Suzanna's Surrender

by Nora Roberts

  “You've got a real nice way of wearing denim, babe.” He rose, and since she wasn't coming any closer, moved to her. “And...” He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her back to her hips. “I get a real charge out of taking it off you.” He kissed her hard, in the deep and urgent way she'd come to ex­pect. Then he nipped her bottom lip and grinned.

  “But anytime you want to borrow one of those lacy things from Lilah...”

  She laughed and gave him a quick, affectionate hug, the kind she gave so freely that never failed to warm him from the inside out. “Maybe I'll surprise you. How long have you been here?”

  “I came straight from the site. Did you get the rest of those whatdoyoucallits in?”

  “Russian olives, yes.” And her back was still ach­ing. “You were a lot of help on the retaining wall.”

  “You were out of your mind to think you could build that thing on your own.”

  “I had a part-time laborer when I contracted.”

  He shook his head and went back to searching the fireplace. “You may be tough, Suzanna, but you're not equipped to haul around lumber and swing a sledgehammer.”

  “I'd have done it—”

  “Yeah.” He glanced around. “I know.” He tested another brick. “It did look pretty good.”

  “It looked terrific. And since you didn't swear at me more than half a dozen times when you were heft­ing landscape timbers, why don't I reward you?”

  “Oh, yeah?” He lost his interest in the bricks.

  “I'll go get you a beer.”

  “I'd rather have—”

  “I know.” She laughed as she walked out. “But you'll have to settle for a beer. For now.”

  It felt good, she thought, to be able to joke like that. Not to be embarrassed or edgy. There was no need to feet anything but content, knowing he cared for her. In time, they might have something deeper.

  Full of energy and hope, she rounded the last step and turned into the hall. All at once, there was chaos.

  She heard the dogs first, Fred and Sadie, barking fiendishly, then the clatter of feet on the porch and two high bellowing shouts.

  “Mom!” Both Jenny and Alex yelled the single syllable as they burst into the house.

  The rich and fast joy came first as she bent to scoop diem up in her arms. Laughing, she smothered them both with kisses as the dogs dashed in mad circles.

  “Oh, I missed you. I missed you both so much. Let me look at you.” When she drew them back arm's length, her smile faltered. They were both on the edge of tears. “Baby?”

  “We wanted to come home.” Jenny's voice trem­bled as she buried her face against her mother's shoul­der. “We hate vacation.”

  “Shh.” She stroked Jenny's hair as Alex rubbed a fist under his eyes.

  “We were unmanageable and bad,” he said in a trembly voice. “And we don't care, either.”

  “Just the attitude I've eome to expect,” Bax said as he walked through the open front door. Jenny's arms tightened around Suzanna's neck, but Alex turned and threw out his Calhoun chin.

  “We didn't like the dumb party, and we don't like you, either.”

  “Alex!” Her tone sharp, she dropped a hand on his shoulder. “That's enough. Apologize.”

  His lips quivered, but the stubborn gleam remained in his eyes. “We're sorry we don't like you.”

  “Take your sister upstairs,” Bax said tightly. “I want to speak with your mother in private.”

  “You and Jenny go in the kitchen.” Suzanna brushed a hand over Alex's cheek. “Aunt Coco's there.”

  Bax took a careless swipe at Fred with his foot. “And take these damn mutts with you.”

  “Cheri?” This from the svelte brunette who con­tinued to hover in the doorway.

  “Yvette.” Keeping her arms around the children, Suzanna rose. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you.”

  The Frenchwoman waved distracted hands. “I beg your pardon, it's so confusing, I see. I just won­dered—Bax, the children's bags?”

  “Have the driver bring them in,” he snapped. “Can't you see I'm busy?”

  Suzanna sent the frazzled woman a look of sym­pathy. “He can just leave them here in the hall. If you'd like to come into the parlor...go see Aunt Coco,” she told the children. “She'll be so happy you're back.”

  They went, holding each other's hand, with the dogs prancing at their heels.

  “If you could spare a moment of your time,” Bax said, then cast a glance up and down her work clothes, “out of your obviously fascinating day.”

  “The parlor,” she repeated and turned. She strug­gled for calm, knowing it was essential. Whatever had caused him to change his plans and bring the children home a full week early was undoubtedly going to fall on her head. That she could handle. But the fact that the children had been upset was a different matter.

