by Adrianne Lee
Following her aunt around another bend, she shoved the old hurt aside. Dwelling on the twins’ thoughtlessness was counterproductive. There was mystery enough to solve without taking on more. In truth, she could’ve contacted Spence and Thane anytime during the past four years; but something always held her back, something related to her confusion over Lily’s accident.
The elderly woman pushed open the door at the end of the hall. “Here you are. Hope the smell of fresh paint doesn’t make you ill.”
She stepped through the doorway past her aunt and let out a sigh of relief. The room was small, almost an afterthought, but the décor was strictly Laura Ashley, all peaches and creams with lots of bleached pine. “This is a lovely room.” Setting down her suitcase and coat, she turned back toward her aunt, but March had gone, closing the door behind her, leaving an abrupt void in her wake.
Hoping to ebb the encroaching gloom, April switched on her overhead light, but wind-whipped madrona trees outside her windows shrieked and moaned and beat angrily against the house like demons demanding entrance, deepening her unease with each passing minute.
Hurriedly, she unpacked, wishing she could empty her mind as readily. The more she thought about the ridiculous sham her father and Cynthia had perpetrated, the less sense it made.
Exactly how had Daddy managed to keep her illness from reaching the press? And why? Did he know something about the accident he didn’t want revealed? A chill knifed through April.. The sooner she recovered her missing pieces of memory, the better. She pulled on beige slacks and an Angora sweater, brusher her wavy, shoulder-length hair and left her room.
Outside her door, she stopped and glanced left, then right, down the hallway, momentarily disoriented. She hadn’t paid much attention to the direction her aunt had led her and the strange décor yielded few familiar landmarks. It was like trying to read a favorite nursery rhyme in a foreign language.
With her eyes closed, she mentally rummaged through her treasure house of long unvisited memories. Of course! She was in the east wing and, unless she missed her guess, her bedroom had once been Aunt March’s sewing room. Then there should be a back staircase leading to the kitchen around to the left.
There was.
Perhaps she could pass through the kitchen and slip into the basement unnoticed. Confronting the past immediately held real appeal for her.
With her insides trembling, April headed down the steep, enclosed staircase. The slap of her beige flats on the bare, time-worn steps duplicated the slam of her heart against her rib cage, but halfway down she stopped and pressed her palm against the faded wallpaper. A shiver tripped down her spine. On the other side of this wall was the landing above the basement stairs.
She drew in a shaky breath. The passageway smelled musty and aged and summoned an image of herself curled on the fifth stair from the bottom with her ear tight to the wall, listening to the twins. As children, they often excluded her from their games, using the landing as a private hideout, but one day, quite by accident, April had overheard voices coming through the wafer thin wall and discovered a way of having her own secrets. A nervous laugh discharged in her throat. It was silly, a childish prank.
Why did it feel like something more?
She peeled her hand from the wall and continued down the few remaining steps. The door into the kitchen was ajar and the aroma of pot roast brought her to an abrupt halt. Was someone in the kitchen? It was a chance she’d have to take.
With a determined shove, April pushed the door open and stepped into the room, but her resolve turned to rubber at the sight that met her eyes. The warm and wonderful, old fashioned farm kitchen of her childhood had been replaced by a cold and awful, stainless steel, black and white update.
Outside, the wind and rain lost power while inside April’s pulse thudded in her ears too loudly for her to notice the abating storm. Judging the wear and tear on the cabinets and appliances, she estimated the modernization had been done several years ago.
Shaking her head in disgust, she turned toward the basement door and froze.
It was gone.
Chapter Three
Staring at the solid wall where the basement door had been, April felt her hopes of unlocking her memory begin to shrivel as surely as the dying storm.
“April?”
The vaguely familiar, masculine voice drowned out the quieting patter of rain against the windows. She turned to find a tall, handsome thirty-year-old man, looking at her with his head cocked to the side. One of the twins. Cynthia’s sons had inherited their mother’s coloring, but not her exotic features; his were bold, masculine. But twelve years had passed without contact, twelve years in which Mother Nature had molded teenagers into adults, and April couldn’t discern if this was Thane or Spence.
