatiently. “The policeman had a gun. He shot somebody. I saw it.” He was nodding his head furiously, his eyes round as marbles. “I did, Mommy.”
“Policemen don’t shoot people in a hotel courtyard, Danny.” She found shampoo and body gel and tossed them on the bed. Maybe a cool shower would banish her headache and refresh her. Even though she was meeting the McMolleres under duress, she didn’t want to look frazzled.
Danny caught her hand and tugged on it. “Mommy, please come and look. That man fell on the ground, honest. I bet he’s hurt really bad. I bet he’s bleeding!”
“Not now, Danny. Please.” She drew her hand away, thinking her first task when she got home would be a phone call to Ryan’s parents. Somehow, they would have to keep the children away from the violent TV programs.
“You gotta look, Mommy. What if he comes up here and shoots us, too?”
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Come on, honey. Nobody’s going to shoot anybody.”
“But he did!” Danny insisted in exasperation.
She ruffled his dark hair. “And you saw it?”
He nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Danny, we’re on the third floor.”
“But I could see ‘em good from where I was standin’. The one who got shot had a T-shirt like mine—you know—my Olympics T-shirt. And he had a ponytail.”
“A ponytail?” Claire repeated.
“Yes, like Jason,” Danny replied, referring to the college student who serviced the pool at their condo.
Claire hesitated. Danny seemed so certain. “And where were these people?”
“Way over by the bushes.” He pointed as if she could see from inside the room. “I had to lean real far out.”
She frowned at him. “Not on the balcony railing, I hope.”
“It’s okay, Mommy,” he said confidently. “It has these places you can put your feet. Don’t worry, I was careful.”
Claire marched over to the balcony to see for herself. Her heart dropped. The ornate wrought-iron did indeed have places a small foot could wedge into. Standing there, Danny was raised beyond a safe level. He could have plunged three floors!
She turned and pulled him into her arms. “Danny, you mustn’t ever do such a thing again! The railing is old. It isn’t meant to be climbed on. What if you’d fallen?”
He looked crestfallen. “I wasn’t gonna fall, Mommy,” he muttered. “I was just lookin’ at those men. They were actin’ really bad, just like on TV. They were hollerin’ and all!”
She shook her head helplessly. Obviously she was not going to convince Danny that he’d been imagining things. “You think you saw a policeman shoot somebody?”
He nodded with new life. “I did! Honest!” He caught her hand again and began tugging her along. “Right over there on the path.”
Claire let him lead her to the balcony. She could see a large rubber plant flourishing in the lee between the main wing of the hotel and the covered walkway leading to the pool. It was almost directly beneath their room. To one side was a space obviously designated for housekeeping. The lush vegetation probably obscured the flagstone pathway from ground level, but the view was good from this spot three floors above.
There was nothing there.
“I don’t see anything, honey.”
Beside her, Danny put his foot into the wrought-iron toeholds, ready to climb. “Danny!” She grabbed him and set him firmly back on the floor. “What did I just say?”
“I was gonna show you where.”
“There’s nothing there, Danny. Even if the men were standing where you say they were, I don’t think a gunshot would go unnoticed.”
“Maybe nobody heard it but me.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “How could that be, honey? Guns make a big noise when they’re fired.”
He stared at his feet. “You think I made it up.”
“Well…” With a finger beneath his chin, she tilted his small face up.
“I betcha Ryan would believe me if I told him.”
She sighed. “I believe you think you saw something.” She paused a minute. “What made you say he was a policeman? Was he in uniform?”
“No, but I saw a badge. On his belt. We had some policemen visit us at school and they said not all cops have a uniform, but all cops have a badge.”
To humor him, she asked, “Where did the gun come from if he wasn’t in uniform?”
His face screwed up in thought. “I don’t know. I just saw it when he held it in his hand.”
“What did the other man do?”
“He just fell over.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. That’s when I ran inside to tell you.”
She studied him intently for a minute. “Okay, champ. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to call the desk and ask about this. If something like that actually happened, they would know about it. Okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.” He drew a big breath and went over to the bedside table, planting himself firmly by the phone. Claire sighed again. No getting around it, she was going to have to call.
Two minutes later she hung up feeling chastened. Her questions had been greeted with patient good humor by the desk clerk. A shooting? At the White Hotel? Ha-ha. By LaRue’s finest? No, ma’am, hardly. Somebody was surely having a joke at her expense, she was told. This was just lovely, she decided, kicking off her shoes. For the rest of her stay at the precious White, she would be known as that paranoid woman in three-twelve. Grumbling, she headed into the bathroom. That shower seemed more appealing with each passing minute.
“WHAT CAN WE DO NOW, Mommy?” Danny asked the instant she reappeared. She was somewhat refreshed, but even a cool shower didn’t wash away the Louisiana humidity. Nor did it do much for her headache.
“We can both get dressed, Danny,” she told him, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got to be ready to leave in a little while.”
“If I hurry, can we go down to the place where I saw the guy fall and see if there’s blood?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, absolutely not.”
“Aw, Mommy…”
“Tell you what,” she said. “We have about two hours before it’s time to meet those people for our visit. I saw a Star-Mart as we drove into town. Want to pop in and check out their toy department?” It was blatant bribery, but she would resume being a principled parent later.
LaRue was a small town, but Star-Mart looked as large as any in Houston. Claire cruised the parking lot twice before settling for a space the length of a football field from the entrance. “The exercise is good for me,” she muttered, grabbing Danny’s suspenders before he could dash too far ahead of her. For a second, her irritation faded. With his red suspenders, he looked so cute in khaki shorts and navy polo shirt.
“I need a Power Rangers gun, Mommy!”
“So you can shoot somebody? Not today, buddyboy.”
“Awww.”
At the entrance, they followed behind a young mother with an infant and a little boy who looked about Danny’s age. Danny and the boy sized each other up solemnly. Over their heads, both Claire and the mother smiled.
Inside, Danny scoped out the store with practiced skill, then headed like a homing pigeon for the toys. Behind her, the young mother fastened her infant into the shopping cart while her son darted away in the same direction as Danny. His mother gave an exasperated sound, then laughed as she and Claire again made eye contact.
“We’re headed for toys,” Claire said with a shrug.
“It looks like we are, too,” the woman said, still smiling.
The store was busy. Although school wasn’t scheduled to begin for almost a month, supplies were already fully stocked and kids in LaRue were shopping with the same enthusiasm as those in Houston.
As usual when Danny was faced with an excess of choices, he couldn’t make a decision. He picked up and rejected no less than a dozen items when Claire finally lost patience. With her head throbbing, she glanced at her watch.
“We have to get on the road if we’re going to be on time for our visit to Sugarland. Five minutes,” she told him, ignoring his injured expression. “And then we’re out of here. I mean it, Danny.”
The other boy ran up to Danny. “There’s some neat stuff on the next aisle. I found this!” He held up a weapon that might very well be used by real power rangers in the next century. Danny sent her a pleading look and she nodded. “Go take a look, but don’t wander beyond the next aisle. I’m going to pick out an electronic game. They’re on sale.”
“Okay!”
The games were good for a five-year-old confined in a car for a long, boring trip. Unfortunately, it appeared that every other parent in LaRue had had the same idea. The sale table was a jumble of plastic cases. She started looking, thumbing through the leftovers, aware only vaguely of the kids and parents sifting through the merchandise along with her. A couple of minutes later, the young mother appeared with disposable diapers and a few other articles in her cart.
“Have you seen Jeremy?” she asked anxiously.
“Your little boy?” Claire glanced at the intersection and a display of no less than a hundred Mickey Mouse lunch boxes. “He was just here with Danny.” She walked a few steps and looked into the next aisle. Both boys were gone.
A child screamed suddenly. Her heart plunged to her feet at the sound.
Danny!
And like any mother, her first thought was for her child. For a second, she was frozen as the piercing, shrill shrieks ricocheted through the huge store.
It was Danny!
All the blood drained from her body, leaving her sucked empty of everything except a desperate need to find him. Galvanized by fear, Claire darted frantically into the next aisle. Then the next, pulled along by the sound of his shrieks as surely as if she were connected to him by electric wire.
And then his screams ceased and there was only the murmurings of the crowd, the isolated whimpering of a baby. But no Danny.
He wasn’t anywhere she looked. Suddenly she was in Shoes. People were murmuring, looking concerned, checking for their own young ones. Still no sign of Danny. Somewhere nearby, she heard the young mother calling for Jeremy.
“Danny!” she cried desperately. “Where are you?”
Utterly panicked now, she dashed across the main traffic lane into Electronics and there he was.
“Mommy!” He ran up to her and threw his arms around her, holding on with all his might. She dropped her purse and swept him up. He was trembling. For a minute, she wasn’t sure she could stay upright.
Danny leaned back, looking her in the eye. “It was the bad policeman, Mommy! He tried to get me to go with him, but I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Danny…” She closed her eyes, swallowing the fear that was lodged in her throat.
“I screamed. Just like you tol’ me if a stranger wants to do bad stuff.”
“Yes, yes…” She realized she was rocking back and forth, but his small sturdy body just felt so good right now.
“Is everything all right here, ma’am?” A man touched her elbow and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Oh! What? I—I’m not sure.” She drew a deep breath. “Someone just approached my son.”
“It was the bad policeman,” Danny said eagerly. Now that the danger was past, he was wiggling to get down.
“Policeman?” the man repeated.
What should she do? Could Danny really have witnessed something in the hotel courtyard? Something that was bad enough to force the “policeman” to follow them here.
Oh, God.
“Ma’am? Nobody noticed a policeman.” He wore the familiar Star-Mart name tag and was handing Claire’s purse to her. Then he looked at Danny. “Can you describe him, son?”
Danny took a breath. “He was big! He was pulling me real hard, tryin’ to make me go with him. He had a gun!”
The employee managed to hide the quirk of his mouth. “A gun, you say?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, yes, sir.”
“A gun right here in the store?”
“Are you sure, Danny?” Claire gave him a stern look.
“Not here. I mean he had a gun at the hotel, not here.”
Claire caught his hand and squeezed it meaningfully. “I’m sorry about this, Mr…Taylor?” she said, reading the man’s name tag.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m the assistant manager.”
Assistant manager. She tried to think. Oh, God, she was so scared. “Um, yes. Mr. Taylor, my son says somebody—a man—tried to approach him, but apparently he’s gone now.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Taylor said firmly. “I’ll just call security and—”
“No.”
“Pardon me?”
She managed a weak smile. “We’ve caused enough commotion this afternoon, Mr. Taylor. I’m not sure what happened, but…” She shrugged. “I just realized that we’re late for an appointment. Come on, Danny.”
“But Mommy—”
“Come on, Danny.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Taylor trailed after her. “If something actually did happen, we really should let the police—”
“No, no. It’s okay. It’s fine.”
They were hurrying past the checkouts when somebody called Danny’s name.
“Hey, Jeremy,” Danny said, waving at his new friend. He tugged at Claire’s hand. “It’s Jeremy, Mommy. Now you’ll believe me, ‘cause he was there and he saw that man try to get me!”
She gave Jeremy’s mother a harassed look. “Did Jeremy see what happened?”
The young woman nodded. “He said a man tried to take your little boy out of the store.” She pulled Jeremy a little closer. “I can’t believe something like that happened in full view of dozens of people. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Biting her lip, Claire studied the sidewalks and parking area. She shivered, feeling unseen eyes.
“Have you called the police?” the woman asked.
“No. I—”
“Surely you’re going to report what happened?”
Should she? Or should she take Danny and go while she could? “I’m not sure,” she said.
The woman lifted the infant from the cart carrier. “Look, my husband is an auxiliary policeman. I can call him and—”
And what if he’s a friend of the “bad policeman?” The crazy thought darted through Claire’s mind. Crazy or not, she could not take the chance. “Thanks,” she said, summoning a smile, “but we’re late for an appointment, as it is. I’ll take care of it later.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Nudging her son, the young mother hoisted the baby onto her shoulder and stepped off the curb, heading for her car.
“Where’s our ‘pointment, Mommy?” Danny asked, squinting up at her in the sun.
“At the McMolleres, honey.”
“Is it time?”
“Not quite.”
Claire gazed uneasily at the cars and people milling around in the parking lot. What next? She couldn’t go back to the hotel. Not yet. Not until she knew for certain that he wouldn’t be waiting for them. Whoever he was.
What was she going to do?
“What’s wrong, Mommy? Did you forget where we parked?”
Her gaze went to the car parked at the most distant edge of the lot. It was nearing dinnertime and some of the crowd was clearing out. Walking to her vehicle was a chance she didn’t want to take. What if he was waiting nearby? He knew her car, but she didn’t know his.
She looked around, terror welling up inside her. Her eyes fell on a pair of pay phones just outside the store entrance. She walked over and deposited a coin.
“Whatcha’ doin’, Mommy? Who you callin’?”
“Your uncle Mack, sweetheart.”
Danny’s eyes got big. “Really?”
“Yes. He wanted to drive us to Sugarland. Now’s his chance to do just that.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_52a56b91-ed03-55a4-8bec-4df8dc552219)
EVEN BEFORE Mack pulled into Star-Mart’s crowded parking lot, he was scanning the store entrance for a glimpse of Claire Woodson, but there was no tall redhead with a little boy anywhere he looked. He followed behind a slow-moving Suburban, his thumbs drumming with impatience on the wheel, his blue eyes sharp beneath the brim of his Stetson. Where was she?
He’d hung up after her S.O.S. totally baffled him. Why had she changed her mind? Why did she now want him to pick her up, when not an hour before she’d acted as though riding with him was second only to a touch of ptomaine? He’d been left with the definite feeling he wouldn’t hear from her again until she arrived at Sugarland with Danny. Had he only imagined a hint of panic in her voice?
Pulling the Jeep Cherokee to a stop at the front door, he scrutinized every departing customer, but still no Claire. Hell, he might not even recognize her. It had been five…no, more like six years since he’d seen her and then it had been for only a few minutes. But as much as he’d resisted it all these years, the picture he had of her was pretty clear in his mind. And God knows, he had resisted it.
A small boy darted through the automatic doors and behind him was a woman in a long denim dress. Mack knew her instantly. Six years, and not much had changed, he thought, feeling a little kick in his gut. She was a tad slimmer. And maybe slightly taller than he recalled. Her hairstyle was different, too. Pulled back tight like that, she must be trying to look like a librarian, he decided. But its rich auburn color was exactly as he remembered, as was the disconcertingly candid look of her wide gray eyes as she stared right at him.
There was no warmth in that look.
She hurriedly opened the back door of the Jeep Cherokee before he could get out and hustled the boy inside. Mack beat her to the passenger side only because his legs were six inches longer than hers. Hers, however, were extremely interesting from what he could see when she stepped to get into his Jeep. They were long and shapely. God, yes, he remembered Claire Woodson.
He also remembered what she’d done. She’d wrecked his brother’s marriage. She was heartless and selfish. She had spent the last two years throwing up every obstacle possible to keep Carter’s son from knowing his grandparents.
Beautiful she might be, but he wasn’t going to be taken in the way Carter was.
He waited for her to tuck the tail of her dress inside, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He drove away from the entrance before glancing over at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”
She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she seemed to be studying the people in the parking lot as he drove through. “I recognized you.”
Her interest in the pedestrians puzzled him. “You find something especially interesting about the folks shopping at Star-Mart?”
“What?” She spared him a glance. “Oh, no, not really.”
“You’re looking for someone in particular?”
“Someone, yes,” she murmured, her eyes busy again.
She was acting nothing like he’d expected. Where was the hostility that was so palpable in every telephone encounter they’d had since he had made that initial call over a year ago? Her eyes were darting everywhere. She seemed distracted, even fearful. She was pale. But that might be natural in a redhead.
“What’s this all about, Claire?”
“It’s going to sound like something out of a movie when I tell you…” She turned to see that Danny was safely belted in before settling back herself. She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that Danny and I may have stumbled into a nightmare.”
“If this is about the weekend with my parents, you’re overreacting, Claire. They’re going to do everything they know to make you and Danny feel welcome. They don’t want to alienate you, they just want to get to know Danny. And you.”
She was shaking her head as he finished, rubbing her temples. “It’s not that. At least, right now it’s not that.” She glanced over her shoulder once more. Danny was scrutinizing the town of LaRue with the intensity of any child in a new place. “It’s something a lot worse. Danny thinks he witnessed—” She shook her head. “This is going to sound so crazy!”
“Just say it and let me decide what’s crazy.”
“He was on the balcony of the hotel while I was talking to you on the phone and he claims he saw a man shoot somebody.”
He stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
She dropped her head against the back of the seat wearily. “Don’t I wish.”
“He saw a man get shot?”
“He says he did.”
“Kids say things.” He looked in the back seat where Danny sat with his nose practically pressed against the side window. “He’s an only child. They say lonely kids have big imaginations.”
She was again rubbing her temple. “Being an ‘only’ doesn’t necessarily make him a ‘lonely only.’ And he does have a vivid imagination, but this time I think he actually witnessed what he says he did.”
Mack snorted. “A murder at the White Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“You called security, I assume.”
“I called the front desk after Danny kept insisting that he wasn’t making up the story.”
“And they said?”
“Pretty much what you just said, ‘Murder at the White Hotel? No way, lady.’”
“Nobody believes me,” Danny piped up from the back seat.
“I do now, honey,” Claire said, reaching back and giving his knee a pat. She turned, looking at Mack. “We called you because someone tried to grab him in the store a few minutes ago. We were afraid to get back in the car in case the man was watching us.”
Mack stood on the brakes, swearing, and stopped at the curb with a jerk. He turned in his seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “You’re telling me somebody actually tried to snatch Danny in front of all the customers?”
“That’s right.”
“So where is this guy? What happened to him?”
“No one knows. He just disappeared.”
“If he was ever there.”
“Danny says he was there. He screamed. Everybody in the whole place heard him and—”
“And nobody in the place saw this mean ol’ molester?” Mack said sarcastically.
Claire breathed in deeply. “That’s right, Mr. McMollere.”
“Jeremy saw him,” Danny said, ever helpful.
“Jeremy.” Mack met the boy’s eyes in the mirror.
“My new friend.”
“You’ve already made a friend in LaRue?”
“Uh-huh. At Star-Mart.”
“And he saw the bad guy, too?”
“He sure did!”
“Where were you two when this happened?”
“We were in the Nintendo stuff.”
Mack glanced at Claire. “Without your mom?”
Danny seemed to sense sticky territory ahead. “Jeremy said it was okay,” he said cautiously. “Our moms were just a coupla aisles over.”
“Are you quite finished?” Claire demanded, giving Mack an icy look.
He was shaking his head. “Why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“Danny says the killer is a cop.”
Mack glanced at Danny before bearing down on Claire again. “How could the killer be a cop?” He bumped his hand against his forehead. “How could there even be a killer? The hotel would surely have found a body.” He paused to add, “They did actually take a look, didn’t they?”
“I assume so,” Claire said. “The desk clerk certainly stated in no uncertain terms that there hadn’t been a murder on the premises. Then, before we left, we saw security guards milling around the housekeeping area.”
“Is that where the incident happened?” Mack asked Danny.
“Yes, sir.”
Mack forced himself to ease up. “Are you sure about this, Dan?”
“Yes, sir.” The kid met his gaze with the same candid quality his mother employed. For the first time, Mack allowed himself to study Carter’s son. There wasn’t much resemblance that he could see. Carter’s face had been fuller, his mouth smaller. Carter’s hair had been sort of chestnut. Danny’s face was narrow. And he had black hair, like Mack’s own. And his mouth…it was like his mother’s—full and made for smiling. Although neither of them had favored him with a smile since getting into the Jeep.
No surprise there. He hadn’t exactly been the doting uncle to Carter’s son, nor had he been particularly warm to the boy’s mother. Carter’s former lover.
“So, tell me about the guy who approached you in the store. What did he look like?”
“He was tall!” Danny cried, eager to cooperate.
“He says that every time he’s asked to describe him,” Claire said.
“He was real mean!”
“That, too,” she said dryly.
“He has something funny on his hand.”
Claire’s and Mack’s eyes met. “Like what, a tattoo?” Mack asked.
“No…” He screwed up his face, thinking hard. “You know…like a…”
“Like a scar?” Claire suggested.
“Yeah.” He nodded vigorously.
“You never mentioned that before, Danny,” she said.
“I just ‘membered it. I saw it when he touched me in the store.”