  “Yvette—” Suzanna gestured to a chair “—can I get you something?”

  “Oh, if you would be so kind. A brandy?”

  “Of course. Bax?”

  “Whiskey, a double.”

  She went to the liquor cabinet and poured, grateful her hands were steady. As she served Yvette, she thought she caught a glance of apology and embar­rassment.

  “Well, Bax, would you like to tell me what hap­pened?”

  “What happened began years ago when you had the mistaken idea you could be a mother.”

  “Bax,” Yvette began, and was rounded on.

  “Get out on the terrace. I prefer to do this pri­vately.”

  So that hadn't changed, Suzanna thought. She gripped her hands together as Yvette crossed the room and exited through the glass doors.

  “At least this little experiment should have rid her of the notion of having a child.”

  “Experiment?” Suzanna repeated. “Your visit with the children was an experiment?”

  He sipped at the whiskey and watched her. He was still a striking man with a charmingly boyish face and fair hair. But temper, as it always had, added an edge to his looks that was anything but appealing.

  “My reasons for taking the children are my con­cern. Their unforgivable behavior is yours. They haven't any conception of how to act in public and in private. They have the manners and dispositions of heathens and as little control. You've done a poor job, Suzanna, unless it was your intention to raise two miserable brats.”

  “Don't think you can stand here and speak about them that way in my house.” Eyes dangerously bright, she walked toward him. “I don't give a damn if they fit your standards or not. I want to know why you've brought them back this way.”

  “Then listen,” he suggested, and shoved her into a chair. “Your precious children don't have a clue what's expected of a Dumont. They were loud and unmanageable in restaurants, whiny and fidgety on the drive. When corrected they became defiant or sulky. At the resort, among several of my acquain­tances, their behaviour was an embarrassment.

  Too incensed for fear, Suzanna pulled herself out of the chair. “In other words, they were children. I'm sorry your plans were upset, Baxter, but it's difficult to expect a five- and six-year-old to present them­selves as socially correct on all occasions. Even more difficult when they're thrust into a situation that wasn't any of their doing. They don't know you.”

  He swirled whiskey, swallowed. “They're per­fectly aware that I'm their father, but you've seen to it that they have no respect for that relationship.”

  “No, you've seen to it.”

  Deliberately he set the whiskey aside. “Do you think I don't know what you tell them? Sweet, harm­less little Suzanna.” She stepped back automatically, pleasing him.

  “I don't tell them anything about you,” she said, furious with herself for retreating.

  “Oh, no? Then you didn't mention the fact that they had a bastard brother out in Oklahoma?”

  So that was it, she realized, struggling to settle. “Megan O'Riley's brother married my sister. There was no way to keep the situation a secret, even if I had
wanted to.”

  “And you just couldn't wait to sling my name around.” He gave her another shove that sent her stumbling back.

  “The boy's their half brother. They accept that, and they're too young to understand what a despicable thing you did.”

  “My affairs are mine. Don't you forget it.” Grip­ping her shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall. “I have no intention of letting you get away with your pitiful plots for revenge.”

  “Take your hands off me.” She twisted, but he forced her back again.

  “When I'm damn good and ready. Let me warn you, Suzanna. I won't have you spreading.my private business around. If even a hint of this gets out, Til know where it started, and you know who'll pay for it.”

  She kept herself rigid, kept her eyes steady. “You can't hurt me anymore.”

  “Don't count on it. You make sure your children keep this business of half brothers to themselves. If it's mentioned again—” he tightened his grip and jerked her up on her toes “—ever, you'll be very sorry.”

  “Take your threats and get out of my house.”

  “Yours?” He closed a hand around her throat. “Remember, it's only yours because I didn't want this crumbling anachronism. Push me, and I'll have you back in court in a heartbeat. And I'll have it all this time. Those children might benefit from a nice, Swiss boarding school, which is exactly where they'll be if you don't watch your step.”

  He saw her eyes change, but it wasn't the fear he'd expected. It was fury. She lifted a hand, but before she could strike out, he was jerked away and tumbling to the floor. She watched Holt drag him up again by the collar then send him crashing into a Louis Quinze table.

  She'd never seen murder in a man's eyes before, but she recognized it in Holt's as he pounded a fist into Baxter's face.

