Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2)

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  Allie braced her hands on the cool marble as his words flowed through her like an electrical current. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why.” Determined not to let herself turn into an imbecile this time, she stretched up onto her toes, grabbing a bag of coffee beans from the cabinet.

  “To be clear, you’re asking me to outline the reasons why I find you attractive. Is there a form I should fill out, or will a verbal recitation suffice?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  “You compel me to remind you that I’m English. Sarcasm is the official national language.”

  Allie dumped the beans into the grinder, and turned to frown at him while it did its thing. He was… golden seemed the only appropriate word to describe him. The late morning sunlight cascaded through the bank of windows, reflecting off the white cabinets and cool gray marble to form a sort of nimbus around Mason. Even sleep-deprived and bedraggled after spending the night in jail, even with a fading bruise on his face, he was the sort of individual that you just couldn’t look away from. Above and beyond his physical beauty, he had an undefinable something, a presence, that set him apart. The star factor, she realized. Like… Marilyn Monroe. Or Clark Gable. Any number of classic film stars that seemed somehow more than merely mortal.

  He could be an icon if he set his mind to it.

  So yeah, she thought, as she glanced down at her average, if grungy clothes. Her average, if petite, body. Considered her average, if tumultuous life. She wanted to know why.

  “You’re the one who wanted to talk,” she reminded him after the beans had finished grinding.

  “So I did. What did you mean when you said that I thought I was defending you?”

  Allie scooped out grounds, filled the carafe. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “No. Bear with me, because I’m fairly certain that I have a point.”

  Allie crossed her arms, leaned back against the counter. “You’ve met my brothers. You saw how Harlan acted this morning. You’re more than familiar with Will’s brotherly tactics. Bran isn’t quite as obvious about it, though he’s just as protective in his own way. Sarah sometimes forgets she isn’t my mother. Even Tucker puts himself between me and the big, bad world from time to time. And while I appreciate – truly – knowing that there are so many people looking out for me, occasionally I wish that someone would notice that I’m generally capable of looking out for myself.”

  His eyes, clear and crystalline as amber in the sunlight, held hers for a long moment. “And I compounded that by leaping immediately to your rescue last night, without allowing you the opportunity to rescue yourself. I’m sorry.”

  Allie sighed. “It seems petty, and I do appreciate it, but it makes me feel so helpless sometimes. I spent too much of my life feeling that way. I had to break, almost completely, to understand that I could put myself back together. And I like – most of the time – the way the new pieces fit. I just wish that other people would actually see that. But they see me as fragile, as a sort of… of china doll that can’t be handled too roughly, because it’s what they want, or expect, to see.”

  Mason gave a half laugh. “You’ve no idea how much I can relate. Not to the china doll bit, but –”

  “Where is she, you sonofabitch!”

  Allie jumped at the raised voice coming from the front of the house.

  “You’re not her. You look like her, but you’re wrong. You’re WRONG. Where did she go?”

  “Oh no.”

  “Allie?”

  She ignored Mason’s concern as she slammed out the kitchen door and sprinted toward the front parlor. Bran had obviously brought their father in from the garden. Sometimes, because Bran resembled their mother more than did Harlan or Will – even more than did Allie – his presence confused and agitated their father. He could be fine with him one minute, and then turn on him the next.

  Which appeared to be the case at the moment.

  “Bran!” she called out to let her brother know help was coming. “I’m here.” She tripped on the runner, but Mason’s hands were there to catch her from falling on her face.

  “Careful, love.”

  “Not to be rude,” she said over her shoulder as he helped her to her feet. “But you may want to go back to the kitchen.”

  “I may be able to help,” he said, gazing down at her. “If not, I’ll stay out of your way.”

  She wished he would just go, because this was difficult enough without an audience, but she didn’t have time to argue her point.

  “Arthur!” she called her father’s given name as she rounded the corner. It would send him into an even bigger tailspin if she called him Daddy. “Arthur, I’m right here. Calm down.”

  Allie burst into the parlor, hand flying up to cover her mouth at the awful scene before her.

  “Sweet God,” Mason whispered. He moved around her to help Branson up off the Aubusson rug, where he’d obviously fallen when their father struck him across the face with his cane.

  “I’m all right,” he said, swiping at the blood dripping down his chin as Mason assisted him to his feet. “He just caught me by surprise.”

  Allie gazed in horror at their father, his white hair standing out at angles much like Harlan’s, seemingly confused to find himself in the parlor, surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

  “What…” he looked with an equal lack of recognition at both Bran and Mason, one man whom he’d never met before, the other, his son. Then he caught sight of Allie. “You came back.”

  “That’s right, Arthur.” She felt the tears clogging her throat, so she cleared it. “I’m here. It’s time to go back to bed now.” She moved to take his arm, and started leading him toward his bedroom.

  “There are…” He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder at Bran and Mason.

  “Josie will see to the guests.”

  “Josie?”