“Can you tell us anything about how the scar looked?”
Danny looked at his mother. “I don’t know, it was like when you hurt yourself and it gets all better.”
“It’s okay, son,” Claire said, giving him a smile. “You’re a good detective, isn’t he, Uncle Mack?”
“You bet. Just one more thing, Danny. Where on his hand was it?”
“Here.” He stuck out his fist, palm down.
“What did he say when he came up to you?”
“He tried to talk me into coming with him. He said we’d go get a treat at McDonald’s, but my mommy always says don’t go anywhere with strangers, so when he started sorta making me walk beside him, that’s when I started yellin’ my head off.” He settled back. “It worked, too.”
Mack smiled. “You did the right thing, hotshot.”
“Ryan’s dad calls him hotshot,” Danny said.
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. Do you have any kids?”
“One,” he said, shooting a quick look in Claire’s direction.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl.”
“Oh.”
He saw more questions in the boy’s eyes and was relieved when Claire spoke.
“Now you know why we didn’t feel safe returning to the hotel.” At his nod, she touched her hair, smoothing a few wisps that had worked free. “What do you suggest now? Should we drive back to Houston tonight or wait until tomorrow? I thought perhaps you could accompany us to the hotel, help us get our things into my car and then follow us onto the interstate for a few miles, perhaps all the way to Beaumont.”
“And then what?”
“Well, we’d be able to tell if we were being followed on the highway, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. And if you were, what would you do?”
“Well, I’ve got a cellular phone.”
“And you’ll whip it out and call 911 to come and rescue you. And while you’re waiting, the bad guy is…where? Doing what?”
She shrugged. “So what do you suggest?”
With a sigh, he rubbed the side of his neck. “This is a hell of a mess.”
“It wasn’t my idea to come here at all, Mr. McMollere,” she said coldly. “And I certainly hadn’t planned on my son’s witnessing a murder.”
“If that’s true,” he said, “then you’ve got exactly one option, the way I see it.”
“I can hardly wait to hear it.” She looked out her side.
“You can’t go back to Houston tonight or tomorrow. If things are as you say, this guy knows you, knows Danny, knows your car. If he’s in law enforcement, he has access to records. Finding you in Houston will be a piece of cake.” Glancing at Danny who was once again taking in the sights from the back passenger window, he lowered his voice. “If this actually happened, you’re both in jeopardy, you and Danny. You won’t be safe until this whole thing is cleared up.”
“Gosh, I feel a hundred percent better.”
He blew out an impatient breath. “Don’t you see what I’m getting at?”
She turned to look at him. “I see that you’re trying to scare the daylights out of me. Why? Do you get a kick out of scaring single moms and five-year-olds?”
“I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his hair. Glancing at Claire, he saw that she’d put a hand on her throat. God, she was a beautiful woman, he thought, watching the beat of her pulse above her fingers. Even with that severe hairstyle and a minimum of makeup, there was no hiding the perfection of her face. He could almost understand why Carter had lost his head over her. Watching her mouth tremble, he reminded himself that she had willingly seduced a married man and selfishly wrecked a marriage without any thought of the hurt it would cause others.
But she was in deep trouble now if the kid had really seen a murder.
“What can I do?” she whispered.
“There’s only one thing to do.” His tone was brisk, businesslike. Be damned if he would fall for that soft, bruised look in her eyes. Reaching for the ignition keys, he started the Jeep. “You’ll have to go to Sugarland.”
“No.”
He could see it on her face. Sugarland was the last place in the world she wanted to go to for protection. “Then you tell me where I can drop you,” he retorted.
When she didn’t—couldn’t—find anything to say, he grunted something rude, rammed the Jeep in gear and took off.
Claire sat silently gazing at the town as John McMollere—equally silent—drove. How ironic, she thought, that the safest place for Carter’s son was in the bosom of his father’s family. The family who had rejected him outright from the moment they had learned of her pregnancy. For Danny’s sake, she would have to put that painful memory behind her.
Suddenly they turned off LaRue’s main street and she gave in to curiosity and stole a look at the man beside her. She wished she hadn’t argued with him. For her, it had been a no-win situation, but her pride had pushed her to challenge the man. He was right, of course. If she had to turn to others to help her protect her son, the McMolleres were surely the logical choice. And John McMollere—Mack—seemed tailor-made for the job. Even though she knew he disapproved of her, there was something about Mack that gave her a feeling of security. Still, she couldn’t just let him call the shots without at least letting him realize she was going along with his plan against her will. He didn’t have to know how relieved she was to have his help.
As they cruised a secondary street, she thought about what she knew about Carter’s older brother. Precious little, she concluded. He was a Vietnam veteran who’d flown helicopters during the war. In fact, it was Mack who’d taught Carter how to fly. She studied his hands on the wheel—hard, work-toughened hands—and then his face. He was less handsome, although his face was a good one, she decided, noting the strong jaw and firm chin. With those sunglasses concealing his eyes—lazerblue if she remembered right—it was hard to tell what he might be thinking, but she’d bet he wasn’t a man to advertise his feelings, anyway. She tried to remember what Carter had told her about his brother, but realized the information was vague in her memory. There’d been grudging admiration, she recalled that, and jealousy. Knowing what she now knew about Carter, she could well imagine that his weaker character had been swallowed up in this man’s quiet strength. He was nothing like Carter. One look at John McMollere and you sensed the difference in the brothers.
If only he wasn’t a McMollere.
A truck lumbered out from a side street forcing Mack to swerve and hit the brakes. He swore, then cast a wry look first back at Danny, then at Claire.
“Sorry, not used to kids,” he muttered, slowing to turn between two brick pillars. Claire said nothing, merely looked around with curiosity. Were they nearing Sugarland? Wasn’t the McMollere homeplace much farther out of town?
“I need to make a stop,” he told her. “My daughter’s here visiting a friend. I have to pick her up.”
Before she could reply, he pulled into a driveway and stopped. The house was all brick, large and luxurious with numerous windows. Off to one side, a magnificent oak tree dripped Spanish moss. Some distance back, along the crape-myrtle-studded driveway, was a detached three-car garage. Two teenage girls stood at the porch railing. Near them, a boy leaned against a square column. Claire judged him to be slightly older than the girls. The kids had obviously been expecting Mack since one of the girls straightened abruptly and started toward the Jeep.
She was there almost before Mack was out. Midteens, Claire guessed. Standard shorts and T-shirt, expensive watch and sandals. This was obviously his daughter. She had the same near-black hair and distinctive blue eyes. Although right now she was too tall, all arms and legs and too thin, one day all those characteristics would be assets and she would be drop-dead beautiful. Claire wondered about his wife. Ex-wife?
“You said you’d be here at five,” the girl said with undisguised hostility. She jerked open the door to climb inside, but Mack stopped her.
“Just a minute, Michelle.”
“What?” She looked straight ahead, her face sullen.
“I told you to stay away from Jake Reynolds. He’s bad news.”
“This is Ann-Marie’s house. I don’t have any control over who comes and goes here.”
“You’ve been here all day. When did Jake get here?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“You know the rules, Michelle.”
She tossed her dark hair. “You have too many rules.”
“I have a right as your father to set boundaries. That’s your problem, Michelle, you’ve never had any rules.”
She turned then, her eyes shooting blue fire. “We’re gonna start in on my mother now? How bad she is? What a loser she is, right?”
He sighed. “This isn’t about your mother, Michelle.” He glanced in the Jeep and caught the expression in Claire’s eyes. “We’ll discuss it later. This isn’t the time or place.”
With a huffing sound, the teenager climbed into the back seat next to Danny. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t bring it up.”
Mack got in behind the wheel, but didn’t start up. He turned to introduce Claire and Danny, but his daughter interrupted him.
“You must be the scarlet woman,” she said, looking at Claire.
“Michelle!” Mack thundered. “Apologize…now!”
Instead of apologizing, Michelle muttered the S-word.
Danny looked intrigued. “Mommy says when you say nasty words it’s only because you can’t think of better ones.”
Michelle gave him a contemptuous look. “You must be Carter’s brat. But now that I look a little closer, you could be Mack’s. You look more like him than Carter and, after all, he’s been loose and fancy-free for twelve years.”
“Michelle, I’m warning you…that’s enough! And don’t call me Mack.”
“You’re definitely a McMollere, though. Don’t worry.”
“Am I going to have to stop this car and gag you?” Mack demanded through his teeth.
“I don’t think I’m a brat,” Danny said, picking up on the only thing he understood in what Michelle had said. “Ryan’s a brat. Everybody says so.”
“Who’s Ryan, your brother?” The girl glanced at Claire. “There’s more where he came from?”
“Excuse me.” Claire spoke quietly, turning in her seat to give the girl a telling look. “None of this conversation is appropriate. If you have any other observations along these lines, please save them for a time when Danny isn’t present.”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” Mack said with a scowl. “We’re waiting for an apology, Michelle.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”
“What are you trying to do?” Mack said. “Embarrass both of us in front of these people?”
“You’re half right…Daddy.” She said this last with scorn.
“Meaning you only want to embarrass me.” For a long moment, he simply looked at his daughter. Claire sensed his anger and frustration. His bewilderment. She wondered what had caused so much hostility between father and daughter. Mack turned to Claire. “Sorry about this. You’ve guessed that this is my daughter, Michelle. I apologize for her manners. I wish I could say that it won’t happen again, but since you work in the library at a high school you know that no one can predict the behavior of a teenager.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
“I can do my own apologizing, thanks,” Michelle said.
He took off his sunglasses and with his thumb and forefinger rubbed his eyes wearily. Behind him, his daughter sat staring stonily out the window. The silence in the Jeep stretched uncomfortably.
Danny had watched and listened with fascination. His eyes were big now as he looked at Michelle. “You’re in trouble.”
His whisper carried easily to the adults in the front seat. Their eyes met. And for a second, Claire almost forgot where she was. Who he was. They were simply two single parents, each struggling with the problems of trying to rear children.
He leaned forward then and started the car and the spell was broken.
WHEN THEY TURNED OFF the highway about twenty minutes later, Mack told her that they were on McMollere land—over two thousand acres of flat, treeless bottomland planted exclusively in sugarcane. Fields and more fields of the green plants had reached a height exceeding eight feet in the August sun. The crop was nearing maturity, he explained. Then in the fall, in a flurry of activity, it would be cut, the strappy growth burned off, loaded on large trucks and hauled to the processing plants. Also owned by the McMolleres.
“What are those things?” Danny asked, pointing to mechanical beasts moving slowly up and down in various spots throughout the fields, like pecking birds.
“Oil pumps,” Mack explained. “There’s oil beneath the surface of the cane fields.”
“That’s how you get it out of the ground?” Danny was spellbound.
“That’s right, hotshot.”
Oil wells and sugarcane. Black and white gold. Claire sat stunned, taking it all in. The McMolleres’ wealth was more extensive than she’d realized. As was their power. She fought the fear rising in her chest.
“Is it okay to call you Uncle Mack?” Danny asked suddenly.
“That sounds fine to me,” Mack said, ignoring the snicker from Michelle.
“Did you like my dad? He was Carter McMollere.”
Claire met Mack’s startled glance. Why was he so surprised? she wondered. Did he expect her to bring Danny to meet Carter’s family and not explain to the child just who Carter McMollere was? Did they think Danny had reached age five without asking who his father was and why that man wasn’t a part of their lives?
“Yes, I liked him. He was my brother,” Mack said.
“Did you play with him?”
Enough, thought Claire. “Danny, let’s save this conversation for later, okay?”
“When, Mommy?”
“Just later, sweetie.” To her relief, Mack turned the car into a narrow lane. Finally.
Michelle had the door open almost before the Jeep stopped. “Well, here it is, kid,” she said, giving Danny a hand as he scrambled out after her. “Your heritage. Take a look.”
“What’s a heritage?” Danny asked, squinting in the sun at the imposing residence.
“Ask your mommy,” Michelle said, throwing a hostile look in Claire’s direction. “I’ll bet she has the answer to that one.”
“Michelle. Go to your room.” Mack’s expression was fierce. The girl shrugged and turned, heading for the front door.
Claire was used to teenage behavior. Before she took the job as a librarian, Claire had been an English teacher and had experienced her share of impudence and sheer bad manners from teenagers. She had found that such behavior often came from a deep well of hurt in a child. What, she wondered, was causing this girl such pain?
But there was no time to ponder the problem. As Michelle entered the house, two people came out. Claire reached for Danny, pulling him protectively against her, then turned to face Angus and Wyona McMollere, her son’s grandparents.
Later she realized that Mack was the force that had eased those first awkward moments. He had introduced his mother first. Wyona McMollere was tiny, no more than five feet tall. Her skin was fair and unlined, her hair delicately blond. Her hand trembled as she touched Danny’s hair, then his cheek. Claire guessed the woman to be about sixty, but her vague and distracted manner made her seem older.
“Mama, meet Claire Woodson,” Mack said. “Claire, my mother, Wyona.”
“Hello, Mrs. McMollere.”
The woman extended her hand. “How do you do?” she said, obviously striving to be polite. “I thought you would be younger.”
“Because I was a student when I met Carter?” Claire asked.
“Well, yes.”
“My mother was ill, so I had to delay getting my degree,” Claire explained, guessing from the woman’s surprised expression that she hadn’t expected Claire to have enough character to care for a sick mother. “I’m thirty-four.”
“Claire, this is Danny’s grandfather, Angus McMollere,” Mack said. “Dad, Claire Woodson.”
She recalled that Angus had suffered a stroke right after Carter’s death. Age and illness had apparently taken a toll, because the stern and uncompromising tyrant that Carter had described hardly fit the slightly stooped, fragile-looking man before her. But his eyes— so like Mack’s and Danny’s—were still fiercely blue.
She shook his hand. “Mr. McMollere.”
“Well, the boy certainly has the best of both of you,” he declared, studying Danny’s face.
“You mean, Carter and me?” Claire smiled coolly. “Is that a compliment?”
“My grandson’s a good-looking boy,” the old man blustered.
She gave Danny’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I think so, too.”
“Michelle thinks he looks like me.” Everybody stared at Mack in surprise.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said, finding her voice first.
“That was a joke, Mama.”
Claire felt a hand beneath her elbow and realized it belonged to Mack. She had a wild impulse to turn around and run from these people who represented anything but safety to her and Danny. But Mack was urging her across the threshold, and she had no choice but to keep going. Behind her, the door closed.
“Welcome to Sugarland,” he said.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_405becdb-a328-5c73-be8c-4f6d0284d9b8)
WYONA LED everyone through the house to a bright sun room. Claire sat where Wyona indicated, then patted the spot beside her for Danny. There hadn’t been time to get more than a glimpse of the house, but Claire had an impression of high ceilings, wooden floors, spaciousness and traditional decor. Still, it appeared dated, not in the sense of out-of-fashion furnishings—costly antiques were everywhere—but it had an air of benign neglect.
Claire envied Danny as he looked around, openly curious. She’d have to keep her own curiosity to herself, at least for now. Angus and Wyona took seats opposite her. Mack stood watching, his back to the windows.
“We’ve been looking forward to this day a long time, Danny,” Angus said in his blustery way. “How do you like your daddy’s house?”
Danny’s eyes got round. “Did my daddy live here?”
“He sure did.” Angus pointed up. “He was born right upstairs, in the same bedroom as me.”
“Wow.” Danny stared at the ceiling as though he could look right through it. “I was born in a hospital.”
“Yes, well…” Angus cleared his throat.
“I’m five,” Danny informed him proudly. “It’s only a month until I start kindergarten, but I can already read some ‘cause my mommy’s a liberrian. She used to be a teacher, but not anymore.”
“That’s quite a speech,” the old man said.
Mack smiled. “Danny’s quite a boy.”
“I have to be,” Danny said, obviously considering that an odd remark. “ ‘Cause I can’t be a girl.”
As everyone laughed, Michelle suddenly appeared at the door. “That’s the only reason you’re here, Danny. Because you aren’t a girl.” There was a bitter twist to her smile.
Mack moved toward her, frowning. With a sinking feeling, Claire realized he was going to scold his daughter and provoke another confrontation. The man’s parenting skills definitely needed work.
“Danny and I were just getting acquainted with his grandparents, Michelle,” she said, patting a place on the other side of her. “Come and join us.”
Michelle hesitated, meeting Claire’s gaze with suspicion. But then she walked over and sat down. “So, how’s it going? Is the little heir measuring up to true McMollere standards?”
“Isn’t it a bit early to tell?” Claire said, smiling.
“Not really. He’s male, he’s healthy, he’s in.”
“I don’t understand you, dear.” Wyona looked dismayed.
“That girl needs a lesson in manners,” Angus said, glaring at Mack.
“I like her,” Danny said, leaning forward to look at Michelle. Suddenly, the teenager’s eyes filled with tears.
She dashed them away with some embarrassment. “Just what I need, a little twerp to fight my battles. Too bad you aren’t gonna be here but a weekend, kid. We might become buddies.”
“I think we’re staying longer than that,” Danny said.
“What’s this?” Angus straightened a little, looking at Mack.
“Danny witnessed an incident at the hotel this afternoon,” he said, glancing at Claire. “While Claire was talking on the phone with me, he says he saw a man shoot somebody.”
There was shocked silence and then everybody tried to speak at once. Mack held up a hand. “There’s a problem. Nobody else saw anything. The hotel claims it couldn’t have happened, but when Claire and Danny went to Star-Mart later, somebody—a stranger—approached Danny and tried to force him out of the store.”
“My God!” Angus said softly.
“Oh…oh,” Wyona murmured, touching her cheek.
“Jeezum!” Michelle said.
Mack crossed his arms over his chest. “So until we can be certain Danny’s imagination hasn’t run amok, it would appear that the safest place for Claire and Danny right now is here at Sugarland.”
CLAIRE ESCAPED after the first flurry of questions to take Danny to the bathroom. She needed a moment to get her bearings. It was suddenly so overwhelming. Here she was in Carter’s house, with Carter’s parents, de- pendent on the McMolleres because of a fluke—a criminal act that had thrown her child’s life in jeopardy. She felt as if she were caught in a tidal wave with no more control over her destiny than a sand castle at high tide.
Beside her, Danny was looking wide-eyed at everything. “I like it here, Mommy.”
“It’s a nice house.”
“I like Michelle.”
“She’s nice, too.” She turned a corner, but could see nothing that looked like a bathroom.
“And I like Uncle Mack.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did my real daddy look like him?”
Claire sighed inwardly. From the time he’d been old enough to realize that most kids had a father, Danny had been curious about his own. She hated questions about Carter, but she tried not to let Danny know that.
Danny tugged on her dress. “You didn’t answer me, Mommy.”
“No, they really don’t look that much alike, Danny.” And I hope there’s even less resemblance in their character, she thought.
“Oh.” Danny’s small shoulders sagged.
She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Cheer up. I think you look a lot like your grandpa McMollere. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” He wrinkled his nose. “But he’s really old, isn’t he?”
“I suppose, but he’s been sick. Maybe that’s why he seems old.”
“He talks sorta loud, too.”
“Maybe he can’t hear as well as he used to.”
“But I can,” Danny said logically. “He doesn’t have to yell.”
“Uh-uh.” Where was the bathroom, for heaven’s sake?
Danny looked up into her face. “What should I call him and my grandmother?”
She had no idea. “Maybe you can ask them that when we get back to the living room.”
“My grandmother’s funny.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
Claire stopped and put her hands on his shoulders. “Yes, she does, Danny. She and your grandfather wanted this visit more than anything in the world because they wanted to get to know you. That’s because they love you. Your daddy was their son and because of him, you’re special to them. That includes your grandmother.”
He gazed at her steadily from eyes so unmistakably like his uncle’s and grandfather’s. “Are you sure, Mommy?”
With her forefinger, she solemnly drew an X on her chest. “Cross my heart.”
“And Michelle likes me, too?”
“That’s right.”
“Uncle Mack, too?”
“You got it.”
He smiled. “Okay. ‘Cause I like them and I think I’m gonna visit Sugarland for the next zillion years.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Here’s the bathroom.”
“Good. I have to go really bad.”
But he balked at the door. “Mommy, you don’t have to go in here with me.”
“Okay, honey.”
That wasn’t good enough. With his hand on the doorknob, he gave her a stubborn look. “You can go back to the grown-ups, Mommy.”
Terrific.