Spence Garrick’s breath caught in his throat. God, she looked like Lily. A floodgate opened inside his brain, washing old memories and feelings to the surface. And the guilt, always the guilt. Damn it, he should have been better prepared for this. Rubbing his palms on his gray Levis, he realized her face was as pale as his felt. An insane urge to touch her had him cramming his hands into his pockets. “Are you all right?”
April read dismay in his dove-gray eyes. It struck her there was something unapproachable, even dangerous about this man. And yet…she felt an inexplicable attraction to him. “What happened to the basement door?”
He took a step closer.
She tensed, then noted the concern on his face and willed herself to relax.
“The way to the basement and wine cellar was rerouted through the laundry room. The new stairway’s closed in and not so steep.”
The image induced by his reference to the steep staircase had April swallowing hard. Strangely, his words also revived her hopes. She could still reach the basement. Then another thought cut short her relief. Had Daddy torn down the landing and the old staircase? she wanted to ask, needed to ask, but the question lodged in her throat. It might sound odd. Or insane. Aunt March’s words rang in her head, reminding April to choose her allies with care. There was no cause to trust the twins; in fact, for some unknown reason, the notion sent up red flares.
“Mrs. Winston?” A little girl with russet-colored French braids and navy blue eyes bounded into the kitchen. Spotting April, she stopped dead in her tracks and hugged the blond Barbie doll she carried to her tummy. “Are you April?”
Overwhelmed by a rush of emotion, April fought the unexpected urge to embrace the darling seven-year-old whose eager expression warmed her chilled insides. Of all the new things she’d learned in the past four years, the proper procedure in greeting a half-sister for the first time hadn’t been included. Would the child bolt if she moved too fast? Deciding to take the little girl’s lead, she said. “Yes, and I’ll bet your July.”
“Yes, I am.” The child closed the distance between them. “Gee, you’re pretty.”
“Why, thank you.” Bending at the waist, April added, “And so are you.”
July reached out and took her older sister’s hand. “Do you think I look like Daddy? Everyone says so.”
Biting back a smile, April pretended to think about it for a moment, then said, “I have to admit, you do look a lot like him.”
July flung her arms around April’s neck and squeezed tight. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Tears stung her eyes as April hugged this fragile, precious person to her, marveling at how loved a child could make one feel.
Too soon, the child squirmed free of her sister’s grasp and glanced up at her brother. “And Spence looks just like Thane, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” The adults’ eyes met and held, and April felt her heart jump. Inexplicably she had sensed this was Spencer. Not that it made any difference, she chided herself. Sure, she’d had a slight crush on him, but that was twelve years ago. For a long moment, she studied his face intently, amending her outdated memories with this older version of the handsome young boy who had once owned her heart.
Spence caught July against his side and ruffled the top of her head. “Thane and I are supposed to look alike, kiddo. We’re twins.”
The little girl stretched her neck to see his face. “Who does April look like?”
“Myself,” April answered, sounding harsher than she’d meant. Why must she be reminded of her resemblance to Lily at every turn? She caught the slight lift of Spencer’s brow, but he didn’t contradict her claim. Surely, he could appreciate how it felt to constantly be compared to someone else.
“Why doesn’t she look like you or me?” July persisted. “She’s our sister.”
Spence pulled out a dinette chair and sat down, dragging the child onto his lap. “No, sweetheart. She’s not my sister.”
July tilted her head in the same way Spencer had earlier. Her navy blue eyes clouded in confusion. “How can she be my sister and you be my brother and April not be your sister, too?”
“Well, it’s pretty complicated, and I’m not sure I’m the one who should explain it to you.”
“I know.” July sighed dramatically. “Go ask Mom.”
“Hey, you’re pretty smart for a twerp.”