  “That’s right.” She kept up the casual, reassuring chatter, her fingers trembling on the frail arm of the man who’d once tossed her into the air, laughing as he caught her. He’d loved her. She knew that he’d loved his children, even though he’d given them so little of his time.

  When she had him settled in bed for a nap, she grabbed the video equipped baby monitor that they used to keep tabs on him, following the sound of voices to the kitchen.

  She trudged in to find Mason and Bran sitting at the antique satinwood table, an icepack pressed to Bran’s split lip.

  “Well, this is becoming an all too familiar sight. I think we missed the mark on our family businesses. We should have opened an infirmary.”

  Mason stood. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “She’s not fine.” Bran pulled the icepack away from the side of his mouth to roll his eyes at her. “Our father is dying and he doesn’t know us anymore; none of us is fine. Everything was okay until we came inside,” he said to Allie. “We took a walk, sat on the bench for a while and fed the birds. Then I brought him around through the front, which caused all hell to break loose for some reason.”

  Allie nodded, because the lump in her throat was too thick to push words past.

  “We need to discuss alternate arrangements, Al,” Bran said as he replaced the icepack and pushed back from the table. “Soon. Sorry you had to see that,” he said to Mason before he walked over and leaned close to Allie. “Talk to him,” he whispered in her ear. “He was going nuts, trying to figure out how to help you.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Mason admitted after a moment, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Other than I can’t fathom how difficult this is for all of you. It can’t be easy on your brothers to be forgotten. But you… he mistakes you for your mother, doesn’t he?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes he simply thinks I’m one of his nurses, or even one of his legal aides. Really, it’s Bran who most looks like our mother did in her youth, and that causes my father confusion. His short-term memory is shot, but his long-term me
mory seems to… connect, every once in a while, and when it does, he asks for her.”

  “What happened to her, if I might ask?”

  “She left.” And it was as simple, and as complicated, as that.

  Just a random day in September, not long after Allie and Bran had turned ten. Insignificant, in every way but one. Josie packed homemade butterscotch cookies in her lunch and Allie had been upset because one of the Linville boys pushed her down and took them. And then when she’d come home after school, her mother wasn’t here. She was simply… gone.

  “Allie.” When he stepped closer, brushed his thumb down her cheek, she was horrified to realize she was crying. Which was ridiculous. Hadn’t she just told Mason how together she was?

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

  “You know,” he murmured, tucking her messy hair behind her ear. “Being able to take care of yourself doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed the occasional moment of weakness. And when you have a moment of weakness, it doesn’t make you any less capable if you accept support when it’s offered. I have a perfectly good shoulder right here. I’d be honored if you’d make use of it.”

  Allie hesitated, but then moved into his waiting arms. When he pulled her close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, she let out a shuddering sigh.

  She felt safe. And that scared her as much as it comforted.

  But he simply held her, no pressure, no demands. His heart beat against her ear, strong and steady, and as the tension left her body Allie realized how much she had held herself apart from any sort of intimacy, physical or otherwise.

  Maybe she hadn’t fit those pieces back together quite as firmly as she’d thought.

  “Better?” Mason asked after several minutes.

  Allie sighed, feeling like she’d been floating in a warm, scented bath. “Much.” Maybe it galled her some, to have melted down in front of this particular man, but she wasn’t going to lie to herself, or to him. “Much better. Thank you.”

  When she lifted her head, the tenderness in his eyes made the heart that had so recently settled leap against her ribs.

  “Mason –”

  But before she could figure out what it was she intended to say, his mouth was on hers, firm and warm and so right that Allie lost her breath. She didn’t understand it, didn’t quite believe it, but she wasn’t going to analyze it now.

  For once, Allie pushed all the doubts and questions out of her head and simply enjoyed.

  “Mmmm,” she said as Mason took the kiss deeper, and he made a noise deep in his throat. Then she found herself pushed back, gently but firmly, while Mason, breathing through his nose like a lathered horse, held her at arm’s length.

  “Not like this,” he said after a moment. “It feels too much like taking advantage.”

  Allie might have appreciated his sensibilities if she hadn’t been so turned on. “What if I want you to take advantage?”

  The noise he made this time sounded like the whistle on a train. “That’s not fair.”

  “But it’s fair for you to decide when I do and do not need to be protected? Including from myself, apparently. Since I’m too delicate and muddle-brained to make up my own mind.”

  “That is not at all what I’m suggesting.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me that –”

  “Ahem.”

  They both turned at the sound of the new voice.

  Will raised his eyebrows. “It seems to me that you should listen to the man, Al.”

  Allie’s own brows slammed together. “This is none of your business, Willis.”

  “Well, given that you’re standing in the middle of the kitchen – in between me and that fresh pot of coffee, I might add – it sort of is my business. Being as this is my house, too. A fact which has considerable disadvantages at times like this.”

  Allie wondered at the karmic injustice of being saddled with not one, not two, but three interfering brothers, with all of whom, due to circumstances, she was currently cohabiting.