As she headed down the hall, she could hear Mack’s calm, measured replies to his parents. Fifteen minutes in the house with them and Claire could tell that John McMollere, not Angus, was the glue holding the family together. It was odd that he seemed so inept in dealing with his daughter.
She turned one of the numerous corners and nearly bumped into Michelle.
“So what is it, a blessing or a curse?” the girl asked.
Claire gave her an exasperated look. “Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”
“I could have clomped up wearing combat boots and you wouldn’t have heard me. You were a thousand miles away.”
“No, I wish I was a thousand miles away.”
Michelle grinned. “Now, that I can sympathize with.”
“Is that why you’re so deliberately rude every chance you get? Especially to your father?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“It’s juvenile, Michelle. Think of another way if you want people to respect you.”
“I don’t give a damn if they respect me.”
“How about loving you? How do you feel about that?”
She made a bitter sound. “That’s hopeless. Not from them. Never.”
“I’m sure your father loves you,” Claire said quietly.
“Oh, yeah? You’ve known him exactly…what? Half a day? And you can tell he loves me? Shows what you know.”
Claire sighed. “What did you mean just now—is what a blessing or a curse?”
“Being here at Sugarland.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
Just then, Danny ran up to them. “I ‘membered to wash my hands.”
“Good boy.” She gave him a smile.
“Back to the lion’s den,” Michelle quipped.
Claire grimaced. She’d wondered what was causing the girl such pain and now she knew. The question was: why did Michelle think her father didn’t love her?
IT WAS MUCH LATER that night when Mack left the house and headed for the sheriff’s office in Abadieville, sixty miles north of LaRue in another parish. He wasn’t quite convinced that Danny had seen a man murdered, let alone that it was by a rogue cop, but to be on the safe side, he’d avoided taking his concerns to the local sheriff. Wayne Pagett, the sheriff in Abadieville, was a longtime friend, a man he knew he could trust.
The incident in Star-Mart could have been coincidental. However, in Mack’s experience, coincidences were as rare as white alligators. Claire clearly believed her son, otherwise nothing could have induced her to accept the hospitality of the McMolleres at Sugarland. He had to hand it to her for dealing with an awkward situation gracefully. He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife managing half as well in a similar situation. In the first place, Liz was incapable of putting her child’s welfare above her own. Michelle’s unhappiness was proof of that.
He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about his problems with his teenage daughter tonight.
At the courthouse, he pulled into a parking space reserved for a deputy sheriff and stopped the Jeep. He got out, stretching to ease the stiffness from his thigh. He was hardly ever aware of the old ‘Nam injury except when rain threatened. He viewed the sky with a frown, guessing that it would storm within the hour.
He slammed the door and clamped his hat on his head, then took the courthouse steps two at a time. Not much activity in Abadieville this time of night, he noted, but he bet he’d find Wayne Pagett still in his office.
“Yo, Jerry. How’s it going?” He waved at a deputy manning the front desk, then caught a glimpse of Wayne through the glass door of the office. If the sheriff hadn’t been in, Mack would have had no hesitation in driving out to Wayne’s house. God knows he’d spent enough time there when he was growing up. Mike, Wayne’s oldest son, had been his best friend throughout high school. Mack couldn’t count the lectures he’d received from this man. Sometimes Wayne Pagett had seemed more like a father to him than Angus McMollere. Sometimes Mack had wished he’d been Wayne’s son.
He paused before knocking. Wayne spent most of his time now in his office. Mike had told Mack that after his wife died, his dad didn’t have much incentive to go home. With his kids grown, Mike living in Houston, and Kayla in Orlando, the big house was too empty. Wayne had even taken to bringing his big yellow Lab, Barney, into the office with him. It was the dog who spotted Mack first.
In the quiet of the courthouse, Barney’s bark sounded like the boom of a cannon as Mack pushed open the door. Wayne’s head came up and instantly his frown turned into pleasure. “Mack! Son of a gun, this is a surprise.” He got up, sending his chair crashing back against the wall, and leaned over his desk, his hand outstretched. “Of all the folks I expected to walk in here tonight, you’re the last. How are you, boy?”
Mack shook the man’s hand. At his feet, Barney was wagging his tail in joyful recognition. “I’m doing fine, Wayne. How about yourself?”
“Good…good. Yeah, I’m doing all right.” He sat again, then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a cigar. “Have a seat. I’d offer you one of these, but I know you hate ‘em. How’s Angus? Last I heard, he was up and about, ornery as ever.”
“He’s doing okay.” Mack rubbed Barney’s ears, smiling as the Lab licked his hand, then he settled back.
“A little shaky on his feet, but if he follows the doctor’s orders, he manages just fine.”
“I can imagine how eager he is to follow doctor’s orders,” Wayne said dryly.
Mack grinned. “His health was affected by his stroke, his personality wasn’t.”
Wayne grunted, nodding his head. “And your mama. How’s Wyona?”
“Same as ever.”
“Give them both my best.” He paused to light the cigar, then surveyed Mack through the smoky haze. “It’s a little late for a social visit, isn’t it, boy?”
Mack leaned forward in the chair, lifting his ankle to rest on his knee. “We’ve got a couple of visitors at Sugarland.”
“Oh?”
“Carter’s son, Danny, and the little boy’s mother.”
“Well, well. So Martin Thibodaux finally came through for you. Last I heard, he was trying every legal trick in the book to try and arrange a visit, but the woman was hanging tough.”
“Who told you that?”
“Oh, I’ve got my sources, don’t you know.”
Mack knew he wouldn’t get a name from Wayne, so there was no sense pushing it, but he wondered if Martin Thibodaux, who’d been Angus’s lawyer for more than thirty years, realized that sensitive information about one of his most influential clients was being leaked.
“Her name’s Claire Woodson,” he said.
“I know her name.” Seeing Mack’s frown, Wayne went on, “Miriam met her once. It was at an education conference in Baton Rouge about six months before I lost her. Sort of a coincidence, you might say, seeing as there was a connection between Miriam and the McMolleres.” He paused to take a puff of his cigar. “Anyway, she came away from the conference, Miriam, I mean, with a good impression of Claire Woodson. Naturally, Miriam knew how Angus and Wyona resented being kept from knowing their grandson, and that they had no positive feelings about Miss Woodson. Miriam expected somebody harder, more…ah, flamboyant, I suppose, but Miss Woodson was very nice. In fact, Miriam mentioned that she acted in every way a lady, positively straitlaced, she said.”
“She’s a redhead,” Mack said abruptly, then shifted uncomfortably at Wayne’s laugh.
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t look anything like I expected.”
“You mean in all this time you never had a look at the woman you were fighting for custody of Carter’s child?”
“Just once. And it was years ago when she and Carter were having the affair.” Wayne’s attitude made him feel defensive, as if his parents’ long, hard-fought legal battle was in some way unjust. “My folks weren’t fighting for custody of the boy. They were just trying to assert their natural right to see Danny occasionally, to arrange a visit to Sugarland once in a while. As the boy’s grandparents, don’t they deserve that?”
“Well, it sounds reasonable,” Wayne said, leaning back until he was nearly horizontal in his chair. Smoke curled lazily from his cigar. “And Miriam told me that Miss Woodson seemed like a reasonable young woman, very sensible. Makes you wonder why she fought access so hard.”
It was something Mack had wondered about, too. He wished he had an answer. “She’s not exactly what I expected.”
“You’re probably not what she expected,” Wayne said, smiling faintly.
“How do you mean?”
“She probably thinks that since you’re Carter’s brother you share other characteristics.” He reached over and gently rubbed the ashes from the end of his cigar. “Nothing could be further from the truth, as anybody who knows you could tell her.”
“Wayne—”
“Aw, now, don’t go getting that look on your face. I’m not saying anything bad about your brother, ‘specially now he’s gone and can’t defend himself.” He hunched a little closer to his desk, looking Mack directly in the eye. “Let me give you some advice, Mack. Don’t assume things are as they seem with Claire Woodson. I know you’ve got a lot on you, son. You’re on the board of that oil company now, you’re the biggest sugarcane farmer in four parishes, you’re struggling to learn to be a parent to your little girl. The two of you hardly know each other at all after all these years Liz kept her from you. And now you’ve got Claire and her little boy and her feud with your folks dumped in your lap. Angus can’t help much, he’s sick and your mama…well, your mama is hardly the lady she was before Carter died in that airplane crash.” He put his cigar in an ashtray that was an open alligator’s mouth, and shoved it aside. “But you need to wait a while before judging Claire. See if you think she’s the kind of woman who’d arbitrarily deny decent grandparents the right to have a relationship with their only grandson. And if the answer’s yes, then take a minute to ask yourself why in the world she would feel that way.”
At Mack’s feet, Barney whined, his soft brown eyes full of concern. Mack chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re making me feel about ten years old, Wayne. How do you do it?”
“Comes with age, son. You get old as me, you get to say whatever you please, even if it’s none of your damn business.” He eyed Mack over his bifocals. “So, how long is Miss Woodson’s visit?”
Mack drew in a deep breath. “Longer than she counted on. That’s why I drove over here tonight to see you, Wayne. She’s having to stay at Sugarland whether she likes it or not because the boy claims he saw a man murdered this afternoon at the White Hotel.”
“What the hell!” Wayne wasn’t shocked often. “You’re gonna have to explain that in a little more detail, son.”
Mack gave him the whole story, including his own doubts. Unlike Mack, Wayne was inclined to accept Danny’s account of what he saw. When he repeated the incident at Star-Mart, the sheriff frowned ferociously.
“You say Miss Woodson believes the boy saw what he claims to have seen?” he asked.
“Yeah. She said she had doubts at first because they’d been watching something on TV that had a lot of violence, and she’d made Danny turn it off and watch cartoons instead.”
“Sounds to me like she’s a conscientious mama as well as a sensible person,” Wayne remarked.
Mack grunted. “Whatever. But the hotel found no signs of a struggle or blood or anything that lent any credence to what Danny said.”
“A mother usually knows her child, Mack.”
“Yeah. That’s why I drove over here. I don’t know what you can do without stirring up a hornet’s nest, but I’d appreciate your looking into this,” Mack told him. “As you guessed, I’m going to be busy at Sugarland. I’ve got an office in Lafayette, but since Dad’s heart attack and especially now that Michelle is with me, I’ve been trying to manage at home.” He stood up, frowning at the window where lightning flashed intermittently through the ancient oak trees on the side of the courthouse. “It’s too risky leaving her alone to do much investigating on my own.”
“Who, Michelle?”
“No, Claire.” Bumping his hat restlessly against his right thigh, he missed Wayne’s sharp look. “She wanted to drive back to Houston, can you believe that? I told her no way. A woman alone, some nut out there looking for her, she needs a keeper, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a nasty job, but I guess somebody’s got to do it.”
“You can’t be too careful,” Mack said, ignoring the taunt. He settled his hat on his head. “As you pointed out, I have a family responsibility here, Wayne. This is Carter’s son, the only other grandchild my folks are likely to have.”
“I don’t know as I’d say that, not just yet,” Wayne drawled, rising from his chair. “You’ve still got a few good years. What are you now, Mack, thirty-nine, forty?”
“Forty-two last month, Wayne,” Mack said dryly. “And I don’t plan on producing any other heirs. For that, a man needs a wife, and I don’t intend making that mistake again.”
Wayne shook his head. “That Liz sure did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“It wasn’t just Liz,” Mack said, wincing as a crash of thunder shook the windowpanes. “We never should have married in the first place. I knew she was out of her element when I brought her to Sugarland. She was a city girl. She was miserable from day one.”
Wayne gave a snort. “What about her vows? A woman’s supposed to stick with her man.”
“It was thirteen years ago, Wayne,” Mack said. He took no offense at his friend’s frankness, possibly because Liz’s desertion no longer hurt the way it once had. “It’s in the past.”
“Not the way I see it.” Wayne clamped his cigar in his mouth. “What with her dumping little Michelle on you after poisoning her against her Louisiana relatives, including you.” He fumbled around, moving things on his desk top, looking for a match. “The woman’s a piece of work, that’s what she is.”
“She’s a little spoiled,” Mack agreed, heading for the door. “But she’s Victor DeBartolo’s problem now, not mine.”
Wayne squinted at Mack through a fresh cloud of smoke. “He’s still in Washington, I guess.”
“You know as well as I do where Vic is. You know everything else.”
“Good place for him.” Wayne reached for his suit coat and shrugged into it. “Her, too.”
Mack laughed. “Next time Liz calls, I’ll be sure and mention you send your regards.”
They went out together, both chuckling.
At the door, Mack stopped. “One thing you can do for me now, Wayne. I need to get Claire’s luggage, but it’s probably best for somebody besides me to pick it up. If the boy did actually witness something and somebody’s watching the room, I wouldn’t want them to make the connection that Claire and the boy are at Sugarland.”
Wayne turned to the deputy. “Jerry, call Al and tell him to pick up Claire Woodson’s things at the White Hotel, then tell him Mack will meet him at Melrose Crossing in about thirty minutes to take ‘em off his hands. Tell him to give no information to the hotel.” He looked at Mack. “Thirty minutes ought to do it, huh?”
“It should. Thanks, Wayne.”
“No problem.”
They were walking through the office, when another mighty clap of thunder shook the place. At the door, Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “My Miriam was a redhead, did you know that?”
Mack clamped his hat on his head, getting ready to make a run for it. “I don’t remember her hair ever being anything but snow-white.”
“Yeah. Turned that way nearly overnight. She wasn’t a day over forty…She always blamed it on you and Mike.”
It was still raining, but Mack was smiling as he dashed for his Jeep.
HE DROVE through a steady downpour all the way to Sugarland. Just as Wayne ordered, one of his men was waiting at Melrose Crossing with Claire’s luggage. Not much to it, he thought as he stored a suitcase and an overnight case in the back of the Jeep. If the visit lasted more than a week, she’d probably need to get a few more things.
He tried to convince himself he didn’t care whether she was there a week or a day.
As he turned in the curved driveway, the Jeep’s headlights swept over the house. Except for the garage area, which was separate from the main house, the whole place was dark. He stopped the car and got out, heading around to the tailgate. As he pulled it open, he glanced up at the second-story bedroom where Claire and the boy were staying. That, too, was dark. Apparently she wasn’t losing any sleep worrying about her situation. He slammed the tailgate and started up the steps.
“Is that my luggage?”
Startled at the sound of her voice, he almost dropped the bags.
“Sorry, I guess you didn’t see me.”
“What are you doing out here?” he said. “This is a hell of an electrical storm. You could be struck by lightning.”
“I couldn’t sleep. And storms have never made me nervous.” She took the overnight case, leaving the larger piece for him to carry. “Thanks for picking this up.”
He didn’t waste any time getting the door open and urging her inside. There was just enough light to reveal what she was wearing. And how she looked. A big T-shirt and shorts. In the denim dress today, he’d guessed that her legs were fantastic. He’d been right. The only wrong note was her hair. He wondered what it would be like not tied back. Earlier her hair had been pulled back and pinned in some severe-looking twist. Now it was braided, starting at the crown of her head. He imagined her red hair all loose and flowing. He could almost feel his fingers sift through it. He could almost see it spread out and—
He caught himself up abruptly. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about this woman? He cleared his throat. “I see that you found something to wear.”
“Michelle generously offered this workout set.” She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to stretch the garment to midthigh. “One size fits all. I was glad for the clothes, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own things.”
“They couldn’t look any better on you.”
She was instantly on guard. Like a doe caught in headlights.
“I’ll just take this on up to my room,” she said, slipping past him to hurry up the stairs.
Watching her escape—there was no other word for it—he wished he could take back the remark, but the words had been out before he could stop them. Why was she so skittish?
Frowning, he climbed the stairs himself, but at a pace that gave him time to contemplate the contrasts and complexities of Claire Woodson. There was a remoteness about her that didn’t fit the way he’d thought of her for years. He recalled that night in Houston when she’d been with Carter. Mack remembered her smiling, almost sparkling with emotion as she clung to Carter on the dance floor. And then Carter had spotted him, had made the introductions reluctantly.
The picture of Claire Woodson as she’d been that night had stayed with Mack. As for this woman with the severe hairdo, the disconcertingly direct gaze, the calm grace and quiet manner, she did not fit that other picture. Just who was the real Claire Woodson?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_74a730e0-347a-553c-a0f3-6288e3591860)
THE CONTINUING DRONE of a small plane pulled Claire out of a deep sleep. Her subconscious had been aware of the sound for some time, long enough to pierce her defenses and trigger a dream. She was in a small plane with Carter at the controls. He was talking to her, smiling, gesturing with eager, almost manic, enthusiasm. He didn’t seem worried that he was flying the plane recklessly, zipping up and down, buzzing landmarks, going into a tailspin that brought her heart into her mouth. The controls on the instrument panel were going haywire. Trapped and terrified, Claire cried out at him to be careful, but he laughed at her. When she couldn’t reason with him, she opened the door to get out of the plane. She looked down in panic on an ocean of green sugarcane undulating in a summer breeze as the plane spiraled to the ground.
She awoke with a start.
To escape the nightmare, she wanted to spring out of bed, but her body felt heavy, weighted down by fear coursing through paralyzed limbs. Even her mind functioned sluggishly. She studied her surroundings in growing confusion. Where was she? The bedroom in her Houston condo had no floral wallpaper, no slowly revolving ceiling fan. Her bed had no tall cherry-wood foot posts.
And then she remembered. She was at Sugarland. Of course. With the McMolleres.
She rose on one elbow and rubbed a hand over her face. It had been such a long night. For hours her mind had been in turmoil. No relaxation techniques had worked. The last time she’d looked at the clock, it had been after four. It was now only a few minutes before six.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a robe and headed for the bathroom, which lay between the large guest suite Wyona had placed her in and a smaller bedroom the right size for a child. Unsurprisingly, considering the bizarre day he’d had, Danny had not been eager to stay in his room alone. It had been Michelle who’d persuaded him. Angry, hurting, rebellious Michelle. Claire wasn’t sure what the girl had promised him, but whatever it was, Danny had finally settled down. Claire had been grateful. Once again, she’d found herself wondering what was wrong between Michelle and Mack. Almost instinctively she wanted to reach out to the teenager, but she reminded herself that Michelle’s problems weren’t her concern. She couldn’t afford to get embroiled in this family’s affairs. Claire was here only because of the threat to Danny. Her son—not Mack’s troubled daughter—was the one who mattered right now.
In the bathroom, she realized that the sound of the small plane had not let up. Through the window, she watched the craft swoop low, spewing out a cloud of pesticide, the fuselage almost brushing the tops of the waving sugarcane. Barely dawn and a pilot was already crop-dusting. She rubbed her forehead, groaning at the early hours that farmers kept. Still, Danny would be interested, she thought, making a mental note to ask Mack to tell him about growing and processing sugar before it appeared on the table in tiny white granules to sweeten his cereal.
She went to check on him and found his bed empty. For a second, she stared around blankly. His pajamas were discarded beside a chair and his sneakers were gone. How could he have left without her hearing a sound? Her heart stumbled, but she told herself not to panic. Drawing the belt tight on her robe, she hurried into the hall. The house was eerily silent in the way houses are before their occupants rise. There was no sign of Danny or anybody else.
Fighting panic, she went to the banister of the winding staircase and leaned over it. “Danny,” she called, trying to keep her voice under control. “Danny, where are you?”
No answer. She whirled, about to go back to her room and get dressed. She could hardly search the place in her nightgown and robe. Behind her a door opened.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Wyona McMollere came out of a bedroom, her fair hair frizzed around her head and her eyeglasses cocked as though she’d donned them in a hurry.
“I’m looking for my son, Mrs. McMollere,” Claire said. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“At this hour?” the woman asked, glancing around as though expecting Danny to materialize out of nowhere. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” In a nervous gesture, Claire caught up her long hair as she tried to think. “He’s not in his room and his sneakers are gone.”
Angus McMollere shuffled up behind Wyona, leaning on his cane. “What’s all the ruckus?” he demanded, his scowl directed at Claire.
“My son isn’t in his room,” Claire said. “I need to find him.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Wyona said.
“Of course, he’s fine,” Angus snapped. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Then where is he?” Claire cried, her heart starting to pound in panic. “It’s not even six o’clock in the morning!”
“Hear now, girl,” Angus said, shuffling toward her with his cane. “Just hold on. He’s around somewhere. Let’s see what Mack thinks.”