“I’m not a twerp.” She smacked him on the belly. “Oh, I’m supposed to find out when dinner will be ready. Where’s Mrs. Winston?”
“I’m right here, child.” A blond, rosy-cheeked woman in her early forties, who brought to mind the Swedish country side, came bustling through the laundry room door. She was slightly breathless, shorter by several inches than April’s five-foot-six and rounder by at least four dress sizes. “Been getting extra potatoes from the basement larder. Tell your Ma dinner will be ready in about half an hour and then come back and help me peel these.”
“Okay.” July scooted off Spencer’s lap and hurried out of the room, clutching the Barbie doll’s around the middle.
The housekeeper dumped the armful of potatoes into one of the stainless steel sinks, then wiped her hands on her apron. Facing April, she grinned and extended a hand. “Don’t know if you remember me or not? Helga, Helga Winston? I’ve been the cook and housekeeper here since you two were wearing rompers.”
The twenty or more pounds Helga had gained altered her facial features, but not enough to make her unrecognizable. April felt her cheeks warm as she accepted the housekeeper’s hand. “Certainly, I remember you. It was Karl I didn’t recognize. We ran into each other in Friday Harbor, but until he introduced himself I had no idea who he was.”
Helga’s chest puffed with obvious pride. “Every bit as handsome as his father, don’t you think?”
April nodded, but to her way of thinking the two men were total contrasts. Karl’s father Jesse had had dark hair and a crude, indefinable handsomeness. Karl’s features were male model perfection. However, something about the man put her off, and she couldn’t really say why. Perhaps it was nothing more than his eagerness to know everything she’d been up to and her unwillingness to satisfy his curiosity. She managed a smile. “You must be very proud of him.”
“It’s not easy to raise a boy without his pa. Not that I was left a choice in the matter.” Surprisingly, there was a bitterness in Helga’s voice that stuck April as odd. Surely it should have lessened by this time.
“Well, you’ve obviously done a fine job.”
“Thanks.” Helga’s smile flashed a little too brightly as she abruptly changed the subject. “You sure do look like your ma.”
“I don’t think April is comfortable with the comparison.” Spencer hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but the truth was he wished everyone would stop comparing the two women. For God’s sake—Lily was dead! Lurching to his feet, he shoved the chair back against the table.
The housekeeper’s rosy cheeks turned to a dark crimson. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. It was a compliment. Why, I was Lily Cordell’s biggest fan.”
Helga’s blue eyes were as guileless and friendly as the woman herself. April cringed inwardly. Her hang-up about resembling Lily wasn’t the housekeeper’s problem. Nor should she have made such a big deal out of it that Spence felt he had to leap to her defense. Striving to make amends, she offered the housekeeper a grin. “No offense taken, Mrs. Winston.”
“You call me Helga. Your folks sure have been excited about your visit, but none of you were expected today.” Digging into a drawer, she extracted a peeler. “Good thing I got the bedrooms ready this morning and fixed a big pot roast.”
“It smells wonderful, Helga.” Spence leaned against the counter.
As he pushed the sleeves of his pink and gray cable knit sweater up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms, furred with sleek sable hair, April felt her pulse bounce. Quickly, she forced her gaze elsewhere. “Do you need any help, Helga?”
“As a matter of fact, Spencer could do me a big favor. Fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar. A full bodied red.”
“Sure.” Spencer shoved away from the counter.
April wasn’t about to let the opportunity to see the basement pass. “I’ll help.”
Spencer stiffened. The last thing he wanted was to be in the basement with April. “That’s not necessary. Why don’t you stay here and visit with Helga?”
She moved toward him. “Actually, I’d like to see the wine cellar. My education is lacking in numerous fundamentals and I could use a lesson in wines…if you wouldn’t mind playing teacher.”
One look at her eclipsed the protest Spencer had started to voice. The stubborn determination in the set of her slender shoulders and delicate jaw said she intended to go to the basement with or without him. Any argument he might put forth would only seem suspicious. Resignedly, he motioned her to follow, and headed toward the laundry room.