  But before she could formulate the appropriate set down, Will’s laser-like gaze switched to Mason.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Ah…” Mason took another noticeable step back, and Allie rolled her eyes. But then, Will was carrying his sidearm. And Mason had just spent the night in jail. She guessed she couldn’t blame him for treading carefully. “Of course.”

  But then Mason looked at Allie, and spoke without regard to Will’s presence. “I have little doubt regarding your ability to make the right decision, but I do sometimes struggle with my own.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the door. “I’ll meet you outside,” he said to Will in passing. When he’d gone, Will turned a look on Allie.

  “That was quite the exit line.”

  “What did you expect? He’s an actor.”

  “Actually,” Will said thoughtfully “I suspect he’s quite a bit more.”

  Allie stared at her brother in surprise, but then found herself sighing in agreement. “I know.”

  And that’s what she was afraid of.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MASON leaned against one of the monstrous columns on the Hawbaker’s front porch – verandah, he corrected himself. He was fairly certain that was the local term. A warm breeze blew, carrying the heady scent of the blooming vine which crawled up the columns, ruffling his overlong hair. His skin seemed to itch, feeling too tight to contain the various emotions churning about inside it. For every step forward he took with Allison, it seemed they moved the proverbial two steps back. He tried not to resent her mistrust, her questioning of his motives, because he knew he at least partly deserved it. Or mostly deserved it, to be honest. He had been a cad most of his life, and he’d started down that familiar path with her when he’d last been in Sweetwater.

  Initially, at least. But he’d found himself off the path, wandering in foreign surroundings, deeply confused but charmed silly nonetheless.

  And he knew – for it was easy to see, even before he’d gotten to know her – that Allison had had a rough way to go, emotionally speaking. She’d endured a number of family catastrophes – starting with abandonment by her mother, apparently – and had been left virtually at the altar by her long-time lover and fiancé. That she had trust issues was only to be expected.

  That he so badly wanted to be the man she trusted was unprecedented.

  The door opened behind him, and Mason turned. Will Hawbaker, dressed in uniform of black polo shirt and khaki pants – complete with holstered firearm, of course – crossed the painted floorboards with a deceptively easygoing amble. The man was like an alligator he’d once watched, sunning itself on a bank, looking rather slow and easily avoided. Until an unsuspecting water bird had strayed too close and found itself the alligator’s dinner.

  Hawbaker carried a travel mug of coffee in one hand, making Mason’s mouth water. That was enough of a reason to feel testy. No one should have to face the armed brother of the woman in whom you were enamored without an adequate infusion of caffeine.

  The look the man gave him was wry. “You can relax. I’m not going to shoot you.”

  “Imagine my relief.”

  “You’re a smartass, Armitage, but I like that about you. It’s usually the people who are polite to your face that you have to watch out for.”

  “Since no one in your family yet meets that description, I guess I’ll consider myself safe.”

  Hawbaker grinned. “Just don’t get too comfortable.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Now that we’ve got the obligatory veiled threats and insults out of the way.” He handed Mason the mug. “Don’t look so surprised. If Josie heard that I’d turned a guest away without at least a beverage, she’d tan my hide.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not entirely joking?”

  “You’ve met Josie. Would you want to cross her?”

  “Not if I desired to remain in one piece.”
/>
  “Well, there you go.” Will made a gesture with his hand, and Mason followed his cue by preceding him down the stairs. Apparently he wished to have this conversation out of earshot of his siblings.

  They strolled down the tabby walkway, closer to the massive oaks that shaded the drive. Spanish moss swayed lazily in the desultory breeze, and a plump squirrel stopped his industrious foraging in the soft ground beneath the closest tree to stare suspiciously at the newcomers.

  “The charges have been dropped.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wesley Norbert has had an apparent change of heart. He’s no longer willing to press charges.”

  Mason narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “He used a lot of legal jargon that reminded me why I gave up law school after one semester, but I think his motives may have been a little more along the lines of… let’s call it self-preservation.”

  “You threatened him.”

  “Well, no. That would be what we refer to as an abuse of authority. Not that I wasn’t tempted to threaten him, mind you. But that’s one apple I’ve so far managed to avoid.” His mouth tightened briefly, as if he was recalling something extremely unpleasant, but then he brought the conversation back on point.

  “I think,” Hawbaker continued “that he realized that pressing charges would put him in a precarious position with regards to Allie.”

  “Because it would likely come out that he’d manhandled her.”

  “That too.” The look Hawbaker gave him was considering. “You don’t happen to know what it was that she said to him to set him off?”

  “No.” Mason sipped the coffee. It was bracingly strong and just a little sweet. The fact that Allison recalled how he liked it cheered him. “Although even if I did, I likely wouldn’t tell you, since Allison clearly hasn’t informed you herself.”

  Hawbaker’s hard blue gaze held him pinned for several moments, and Mason refused to look away. If this was some sort of test of willpower or integrity or what have you, the man could get stuffed.

  Then he surprised Mason again by grinning. “You’re a lot less decorative than you look.”