“Danny knows not to go anywhere with strangers,” Claire said.
“What strangers would you be referring to?” Angus demanded, his frown fierce. “There’re no strangers in this house, at least none who’d lure off a five-year-old.”
“Everyone here is a stranger to Danny,” she said tightly, anxiety making her blunt.
“And who’s fault is that!” Angus retorted with a thump of his cane.
“Maybe he’s just exploring the house,” Wyona offered helpfully. “Little boys are like that.”
“Danny wouldn’t explore anything without asking me first.”
“He’s a McMollere,” Angus argued. “They don’t always do what their mamas say.”
Disobedience was hardly something to be proud of, Claire thought with disgust. Before she said something she would regret, she turned to go, then halted at the sound of someone entering the front door downstairs. Wyona released a small relieved sigh. “Oh, oh, thank goodness, Mack’s here.”
Mack? He wasn’t in his bedroom sleeping?
All eyes were on him as he came up the curved staircase. His gaze went first to Claire. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you seen Danny?”
“Danny?” His blank look said everything.
“He’s gone!”
Wyona touched Angus’s arm. “Maybe Michelle—”
Mack walked over to them, frowning. “Gone where? What’s going on here?”
“He’s not in his bed,” Claire said. “I checked on him a few minutes ago. He’s not in the house. I should have let him sleep with me. He wanted to, but I thought—”
“Hey, take it easy.” Mack caught her hand and stopped her, gave it a little squeeze. “Wherever he is, he’s fine. He’s around somewhere. This is a big house.”
She pulled her hand away. “He’s not in the house. He would have heard me calling and said something.”
“Maybe the crop duster woke him up,” Mack suggested. “He probably snuck out to investigate.”
“Not without asking me,” she repeated stubbornly.
“Well, he sure can’t have been kidnapped right under our noses, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Mack observed.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Claire said curtly, wrapping her arms around her waist. “With everything that happened yesterday, I should have kept him in the room with me. Until we know why that man was killed, Danny shouldn’t be out of my sight.”
“We don’t know yet that a man was killed,” Mack reminded her.
“You may not know it, but I do!”
“Okay, have it your way,” Mack said, more to calm her, she guessed, than because he actually agreed with her. “But let’s see if anybody outside the house has seen him before we panic, okay?”
“I was just about to do that,” Claire said. She was trembling, an inch away from falling apart and more relieved to see Mack than she cared to admit.
“I’ll get Cleo to make a thorough search downstairs. She might have seen something.”
“Cleo?”
“The housekeeper,” he said. “You met her last night.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” Distracted, she pushed her hands through her hair, only then recalling that it was loose and uncombed and that she must look like something the cat dragged in.
“You might want to change into something else.”
Something in his tone intensified her embarrassment. She didn’t reply, but turned and hurried down the hall to do just that.
FOR A BEAT OR TWO, Mack stood watching her go. Fresh out of bed in a panic, she’d not taken time to pull her hair back. It was as he’d remembered—a rich auburn with fiery streaks. He was torn between feeling sympathy for her as a scared mother whose kid was probably off exploring interesting new territory, and losing himself in a sexual fantasy over the look of her, all dewyeyed and sleep-soft. It was no wonder she wore that tight bun and those longish dresses that didn’t touch her anywhere except her shoulders. To leave them off was to allow people to see her as she really was: her breasts rounded and lush, her waist small enough to span with his hands, a soft shape he itched to hold.
Was she simply putting on an act for her visit to Danny’s relatives? Possibly she thought that if she looked prim and proper enough, she would fool them all into thinking she was prim and proper. Not likely, since Miriam Pagett had been taken in, too, according to Wayne. And that was well over two years ago when Claire couldn’t have known she would be compelled to visit Carter’s folks.
Whatever the answer was, he didn’t have time to figure it out now. Claire’s concern for Danny was genuine. And he hadn’t just been blowing smoke when he’d told her the boy was safe so long as he was on Sugarland grounds. So where was he? In the car yesterday, everything Danny saw had fascinated him. Like any child might, he’d probably popped out of bed at the crack of dawn and decided to do a little sight-seeing on his own.
Not that Claire was in any frame of mind to accept that, Mack thought, bumping his Stetson against his thigh as he turned to go back downstairs. The problem with these city folks was that they overreacted to everything. It came from being penned up in climatecontrolled condos, or barricaded behind the locked gates of some planned community where they didn’t know anybody but the manager. They forgot what it was like to live a regular life. Not that things were all that regular around here since yesterday. In all fairness, he had to admit that.
Claire was scared to death. He was surprised to find that he didn’t like the idea of her worrying unnecessarily. She’d already gotten more than she’d bargained for in her visit to Sugarland. Quickly putting on his hat, he headed for the front door.
Claire was right behind him. “Michelle’s not in her room,” she said, tucking in the tails of a plain white shirt. Her hair, he noted, was again slicked back and anchored at her nape with an elastic ring.
“Well, they’re together, you can count on it.”
“How can you know that!” she cried. “I’ve been here less than a day, but it’s long enough to show me that Michelle isn’t a typical teenager. She could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it, what with the relationship you two share. She could be at her friend’s house where we picked her up yesterday. She sure wouldn’t take Danny with her if I’m right.”
“You’re wrong.”
“About your relationship or the other?”
“The other,” he said, his reply clipped. He didn’t intend to discuss Michelle with her. “Michelle might well sashay off to her friend’s house without asking, but not at this hour. She’s at the barn.”
“The barn?”
“With the horses. It’s the only thing she likes about Sugarland.”
“You have horses?”
“Yeah, we have horses. We’ve got a lot of land, you might have noticed that,” he reminded her dryly. “Horses get around in a cane field much better than Jeeps.”
“Yes, but…” They were outdoors now and she could see beyond the immediate grounds—which were landscaped and meticulously maintained—to the acres and acres of sugarcane. “I just didn’t think.”
He headed for his Jeep, and she followed, huffing a little in an effort to keep up with him. He slowed down. He wasn’t used to a woman tagging along, but from the little he knew about Claire Woodson, he suspected wild horses couldn’t keep her from accompanying him on his search for her little boy.
“The barn’s over there.” He pointed east.
She looked, and sure enough, over the waving sugarcane she saw a barn compound. “Don’t you ever get tired of nothing but sugarcane?” she grumbled when she’d climbed into the Jeep.
“It’s cut by the end of the year and then there’s open space as far as the eye can see.”
“Oh.”
“Until the cane is up again.”
She buckled up like a diligent schoolmarm and, hiding a smile, he backed out of the driveway and started to drive the Jeep in the direction of the barn. Catching sight of her worried expression, he said, “Don’t worry, they’ll be there.”
They were. As soon as they reached the compound, they spotted Michelle astride her favorite mare in the corral behind the barn and Danny perched on the fence watching every move she made. The child turned at the sound of the Jeep and began to scramble down to run and meet them.
“Mommy, Mommy, they’ve got horses! Real horses. Michelle says I can learn to ride. I already touched Cherry. That’s her name. She’s a mare. That’s what you call a lady horse. Mommy, this is a neat place. I’m having fun!”
Mack felt a pang in his middle as he watched Claire sweep up the little boy and helplessly bury her face in his neck. She didn’t say anything.
Danny tolerated the emotional display briefly and then squirmed to get down. “Mommy, did you hear me?” he insisted, dragging her by the hand toward the fence. “Michelle is gonna teach me to ride. They have a pony just for me! His name’s Bucko. I bet I can do it, too.”
“Hi!” Michelle called, flashing a smile incredibly like her father’s. With an expert hand, she guided the prancing mare up to the fence. “Danny and I’ve been out forever. Is it time for breakfast? We’re both starved.”
“You may not get any breakfast,” Mack told her sternly. “Or lunch or dinner.”
She rolled her eyes. “What now, for Pete’s sake! I haven’t done anything to get in trouble for yet. It’s too early in the morning.”
Claire caught Mack’s eye. Now that her fear for Danny’s safety was passing, fury was overtaking it. “I’ll handle this,” she told him.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Danny asked, squinting up at her.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Michelle looked curiously from one to the other.
“You took my son out of the house without asking my permission, Michelle,” Claire said, her voice shaking. “Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up and he was gone? I was scared to death.”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” Michelle dismounted with easy grace. Keeping the reins in her hand, she bent down to get through the rails. “I guess I didn’t think. I go riding every morning, anybody around here’ll tell you that. Today was no different, except—”
“You didn’t think?”
“No, I—”
“I’ve only been here half a day, as you reminded me yesterday, but it’s long enough to know that other people’s feelings don’t seem to matter much to you, Michelle.”
Michelle glanced uncertainly at Mack.
“Just a minute, Claire,” he said.
But Claire’s wrath was still focused on Michelle. “You had no right to take my son without asking!” With Danny’s back pressed against her thighs, she crossed shaking hands over his chest. “It’s bad enough we have no choice except to be here, but for you to think so little of my peace of mind that you’d whisk Danny off and leave me to wonder and worry and imagine all sorts of horrible possibilities is just too much!” She drew in a deep breath, trembling all over.
“Gosh, I’m really sorry,” Michelle repeated, with none of her usual flippancy.
“Was it too much trouble to wake me and ask to take my son?”
Danny caught her hand. “Mommy…”
Claire ignored him. “If I could, I would pack our things and leave here this instant!”
“Mommy—” Danny pulled at her hand.
Claire turned to Mack. “What kind of people are you? Don’t you ever think of anybody but yourselves?”
“Just a damn minute, now!” He took a step toward her. “Maybe Michelle was wrong in bringing Danny out without asking, but seems to me you’re taking out other frustrations on her. You ask what kind of people we are—no different from most. We’re trying to be rational, and that’s more than—”
“Rational!” Now that she’d vented her outrage, her other emotions were threatening to overflow. Suddenly she felt close to tears. “F-forcing me to c-come here, d-demanding time with my son when you were perfectly happy to deny his existence before Carter died, then taking advantage of that hideous situation at the hotel.” She drew a new breath, blinking fast. “And why did we have to stay there, anyway? We would have been just fine at the Holiday Inn. But no, because you say so, we have to experience the quaint southern thing and check into a hotel right out of a trashy novel…” She looked away, struggling to keep herself together.
“Mommy…” Danny tugged again. “I think you need some time in the quiet corner.”
All three looked at Danny, then at each other. Sheepishly. Claire pressed her fingers to her temples, realizing how hysterical she sounded. How irrational. Even Danny knew it. Shaking her head, she whispered to no one in particular, “What am I doing?”
“Mommy, can I talk now?”
“What, Danny?” she managed to say, breathing in to try to regain her composure.
“You’re gonna be mad.” Warily, he watched her use both hands to wipe tears from her cheeks.
“Try me anyway, Danny.”
“Michelle didn’t bring me outside this morning. I came all by myself.”
She glanced in disbelief at the barn and then in the direction of the big house. It could hardly be seen from here. “How on earth did you find the barn?”
“I followed the dirt road, you know like in The Wizard of Oz, only it’s not a yellow brick road here, it’s dirt.”
There was an uneasy silence. Claire glanced at Michelle, then closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“Actually, I suppose I’m to blame,” Michelle said, shifting a little as the mare nudged her from behind. “Last night, I promised Danny if he’d go to sleep and not bug you, I’d show him the horses and the pony that was just the right size for him.” She shrugged, then with a wry look she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Like I said, I always ride early in the morning. When he appeared, I didn’t really think about whether anybody knew where he was. I just assumed you knew.” She looked at Claire. “He’s safe at Sugarland, whether you know it or not.”
Claire chewed on her lower lip, wishing she were anywhere but at this horrible place. “I apologize for losing control,” she said stiffly. “I don’t usually make such a fool of myself.”
Michelle shrugged. “You were scared. It’s a motherthing. Forget it.”
Nodding reluctantly, Claire glanced at Mack. Michelle might be willing to forget her outburst, but he wouldn’t. Fortunately, she didn’t care what he thought.
“Can we look at my pony now?” Danny begged.
She let him pull her toward the barn.
Claire wasn’t sure what to expect for the rest of that day, but to her relief, Michelle didn’t seem to hold any resentment and had even invited her to come along for Danny’s promised pony ride. He’d been enchanted with the pony, of course, and with everything else about Sugarland. In a way, Claire envied his youthful enthusiasm. How nice to be innocent enough to accept at face value this place, this new experience, even these people.
He fell into an exhausted nap after lunch. Claire seized the chance to slip out of the house and spend a few peaceful moments with her own thoughts and—she admitted it—to indulge her curiosity about Sugarland. Behind the house, at the end of a meandering brick walk, she turned a corner and discovered a pond—or maybe it was a small lake. To her delight, situated in the middle of it was a gazebo.
Did everything in this place look like something out of a storybook? she wondered, walking the wooden footbridge that spanned the water. Inside the gazebo, she spent a moment gazing around at the peaceful setting. In one direction, the big house was visible, its frame shimmering in the August heat. To the west was a vast expanse of green sugarcane. Along the perimeter of the field, a dust plume billowed out behind a slow-moving farm vehicle. Beyond that, a lush, dark line of trees marked a bayou.
She sat down on a wrought-iron settee. Only a light breeze stirred the willow trees ringing the pond. Clumps of purple iris at the water’s edge attracted butterflies and bees. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. All her life she’d been a city dweller, but she had often imagined she would like country living. Pushing aside thoughts of why she was here, she lost herself in the peace and sounds and smells of deep summer.
Something brushed her ankle. Glancing down, she saw that a dragonfly was perched on the end of her sneaker. Gazing at its wide, fragile wings, she thought of her own precarious fate. How could she continue to stay with the McMolleres indefinitely? Where else could she and Danny go to be safe?
“Want some company?”
For a big man, Mack McMollere moved almost silently, she thought. Backlighted by the glare of the sun on the water, he seemed to fill the arched entrance of the small structure. How had he managed to get so close without making a sound? Shrugging wordlessly to let him know she had no objection to his company, she watched him push away from the arch and come inside.
The settee creaked with his weight as he took a seat beside her, shifting until he was wedged between the back and side arm. It gave him a clear view of Claire.
“Didn’t take you long to find the choice spot at Sugarland, did it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I can see why southern Louisiana has inspired so many writers and poets.”
“Yeah, mosquitoes, humidity, relentless heat ten months out of the year, and to top it off, alligators. You can’t get much more romantic than that.”
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Karen Young
Women Who Dare"Karen Young is a spellbinding storyteller…" – Romantic TimesShe could lose her son, after all.Little Danny Woodson witnessed a murder, and now the killer is after him. Claire Woodson will do anything to protect her son. Even if it means living with the enemy. And Mack McMollere, Danny's uncle, is the enemy. The wealthy Louisiana sugar baron is fighting Claire for custody of the boy.Mack–and the powerful McMollere family–swear they can keep Danny safe. But now there's new danger. Danny is fitting in too well with his late father's family. And when she's with Mack, Claire's finding it all too easy to forget that the McMolleres want her son….Exciting and emotional–a compelling new novel from RITA Award winner Karen young, author of The O'Connors trilogy and Having His Baby.Women Who Dare
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u28313231-9397-55d1-a4ac-e4cbd7ac90f1)
Excerpt (#u7dea2fbd-d3e8-53af-b882-600b4ac67ea6)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u8b18c084-8d67-5859-bd25-c2ef22ae0338)
Title Page (#u7847171b-a4e1-57cd-bd99-8e622ffc4d21)
Dedication (#u6f84392a-3ec9-5d89-a577-1063c50ae5ba)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue7d92d6e-1c6a-5847-a25a-2e09898de8a5)
CHAPTER TWO (#uc66fb887-43ae-53a4-aa46-e9c6b603629a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u08228356-a5ae-5d4e-b916-214a32650be8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud4e828d7-4fba-5aa9-8d94-aa3cc426a60b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“You planned to steal my son!”
Before Mack could respond, Claire continued. “Don’t deny that the purpose of your lawyer’s visit was to get me to agree to have Danny’s name changed to McMollere. The man rattled on and on about the wonderful heritage Danny has here at Sugarland, about how as Carter’s son, it’s rightfully his. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and presto! Danny’s a McMollere and everything’s just peachy keen.”
Mack was shaking his head long before she finished. But she paid no attention to him.
“I’ll be out of here just as soon as possible. And I’ll be taking my son with me. My son, Daniel Woodson.”
Mack took a deep breath, obviously coming to a decision. “The problem with Danny’s name was going to resolve itself,” he said. “At least, that’s what I was hoping.”
“How?”
“I was thinking that you’d change Danny’s name to McMollere—if that was your name, too.”
Claire’s heart was suddenly in her throat
“I’m talking…marriage, Claire.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RITA Award winner Karen Young needs no introduction to Superromance readers. This talented author has published eleven books for the line. Sugar Baby is set in Louisiana, where, until very recently, Karen and her husband lived. The couple has now moved to Jackson, Mississippi, which means Karen—a native Mississippian—has come home. An added bonus is that they’re close to their daughter and her family, including three grandchildren.
Be sure to watch for upcoming tides by Karen Young. This Christmas she appears in Harlequin’s Christmas anthology (Merry Christmas, Baby!) with a short story entitled “It Takes a Miracle.” Then, early in 1998, her first mainstream novel will be published under the MIRA imprint
Sugar Baby
Karen Young
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the Ladies of the Club—the Thilbodaux Literary Guild.
Thanks for the memories.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_118c2f37-8fd5-5d79-ae49-d825953dd2ec)
“POLICE…FREEZE! FREEZE!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
“Officer down! We need backup!”
Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
With her face buried in a hand towel, Claire Woodson froze. Oh, great! Just what she needed. Danny was channel surfing with the remote again. Thanks to the hotel’s free premium channels, she could just imagine what he was watching. Muttering a word she never got to say out loud, she balled up the towel and tossed it in the sink, then with blood in her eye, she marched out of the bathroom.
Her five-year-old son sat cross-legged in front of the TV, his nose no more than a foot from the screen. “Oh, boy, shoot ’im, shoot ’im.”
“Danny! What are you watching?”
His eyes were glued to a scene in which a man lay covered in blood, his body in a grotesque sprawl. “This guy just killed a policeman, Mommy. Bullets were everywhere! It was neat!”
Claire marched over and took the remote. “It isn’t neat to kill policemen, Danny.”
“But he was really bad!”
“That was make-believe. In real life, policemen are here to help us.” She began flicking through the channels. “You know you’re not supposed to watch adult channels. Look, here’s something good.” She stopped at a cartoon.
Danny crossed his small arms and poked out his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna watch dumb ol’ cartoons. Why won’t you let me see anything I like? Ryan gets to watch whatever he wants on TV.”
“Too bad. I don’t happen to agree with Ryan’s parents.”
“I wanna go home! I don’t like it here.” Scrambling up from the floor, he stomped across the room to the French doors.
Join the club.
With a sigh, she let him go out. Their room had a balcony overlooking a courtyard. He could hardly get into mischief from the third floor.
She sank onto the bed and willed away the start of a headache. She was here in LaRue and she would make the best of it. Hadn’t she been making the best of things for about six years? This situation wouldn’t be any different.
Rubbing her temple, she gazed around the room. At any other time, she might have enjoyed the place John McMollere had recommended.
Complete with slowly revolving ceiling fans and patrons in rumpled suits and Panama hats, the White Hotel was like something out of a Hemingway novel. Built in the days of Louisiana’s rice and sugarcane barons, it was garishly grandiose. But just as those were bygone days, the hotel was past its heyday.
Not that any of this mattered. Claire was in no mood to appreciate decor. Her thoughts were on the upcoming meeting with her son’s grandparents, the McMolleres. Because of their power and arrogance, they’d won this round, but she was determined they weren’t going to win the war.
They were not going to take Danny away from her.
She glanced at her watch. Three hours before she and Danny had to meet them. Just the thought sent up a flock of butterflies. She touched her stomach, and her troubled gaze strayed to the balcony and Danny. He was usually a happy, good-natured boy, but lately he was picking up on her anxiety. Somehow she was going to have to keep from communicating her distress to him. Closing her eyes, she vowed to do better at keeping her fears to herself.
The telephone rang.
She stared at it, knowing the caller had to be one of the enemy. If not the lawyer, then old Angus McMollere, himself. If not him, then John McMollere, the older son—the one everybody called Mack. He was the one she most hated dealing with. Not that she’d seen him during the negotiations for this visit. They’d communicated only by telephone. Knowing that she was being silly—even childish and cowardly—she allowed the telephone to ring four times before she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Claire Woodson?”