  “Holt, don't—”

  She started forward only to have her arm gripped with surprising strength. “Let him alone,” Colleen said, her mouth grim, her eyes bright.

  He wanted to kill him, and might have, if the man had fought back. But Bax slumped in his hold, nose and mouth seeping blood. “You listen to me, you bastard.” Holt slammed him against the wall. “Put your hands on her again, and you're dead.”

  Shaken, hurting, Bax fumbled for a handkerchief. “I can have you arrested for assault.” Holding the cloth to his nose, he looked around and saw his wife standing inside the terrace doors. “Ihave a witness. You assaulted me and threatened my life.” It was his first taste of humiliation, and he detested it. His glance veered toward Suzanna. “You'll regret this.”

  “No, she won't,” Colleen put in before Holt could give in to the satisfaction of smashing his fist into the sneering mouth. “But you will, you miserable, quiv­ering, spineless swine.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. “You'll regret it for what's left of your worthless life if you ever lay hands on any member of my family again. Whatever you think you can do to us, I can do only more viciously to you. If you're unclear about my abilities, my name is Colleen Theresa Calhoun, and I can buy and sell you twice over.”

  She studied him, a pitiful man in a rumpled suit, bleeding into a silk handkerchief. “I wonder what the governor of your state—who happens to be my god­child—will have to say if I mention this scene to him.” She gave a slow, satisfied nod when she saw she was understood. “Now get your miserable hide out of my house. Young man—” she inclined her head to Holt “—you'll be so kind as to show our guest to the door.”

  “My pleasure.” Holt dragged him into the hall. The last thing Suzanna saw when she ran from the house was Yvette's fluttering hands.

  “Where did she go?” Holt demanded when he found Colleen alone in the parlor.

  “To lick her wounds, I suppose. Get me a brandy. Damn it, she'll keep a minute,” she muttered when he hesitated. Colleen eased herself into a chair and waited for her heart rate to settle. “I knew she'd had a difficult time, but I wasn't fully aware of the extent of it. I've had this Dumont looked into since the di­vorce.” She took the brandy and drank deeply. “Pit­iful excuse for a man. I still wasn't aware he had abused her. I should have been, the first time I saw that look in her eyes. My mother had the same look.” She closed her own and leaned back. “Well, if he doesn't want to see his political ambitions go up in smoke, he'll leave her be.” Slowly she opened her eyes and gave Holt a steely look. “You did well for yourself—I admire a man who uses his fists. I only regret I didn't use my cane on him.”

  “I think you did better. I just broke his nose, you scared the—”

  “I certainly did.” She smiled and drank again. “Damn good feeling, too.” She noted that Holt was staring at the open terrace doors, his hands still fisted. Suzanna could do worse, she thought and swirled the remaining brandy. “My mother used to go to the cliffs. You might find Suzanna there. Tell her the chil­dren are having cookies and spoiling their dinner.”

  She had gone to the cliffs. She didn't know why when she'd needed to run, that she had run there. Only for a moment, she promised herself. She would only need a moment alone.

  She sat on a rock, covered her face and wept out the bitterness and shame.

  He found her like that, alone and sobbing, the wind carrying off the sounds of her grief, the sea pounding restlessly below. He didn't know where to begin. His mother had always been a sturdy woman, and what­ever tears she had shed, had been shed in private.

  Worse, he could still see Suzanna pushed against the wall, Dumont's hand on her throat. She'd looked so fragile, and so brave.

  He stepped closer, laid a hesitant hand on her hair. “Suzanna.”

  She was up like a shot, choking back tears, wiping them from her damp face.”I have to get back in. The children—”

  “Are in the kitchen stuffing themselves with cook­ies. Sit down.”

  “No, I—”

  “Please.” He sat, easing her down beside him. “I haven't been here in a long time. My grandfather used to bring me. He used to sit right here and look out to sea. Once he told me a story about a princess in the castle up on the ridge. He must have been talking about Bianca, but later, when I remembered it, I al­ways thought of you.”

  “Holt, I'm so sorry.”

  “If you apologize, you're only going to make me mad.”

  She swallowed another hot ball of tears. “I can't stand that you saw, that anyone saw.”

  “What I saw was you standing up to a bully.” He turned her face to his. When he saw the fading red marks on her throat, he had to force back an oath. “He's never going to hurt you again.”

