All That Lies Broken (Ashmore's Folly Book 2)

by Forrest, Lindsey

  Just tell me, Laura. Tell me, and get it over with.

  That stopped her dead in her tracks. He watched in interest as I can’t let him see her warred with now what do I do. Her eyes fell, and she swallowed. “No,” and now she sounded more subdued. “No reason. It’s just – this isn’t the best time. I’m going to ground that kid for life. You don’t need to see this.”

  Oh, so now she was protecting him from Meg’s unruly behavior, was she? “Miss you flattening your daughter? I want a ringside seat.” He smothered amusement by turning around and scooping up a money clip. He caught a look at her reflection in the mirror and then had no trouble erasing his smile. “You’re not going looking like that, are you?”

  “What?” Laura stared at him, nonplussed. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

  What was wrong was that any male she encountered would take one look at her and know exactly what she had been doing. Her eyes looked glazed, her hair was pillow-tousled, her lips had that just-kissed swollenness, and her damp shirt outlined in stark detail the breasts he had feasted on only minutes before. She looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly loved. It was his turn to swallow hard, to keep from falling on her and finishing what had been so definitely interrupted. “Look in the mirror.”

  Startled, she peered at herself and tried to straighten her hair. Richard crossed to the chest of drawers and rummaged around for one of his polo shirts. Too big, but she didn’t need anything clinging to her, and neither did he, if he was going to keep his mind on the road. “Here,” he held it out, “an official Ashmore & McIntire shirt. I should have given you one to wear today as my hostess.”

  She plucked at her shirt nervously. “I don’t want to take your shirt.”

  “I told you,” he said, “you can wear my shirts any time.”

  She took his offering. Her voice came muffled as she took off the damp top and pulled the polo shirt over her head. “I left my diaphragm downstairs in my bag.”

  Fine time to remember that. He made his voice light as he checked to make sure he had everything he needed. “We didn’t get that far. You’re not worried, are you?”

  “No.” Laura crossed her arms over the too-large shirt. “But I thought you didn’t want any just-this-once.”

  “I don’t.” He put his cell on his belt. “We’ll be more careful in the future. Ready?”

  Downstairs, Laura tried once more. “You really don’t have to do this, Richard—” She dried up at his quelling look. She picked up her bathrobe and started to put it in her overnight case. “I need to hide this in the trunk so Meg doesn’t see it.”

  So she expected him to drop her and Meg off at Edwards Lake. That was the prudent thing to do – no awkward explanations for Meg, no chance of Julie coming home early. He’d spent so many years arranging his private life around the need to keep everyone else out of the loop that he found himself automatically planning the sleight-of-hand to get her case back into her house unnoticed. But – he’d wanted her here. Whether she knew it or not, and she probably did because so far she had managed to stay out front of him emotionally, he’d intended to break his long-set pattern. Sleep with her in his bed. Listen to her breathing in the night. Wake up at dawn and see her burrowed under the quilt, her hair spread across the pillow next to him. Fix breakfast with her in his kitchen.

  “Leave it.” The words came easily after all. “The power’s still out. I don’t like the idea of a woman and child over there in the dark without an alarm system.”

  Laura shook her head. No telling what degree of panic raged behind her eyes at this moment. He felt a profound wave of exasperation. What did she think he was going to do – turn on her, denounce her for stealing his flesh and blood, and scoop Meg away?

  Probably not the opportune moment to tell her what a goose she was being.

  “Look.” Richard put his hand over hers. “I’ve got plenty of room. You and Meg can have your pick of rooms for the night. I’ve got power, AC, lights – it’s the safest solution for you and your daughter.” He had no compunction about playing on her maternal concern. “She won’t guess anything because there won’t—” unfortunately— “be anything for her to guess about.”

  Laura looked away, and he would have given a great deal to know what calculations she was making right then. Probably persuading herself that he wouldn’t have a clue – and then the realization hit him hard. For the first time, he was going to set eyes on his child. For the first time, he was going to shelter a child of his body under his roof.