The voice was dark and deep and confident. Not cold, but not friendly either. She recognized it instantly and sighed. John McMollere. Strangely enough, a picture of him flashed vividly in her mind even though she’d only seen him once. Six years ago in Houston on a night that had changed her life forever.
“Claire?” he repeated.
“This is she.”
“John McMollere here.”
“Yes.”
“I expected to hear from you earlier.”
“The appointment is for seven. Has that changed?”
“No. Nothing’s changed. But a woman and a child traveling alone, I thought—”
“Danny and I are used to traveling alone, Mr. McMollere.”
“Mack.”
She murmured something. She wasn’t ready for a chummy relationship with any of them.
He waited a beat. “Satisfied with our hotel?”
“It’s…interesting.”
“How’s Danny?”
Her gaze went to Danny who was leaning over the balcony railing obviously interested in something going on below. “He’s fine. Bored with no one to play with, but he’ll be okay.”
“He’ll like it here at Sugarland. No little kids, of course, but it’s a big place. He can explore to his heart’s delight. His grandparents can’t wait to see him.”
Two days. Only two days and we can go home.
She clutched the receiver. “I need directions to get there.”
“No need. I’ll pick you up.”
“No! I mean…ah, that’s not necessary. I’m—”
“I know it’s not necessary, Claire,” he said patiently. “But you’ve been on the road most of the day. It’s another twenty miles out here with twists and turns you might miss.”
“I can follow directions.”
“I know this whole thing is stressful for you. It’s not exactly easy for us on this end, either.”
“What does that have to do with whether or not I drive myself to Sugarland?” she asked. Even to herself she sounded negative and testy. She heard him draw in a deep breath.
“I think we should all try to make this visit a happy one, Claire. For Danny’s sake.”
She gripped the receiver even tighter. “Where was all this concern for Danny when you people first learned of his existence, Mr. McMollere?” she asked. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I’m here only because a judge ordered it. And we both know he ordered it because of the prestige of the McMolleres. You’ve got what you wanted—a weekend to meet my son. And contrary to what you might think, I will do everything I can to see that nothing upsets Danny. As his parent—his only parent—how could I do otherwise?” Touching her head, she wished for a pill to take away the headache and the weekend. “Maybe that’s the one thing you, your parents and I can agree on,” she ended in a weary tone.
“Then there’s no problem.”
“Fine.” The man sounded as though he agreed with everything she’d said, which was impossible. “Good. So how about those directions?”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“The directions, please.”
There was a moment when she thought he’d argue, but he made a sound—surely not a chuckle?—then began to rattle off a string of instructions which would get her to Sugarland.
Birthplace of Danny’s father.
“Thank you.” she said stiffly.
“See you at seven.”
Quietly she replaced the receiver. Above her, the ceiling fan sliced slowly through the humid air. After a minute, she looked up and sighed.
Are you satisfied, Carter?
SHE’D MET Carter McMollere when she was a student at Louisiana State University after her mother died. It was her second attempt to obtain her degree. An only child of divorced parents, she never knew her father except through her mother’s bitter memories. Shy, imaginative and intelligent, she had studied liberal arts at LSU that first time around, but left before earning her degree to care for her mother who’d become ill. When her mother died, Claire reenrolled and like a bird out of a cage, she wanted to try everything she’d missed.
She’d missed love. Loving. Sharing the singular joy of passion with a special man. She’d fallen eagerly into Carter’s hands. He’d made her feel special for the first time in her life. When she was with him, the long years devoted to caring for her mother seemed part of another lifetime, one she was only too happy to forget. Carter had painted a glowing picture of their future together, and she had happily pictured a life as his wife. He’d been vague about his background. She never knew Sugarland by name. She’d learned later it was one of the few sizable sugarcane operations remaining in southern Louisiana. In her naiveté, Claire had believed every promise Carter made. She’d been heartbroken to learn that he was a married man, and had broken off with him that same night.
It was even worse when she discovered that she was pregnant. Believing Carter had a right to know, she’d phoned to tell him. He’d immediately urged her to get an abortion. Painful as it had been to discover that her lover had a wife, to hear him coolly suggest that she destroy their baby was devastating. Everything in her rejected the idea. She had wept an ocean of tears before finally deciding that Carter wasn’t worth such heartfelt despair. He might casually dismiss the tiny life growing inside her, but she never could. From that moment, the baby was all that mattered. Her baby.
The bond that was forged then with her unborn son had sustained her through all the misery and fear of the months that followed. She’d lost her job as a teacher in a small parochial school when her condition became obvious. She’d been forced to leave her friends and relocate to Houston. Her pregnancy had been a difficult one and she’d gone through it alone. But good can come from bad things and Daniel was a constant source of joy to her. And now, with Carter dead, the McMolleres wanted their only grandson.
They weren’t going to take her son away from her.
“Mommy, Mommy! Come quick.” Danny dashed in from the balcony and grabbed her hand. He began tugging her toward the French doors. “That policeman just killed somebody! Come and see!”
“Danny, don’t be ridiculous!” With only a glance at him, she pulled away and headed for her luggage. That’s what happened when kids were allowed to watch unlimited violence on TV. Their imaginations went wild.
“Mommy, please, this is not radickalous.” He stood before her looking distressed. “Those men were fighting! Honest, they were.”
“What men?” She bent to unzip her cosmetics bag.
“Those men outside,” Danny repeated impatiently. “The policeman had a gun. He shot somebody. I saw it.” He was nodding his head furiously, his eyes round as marbles. “I did, Mommy.”
“Policemen don’t shoot people in a hotel courtyard, Danny.” She found shampoo and body gel and tossed them on the bed. Maybe a cool shower would banish her headache and refresh her. Even though she was meeting the McMolleres under duress, she didn’t want to look frazzled.
Danny caught her hand and tugged on it. “Mommy, please come and look. That man fell on the ground, honest. I bet he’s hurt really bad. I bet he’s bleeding!”
“Not now, Danny. Please.” She drew her hand away, thinking her first task when she got home would be a phone call to Ryan’s parents. Somehow, they would have to keep the children away from the violent TV programs.
“You gotta look, Mommy. What if he comes up here and shoots us, too?”
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Come on, honey. Nobody’s going to shoot anybody.”
“But he did!” Danny insisted in exasperation.
She ruffled his dark hair. “And you saw it?”
He nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Danny, we’re on the third floor.”
“But I could see ‘em good from where I was standin’. The one who got shot had a T-shirt like mine—you know—my Olympics T-shirt. And he had a ponytail.”
“A ponytail?” Claire repeated.
“Yes, like Jason,” Danny replied, referring to the college student who serviced the pool at their condo.
Claire hesitated. Danny seemed so certain. “And where were these people?”
“Way over by the bushes.” He pointed as if she could see from inside the room. “I had to lean real far out.”
She frowned at him. “Not on the balcony railing, I hope.”
“It’s okay, Mommy,” he said confidently. “It has these places you can put your feet. Don’t worry, I was careful.”
Claire marched over to the balcony to see for herself. Her heart dropped. The ornate wrought-iron did indeed have places a small foot could wedge into. Standing there, Danny was raised beyond a safe level. He could have plunged three floors!
She turned and pulled him into her arms. “Danny, you mustn’t ever do such a thing again! The railing is old. It isn’t meant to be climbed on. What if you’d fallen?”
He looked crestfallen. “I wasn’t gonna fall, Mommy,” he muttered. “I was just lookin’ at those men. They were actin’ really bad, just like on TV. They were hollerin’ and all!”
She shook her head helplessly. Obviously she was not going to convince Danny that he’d been imagining things. “You think you saw a policeman shoot somebody?”
He nodded with new life. “I did! Honest!” He caught her hand again and began tugging her along. “Right over there on the path.”
Claire let him lead her to the balcony. She could see a large rubber plant flourishing in the lee between the main wing of the hotel and the covered walkway leading to the pool. It was almost directly beneath their room. To one side was a space obviously designated for housekeeping. The lush vegetation probably obscured the flagstone pathway from ground level, but the view was good from this spot three floors above.
There was nothing there.
“I don’t see anything, honey.”
Beside her, Danny put his foot into the wrought-iron toeholds, ready to climb. “Danny!” She grabbed him and set him firmly back on the floor. “What did I just say?”
“I was gonna show you where.”
“There’s nothing there, Danny. Even if the men were standing where you say they were, I don’t think a gunshot would go unnoticed.”
“Maybe nobody heard it but me.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “How could that be, honey? Guns make a big noise when they’re fired.”
He stared at his feet. “You think I made it up.”
“Well…” With a finger beneath his chin, she tilted his small face up.
“I betcha Ryan would believe me if I told him.”
She sighed. “I believe you think you saw something.” She paused a minute. “What made you say he was a policeman? Was he in uniform?”
“No, but I saw a badge. On his belt. We had some policemen visit us at school and they said not all cops have a uniform, but all cops have a badge.”
To humor him, she asked, “Where did the gun come from if he wasn’t in uniform?”
His face screwed up in thought. “I don’t know. I just saw it when he held it in his hand.”
“What did the other man do?”
“He just fell over.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. That’s when I ran inside to tell you.”
She studied him intently for a minute. “Okay, champ. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to call the desk and ask about this. If something like that actually happened, they would know about it. Okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.” He drew a big breath and went over to the bedside table, planting himself firmly by the phone. Claire sighed again. No getting around it, she was going to have to call.
Two minutes later she hung up feeling chastened. Her questions had been greeted with patient good humor by the desk clerk. A shooting? At the White Hotel? Ha-ha. By LaRue’s finest? No, ma’am, hardly. Somebody was surely having a joke at her expense, she was told. This was just lovely, she decided, kicking off her shoes. For the rest of her stay at the precious White, she would be known as that paranoid woman in three-twelve. Grumbling, she headed into the bathroom. That shower seemed more appealing with each passing minute.
“WHAT CAN WE DO NOW, Mommy?” Danny asked the instant she reappeared. She was somewhat refreshed, but even a cool shower didn’t wash away the Louisiana humidity. Nor did it do much for her headache.
“We can both get dressed, Danny,” she told him, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got to be ready to leave in a little while.”
“If I hurry, can we go down to the place where I saw the guy fall and see if there’s blood?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, absolutely not.”
“Aw, Mommy…”
“Tell you what,” she said. “We have about two hours before it’s time to meet those people for our visit. I saw a Star-Mart as we drove into town. Want to pop in and check out their toy department?” It was blatant bribery, but she would resume being a principled parent later.
LaRue was a small town, but Star-Mart looked as large as any in Houston. Claire cruised the parking lot twice before settling for a space the length of a football field from the entrance. “The exercise is good for me,” she muttered, grabbing Danny’s suspenders before he could dash too far ahead of her. For a second, her irritation faded. With his red suspenders, he looked so cute in khaki shorts and navy polo shirt.
“I need a Power Rangers gun, Mommy!”
“So you can shoot somebody? Not today, buddyboy.”
“Awww.”
At the entrance, they followed behind a young mother with an infant and a little boy who looked about Danny’s age. Danny and the boy sized each other up solemnly. Over their heads, both Claire and the mother smiled.
Inside, Danny scoped out the store with practiced skill, then headed like a homing pigeon for the toys. Behind her, the young mother fastened her infant into the shopping cart while her son darted away in the same direction as Danny. His mother gave an exasperated sound, then laughed as she and Claire again made eye contact.
“We’re headed for toys,” Claire said with a shrug.
“It looks like we are, too,” the woman said, still smiling.
The store was busy. Although school wasn’t scheduled to begin for almost a month, supplies were already fully stocked and kids in LaRue were shopping with the same enthusiasm as those in Houston.
As usual when Danny was faced with an excess of choices, he couldn’t make a decision. He picked up and rejected no less than a dozen items when Claire finally lost patience. With her head throbbing, she glanced at her watch.
“We have to get on the road if we’re going to be on time for our visit to Sugarland. Five minutes,” she told him, ignoring his injured expression. “And then we’re out of here. I mean it, Danny.”
The other boy ran up to Danny. “There’s some neat stuff on the next aisle. I found this!” He held up a weapon that might very well be used by real power rangers in the next century. Danny sent her a pleading look and she nodded. “Go take a look, but don’t wander beyond the next aisle. I’m going to pick out an electronic game. They’re on sale.”
“Okay!”
The games were good for a five-year-old confined in a car for a long, boring trip. Unfortunately, it appeared that every other parent in LaRue had had the same idea. The sale table was a jumble of plastic cases. She started looking, thumbing through the leftovers, aware only vaguely of the kids and parents sifting through the merchandise along with her. A couple of minutes later, the young mother appeared with disposable diapers and a few other articles in her cart.
“Have you seen Jeremy?” she asked anxiously.
“Your little boy?” Claire glanced at the intersection and a display of no less than a hundred Mickey Mouse lunch boxes. “He was just here with Danny.” She walked a few steps and looked into the next aisle. Both boys were gone.
A child screamed suddenly. Her heart plunged to her feet at the sound.
Danny!
And like any mother, her first thought was for her child. For a second, she was frozen as the piercing, shrill shrieks ricocheted through the huge store.
It was Danny!
All the blood drained from her body, leaving her sucked empty of everything except a desperate need to find him. Galvanized by fear, Claire darted frantically into the next aisle. Then the next, pulled along by the sound of his shrieks as surely as if she were connected to him by electric wire.
And then his screams ceased and there was only the murmurings of the crowd, the isolated whimpering of a baby. But no Danny.
He wasn’t anywhere she looked. Suddenly she was in Shoes. People were murmuring, looking concerned, checking for their own young ones. Still no sign of Danny. Somewhere nearby, she heard the young mother calling for Jeremy.
“Danny!” she cried desperately. “Where are you?”
Utterly panicked now, she dashed across the main traffic lane into Electronics and there he was.
“Mommy!” He ran up to her and threw his arms around her, holding on with all his might. She dropped her purse and swept him up. He was trembling. For a minute, she wasn’t sure she could stay upright.
Danny leaned back, looking her in the eye. “It was the bad policeman, Mommy! He tried to get me to go with him, but I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Danny…” She closed her eyes, swallowing the fear that was lodged in her throat.
“I screamed. Just like you tol’ me if a stranger wants to do bad stuff.”
“Yes, yes…” She realized she was rocking back and forth, but his small sturdy body just felt so good right now.
“Is everything all right here, ma’am?” A man touched her elbow and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Oh! What? I—I’m not sure.” She drew a deep breath. “Someone just approached my son.”
“It was the bad policeman,” Danny said eagerly. Now that the danger was past, he was wiggling to get down.
“Policeman?” the man repeated.
What should she do? Could Danny really have witnessed something in the hotel courtyard? Something that was bad enough to force the “policeman” to follow them here.
Oh, God.
“Ma’am? Nobody noticed a policeman.” He wore the familiar Star-Mart name tag and was handing Claire’s purse to her. Then he looked at Danny. “Can you describe him, son?”
Danny took a breath. “He was big! He was pulling me real hard, tryin’ to make me go with him. He had a gun!”
The employee managed to hide the quirk of his mouth. “A gun, you say?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, yes, sir.”
“A gun right here in the store?”
“Are you sure, Danny?” Claire gave him a stern look.
“Not here. I mean he had a gun at the hotel, not here.”
Claire caught his hand and squeezed it meaningfully. “I’m sorry about this, Mr…Taylor?” she said, reading the man’s name tag.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m the assistant manager.”
Assistant manager. She tried to think. Oh, God, she was so scared. “Um, yes. Mr. Taylor, my son says somebody—a man—tried to approach him, but apparently he’s gone now.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Taylor said firmly. “I’ll just call security and—”
“No.”
“Pardon me?”
She managed a weak smile. “We’ve caused enough commotion this afternoon, Mr. Taylor. I’m not sure what happened, but…” She shrugged. “I just realized that we’re late for an appointment. Come on, Danny.”
“But Mommy—”
“Come on, Danny.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Taylor trailed after her. “If something actually did happen, we really should let the police—”
“No, no. It’s okay. It’s fine.”
They were hurrying past the checkouts when somebody called Danny’s name.
“Hey, Jeremy,” Danny said, waving at his new friend. He tugged at Claire’s hand. “It’s Jeremy, Mommy. Now you’ll believe me, ‘cause he was there and he saw that man try to get me!”
She gave Jeremy’s mother a harassed look. “Did Jeremy see what happened?”
The young woman nodded. “He said a man tried to take your little boy out of the store.” She pulled Jeremy a little closer. “I can’t believe something like that happened in full view of dozens of people. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Biting her lip, Claire studied the sidewalks and parking area. She shivered, feeling unseen eyes.
“Have you called the police?” the woman asked.
“No. I—”
“Surely you’re going to report what happened?”
Should she? Or should she take Danny and go while she could? “I’m not sure,” she said.
The woman lifted the infant from the cart carrier. “Look, my husband is an auxiliary policeman. I can call him and—”
And what if he’s a friend of the “bad policeman?” The crazy thought darted through Claire’s mind. Crazy or not, she could not take the chance. “Thanks,” she said, summoning a smile, “but we’re late for an appointment, as it is. I’ll take care of it later.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Nudging her son, the young mother hoisted the baby onto her shoulder and stepped off the curb, heading for her car.
“Where’s our ‘pointment, Mommy?” Danny asked, squinting up at her in the sun.
“At the McMolleres, honey.”
“Is it time?”
“Not quite.”
Claire gazed uneasily at the cars and people milling around in the parking lot. What next? She couldn’t go back to the hotel. Not yet. Not until she knew for certain that he wouldn’t be waiting for them. Whoever he was.
What was she going to do?
“What’s wrong, Mommy? Did you forget where we parked?”
Her gaze went to the car parked at the most distant edge of the lot. It was nearing dinnertime and some of the crowd was clearing out. Walking to her vehicle was a chance she didn’t want to take. What if he was waiting nearby? He knew her car, but she didn’t know his.
She looked around, terror welling up inside her. Her eyes fell on a pair of pay phones just outside the store entrance. She walked over and deposited a coin.
“Whatcha’ doin’, Mommy? Who you callin’?”
“Your uncle Mack, sweetheart.”
Danny’s eyes got big. “Really?”
“Yes. He wanted to drive us to Sugarland. Now’s his chance to do just that.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_52a56b91-ed03-55a4-8bec-4df8dc552219)
EVEN BEFORE Mack pulled into Star-Mart’s crowded parking lot, he was scanning the store entrance for a glimpse of Claire Woodson, but there was no tall redhead with a little boy anywhere he looked. He followed behind a slow-moving Suburban, his thumbs drumming with impatience on the wheel, his blue eyes sharp beneath the brim of his Stetson. Where was she?
He’d hung up after her S.O.S. totally baffled him. Why had she changed her mind? Why did she now want him to pick her up, when not an hour before she’d acted as though riding with him was second only to a touch of ptomaine? He’d been left with the definite feeling he wouldn’t hear from her again until she arrived at Sugarland with Danny. Had he only imagined a hint of panic in her voice?
Pulling the Jeep Cherokee to a stop at the front door, he scrutinized every departing customer, but still no Claire. Hell, he might not even recognize her. It had been five…no, more like six years since he’d seen her and then it had been for only a few minutes. But as much as he’d resisted it all these years, the picture he had of her was pretty clear in his mind. And God knows, he had resisted it.
A small boy darted through the automatic doors and behind him was a woman in a long denim dress. Mack knew her instantly. Six years, and not much had changed, he thought, feeling a little kick in his gut. She was a tad slimmer. And maybe slightly taller than he recalled. Her hairstyle was different, too. Pulled back tight like that, she must be trying to look like a librarian, he decided. But its rich auburn color was exactly as he remembered, as was the disconcertingly candid look of her wide gray eyes as she stared right at him.
There was no warmth in that look.
She hurriedly opened the back door of the Jeep Cherokee before he could get out and hustled the boy inside. Mack beat her to the passenger side only because his legs were six inches longer than hers. Hers, however, were extremely interesting from what he could see when she stepped to get into his Jeep. They were long and shapely. God, yes, he remembered Claire Woodson.
He also remembered what she’d done. She’d wrecked his brother’s marriage. She was heartless and selfish. She had spent the last two years throwing up every obstacle possible to keep Carter’s son from knowing his grandparents.
Beautiful she might be, but he wasn’t going to be taken in the way Carter was.