  “It was his reputation. The children must have talked about Kevin.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  She did, as clearly as she was able. “When Sloan told me,” she finished, “I knew it was important that the children understand they had a brother. What Bax doesn't realize is that I never thought about him, never cared. It was the children who mattered, all of them. The family.”

  “No, he wouldn't understand that. Or you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it gently. The stunned look on her face had him scowling out to sea. “I haven't been Mr. Sensitivity myself.”

  “You've been wonderful.”

  “If I had you wouldn't look like I hit you with a rock when I kiss your hand.”

  “It just isn't your style.”

  “No.” He shrugged and dug out a cigarette. “I guess it's not.” Then he changed his mind and slipped an arm around her shoulders instead. “Nice view.”

  “It's wonderful. I've always come here, to this spot. Sometimes...”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You'll just laugh at me, but sometimes it's as if I can almost see her. Bianca. I can feel her, and I know she's here, waiting.” She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Like right now. It's so warm and real. Up in the tower, her tower, it's bittersweet, more of a longing. But here, it's antici­pation. Hope. I know you think I'm crazy.”

  “No.” When she star
ted to shift, he pulled her closer so that her head nestled back on his shoulder. “No, I can't. Not when I feel it, too.”

  From the west tower, the man who called himself Marshall watched them through field glasses. He didn't worry about being disturbed. The family no longer came above the second floor in the west wing, and the crew had knocked off thirty minutes before. He'd hoped to take advantage of the time that Sloan O'Riley was away with his new bride on his honey­moon to move more freely around the house. The Calhouns were so accustomed to seeing men in tool belts that they rarely gave him a second glance.

  And he was interested, very interested in Holt Bradford, finding it fascinating that he was being drawn into this generation of Calhouns. It pleased him that he could continue his work right under the nose of an ex-cop. Such irony added to his vanity.

  He would continue to keep tabs, he thought, while the cop completed his search. And he would be there to take what was his the moment the treasure was found. Whoever was in the way would simply be eliminated.

  Suzanna spent all evening with her children, sooth­ing ruffled feathers and trying to turn their unhappy experience into a silly misadventure. By the time she got them tucked into bed, Jenny was no longer cling­ing and Alex had rebounded like a rubber ball.

  “We had to ride in the car for hours and hours.” He bounced on his sister's bed while Suzanna smoothed Jenny's sheets. “And they had dumb music on the radio the whole time. People were singing like this.” He opened his mouth wide and let out what he thought passed for an operatic aria. “And you couldn't understand a word.”

  “Not like that, like this.” Jenny let out a screech that could have shattered crystal. “And we had to be quiet and appreciate.”

  Suzanna held her temper and tweaked her daugh­ter's nose. “Well, you appreciated that it was awful, didn't you?”

  That made Jenny giggle and reach up for another kiss. “Yvette said we could play a word game, but he said it gave him a headache, so she went to sleep.”

  “And that's what you should do, right now.”

  “I liked the hotel,” Alex continued, hoping to postpone the inevitable. “We got to jump on the beds when nobody was looking.”

  “You mean like you do in your room?”

  He grinned. “They had little bars of soap in the bathroom, and they put candy on your pillow at night.”

  Suzanna cocked her head. “You can forget that idea, toadface.”

  After Jenny was settled with her nightlight and army of stuffed animals, Suzanna carried Alex to his room. He didn't let her pick him up and cuddle often anymore, but tonight, he seemed to need it as much as she did.

  “You've been eating bricks again,” she murmured, and nuzzled his neck.

  “I had five bricks for lunch.” He flew out of her arms and onto the bed. She wrestled with him until he was breathless. He flopped back, laughing, then leaped out of bed again.

  “Alex—”

  “I forgot.”

  “You've already stretched it tonight, kid. In the bed or I'll have you cooked over a slow fire.”

  He pulled something out of the jeans he'd been wearing when he'd come home. “I saved it for you.”

  Suzanna took the flattened, broken chocolate wrapped in gold paper. It was more than a little melted, certainly inedible and more precious than di­amonds.

  “Oh, Alex.”

  “Jenny had one, too, but she lost it.”

  “That's all right.” She brought him close for a fierce hug. “Thanks. I love you, you little worm.”

  “I love you, too.” It didn't embarrass him to say it as it sometimes did, and