  He drew a breath.

  “Come on.” He propelled her gently towards the door. “Let’s get going.”

  ~•~

  Once in the car and on the road, they said nothing. He mentally ran through several routes to decide where they were least likely to meet rising water, and then headed northwest to the interstate. The rain wasn’t slackening off – the forecasters hadn’t been kidding when they had said it might foreshadow a nasty hurricane season – and for a time, Richard drove, and Laura thought.

  Or she seemed to be thinking. Once he steered the car onto the freeway, he relaxed. Unless accidents slowed them down, they should have a straight shot to the state capital and the airport. He settled back and glanced over at her.

  She was staring straight ahead, her profile barely lit by the storm outside, and on the surface, she appeared serene and untroubled. The storms of the night – atmospheric and emotional – might not even have touched her. But he’d have thought that only if he hadn’t noticed the convulsive swallowing in her throat and the nervous movement of her hands in her lap. She caught herself, finally, and he saw her deliberately stretch her hands out along her thighs.

  He hoped that she wasn’t twisting herself into knots because he was about to meet Meg.

  “We’ll be there in an hour,” he said. “Do you want to call Meg and let her know?”

  Laura seemed startled at the suggestion. Then, without a word, she pulled her phone from her bag and pushed some buttons. But nothing happened. After a few seconds, she set the phone down.

  “Here.” He pulled his from his belt clip. “Try mine.”

  His didn’t work either in the storm. Her silence was beginning to concern him. A driving rainstorm, a defiant and provocative Diana, even a rebellious Julie – although that one had surprised him – he could handle without a thought. Even his argument with Tom, he could shrug away. They’d disagreed before. But this woman was not so easily dealt with.

  Stop acting as if you have a choice. You absolutely do not.

  And there lay the problem, unresolved, still standing between them. They had each refused to say the words the other wanted to hear.

  They were back to where they had been the morning after they had first made love. He knew what she wanted of him – it shone through her eyes, he heard it when she spoke his name, he felt it when she touched his face. She wanted him, heart and soul. And he still didn’t know if he had heart and soul enough to hand over to her.

  He could give her the rest of it, though. He could hand her his name and his home; he could hand her back the position in his world that she had lost fourteen years before.

  Why not give in and let it happen? Lucy was right – what happens when this ends? – there was no good outcome to his relationship with Laura unless he eventually married her. He did not have the option, as with Jennifer, of letting the relationship drift until it finally went nowhere. He’d known for a week that he was heading down a road from which he might not return. Why not go with the flow?

  For the same reason that he had ignored the obvious desire of his mother’s heart. He’d known perfectly well, all the time he was courting Diana, that Laura Abbott was the ideal mate for him. She was sweet, docile, loving; she would love and cherish him her entire life. She would give and give; she would demand nothing. He would never doubt her loyalty; he would never suffer her infidelity. He would never wonder, minute to minute, if she had stopped loving him.

  All the ad
vantages would flow from him to her. He was the scion of an old Virginia family with an honorable past; she was the illegitimate daughter of a man living under a cloud in genteel poverty. Marriage to an Ashmore would be a step up in the world for her. He would always be firmly in control, choosing how much of himself to share. She would be grateful for what he gave her; she would never demand his soul. No heights or depths, no out-of-control passions, just a peaceful and contented family life that would not interfere with his life’s work.

  With Laura Abbott, it would have been all about him.

  He’d known, even then, that it was not enough.

  Never would he know with her the exhilaration that he had known with Diana.

  Never would he know the challenge of being mated with an equal. An other. A person separate and apart, with her own thoughts and dreams and ambitions.

  And that, Mom, is the reason for this whole debacle, right there in a nutshell.

  He’d always prized the layers in Diana, no matter what she had later claimed. He’d loved the elusive mystery of her, that, even as he possessed her, she held part of herself out of reach. He’d valued that, with their disparate backgrounds, she hadn’t given a rip for his old Virginia name and ancient homestead. He’d never been sure why Diana had said yes – if “I guess so” qualified as a yes – but at least he’d known, unlike St. Bride, that his wife hadn’t married him for his worldly goods.