He waited for her to tuck the tail of her dress inside, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He drove away from the entrance before glancing over at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”
She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she seemed to be studying the people in the parking lot as he drove through. “I recognized you.”
Her interest in the pedestrians puzzled him. “You find something especially interesting about the folks shopping at Star-Mart?”
“What?” She spared him a glance. “Oh, no, not really.”
“You’re looking for someone in particular?”
“Someone, yes,” she murmured, her eyes busy again.
She was acting nothing like he’d expected. Where was the hostility that was so palpable in every telephone encounter they’d had since he had made that initial call over a year ago? Her eyes were darting everywhere. She seemed distracted, even fearful. She was pale. But that might be natural in a redhead.
“What’s this all about, Claire?”
“It’s going to sound like something out of a movie when I tell you…” She turned to see that Danny was safely belted in before settling back herself. She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that Danny and I may have stumbled into a nightmare.”
“If this is about the weekend with my parents, you’re overreacting, Claire. They’re going to do everything they know to make you and Danny feel welcome. They don’t want to alienate you, they just want to get to know Danny. And you.”
She was shaking her head as he finished, rubbing her temples. “It’s not that. At least, right now it’s not that.” She glanced over her shoulder once more. Danny was scrutinizing the town of LaRue with the intensity of any child in a new place. “It’s something a lot worse. Danny thinks he witnessed—” She shook her head. “This is going to sound so crazy!”
“Just say it and let me decide what’s crazy.”
“He was on the balcony of the hotel while I was talking to you on the phone and he claims he saw a man shoot somebody.”
He stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
She dropped her head against the back of the seat wearily. “Don’t I wish.”
“He saw a man get shot?”
“He says he did.”
“Kids say things.” He looked in the back seat where Danny sat with his nose practically pressed against the side window. “He’s an only child. They say lonely kids have big imaginations.”
She was again rubbing her temple. “Being an ‘only’ doesn’t necessarily make him a ‘lonely only.’ And he does have a vivid imagination, but this time I think he actually witnessed what he says he did.”
Mack snorted. “A murder at the White Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“You called security, I assume.”
“I called the front desk after Danny kept insisting that he wasn’t making up the story.”
“And they said?”
“Pretty much what you just said, ‘Murder at the White Hotel? No way, lady.’”
“Nobody believes me,” Danny piped up from the back seat.
“I do now, honey,” Claire said, reaching back and giving his knee a pat. She turned, looking at Mack. “We called you because someone tried to grab him in the store a few minutes ago. We were afraid to get back in the car in case the man was watching us.”
Mack stood on the brakes, swearing, and stopped at the curb with a jerk. He turned in his seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “You’re telling me somebody actually tried to snatch Danny in front of all the customers?”
“That’s right.”
“So where is this guy? What happened to him?”
“No one knows. He just disappeared.”
“If he was ever there.”
“Danny says he was there. He screamed. Everybody in the whole place heard him and—”
“And nobody in the place saw this mean ol’ molester?” Mack said sarcastically.
Claire breathed in deeply. “That’s right, Mr. McMollere.”
“Jeremy saw him,” Danny said, ever helpful.
“Jeremy.” Mack met the boy’s eyes in the mirror.
“My new friend.”
“You’ve already made a friend in LaRue?”
“Uh-huh. At Star-Mart.”
“And he saw the bad guy, too?”
“He sure did!”
“Where were you two when this happened?”
“We were in the Nintendo stuff.”
Mack glanced at Claire. “Without your mom?”
Danny seemed to sense sticky territory ahead. “Jeremy said it was okay,” he said cautiously. “Our moms were just a coupla aisles over.”
“Are you quite finished?” Claire demanded, giving Mack an icy look.
He was shaking his head. “Why didn’t you just call the cops?”
“Danny says the killer is a cop.”
Mack glanced at Danny before bearing down on Claire again. “How could the killer be a cop?” He bumped his hand against his forehead. “How could there even be a killer? The hotel would surely have found a body.” He paused to add, “They did actually take a look, didn’t they?”
“I assume so,” Claire said. “The desk clerk certainly stated in no uncertain terms that there hadn’t been a murder on the premises. Then, before we left, we saw security guards milling around the housekeeping area.”
“Is that where the incident happened?” Mack asked Danny.
“Yes, sir.”
Mack forced himself to ease up. “Are you sure about this, Dan?”
“Yes, sir.” The kid met his gaze with the same candid quality his mother employed. For the first time, Mack allowed himself to study Carter’s son. There wasn’t much resemblance that he could see. Carter’s face had been fuller, his mouth smaller. Carter’s hair had been sort of chestnut. Danny’s face was narrow. And he had black hair, like Mack’s own. And his mouth…it was like his mother’s—full and made for smiling. Although neither of them had favored him with a smile since getting into the Jeep.
No surprise there. He hadn’t exactly been the doting uncle to Carter’s son, nor had he been particularly warm to the boy’s mother. Carter’s former lover.
“So, tell me about the guy who approached you in the store. What did he look like?”
“He was tall!” Danny cried, eager to cooperate.
“He says that every time he’s asked to describe him,” Claire said.
“He was real mean!”
“That, too,” she said dryly.
“He has something funny on his hand.”
Claire’s and Mack’s eyes met. “Like what, a tattoo?” Mack asked.
“No…” He screwed up his face, thinking hard. “You know…like a…”
“Like a scar?” Claire suggested.
“Yeah.” He nodded vigorously.
“You never mentioned that before, Danny,” she said.
“I just ‘membered it. I saw it when he touched me in the store.”
“Can you tell us anything about how the scar looked?”
Danny looked at his mother. “I don’t know, it was like when you hurt yourself and it gets all better.”
“It’s okay, son,” Claire said, giving him a smile. “You’re a good detective, isn’t he, Uncle Mack?”
“You bet. Just one more thing, Danny. Where on his hand was it?”
“Here.” He stuck out his fist, palm down.
“What did he say when he came up to you?”
“He tried to talk me into coming with him. He said we’d go get a treat at McDonald’s, but my mommy always says don’t go anywhere with strangers, so when he started sorta making me walk beside him, that’s when I started yellin’ my head off.” He settled back. “It worked, too.”
Mack smiled. “You did the right thing, hotshot.”
“Ryan’s dad calls him hotshot,” Danny said.
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. Do you have any kids?”
“One,” he said, shooting a quick look in Claire’s direction.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl.”
“Oh.”
He saw more questions in the boy’s eyes and was relieved when Claire spoke.
“Now you know why we didn’t feel safe returning to the hotel.” At his nod, she touched her hair, smoothing a few wisps that had worked free. “What do you suggest now? Should we drive back to Houston tonight or wait until tomorrow? I thought perhaps you could accompany us to the hotel, help us get our things into my car and then follow us onto the interstate for a few miles, perhaps all the way to Beaumont.”
“And then what?”
“Well, we’d be able to tell if we were being followed on the highway, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. And if you were, what would you do?”
“Well, I’ve got a cellular phone.”
“And you’ll whip it out and call 911 to come and rescue you. And while you’re waiting, the bad guy is…where? Doing what?”
She shrugged. “So what do you suggest?”
With a sigh, he rubbed the side of his neck. “This is a hell of a mess.”
“It wasn’t my idea to come here at all, Mr. McMollere,” she said coldly. “And I certainly hadn’t planned on my son’s witnessing a murder.”
“If that’s true,” he said, “then you’ve got exactly one option, the way I see it.”
“I can hardly wait to hear it.” She looked out her side.
“You can’t go back to Houston tonight or tomorrow. If things are as you say, this guy knows you, knows Danny, knows your car. If he’s in law enforcement, he has access to records. Finding you in Houston will be a piece of cake.” Glancing at Danny who was once again taking in the sights from the back passenger window, he lowered his voice. “If this actually happened, you’re both in jeopardy, you and Danny. You won’t be safe until this whole thing is cleared up.”
“Gosh, I feel a hundred percent better.”
He blew out an impatient breath. “Don’t you see what I’m getting at?”
She turned to look at him. “I see that you’re trying to scare the daylights out of me. Why? Do you get a kick out of scaring single moms and five-year-olds?”
“I’m sorry.” He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his hair. Glancing at Claire, he saw that she’d put a hand on her throat. God, she was a beautiful woman, he thought, watching the beat of her pulse above her fingers. Even with that severe hairstyle and a minimum of makeup, there was no hiding the perfection of her face. He could almost understand why Carter had lost his head over her. Watching her mouth tremble, he reminded himself that she had willingly seduced a married man and selfishly wrecked a marriage without any thought of the hurt it would cause others.
But she was in deep trouble now if the kid had really seen a murder.
“What can I do?” she whispered.
“There’s only one thing to do.” His tone was brisk, businesslike. Be damned if he would fall for that soft, bruised look in her eyes. Reaching for the ignition keys, he started the Jeep. “You’ll have to go to Sugarland.”
“No.”
He could see it on her face. Sugarland was the last place in the world she wanted to go to for protection. “Then you tell me where I can drop you,” he retorted.
When she didn’t—couldn’t—find anything to say, he grunted something rude, rammed the Jeep in gear and took off.
Claire sat silently gazing at the town as John McMollere—equally silent—drove. How ironic, she thought, that the safest place for Carter’s son was in the bosom of his father’s family. The family who had rejected him outright from the moment they had learned of her pregnancy. For Danny’s sake, she would have to put that painful memory behind her.
Suddenly they turned off LaRue’s main street and she gave in to curiosity and stole a look at the man beside her. She wished she hadn’t argued with him. For her, it had been a no-win situation, but her pride had pushed her to challenge the man. He was right, of course. If she had to turn to others to help her protect her son, the McMolleres were surely the logical choice. And John McMollere—Mack—seemed tailor-made for the job. Even though she knew he disapproved of her, there was something about Mack that gave her a feeling of security. Still, she couldn’t just let him call the shots without at least letting him realize she was going along with his plan against her will. He didn’t have to know how relieved she was to have his help.
As they cruised a secondary street, she thought about what she knew about Carter’s older brother. Precious little, she concluded. He was a Vietnam veteran who’d flown helicopters during the war. In fact, it was Mack who’d taught Carter how to fly. She studied his hands on the wheel—hard, work-toughened hands—and then his face. He was less handsome, although his face was a good one, she decided, noting the strong jaw and firm chin. With those sunglasses concealing his eyes—lazerblue if she remembered right—it was hard to tell what he might be thinking, but she’d bet he wasn’t a man to advertise his feelings, anyway. She tried to remember what Carter had told her about his brother, but realized the information was vague in her memory. There’d been grudging admiration, she recalled that, and jealousy. Knowing what she now knew about Carter, she could well imagine that his weaker character had been swallowed up in this man’s quiet strength. He was nothing like Carter. One look at John McMollere and you sensed the difference in the brothers.
If only he wasn’t a McMollere.
A truck lumbered out from a side street forcing Mack to swerve and hit the brakes. He swore, then cast a wry look first back at Danny, then at Claire.
“Sorry, not used to kids,” he muttered, slowing to turn between two brick pillars. Claire said nothing, merely looked around with curiosity. Were they nearing Sugarland? Wasn’t the McMollere homeplace much farther out of town?
“I need to make a stop,” he told her. “My daughter’s here visiting a friend. I have to pick her up.”
Before she could reply, he pulled into a driveway and stopped. The house was all brick, large and luxurious with numerous windows. Off to one side, a magnificent oak tree dripped Spanish moss. Some distance back, along the crape-myrtle-studded driveway, was a detached three-car garage. Two teenage girls stood at the porch railing. Near them, a boy leaned against a square column. Claire judged him to be slightly older than the girls. The kids had obviously been expecting Mack since one of the girls straightened abruptly and started toward the Jeep.
She was there almost before Mack was out. Midteens, Claire guessed. Standard shorts and T-shirt, expensive watch and sandals. This was obviously his daughter. She had the same near-black hair and distinctive blue eyes. Although right now she was too tall, all arms and legs and too thin, one day all those characteristics would be assets and she would be drop-dead beautiful. Claire wondered about his wife. Ex-wife?
“You said you’d be here at five,” the girl said with undisguised hostility. She jerked open the door to climb inside, but Mack stopped her.
“Just a minute, Michelle.”
“What?” She looked straight ahead, her face sullen.
“I told you to stay away from Jake Reynolds. He’s bad news.”
“This is Ann-Marie’s house. I don’t have any control over who comes and goes here.”
“You’ve been here all day. When did Jake get here?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“You know the rules, Michelle.”
She tossed her dark hair. “You have too many rules.”
“I have a right as your father to set boundaries. That’s your problem, Michelle, you’ve never had any rules.”
She turned then, her eyes shooting blue fire. “We’re gonna start in on my mother now? How bad she is? What a loser she is, right?”
He sighed. “This isn’t about your mother, Michelle.” He glanced in the Jeep and caught the expression in Claire’s eyes. “We’ll discuss it later. This isn’t the time or place.”
With a huffing sound, the teenager climbed into the back seat next to Danny. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t bring it up.”
Mack got in behind the wheel, but didn’t start up. He turned to introduce Claire and Danny, but his daughter interrupted him.
“You must be the scarlet woman,” she said, looking at Claire.
“Michelle!” Mack thundered. “Apologize…now!”
Instead of apologizing, Michelle muttered the S-word.
Danny looked intrigued. “Mommy says when you say nasty words it’s only because you can’t think of better ones.”
Michelle gave him a contemptuous look. “You must be Carter’s brat. But now that I look a little closer, you could be Mack’s. You look more like him than Carter and, after all, he’s been loose and fancy-free for twelve years.”
“Michelle, I’m warning you…that’s enough! And don’t call me Mack.”
“You’re definitely a McMollere, though. Don’t worry.”
“Am I going to have to stop this car and gag you?” Mack demanded through his teeth.
“I don’t think I’m a brat,” Danny said, picking up on the only thing he understood in what Michelle had said. “Ryan’s a brat. Everybody says so.”
“Who’s Ryan, your brother?” The girl glanced at Claire. “There’s more where he came from?”
“Excuse me.” Claire spoke quietly, turning in her seat to give the girl a telling look. “None of this conversation is appropriate. If you have any other observations along these lines, please save them for a time when Danny isn’t present.”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” Mack said with a scowl. “We’re waiting for an apology, Michelle.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”
“What are you trying to do?” Mack said. “Embarrass both of us in front of these people?”
“You’re half right…Daddy.” She said this last with scorn.
“Meaning you only want to embarrass me.” For a long moment, he simply looked at his daughter. Claire sensed his anger and frustration. His bewilderment. She wondered what had caused so much hostility between father and daughter. Mack turned to Claire. “Sorry about this. You’ve guessed that this is my daughter, Michelle. I apologize for her manners. I wish I could say that it won’t happen again, but since you work in the library at a high school you know that no one can predict the behavior of a teenager.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
“I can do my own apologizing, thanks,” Michelle said.
He took off his sunglasses and with his thumb and forefinger rubbed his eyes wearily. Behind him, his daughter sat staring stonily out the window. The silence in the Jeep stretched uncomfortably.
Danny had watched and listened with fascination. His eyes were big now as he looked at Michelle. “You’re in trouble.”
His whisper carried easily to the adults in the front seat. Their eyes met. And for a second, Claire almost forgot where she was. Who he was. They were simply two single parents, each struggling with the problems of trying to rear children.
He leaned forward then and started the car and the spell was broken.
WHEN THEY TURNED OFF the highway about twenty minutes later, Mack told her that they were on McMollere land—over two thousand acres of flat, treeless bottomland planted exclusively in sugarcane. Fields and more fields of the green plants had reached a height exceeding eight feet in the August sun. The crop was nearing maturity, he explained. Then in the fall, in a flurry of activity, it would be cut, the strappy growth burned off, loaded on large trucks and hauled to the processing plants. Also owned by the McMolleres.
“What are those things?” Danny asked, pointing to mechanical beasts moving slowly up and down in various spots throughout the fields, like pecking birds.
“Oil pumps,” Mack explained. “There’s oil beneath the surface of the cane fields.”
“That’s how you get it out of the ground?” Danny was spellbound.
“That’s right, hotshot.”
Oil wells and sugarcane. Black and white gold. Claire sat stunned, taking it all in. The McMolleres’ wealth was more extensive than she’d realized. As was their power. She fought the fear rising in her chest.
“Is it okay to call you Uncle Mack?” Danny asked suddenly.
“That sounds fine to me,” Mack said, ignoring the snicker from Michelle.
“Did you like my dad? He was Carter McMollere.”
Claire met Mack’s startled glance. Why was he so surprised? she wondered. Did he expect her to bring Danny to meet Carter’s family and not explain to the child just who Carter McMollere was? Did they think Danny had reached age five without asking who his father was and why that man wasn’t a part of their lives?
“Yes, I liked him. He was my brother,” Mack said.
“Did you play with him?”
Enough, thought Claire. “Danny, let’s save this conversation for later, okay?”
“When, Mommy?”
“Just later, sweetie.” To her relief, Mack turned the car into a narrow lane. Finally.
Michelle had the door open almost before the Jeep stopped. “Well, here it is, kid,” she said, giving Danny a hand as he scrambled out after her. “Your heritage. Take a look.”
“What’s a heritage?” Danny asked, squinting in the sun at the imposing residence.
“Ask your mommy,” Michelle said, throwing a hostile look in Claire’s direction. “I’ll bet she has the answer to that one.”
“Michelle. Go to your room.” Mack’s expression was fierce. The girl shrugged and turned, heading for the front door.
Claire was used to teenage behavior. Before she took the job as a librarian, Claire had been an English teacher and had experienced her share of impudence and sheer bad manners from teenagers. She had found that such behavior often came from a deep well of hurt in a child. What, she wondered, was causing this girl such pain?
But there was no time to ponder the problem. As Michelle entered the house, two people came out. Claire reached for Danny, pulling him protectively against her, then turned to face Angus and Wyona McMollere, her son’s grandparents.
Later she realized that Mack was the force that had eased those first awkward moments. He had introduced his mother first. Wyona McMollere was tiny, no more than five feet tall. Her skin was fair and unlined, her hair delicately blond. Her hand trembled as she touched Danny’s hair, then his cheek. Claire guessed the woman to be about sixty, but her vague and distracted manner made her seem older.
“Mama, meet Claire Woodson,” Mack said. “Claire, my mother, Wyona.”
“Hello, Mrs. McMollere.”
The woman extended her hand. “How do you do?” she said, obviously striving to be polite. “I thought you would be younger.”
“Because I was a student when I met Carter?” Claire asked.
“Well, yes.”
“My mother was ill, so I had to delay getting my degree,” Claire explained, guessing from the woman’s surprised expression that she hadn’t expected Claire to have enough character to care for a sick mother. “I’m thirty-four.”
“Claire, this is Danny’s grandfather, Angus McMollere,” Mack said. “Dad, Claire Woodson.”
She recalled that Angus had suffered a stroke right after Carter’s death. Age and illness had apparently taken a toll, because the stern and uncompromising tyrant that Carter had described hardly fit the slightly stooped, fragile-looking man before her. But his eyes— so like Mack’s and Danny’s—were still fiercely blue.
She shook his hand. “Mr. McMollere.”
“Well, the boy certainly has the best of both of you,” he declared, studying Danny’s face.
“You mean, Carter and me?” Claire smiled coolly. “Is that a compliment?”
“My grandson’s a good-looking boy,” the old man blustered.
She gave Danny’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I think so, too.”
“Michelle thinks he looks like me.” Everybody stared at Mack in surprise.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said, finding her voice first.
“That was a joke, Mama.”
Claire felt a hand beneath her elbow and realized it belonged to Mack. She had a wild impulse to turn around and run from these people who represented anything but safety to her and Danny. But Mack was urging her across the threshold, and she had no choice but to keep going. Behind her, the door closed.
“Welcome to Sugarland,” he said.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_405becdb-a328-5c73-be8c-4f6d0284d9b8)
WYONA LED everyone through the house to a bright sun room. Claire sat where Wyona indicated, then patted the spot beside her for Danny. There hadn’t been time to get more than a glimpse of the house, but Claire had an impression of high ceilings, wooden floors, spaciousness and traditional decor. Still, it appeared dated, not in the sense of out-of-fashion furnishings—costly antiques were everywhere—but it had an air of benign neglect.
Claire envied Danny as he looked around, openly curious. She’d have to keep her own curiosity to herself, at least for now. Angus and Wyona took seats opposite her. Mack stood watching, his back to the windows.