April felt an anxious twinge in her stomach as she fell in step behind him, but soon her attention veered to his lilting stride. With rapt fascination, she watched the shift of his jean-snugged hips and the flex of his broad shoulders beneath his loose sweater. His walk emitted a raw sensuality April found unsettling. There was no room in her life for men—not until her lost memory returned. And maybe not even then.
He switched on the light. To April’s chagrin, the laundry room had also been enlarged and windows added. The glass threw back their reflections and their gazes met and held. The dismay she felt was written on her face for all the world and Spencer to see.
Despite his resolve to remain apathetic to her during the next two weeks, Spencer couldn’t help but respond to this lovely, tormented woman. He spoke without thinking. “It can’t be easy coming back to find so much changed.”
The tenderness in his voice was too much. Sympathy was the one thing April hadn’t hardened herself against. Tears burned the back of her eyelids and a lump clogged her throat, forcing her to swallow hard. “No, it’s not. Even the rooms that haven’t been…redone…show more wear than I expected to see.” The smile hovering on her lips felt weak.
Realizing the danger of encouraging this conversation, Spencer pulled his gaze from her entrancing aqua eyes and changed the subject. “Sounds like the storm is over.”
He skirted the dryer and waited by a wide archway to give her, as well as himself, a moment to regain composure. The fierce silence was punctuated by the patter of dripping water from the eaves and downspouts. Ducking through the arch, he proceeded down the steps. “Come on.”
April caught hold of her courage and mixed it with a deep breath for good measure, reminding herself her stay here was only temporary. Once she recovered her lost memory, she could go back to the life she’d established in Arizona. And the first step toward the goal started with these stairs. “I’m right behind you.”
With her heart pounding wildly, she followed Spencer down and down, colliding into his solid backside when he stopped abruptly at the bottom stair.
“Sorry,” she stammered, too conscious of the intimate touch of her fingertips against his muscled back, too conscious of his heartbeat beneath his soft sweater, too conscious of Spencer Garrick the man. Levering for balance, she leane
d away from him.
The door swung inward, releasing a dank smell and a breath of cool air. The cellar was medium-sized with an unswept cement floor and an over bright ceiling bulb. The light glared yellow across the cold, dusky room, conjuring creepy shadows in corners and along ledges.
Proceeding into the room, April glanced from the metal shelves lining the walls—crammed with home-canned foods in every size and shape of glass container imaginable—to the heaped gunnysacks of potatoes and onions on the concrete floor.
Spencer moved ahead to a door stuck between the metal shelves. As he reached for the knob, uncertainty tangled with expectancy inside her. Her voice held a telltale quaver. “Everything is backward. We used to get to this room through this door.”
Spencer heard her misgiving and suspended his hand on the doorknob. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to go on?”
“Absolutely!”
The nod of her head set her golden hair dancing wildly about her arresting face. Spencer stared, mesmerized. She looked so like Lily just now, younger of course, but the similarities, the place, aroused unwanted memories, memories better left forgotten, he reminded himself. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. “The door is stuck. It swells in this damp weather. Move back.”
April retreated to the center of the larder and watched him apply his shoulder to the stubborn door. A second later it scraped across the cement floor, setting off an eerie echo in the large open area beyond.
Spencer stepped over the threshold and flicked on the light switch. The dim bulb did little to dispel the darkness or ease the shadows in the vast room. It felt as cold and damp as a mausoleum. Indeed, over the past few years it had been designated as a graveyard for August’s failed inventions. Discarded metal skeletons peered around stacked cardboard boxes that looked more like bulky tombstones draped in cobweb shrouds. He heard a rat skittering into a corner and felt a shiver slice up his back.
This was the moment of truth, but he wasn’t ready. His pulse was beating too fast for his liking. Deliberately, he positioned his body to block April’s range of vision.