  And therein lay the rub. Diana hadn’t cared for the traditions that formed the backdrop to his life; she’d wanted to go running around Europe like her parents. She hadn’t been interested in creating a future with him, building on the foundation of the Ashmore heritage. Given the opportunity to build, she had emulated her mother and chosen to destroy.

  Unlike Laura, in whom, Philip Ashmore had said, still waters ran very, very deep.

  Richard glanced at her. “Relax. We’ll be there soon.”

  What would marriage to Laura be like? Who knew what any woman was like, until you lived with her? St. Bride had apparently found her layers frustrating – more complex than he wanted to deal with. Had he seen that millpond surface and ignored the powerful currents beneath? Discovered too late that he had gotten much more than he had bargained for? For money. Everyone knows that. St. Bride must have enjoyed being King Cophetua, holding the firm upper hand, only to find that his quiet little beggar maid hid an unstoppable talent. The dynamics of that marriage must have changed radically once Cat Courtney came out of hiding.

  No, not an uncomplicated creature. Not at all.

  Deep down inside Laura Abbott lived – and had always lived, even if everyone had been blind to the fact – the power and passion of Cat Courtney. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that Cat was more than just a job to Laura, another costume she put on, like the wig and the mystery, when she performed on stage. That Cat was closer to the reality of this woman than her serene exterior.

  He’d watched, aghast, as Diana had tried to destroy her that afternoon. He’d worried that, there at his home where he wanted her to feel safe, she might suffer a devastating humiliation that she would never survive. He should have known better. It had been Diana who had slunk away, Laura who had brandished a sword in victory.

  And that had been no sweet, submissive, demure woman beneath him a few minutes before.

  “Are you cold?” Richard asked finally, to break the silence, and she shook her head. He noticed, from the corner of his eye, that she had started twisting her hands again.

  This wasn’t an obedient child to thank him for whatever crumbs he chose to throw her way. She’d made that abundantly clear. I will not settle for less. And he was no longer the lord of the manor to raise the beggar maid up and dust her off. Laura Abbott didn’t need his name or background. She needed what Diana had never needed or wanted. She needed – she demanded – him.

  If he could break the ingrained reserve of years, find his heart again, and hand it over.

  They had driven twenty miles – twenty long, drenched, silent miles, past two accidents with flashing lights and wrecked cars – when she finally spoke.

  “I know this must look bad to you.” She was staring straight ahead. “Please don’t think Meg is a brat. She isn’t. It’s my fault for leaving her this summer.”

  He had best keep his opinion of Meg St. Bride’s behavior to himself. “Stop blaming yourself, Laura. It’s obvious you’re a good mother.”

  Unlike Julie’s mother, encouraging her to rebel for the sheer pleasure of defying him.

  Laura said in a rush, “I can’t imagine what made her do this. She knows better. She could have been killed – the plane could have crashed, and I wouldn’t have known—”

  This was why children needed two parents. Someone had to step in and stop this fruitless maternal hand-wringing about a disaster that manifestly hadn’t happened. “She’s safe on the ground. You told her to wait by the car rental counter, didn’t you? That’s the last part of the airport to close down. She’ll be fine. We’ll be there soon.”

  “She knows better.” Laura knit her fingers together. “Cam was always so insistent on security. We tried to impress on her that she was a target for kidnappers—” that startled him—“we told her she was never, ever to be out of reach, and she could never be out alone. It was either that or a bodyguard, and we wanted her to have a normal childhood. She must have turned the GPS off.”

  “GPS?” He saw a particularly slick spot ahead – one time he was grateful for being far-sighted – and slowed down.

  “There’s a locator built into her phone – a panic button too. It’s supposed to send a signal if she moves out of range. Then I can look up her location.” Laura stopped, as if a thought struck her. “I’ve got the same thing. You can track me if you have the code.”