“We’ve been looking forward to this day a long time, Danny,” Angus said in his blustery way. “How do you like your daddy’s house?”
Danny’s eyes got round. “Did my daddy live here?”
“He sure did.” Angus pointed up. “He was born right upstairs, in the same bedroom as me.”
“Wow.” Danny stared at the ceiling as though he could look right through it. “I was born in a hospital.”
“Yes, well…” Angus cleared his throat.
“I’m five,” Danny informed him proudly. “It’s only a month until I start kindergarten, but I can already read some ‘cause my mommy’s a liberrian. She used to be a teacher, but not anymore.”
“That’s quite a speech,” the old man said.
Mack smiled. “Danny’s quite a boy.”
“I have to be,” Danny said, obviously considering that an odd remark. “ ‘Cause I can’t be a girl.”
As everyone laughed, Michelle suddenly appeared at the door. “That’s the only reason you’re here, Danny. Because you aren’t a girl.” There was a bitter twist to her smile.
Mack moved toward her, frowning. With a sinking feeling, Claire realized he was going to scold his daughter and provoke another confrontation. The man’s parenting skills definitely needed work.
“Danny and I were just getting acquainted with his grandparents, Michelle,” she said, patting a place on the other side of her. “Come and join us.”
Michelle hesitated, meeting Claire’s gaze with suspicion. But then she walked over and sat down. “So, how’s it going? Is the little heir measuring up to true McMollere standards?”
“Isn’t it a bit early to tell?” Claire said, smiling.
“Not really. He’s male, he’s healthy, he’s in.”
“I don’t understand you, dear.” Wyona looked dismayed.
“That girl needs a lesson in manners,” Angus said, glaring at Mack.
“I like her,” Danny said, leaning forward to look at Michelle. Suddenly, the teenager’s eyes filled with tears.
She dashed them away with some embarrassment. “Just what I need, a little twerp to fight my battles. Too bad you aren’t gonna be here but a weekend, kid. We might become buddies.”
“I think we’re staying longer than that,” Danny said.
“What’s this?” Angus straightened a little, looking at Mack.
“Danny witnessed an incident at the hotel this afternoon,” he said, glancing at Claire. “While Claire was talking on the phone with me, he says he saw a man shoot somebody.”
There was shocked silence and then everybody tried to speak at once. Mack held up a hand. “There’s a problem. Nobody else saw anything. The hotel claims it couldn’t have happened, but when Claire and Danny went to Star-Mart later, somebody—a stranger—approached Danny and tried to force him out of the store.”
“My God!” Angus said softly.
“Oh…oh,” Wyona murmured, touching her cheek.
“Jeezum!” Michelle said.
Mack crossed his arms over his chest. “So until we can be certain Danny’s imagination hasn’t run amok, it would appear that the safest place for Claire and Danny right now is here at Sugarland.”
CLAIRE ESCAPED after the first flurry of questions to take Danny to the bathroom. She needed a moment to get her bearings. It was suddenly so overwhelming. Here she was in Carter’s house, with Carter’s parents, de- pendent on the McMolleres because of a fluke—a criminal act that had thrown her child’s life in jeopardy. She felt as if she were caught in a tidal wave with no more control over her destiny than a sand castle at high tide.
Beside her, Danny was looking wide-eyed at everything. “I like it here, Mommy.”
“It’s a nice house.”
“I like Michelle.”
“She’s nice, too.” She turned a corner, but could see nothing that looked like a bathroom.
“And I like Uncle Mack.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did my real daddy look like him?”
Claire sighed inwardly. From the time he’d been old enough to realize that most kids had a father, Danny had been curious about his own. She hated questions about Carter, but she tried not to let Danny know that.
Danny tugged on her dress. “You didn’t answer me, Mommy.”
“No, they really don’t look that much alike, Danny.” And I hope there’s even less resemblance in their character, she thought.
“Oh.” Danny’s small shoulders sagged.
She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Cheer up. I think you look a lot like your grandpa McMollere. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” He wrinkled his nose. “But he’s really old, isn’t he?”
“I suppose, but he’s been sick. Maybe that’s why he seems old.”
“He talks sorta loud, too.”
“Maybe he can’t hear as well as he used to.”
“But I can,” Danny said logically. “He doesn’t have to yell.”
“Uh-uh.” Where was the bathroom, for heaven’s sake?
Danny looked up into her face. “What should I call him and my grandmother?”
She had no idea. “Maybe you can ask them that when we get back to the living room.”
“My grandmother’s funny.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
Claire stopped and put her hands on his shoulders. “Yes, she does, Danny. She and your grandfather wanted this visit more than anything in the world because they wanted to get to know you. That’s because they love you. Your daddy was their son and because of him, you’re special to them. That includes your grandmother.”
He gazed at her steadily from eyes so unmistakably like his uncle’s and grandfather’s. “Are you sure, Mommy?”
With her forefinger, she solemnly drew an X on her chest. “Cross my heart.”
“And Michelle likes me, too?”
“That’s right.”
“Uncle Mack, too?”
“You got it.”
He smiled. “Okay. ‘Cause I like them and I think I’m gonna visit Sugarland for the next zillion years.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Here’s the bathroom.”
“Good. I have to go really bad.”
But he balked at the door. “Mommy, you don’t have to go in here with me.”
“Okay, honey.”
That wasn’t good enough. With his hand on the doorknob, he gave her a stubborn look. “You can go back to the grown-ups, Mommy.”
Terrific.
As she headed down the hall, she could hear Mack’s calm, measured replies to his parents. Fifteen minutes in the house with them and Claire could tell that John McMollere, not Angus, was the glue holding the family together. It was odd that he seemed so inept in dealing with his daughter.
She turned one of the numerous corners and nearly bumped into Michelle.
“So what is it, a blessing or a curse?” the girl asked.
Claire gave her an exasperated look. “Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”
“I could have clomped up wearing combat boots and you wouldn’t have heard me. You were a thousand miles away.”
“No, I wish I was a thousand miles away.”
Michelle grinned. “Now, that I can sympathize with.”
“Is that why you’re so deliberately rude every chance you get? Especially to your father?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“It’s juvenile, Michelle. Think of another way if you want people to respect you.”
“I don’t give a damn if they respect me.”
“How about loving you? How do you feel about that?”
She made a bitter sound. “That’s hopeless. Not from them. Never.”
“I’m sure your father loves you,” Claire said quietly.
“Oh, yeah? You’ve known him exactly…what? Half a day? And you can tell he loves me? Shows what you know.”
Claire sighed. “What did you mean just now—is what a blessing or a curse?”
“Being here at Sugarland.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
Just then, Danny ran up to them. “I ‘membered to wash my hands.”
“Good boy.” She gave him a smile.
“Back to the lion’s den,” Michelle quipped.
Claire grimaced. She’d wondered what was causing the girl such pain and now she knew. The question was: why did Michelle think her father didn’t love her?
IT WAS MUCH LATER that night when Mack left the house and headed for the sheriff’s office in Abadieville, sixty miles north of LaRue in another parish. He wasn’t quite convinced that Danny had seen a man murdered, let alone that it was by a rogue cop, but to be on the safe side, he’d avoided taking his concerns to the local sheriff. Wayne Pagett, the sheriff in Abadieville, was a longtime friend, a man he knew he could trust.
The incident in Star-Mart could have been coincidental. However, in Mack’s experience, coincidences were as rare as white alligators. Claire clearly believed her son, otherwise nothing could have induced her to accept the hospitality of the McMolleres at Sugarland. He had to hand it to her for dealing with an awkward situation gracefully. He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife managing half as well in a similar situation. In the first place, Liz was incapable of putting her child’s welfare above her own. Michelle’s unhappiness was proof of that.
He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about his problems with his teenage daughter tonight.
At the courthouse, he pulled into a parking space reserved for a deputy sheriff and stopped the Jeep. He got out, stretching to ease the stiffness from his thigh. He was hardly ever aware of the old ‘Nam injury except when rain threatened. He viewed the sky with a frown, guessing that it would storm within the hour.
He slammed the door and clamped his hat on his head, then took the courthouse steps two at a time. Not much activity in Abadieville this time of night, he noted, but he bet he’d find Wayne Pagett still in his office.
“Yo, Jerry. How’s it going?” He waved at a deputy manning the front desk, then caught a glimpse of Wayne through the glass door of the office. If the sheriff hadn’t been in, Mack would have had no hesitation in driving out to Wayne’s house. God knows he’d spent enough time there when he was growing up. Mike, Wayne’s oldest son, had been his best friend throughout high school. Mack couldn’t count the lectures he’d received from this man. Sometimes Wayne Pagett had seemed more like a father to him than Angus McMollere. Sometimes Mack had wished he’d been Wayne’s son.
He paused before knocking. Wayne spent most of his time now in his office. Mike had told Mack that after his wife died, his dad didn’t have much incentive to go home. With his kids grown, Mike living in Houston, and Kayla in Orlando, the big house was too empty. Wayne had even taken to bringing his big yellow Lab, Barney, into the office with him. It was the dog who spotted Mack first.
In the quiet of the courthouse, Barney’s bark sounded like the boom of a cannon as Mack pushed open the door. Wayne’s head came up and instantly his frown turned into pleasure. “Mack! Son of a gun, this is a surprise.” He got up, sending his chair crashing back against the wall, and leaned over his desk, his hand outstretched. “Of all the folks I expected to walk in here tonight, you’re the last. How are you, boy?”
Mack shook the man’s hand. At his feet, Barney was wagging his tail in joyful recognition. “I’m doing fine, Wayne. How about yourself?”
“Good…good. Yeah, I’m doing all right.” He sat again, then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a cigar. “Have a seat. I’d offer you one of these, but I know you hate ‘em. How’s Angus? Last I heard, he was up and about, ornery as ever.”
“He’s doing okay.” Mack rubbed Barney’s ears, smiling as the Lab licked his hand, then he settled back.
“A little shaky on his feet, but if he follows the doctor’s orders, he manages just fine.”
“I can imagine how eager he is to follow doctor’s orders,” Wayne said dryly.
Mack grinned. “His health was affected by his stroke, his personality wasn’t.”
Wayne grunted, nodding his head. “And your mama. How’s Wyona?”
“Same as ever.”
“Give them both my best.” He paused to light the cigar, then surveyed Mack through the smoky haze. “It’s a little late for a social visit, isn’t it, boy?”
Mack leaned forward in the chair, lifting his ankle to rest on his knee. “We’ve got a couple of visitors at Sugarland.”
“Oh?”
“Carter’s son, Danny, and the little boy’s mother.”
“Well, well. So Martin Thibodaux finally came through for you. Last I heard, he was trying every legal trick in the book to try and arrange a visit, but the woman was hanging tough.”
“Who told you that?”
“Oh, I’ve got my sources, don’t you know.”
Mack knew he wouldn’t get a name from Wayne, so there was no sense pushing it, but he wondered if Martin Thibodaux, who’d been Angus’s lawyer for more than thirty years, realized that sensitive information about one of his most influential clients was being leaked.
“Her name’s Claire Woodson,” he said.
“I know her name.” Seeing Mack’s frown, Wayne went on, “Miriam met her once. It was at an education conference in Baton Rouge about six months before I lost her. Sort of a coincidence, you might say, seeing as there was a connection between Miriam and the McMolleres.” He paused to take a puff of his cigar. “Anyway, she came away from the conference, Miriam, I mean, with a good impression of Claire Woodson. Naturally, Miriam knew how Angus and Wyona resented being kept from knowing their grandson, and that they had no positive feelings about Miss Woodson. Miriam expected somebody harder, more…ah, flamboyant, I suppose, but Miss Woodson was very nice. In fact, Miriam mentioned that she acted in every way a lady, positively straitlaced, she said.”
“She’s a redhead,” Mack said abruptly, then shifted uncomfortably at Wayne’s laugh.
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t look anything like I expected.”
“You mean in all this time you never had a look at the woman you were fighting for custody of Carter’s child?”
“Just once. And it was years ago when she and Carter were having the affair.” Wayne’s attitude made him feel defensive, as if his parents’ long, hard-fought legal battle was in some way unjust. “My folks weren’t fighting for custody of the boy. They were just trying to assert their natural right to see Danny occasionally, to arrange a visit to Sugarland once in a while. As the boy’s grandparents, don’t they deserve that?”
“Well, it sounds reasonable,” Wayne said, leaning back until he was nearly horizontal in his chair. Smoke curled lazily from his cigar. “And Miriam told me that Miss Woodson seemed like a reasonable young woman, very sensible. Makes you wonder why she fought access so hard.”
It was something Mack had wondered about, too. He wished he had an answer. “She’s not exactly what I expected.”
“You’re probably not what she expected,” Wayne said, smiling faintly.
“How do you mean?”
“She probably thinks that since you’re Carter’s brother you share other characteristics.” He reached over and gently rubbed the ashes from the end of his cigar. “Nothing could be further from the truth, as anybody who knows you could tell her.”
“Wayne—”
“Aw, now, don’t go getting that look on your face. I’m not saying anything bad about your brother, ‘specially now he’s gone and can’t defend himself.” He hunched a little closer to his desk, looking Mack directly in the eye. “Let me give you some advice, Mack. Don’t assume things are as they seem with Claire Woodson. I know you’ve got a lot on you, son. You’re on the board of that oil company now, you’re the biggest sugarcane farmer in four parishes, you’re struggling to learn to be a parent to your little girl. The two of you hardly know each other at all after all these years Liz kept her from you. And now you’ve got Claire and her little boy and her feud with your folks dumped in your lap. Angus can’t help much, he’s sick and your mama…well, your mama is hardly the lady she was before Carter died in that airplane crash.” He put his cigar in an ashtray that was an open alligator’s mouth, and shoved it aside. “But you need to wait a while before judging Claire. See if you think she’s the kind of woman who’d arbitrarily deny decent grandparents the right to have a relationship with their only grandson. And if the answer’s yes, then take a minute to ask yourself why in the world she would feel that way.”
At Mack’s feet, Barney whined, his soft brown eyes full of concern. Mack chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re making me feel about ten years old, Wayne. How do you do it?”
“Comes with age, son. You get old as me, you get to say whatever you please, even if it’s none of your damn business.” He eyed Mack over his bifocals. “So, how long is Miss Woodson’s visit?”
Mack drew in a deep breath. “Longer than she counted on. That’s why I drove over here tonight to see you, Wayne. She’s having to stay at Sugarland whether she likes it or not because the boy claims he saw a man murdered this afternoon at the White Hotel.”
“What the hell!” Wayne wasn’t shocked often. “You’re gonna have to explain that in a little more detail, son.”
Mack gave him the whole story, including his own doubts. Unlike Mack, Wayne was inclined to accept Danny’s account of what he saw. When he repeated the incident at Star-Mart, the sheriff frowned ferociously.
“You say Miss Woodson believes the boy saw what he claims to have seen?” he asked.
“Yeah. She said she had doubts at first because they’d been watching something on TV that had a lot of violence, and she’d made Danny turn it off and watch cartoons instead.”
“Sounds to me like she’s a conscientious mama as well as a sensible person,” Wayne remarked.
Mack grunted. “Whatever. But the hotel found no signs of a struggle or blood or anything that lent any credence to what Danny said.”
“A mother usually knows her child, Mack.”
“Yeah. That’s why I drove over here. I don’t know what you can do without stirring up a hornet’s nest, but I’d appreciate your looking into this,” Mack told him. “As you guessed, I’m going to be busy at Sugarland. I’ve got an office in Lafayette, but since Dad’s heart attack and especially now that Michelle is with me, I’ve been trying to manage at home.” He stood up, frowning at the window where lightning flashed intermittently through the ancient oak trees on the side of the courthouse. “It’s too risky leaving her alone to do much investigating on my own.”
“Who, Michelle?”
“No, Claire.” Bumping his hat restlessly against his right thigh, he missed Wayne’s sharp look. “She wanted to drive back to Houston, can you believe that? I told her no way. A woman alone, some nut out there looking for her, she needs a keeper, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a nasty job, but I guess somebody’s got to do it.”
“You can’t be too careful,” Mack said, ignoring the taunt. He settled his hat on his head. “As you pointed out, I have a family responsibility here, Wayne. This is Carter’s son, the only other grandchild my folks are likely to have.”
“I don’t know as I’d say that, not just yet,” Wayne drawled, rising from his chair. “You’ve still got a few good years. What are you now, Mack, thirty-nine, forty?”
“Forty-two last month, Wayne,” Mack said dryly. “And I don’t plan on producing any other heirs. For that, a man needs a wife, and I don’t intend making that mistake again.”
Wayne shook his head. “That Liz sure did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“It wasn’t just Liz,” Mack said, wincing as a crash of thunder shook the windowpanes. “We never should have married in the first place. I knew she was out of her element when I brought her to Sugarland. She was a city girl. She was miserable from day one.”
Wayne gave a snort. “What about her vows? A woman’s supposed to stick with her man.”
“It was thirteen years ago, Wayne,” Mack said. He took no offense at his friend’s frankness, possibly because Liz’s desertion no longer hurt the way it once had. “It’s in the past.”
“Not the way I see it.” Wayne clamped his cigar in his mouth. “What with her dumping little Michelle on you after poisoning her against her Louisiana relatives, including you.” He fumbled around, moving things on his desk top, looking for a match. “The woman’s a piece of work, that’s what she is.”
“She’s a little spoiled,” Mack agreed, heading for the door. “But she’s Victor DeBartolo’s problem now, not mine.”
Wayne squinted at Mack through a fresh cloud of smoke. “He’s still in Washington, I guess.”
“You know as well as I do where Vic is. You know everything else.”
“Good place for him.” Wayne reached for his suit coat and shrugged into it. “Her, too.”
Mack laughed. “Next time Liz calls, I’ll be sure and mention you send your regards.”
They went out together, both chuckling.
At the door, Mack stopped. “One thing you can do for me now, Wayne. I need to get Claire’s luggage, but it’s probably best for somebody besides me to pick it up. If the boy did actually witness something and somebody’s watching the room, I wouldn’t want them to make the connection that Claire and the boy are at Sugarland.”
Wayne turned to the deputy. “Jerry, call Al and tell him to pick up Claire Woodson’s things at the White Hotel, then tell him Mack will meet him at Melrose Crossing in about thirty minutes to take ‘em off his hands. Tell him to give no information to the hotel.” He looked at Mack. “Thirty minutes ought to do it, huh?”
“It should. Thanks, Wayne.”
“No problem.”
They were walking through the office, when another mighty clap of thunder shook the place. At the door, Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “My Miriam was a redhead, did you know that?”
Mack clamped his hat on his head, getting ready to make a run for it. “I don’t remember her hair ever being anything but snow-white.”
“Yeah. Turned that way nearly overnight. She wasn’t a day over forty…She always blamed it on you and Mike.”
It was still raining, but Mack was smiling as he dashed for his Jeep.
HE DROVE through a steady downpour all the way to Sugarland. Just as Wayne ordered, one of his men was waiting at Melrose Crossing with Claire’s luggage. Not much to it, he thought as he stored a suitcase and an overnight case in the back of the Jeep. If the visit lasted more than a week, she’d probably need to get a few more things.
He tried to convince himself he didn’t care whether she was there a week or a day.
As he turned in the curved driveway, the Jeep’s headlights swept over the house. Except for the garage area, which was separate from the main house, the whole place was dark. He stopped the car and got out, heading around to the tailgate. As he pulled it open, he glanced up at the second-story bedroom where Claire and the boy were staying. That, too, was dark. Apparently she wasn’t losing any sleep worrying about her situation. He slammed the tailgate and started up the steps.
“Is that my luggage?”
Startled at the sound of her voice, he almost dropped the bags.
“Sorry, I guess you didn’t see me.”
“What are you doing out here?” he said. “This is a hell of an electrical storm. You could be struck by lightning.”
“I couldn’t sleep. And storms have never made me nervous.” She took the overnight case, leaving the larger piece for him to carry. “Thanks for picking this up.”
He didn’t waste any time getting the door open and urging her inside. There was just enough light to reveal what she was wearing. And how she looked. A big T-shirt and shorts. In the denim dress today, he’d guessed that her legs were fantastic. He’d been right. The only wrong note was her hair. He wondered what it would be like not tied back. Earlier her hair had been pulled back and pinned in some severe-looking twist. Now it was braided, starting at the crown of her head. He imagined her red hair all loose and flowing. He could almost feel his fingers sift through it. He could almost see it spread out and—
He caught himself up abruptly. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about this woman? He cleared his throat. “I see that you found something to wear.”