  “That’s useful to know. Like belling a cat.”

  That small attempt at humor fell flat. She leaned back and closed her eyes, but he sensed that, beneath the millpond, the waters were suddenly agitated. He drove another few miles before he broached a nagging question. “How did she pay for a plane ticket?”

  Laura didn’t open her eyes. “Oh, she’s on my Amex.” She sounded distracted. “Cam gave her a card a couple of years ago so she could hang out at the mall with her friends. He got sick of her twenty-dollaring him to death. I let her keep it for the summer so she wouldn’t have to ask Emma or Mark. But she has to call me if she’s going to spend more than a hundred dollars.”

  A thirteen-year-old with a cell phone and an unlimited credit card. He’d sit on that opinion too. Too bad he had no authority over Miss St. Bride; he’d confiscate that card first thing, following seconds later with her phone and any privileges she’d thought of enjoying for the rest of the summer.

  To her credit, Laura added, “The first thing I’m going to do is get that card from her. She is in so much trouble. She won’t need it.”

  He slowed down for another slick spot. “Have you decided on her punishment?”

  He had to admit to genuine curiosity. On the drive to the lock-in, Julie had been quick to tell him that Laura had chewed her out (“Do you think she should talk to me like that?”) and he had instantly been incensed that Laura had overstepped her bounds. He’d needed an hour to cool down. Julie was his daughter. Whatever they were going to be to each other – parents in a blended family, he tried the thought on for size – he and Laura were going to have to work out boundaries.

  Boundaries that might have to be elastic. Laura was Julie’s aunt; she deserved the same rights he’d always allowed Lucy. And he, good Lord, was ostensibly this little hellion’s uncle.

  “Not yet.” Laura’s hands were twisting again in her lap. She hesitated for a moment, and then burst out, “I know what you think, Richard. You think she is an absolute terror. She isn’t, really she isn’t, but – she’s not Julie, okay? She’s not perfect. She’s just – well, she’s willful at times.”

  “Perfect?” He didn’t bother to mask his surprise. “You think Julie is perfec
t? After today?” He negotiated a curve. “I’d say the two of them are about even right now.”

  She inclined her face toward him. “What happened? Julie said—” she let a certain rueful humor into her voice, “you caught them kissing and – oh, what was the word? Embarrassed her in front of her boyfriend.”

  She sounded more like herself now. The emotional storm seemed to be passing, and Richard relaxed. “Kissing? Is that what that was?”

  Laura turned and laid her cheek on the headrest. “Just kissing is the description I got.”

  He wasn’t going to forget what he had seen for a long time. He wished he could; it wasn’t a mental image he cared to carry around. “Huh. And we were just saying good night a little while ago. Kissing was part of the package, so technically she was telling the truth. But I’ll bet she left out the part where she was straddling him on the sofa and he had his hands under her shirt.”

  “Oh, no.” She laughed. “I didn’t hear that part. Good Lord, they got down to it fast, didn’t they? They’d only been gone a few minutes.” She added, “And – I know you don’t want to hear this, but she wasn’t wearing a bra, not under that shirt.”

  “Thanks. That really eases my mind.” She laughed again, and he tossed her a grin. The flip side of having to share responsibilities he’d had to himself for so many years was – sharing. Listening to Scott and Mel talk about their kids, he had always envied their ability to shoulder the burdens and privileges of parenthood together. “Not that I was slow off the mark when I was sixteen, as Diana kindly let everyone know, but that was fast work, even for me.”

  She said teasingly, “You and Di never got caught by my father?”

  “Never.” He glanced sidelong at her. “I was smart enough not to ever let that be a possibility.”

  She said nothing for a moment, and then she dropped the bomb. “What about when you climbed the tree into her room?”

  His turn for silence. “All right,” he said finally, and wondered what else Diana had blurted out to all and sundry. Tree branches, pet names… apparently, she’d held very little sacred. “Mind telling me how you know about that?”