“Michelle generously offered this workout set.” She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to stretch the garment to midthigh. “One size fits all. I was glad for the clothes, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own things.”
“They couldn’t look any better on you.”
She was instantly on guard. Like a doe caught in headlights.
“I’ll just take this on up to my room,” she said, slipping past him to hurry up the stairs.
Watching her escape—there was no other word for it—he wished he could take back the remark, but the words had been out before he could stop them. Why was she so skittish?
Frowning, he climbed the stairs himself, but at a pace that gave him time to contemplate the contrasts and complexities of Claire Woodson. There was a remoteness about her that didn’t fit the way he’d thought of her for years. He recalled that night in Houston when she’d been with Carter. Mack remembered her smiling, almost sparkling with emotion as she clung to Carter on the dance floor. And then Carter had spotted him, had made the introductions reluctantly.
The picture of Claire Woodson as she’d been that night had stayed with Mack. As for this woman with the severe hairdo, the disconcertingly direct gaze, the calm grace and quiet manner, she did not fit that other picture. Just who was the real Claire Woodson?
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_74a730e0-347a-553c-a0f3-6288e3591860)
THE CONTINUING DRONE of a small plane pulled Claire out of a deep sleep. Her subconscious had been aware of the sound for some time, long enough to pierce her defenses and trigger a dream. She was in a small plane with Carter at the controls. He was talking to her, smiling, gesturing with eager, almost manic, enthusiasm. He didn’t seem worried that he was flying the plane recklessly, zipping up and down, buzzing landmarks, going into a tailspin that brought her heart into her mouth. The controls on the instrument panel were going haywire. Trapped and terrified, Claire cried out at him to be careful, but he laughed at her. When she couldn’t reason with him, she opened the door to get out of the plane. She looked down in panic on an ocean of green sugarcane undulating in a summer breeze as the plane spiraled to the ground.
She awoke with a start.
To escape the nightmare, she wanted to spring out of bed, but her body felt heavy, weighted down by fear coursing through paralyzed limbs. Even her mind functioned sluggishly. She studied her surroundings in growing confusion. Where was she? The bedroom in her Houston condo had no floral wallpaper, no slowly revolving ceiling fan. Her bed had no tall cherry-wood foot posts.
And then she remembered. She was at Sugarland. Of course. With the McMolleres.
She rose on one elbow and rubbed a hand over her face. It had been such a long night. For hours her mind had been in turmoil. No relaxation techniques had worked. The last time she’d looked at the clock, it had been after four. It was now only a few minutes before six.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a robe and headed for the bathroom, which lay between the large guest suite Wyona had placed her in and a smaller bedroom the right size for a child. Unsurprisingly, considering the bizarre day he’d had, Danny had not been eager to stay in his room alone. It had been Michelle who’d persuaded him. Angry, hurting, rebellious Michelle. Claire wasn’t sure what the girl had promised him, but whatever it was, Danny had finally settled down. Claire had been grateful. Once again, she’d found herself wondering what was wrong between Michelle and Mack. Almost instinctively she wanted to reach out to the teenager, but she reminded herself that Michelle’s problems weren’t her concern. She couldn’t afford to get embroiled in this family’s affairs. Claire was here only because of the threat to Danny. Her son—not Mack’s troubled daughter—was the one who mattered right now.
In the bathroom, she realized that the sound of the small plane had not let up. Through the window, she watched the craft swoop low, spewing out a cloud of pesticide, the fuselage almost brushing the tops of the waving sugarcane. Barely dawn and a pilot was already crop-dusting. She rubbed her forehead, groaning at the early hours that farmers kept. Still, Danny would be interested, she thought, making a mental note to ask Mack to tell him about growing and processing sugar before it appeared on the table in tiny white granules to sweeten his cereal.
She went to check on him and found his bed empty. For a second, she stared around blankly. His pajamas were discarded beside a chair and his sneakers were gone. How could he have left without her hearing a sound? Her heart stumbled, but she told herself not to panic. Drawing the belt tight on her robe, she hurried into the hall. The house was eerily silent in the way houses are before their occupants rise. There was no sign of Danny or anybody else.
Fighting panic, she went to the banister of the winding staircase and leaned over it. “Danny,” she called, trying to keep her voice under control. “Danny, where are you?”
No answer. She whirled, about to go back to her room and get dressed. She could hardly search the place in her nightgown and robe. Behind her a door opened.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Wyona McMollere came out of a bedroom, her fair hair frizzed around her head and her eyeglasses cocked as though she’d donned them in a hurry.
“I’m looking for my son, Mrs. McMollere,” Claire said. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“At this hour?” the woman asked, glancing around as though expecting Danny to materialize out of nowhere. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” In a nervous gesture, Claire caught up her long hair as she tried to think. “He’s not in his room and his sneakers are gone.”
Angus McMollere shuffled up behind Wyona, leaning on his cane. “What’s all the ruckus?” he demanded, his scowl directed at Claire.
“My son isn’t in his room,” Claire said. “I need to find him.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Wyona said.
“Of course, he’s fine,” Angus snapped. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Then where is he?” Claire cried, her heart starting to pound in panic. “It’s not even six o’clock in the morning!”
“Hear now, girl,” Angus said, shuffling toward her with his cane. “Just hold on. He’s around somewhere. Let’s see what Mack thinks.”
“Danny knows not to go anywhere with strangers,” Claire said.
“What strangers would you be referring to?” Angus demanded, his frown fierce. “There’re no strangers in this house, at least none who’d lure off a five-year-old.”
“Everyone here is a stranger to Danny,” she said tightly, anxiety making her blunt.
“And who’s fault is that!” Angus retorted with a thump of his cane.
“Maybe he’s just exploring the house,” Wyona offered helpfully. “Little boys are like that.”
“Danny wouldn’t explore anything without asking me first.”
“He’s a McMollere,” Angus argued. “They don’t always do what their mamas say.”
Disobedience was hardly something to be proud of, Claire thought with disgust. Before she said something she would regret, she turned to go, then halted at the sound of someone entering the front door downstairs. Wyona released a small relieved sigh. “Oh, oh, thank goodness, Mack’s here.”
Mack? He wasn’t in his bedroom sleeping?
All eyes were on him as he came up the curved staircase. His gaze went first to Claire. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you seen Danny?”
“Danny?” His blank look said everything.
“He’s gone!”
Wyona touched Angus’s arm. “Maybe Michelle—”
Mack walked over to them, frowning. “Gone where? What’s going on here?”
“He’s not in his bed,” Claire said. “I checked on him a few minutes ago. He’s not in the house. I should have let him sleep with me. He wanted to, but I thought—”
“Hey, take it easy.” Mack caught her hand and stopped her, gave it a little squeeze. “Wherever he is, he’s fine. He’s around somewhere. This is a big house.”
She pulled her hand away. “He’s not in the house. He would have heard me calling and said something.”
“Maybe the crop duster woke him up,” Mack suggested. “He probably snuck out to investigate.”
“Not without asking me,” she repeated stubbornly.
“Well, he sure can’t have been kidnapped right under our noses, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Mack observed.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Claire said curtly, wrapping her arms around her waist. “With everything that happened yesterday, I should have kept him in the room with me. Until we know why that man was killed, Danny shouldn’t be out of my sight.”
“We don’t know yet that a man was killed,” Mack reminded her.
“You may not know it, but I do!”
“Okay, have it your way,” Mack said, more to calm her, she guessed, than because he actually agreed with her. “But let’s see if anybody outside the house has seen him before we panic, okay?”
“I was just about to do that,” Claire said. She was trembling, an inch away from falling apart and more relieved to see Mack than she cared to admit.
“I’ll get Cleo to make a thorough search downstairs. She might have seen something.”
“Cleo?”
“The housekeeper,” he said. “You met her last night.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” Distracted, she pushed her hands through her hair, only then recalling that it was loose and uncombed and that she must look like something the cat dragged in.
“You might want to change into something else.”
Something in his tone intensified her embarrassment. She didn’t reply, but turned and hurried down the hall to do just that.
FOR A BEAT OR TWO, Mack stood watching her go. Fresh out of bed in a panic, she’d not taken time to pull her hair back. It was as he’d remembered—a rich auburn with fiery streaks. He was torn between feeling sympathy for her as a scared mother whose kid was probably off exploring interesting new territory, and losing himself in a sexual fantasy over the look of her, all dewyeyed and sleep-soft. It was no wonder she wore that tight bun and those longish dresses that didn’t touch her anywhere except her shoulders. To leave them off was to allow people to see her as she really was: her breasts rounded and lush, her waist small enough to span with his hands, a soft shape he itched to hold.
Was she simply putting on an act for her visit to Danny’s relatives? Possibly she thought that if she looked prim and proper enough, she would fool them all into thinking she was prim and proper. Not likely, since Miriam Pagett had been taken in, too, according to Wayne. And that was well over two years ago when Claire couldn’t have known she would be compelled to visit Carter’s folks.
Whatever the answer was, he didn’t have time to figure it out now. Claire’s concern for Danny was genuine. And he hadn’t just been blowing smoke when he’d told her the boy was safe so long as he was on Sugarland grounds. So where was he? In the car yesterday, everything Danny saw had fascinated him. Like any child might, he’d probably popped out of bed at the crack of dawn and decided to do a little sight-seeing on his own.
Not that Claire was in any frame of mind to accept that, Mack thought, bumping his Stetson against his thigh as he turned to go back downstairs. The problem with these city folks was that they overreacted to everything. It came from being penned up in climatecontrolled condos, or barricaded behind the locked gates of some planned community where they didn’t know anybody but the manager. They forgot what it was like to live a regular life. Not that things were all that regular around here since yesterday. In all fairness, he had to admit that.
Claire was scared to death. He was surprised to find that he didn’t like the idea of her worrying unnecessarily. She’d already gotten more than she’d bargained for in her visit to Sugarland. Quickly putting on his hat, he headed for the front door.
Claire was right behind him. “Michelle’s not in her room,” she said, tucking in the tails of a plain white shirt. Her hair, he noted, was again slicked back and anchored at her nape with an elastic ring.
“Well, they’re together, you can count on it.”
“How can you know that!” she cried. “I’ve been here less than a day, but it’s long enough to show me that Michelle isn’t a typical teenager. She could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it, what with the relationship you two share. She could be at her friend’s house where we picked her up yesterday. She sure wouldn’t take Danny with her if I’m right.”
“You’re wrong.”
“About your relationship or the other?”
“The other,” he said, his reply clipped. He didn’t intend to discuss Michelle with her. “Michelle might well sashay off to her friend’s house without asking, but not at this hour. She’s at the barn.”
“The barn?”
“With the horses. It’s the only thing she likes about Sugarland.”
“You have horses?”
“Yeah, we have horses. We’ve got a lot of land, you might have noticed that,” he reminded her dryly. “Horses get around in a cane field much better than Jeeps.”
“Yes, but…” They were outdoors now and she could see beyond the immediate grounds—which were landscaped and meticulously maintained—to the acres and acres of sugarcane. “I just didn’t think.”
He headed for his Jeep, and she followed, huffing a little in an effort to keep up with him. He slowed down. He wasn’t used to a woman tagging along, but from the little he knew about Claire Woodson, he suspected wild horses couldn’t keep her from accompanying him on his search for her little boy.
“The barn’s over there.” He pointed east.
She looked, and sure enough, over the waving sugarcane she saw a barn compound. “Don’t you ever get tired of nothing but sugarcane?” she grumbled when she’d climbed into the Jeep.
“It’s cut by the end of the year and then there’s open space as far as the eye can see.”
“Oh.”
“Until the cane is up again.”
She buckled up like a diligent schoolmarm and, hiding a smile, he backed out of the driveway and started to drive the Jeep in the direction of the barn. Catching sight of her worried expression, he said, “Don’t worry, they’ll be there.”
They were. As soon as they reached the compound, they spotted Michelle astride her favorite mare in the corral behind the barn and Danny perched on the fence watching every move she made. The child turned at the sound of the Jeep and began to scramble down to run and meet them.
“Mommy, Mommy, they’ve got horses! Real horses. Michelle says I can learn to ride. I already touched Cherry. That’s her name. She’s a mare. That’s what you call a lady horse. Mommy, this is a neat place. I’m having fun!”
Mack felt a pang in his middle as he watched Claire sweep up the little boy and helplessly bury her face in his neck. She didn’t say anything.
Danny tolerated the emotional display briefly and then squirmed to get down. “Mommy, did you hear me?” he insisted, dragging her by the hand toward the fence. “Michelle is gonna teach me to ride. They have a pony just for me! His name’s Bucko. I bet I can do it, too.”
“Hi!” Michelle called, flashing a smile incredibly like her father’s. With an expert hand, she guided the prancing mare up to the fence. “Danny and I’ve been out forever. Is it time for breakfast? We’re both starved.”
“You may not get any breakfast,” Mack told her sternly. “Or lunch or dinner.”
She rolled her eyes. “What now, for Pete’s sake! I haven’t done anything to get in trouble for yet. It’s too early in the morning.”
Claire caught Mack’s eye. Now that her fear for Danny’s safety was passing, fury was overtaking it. “I’ll handle this,” she told him.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Danny asked, squinting up at her.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Michelle looked curiously from one to the other.
“You took my son out of the house without asking my permission, Michelle,” Claire said, her voice shaking. “Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up and he was gone? I was scared to death.”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” Michelle dismounted with easy grace. Keeping the reins in her hand, she bent down to get through the rails. “I guess I didn’t think. I go riding every morning, anybody around here’ll tell you that. Today was no different, except—”
“You didn’t think?”
“No, I—”
“I’ve only been here half a day, as you reminded me yesterday, but it’s long enough to know that other people’s feelings don’t seem to matter much to you, Michelle.”
Michelle glanced uncertainly at Mack.
“Just a minute, Claire,” he said.
But Claire’s wrath was still focused on Michelle. “You had no right to take my son without asking!” With Danny’s back pressed against her thighs, she crossed shaking hands over his chest. “It’s bad enough we have no choice except to be here, but for you to think so little of my peace of mind that you’d whisk Danny off and leave me to wonder and worry and imagine all sorts of horrible possibilities is just too much!” She drew in a deep breath, trembling all over.
“Gosh, I’m really sorry,” Michelle repeated, with none of her usual flippancy.
“Was it too much trouble to wake me and ask to take my son?”
Danny caught her hand. “Mommy…”
Claire ignored him. “If I could, I would pack our things and leave here this instant!”
“Mommy—” Danny pulled at her hand.
Claire turned to Mack. “What kind of people are you? Don’t you ever think of anybody but yourselves?”
“Just a damn minute, now!” He took a step toward her. “Maybe Michelle was wrong in bringing Danny out without asking, but seems to me you’re taking out other frustrations on her. You ask what kind of people we are—no different from most. We’re trying to be rational, and that’s more than—”
“Rational!” Now that she’d vented her outrage, her other emotions were threatening to overflow. Suddenly she felt close to tears. “F-forcing me to c-come here, d-demanding time with my son when you were perfectly happy to deny his existence before Carter died, then taking advantage of that hideous situation at the hotel.” She drew a new breath, blinking fast. “And why did we have to stay there, anyway? We would have been just fine at the Holiday Inn. But no, because you say so, we have to experience the quaint southern thing and check into a hotel right out of a trashy novel…” She looked away, struggling to keep herself together.
“Mommy…” Danny tugged again. “I think you need some time in the quiet corner.”
All three looked at Danny, then at each other. Sheepishly. Claire pressed her fingers to her temples, realizing how hysterical she sounded. How irrational. Even Danny knew it. Shaking her head, she whispered to no one in particular, “What am I doing?”
“Mommy, can I talk now?”
“What, Danny?” she managed to say, breathing in to try to regain her composure.
“You’re gonna be mad.” Warily, he watched her use both hands to wipe tears from her cheeks.
“Try me anyway, Danny.”
“Michelle didn’t bring me outside this morning. I came all by myself.”
She glanced in disbelief at the barn and then in the direction of the big house. It could hardly be seen from here. “How on earth did you find the barn?”
“I followed the dirt road, you know like in The Wizard of Oz, only it’s not a yellow brick road here, it’s dirt.”
There was an uneasy silence. Claire glanced at Michelle, then closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“Actually, I suppose I’m to blame,” Michelle said, shifting a little as the mare nudged her from behind. “Last night, I promised Danny if he’d go to sleep and not bug you, I’d show him the horses and the pony that was just the right size for him.” She shrugged, then with a wry look she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Like I said, I always ride early in the morning. When he appeared, I didn’t really think about whether anybody knew where he was. I just assumed you knew.” She looked at Claire. “He’s safe at Sugarland, whether you know it or not.”
Claire chewed on her lower lip, wishing she were anywhere but at this horrible place. “I apologize for losing control,” she said stiffly. “I don’t usually make such a fool of myself.”
Michelle shrugged. “You were scared. It’s a motherthing. Forget it.”
Nodding reluctantly, Claire glanced at Mack. Michelle might be willing to forget her outburst, but he wouldn’t. Fortunately, she didn’t care what he thought.
“Can we look at my pony now?” Danny begged.
She let him pull her toward the barn.
Claire wasn’t sure what to expect for the rest of that day, but to her relief, Michelle didn’t seem to hold any resentment and had even invited her to come along for Danny’s promised pony ride. He’d been enchanted with the pony, of course, and with everything else about Sugarland. In a way, Claire envied his youthful enthusiasm. How nice to be innocent enough to accept at face value this place, this new experience, even these people.
He fell into an exhausted nap after lunch. Claire seized the chance to slip out of the house and spend a few peaceful moments with her own thoughts and—she admitted it—to indulge her curiosity about Sugarland. Behind the house, at the end of a meandering brick walk, she turned a corner and discovered a pond—or maybe it was a small lake. To her delight, situated in the middle of it was a gazebo.
Did everything in this place look like something out of a storybook? she wondered, walking the wooden footbridge that spanned the water. Inside the gazebo, she spent a moment gazing around at the peaceful setting. In one direction, the big house was visible, its frame shimmering in the August heat. To the west was a vast expanse of green sugarcane. Along the perimeter of the field, a dust plume billowed out behind a slow-moving farm vehicle. Beyond that, a lush, dark line of trees marked a bayou.
She sat down on a wrought-iron settee. Only a light breeze stirred the willow trees ringing the pond. Clumps of purple iris at the water’s edge attracted butterflies and bees. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. All her life she’d been a city dweller, but she had often imagined she would like country living. Pushing aside thoughts of why she was here, she lost herself in the peace and sounds and smells of deep summer.
Something brushed her ankle. Glancing down, she saw that a dragonfly was perched on the end of her sneaker. Gazing at its wide, fragile wings, she thought of her own precarious fate. How could she continue to stay with the McMolleres indefinitely? Where else could she and Danny go to be safe?
“Want some company?”
For a big man, Mack McMollere moved almost silently, she thought. Backlighted by the glare of the sun on the water, he seemed to fill the arched entrance of the small structure. How had he managed to get so close without making a sound? Shrugging wordlessly to let him know she had no objection to his company, she watched him push away from the arch and come inside.
The settee creaked with his weight as he took a seat beside her, shifting until he was wedged between the back and side arm. It gave him a clear view of Claire.
“Didn’t take you long to find the choice spot at Sugarland, did it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I can see why southern Louisiana has inspired so many writers and poets.”
“Yeah, mosquitoes, humidity, relentless heat ten months out of the year, and to top it off, alligators. You can’t get much more romantic than that.”
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Karen Young
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Women Who Dare"Karen Young is a spellbinding storyteller…" – Romantic TimesShe could lose her son, after all.Little Danny Woodson witnessed a murder, and now the killer is after him. Claire Woodson will do anything to protect her son. Even if it means living with the enemy. And Mack McMollere, Danny′s uncle, is the enemy. The wealthy Louisiana sugar baron is fighting Claire for custody of the boy.Mack–and the powerful McMollere family–swear they can keep Danny safe. But now there′s new danger. Danny is fitting in too well with his late father′s family. And when she′s with Mack, Claire′s finding it all too easy to forget that the McMolleres want her son….Exciting and emotional–a compelling new novel from RITA Award winner Karen young, author of The O′Connors trilogy and Having His Baby.Women Who Dare